The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Read online

  Cecilia laughed at the memory. “That cradle was made of any scraps of wood I could get my hands on. As I recall, some of the pieces were maple. Of course, it never rocked properly, because I mismatched the curves at each end.”

  “Luckily, you’ve learned a thing or two since then,”

  They both laughed at this, and worked together to move the cedar pieces to the workbench. Cecilia and Archie were of a height–she was tall for a woman–so it was easy for them hold opposite ends and move heavy objects together. In the ten years they had worked together, each of them had grown several inches, and each had been taller than the other at one time or another, but never by more than an inch.

  As they worked, Cecilia remembered the cradle she had built. In addition to not rocking properly, it had had gaps at two of the corners, where she had failed to measure the pieces properly. I should have been ashamed of such a poorly-made piece, but Papa was so proud of me.

  “As I recall,” Cecilia said, “the first piece that you built on your own was a storage trunk.”

  “It was–a simple one, made of oak. Nothing special, but it worked well enough, I suppose.”

  “It was quite a bit better than my unfinished cradle!”

  “I suppose it was, but only because I had been working with your father for several months before he let me make anything on my own. You had barely spent a week in the shop when you made that cradle. It was impressive, truly.”

  “Oh Archie, you do know how to make me feel better!”

  “Better?” asked Archie, “Are you in need of cheering up?”

  “Oh no, it’s nothing. Really.”

  “Cecilia, if something is bothering you, you can always talk to me. Perhaps I might be able to help,” He looked genuinely concerned.

  “I…” Cecilia began, “I still haven’t found a solution to the problem of the bookshelf.”

  This was true, strictly speaking, although in truth she had been so busy that she had yet to spend much time thinking about the problem. Still, I can hardly tell Archie that I’ve been distracted by thoughts of the Marquess of Clive for the past week.

  “Yes, that is a surprisingly-difficult challenge. I’m sure that we shall come up with something, between the three of us. Although if I were inclined to gamble, I would wager on you being the one to solve it, Cece.”

  Cecilia was flattered by Archie’s confidence in her skills, though she was unsure that it was warranted. She knew that she was a skilled carpenter, but most of her pieces were made independently, rather than as part of a collection of already-existing furniture. This was a new challenge for her, and she had limited time to come up with a solution.

  After supper that evening, Cecilia spent an hour in her bedchamber sketching possible solutions for the problem of the bookshelf. She calculated measurements and proportions, adjusting them slightly on each version, until she had a sketch that she thought might work.

  After this, she was quite tired, but the day’s work had given her quite a bit to think about. She pulled paper, quill and ink from the drawer in her desk and returned to the ongoing letter she had been writing to her mother for the past ten years.

  Dear Mama,

  Do you remember the doll that you gave to me when you told me that I would soon have a younger brother or sister? You made it yourself of rags and yarn, and I loved it so much. I doubted that I could ever love my sibling as much as that doll. I was not a very original child, I must confess, and I called her Dolly.

  After you died, and the baby with you, I built a cradle for Dolly in Papa’s workshop, and I imagined you helping me to tuck her into bed every evening. I still have Dolly, but the cradle has long since fallen apart. It was the first thing that I ever built and was not of the finest quality.

  Now I am working on a new project, for the Duchess of Huxley and her family. I’ve learned quite a lot in the intervening decade, if you’ll forgive me for being immodest, but I feel like a little girl guessing at how to build a cradle all over again.

  I am hopeful that I may have finally devised a solution to the immediate problem of how to construct the bookshelf, but still I feel at odds with myself. The Marquess of Clive, son of the Duke and Duchess is a constant distraction. It has been a week since we met, and that was only for a few minutes, but I find myself thinking of him at all hours of the day and night. What is he doing right now? I wonder to myself, when I should be thinking about my work.

  I must resolve to focus on my work. This job is incredibly important to Papa, and I cannot sabotage it with some childish fantasy. And I imagine that the Marquess has not thought of me even once since our meeting, so it can only cause me heartache to think of him at all. I’m sure that if you were here you would advise me to forget about him and think only of my work, and I shall try my very best to heed that advice.

  Your Loving Daughter,

  Cece

  Chapter 7

  Over breakfast, the Duchess of Huxley announced to her family that she would be visiting the carpenter’s shop again today to check on his progress with the family’s furniture order. The Duke looked up from his newspaper momentarily to nod at her and then returned to reading it. Nicholas saw that Isobel was trying to catch his eye, and very pointedly ignored her. Perhaps I can contrive to go with her and see Miss Baxter once more.

  “Mother,” said Nicholas, “might I join you on your journey today?”

  “Why, yes, Nicholas, I should like that very much” the Duchess replied, bemused. “In that case, perhaps we can call on the Earl of Leicester and Lady Annette on our way home, since you weren’t able to come last week.”

  “Of course,” Nicholas said. “I’ve been discourteous in failing to call on them before now. Thank you for reminding me of my obligation. What time shall we set out?”

  “I’ve asked Thomas to have the carriage ready at half-past ten. Can you be ready to leave by then?”

  Nicholas glanced at the carriage clock on the mantle and saw that this would mean he would need to wait an hour before leaving to see the intriguing young lady in her workshop, but it would not do to seem over eager, and an hour is not so long after all.

  “Yes, that will work perfectly, Mother.”

  Upon finishing his breakfast, Nicholas stood up, announced that he would like to do some reading until it was time to leave, and walked across the hall to the library. Isobel managed to catch his eye as he left the room and grinned at him, to which he responded with a quick wink.

  In the library, Nicholas picked up a small notebook he had been using to make notes and sketches while reviewing the available books about geometry. He flipped through the pages, idly, reviewing the notes he had made. Some were merely reminders of things that he had learned at school and then forgotten, while others were questions about things he hadn’t fully understood.

  He wondered what Miss Baxter would say if he asked her about the things that had confused him. Would she think him ignorant? Perhaps she would, and perhaps I am. But I suspect she would be kind about it.

  Nicholas imagined sitting next to her at a table, heads tilted together to look at a paper as she drew a diagram to illustrate the concepts to him. He passed nearly a quarter of an hour fantasizing about the lesson she might teach him, were he her pupil. He was startled back to reality when the clock chimed ten.

  At this, he stood up, placed the notebook and pencil he had been holding in his waistcoat pocket, and began to pace about the room. Twice he stopped, standing opposite the spot where a new bookshelf would be placed. The bookshelf that had been the focus of his conversation with Miss Baxter. He tried to imagine her constructing it, but had no concept of how one did such a thing.

  As he stared at the wall in front of him, he noticed a slight imperfection in the wall. At first glance, he thought it was merely a crack, but upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a perfectly straight line running from floor to ceiling. Intrigued by this discovery, he walked up to the wall and touched it. At first nothing happened, but pushing with slig
htly more force, he discovered that this panel of the wall swung open to create a secret entrance into a small passageway.

  Nicholas was quite surprised to discover this, and was on the verge of walking into the passage to investigate further, when he heard the clock chime once more. It was half-past ten and his mother would be expecting him to leave with her. He had just closed the hidden door when the Duchess entered the library and asked him if he was ready to leave.

  A servant stood next to her, holding Nicholas’ coat and hat, which he quickly put on before walking to the front door with the Duchess by his side.

  “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to call on Lady Annette, Nicholas,” the Duchess said, as they crossed the entrance hall.

  “Yes, I’m sure it shall be a lovely visit,” he replied, his mind still lingering on what he had discovered in the library. Why on earth would there be a secret passageway out of the library?

  He could think of no satisfying answer to this question and resolved to return that night when all of the household was asleep, so that he could explore properly.

  * * *

  Cecilia and Archie worked in silence for a few more moments before Emmanuel Baxter returned to his shop. He had been meeting a forester from just outside of town who supplied much of the wood used in the shop. Cecilia knew that he had hoped to negotiate a better price for their next order, which would be larger than usual, due to the large volume of work they would be producing.

  Cecilia looked up to see her father walk in with a scowl on his face. He was silent as he removed his cloak and hung it on a peg next to the door. A look of concern passed between Cecilia and Archie.

  “Papa, are you all right?” Cecilia asked, cautiously. “How was your meeting with the forester?”

  “Oh, well. It was fine. I’m fine, truly.” He replied, though it seemed clear from his voice that he did not feel fine.

  “Were you able to negotiate the price you wanted, Mr. Baxter?” Archie asked him.

  “No, unfortunately, he was unwilling to negotiate on the price.”

  “Not at all?” Cecilia asked shocked.

  “Not even a farthing!” her father replied, throwing his hands up in the air.

  “Oh Papa, what shall we do?” Cecilia was feeling genuinely worried now. The Duchess of Huxley had placed the largest order they had ever received, and when it was complete and paid for, they would be wealthier than they ever had been. In order for that to happen, though, they would need to purchase greater quantities of raw materials than was usual, and Cecilia was not sure how they would afford it.

  “Never you mind, Cece,” her father replied, putting on a brave face. “We shall manage, just like we always do.”

  “Perhaps the Duchess might make part of her payment up front to cover the cost of materials.” Cecilia suggested.

  “She has already made a down payment of £5, it would be most unusual to ask for more at this stage. And anyway, we shall manage, as I said.” Emmanuel Baxter’s tone suggested that this was the end of the discussion as far as he was concerned.

  Cecilia held her tongue and returned to her work, but she felt a stab of unease about the financial situation and resolved to be especially cautious in her usage of raw materials in the future.

  * * *

  Nicholas sat across from his mother in the back of the carriage as they traveled through the town to Mr. Baxter’s woodworking shop. He was making an effort to listen politely to what the Duchess was saying, but struggled to keep his mind from wandering to the hidden passage he had recently discovered. Where could it lead? And what purpose could it possibly serve?

  “Lady Annette is a most accomplished pianist,” the Duchess was telling him now, “perhaps you should ask her to play for you, since you are both music lovers.”

  “Yes, of course, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” he responded, attempting to sound enthusiastic. In truth, Nicholas was not a particular lover of music, but he had expressed some interest in the subject as a child, and the Duchess had insisted ever since that he was a prodigy.

  The remainder of their journey passed in silence. Nicholas looked out of the carriage window at the passing trees, their leaves a vision of red and gold. He breathed in the brisk autumn air and listened to the rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves on the dirt lane.

  After a quarter of an hour, the carriage slowed to a halt in front of the Baxter family home. The coachman opened the door and the Duchess stepped out, with Nicholas following behind her. He adjusted his coat as he stepped down, and they walked to the front door.

  A woman in a rough-spun dress and apron opened the door when the Duchess knocked. Nicholas guessed that she was in her fifties, but he knew that Miss Baxter’s mother had died many years earlier, and supposed that this must be the housekeeper. She curtsied to the guests and went to announce their arrival to Mr. Baxter.

  Nicholas observed that the housekeeper appeared surprised by their arrival, and concluded that his mother had not warned the family of this visit. I wonder how Miss Baxter will react to that.

  As they waited for Mr. Baxter to emerge from the shop, he looked around the room, wondering which of the items there had been built by Miss Baxter. There was a simple, but beautiful rocking chair near the hearth, that looked as though it might have been made by a feminine hand. The table and chairs where the family must take their meals was well worn, and Nicholas guessed that it was built before Miss Baxter had been born.

  A moment later, Mr. Baxter emerged from the shop, smiling nervously and wiping his hands on a heavy canvas apron.

  “Welcome, Your Grace, My Lord. What a pleasant surprise! What can I do for you today?”

  “Good day, Mr. Baxter” the Duchess said, pleasantly enough. “We’re merely here to see how your work is progressing.”

  “Ah, yes. Yes, of course…” Mr. Baxter stammered. “Of course, if Your Grace and My Lord would follow me into the shop, I would be happy to show you the work we have been doing.”

  Mr. Baxter walked across the room to the shop entrance and held the door open for his guests. The Duchess held up the heavy silk skirt of her gown an inch from the floor and walked into the shop. Nicholas followed closely behind her.

  Upon entering the shop, Nicholas looked around. It was a large, open room, with large windows to let in the light. The earthen floor was swept clean, but wood shavings clung stubbornly in the corners of the room. A large wooden workbench was placed on the opposite wall, beneath the largest window in the room.

  Standing at the bench, with her back turned to the doorway, Nicholas saw the tall slender form of Miss Baxter sanding a long wooden plank. He watched as she leaned over to look closely at her work, and seeing the graceful curve of her neck, he was enchanted once again. He longed to reach out and touch her smooth skin, though he knew that to do so would be impossible.

  Nicholas glanced at his mother and saw that her lips were tightly pursed and her brow was arched. Of course, he had known that she would not approve of a young lady, even one of common birth, working as a carpenter. Still, it seems unnecessary to show her feelings so plainly on her face.

  All of this had happened in a matter of seconds, and Miss Baxter soon stood up and turned around to face Nicholas and the Duchess. Her hazel eyes widened at the sight of them, but after a moment she gathered her composure and greeted them politely.

  “Your Grace, My Lord, how do you do?” she asked.

  “Quite well, Miss Baxter, and you?” Nicholas answered.

  “I’m quite well, My Lord, thank you for asking,” she said, and then, turning to the Duchess. “Your Grace, shall I show you what I’ve been working on?”

  Nicholas managed to stop himself from grimacing at the look on his mother’s face. He could clearly see her horror at the fact that, not only did Miss Baxter work in the woodshop, but that she spoke so directly to a member of the aristocracy.

  Mr. Baxter must have sensed the tension from the Duchess, because he stepped forward and began speaking quickly.


  “Mr. Mowbray and my daughter have been working on the wardrobe for your bedchamber, Your Grace,” he said, pointing to the large piece on the right side of the room.

  The Duchess walked over to the wardrobe with Mr. Baxter and began to examine it. Nicholas walked around the perimeter of the workshop, taking care to look casual in his observation of the tools and materials. Eventually he approached Mr. Baxter’s employee, Mr. Mowbray, and asked what he was working on.

  “This is the desk for your father’s study, My Lord. The glue is setting now, and tomorrow, I will varnish and polish the finished piece.”

  “I see,” Nicholas said, “It is very handsome, I’m sure that my father, the Duke, will agree.”