Matchmaking the Marquess (The League of Eligible Bachelors #3)

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Mia knocked on the front door of Tweed Castle. She could not say how many times she had stood in this exact spot, waiting for the door to open so she might find Ben. But she’d never felt so ill at ease.

The door swung open and Marcus, a footman, greeted her. “Lady Amelia, please come in.” She stepped inside and handed off her coat. “Lord Montcort is expecting you in the yellow parlor.”

Mia nodded. “You need not take me, Marcus. I know the way.” She knew this house better than Marcus. He had only started in service there within the last five years. Mia had been exploring Tweed for decades.

She trudged through the corridor, stopping just outside the parlor door. It felt wrong to be meeting another man in Tweed. Maybe it just felt wrong to meet another man. She entered the door and spotted Lord Montcort reading a newspaper on the sofa near the fire.

“Ah, Lady Amelia. You’ve arrived.”

She looked around to see which mirror he had spotted her in. “How did you know it was me?”

“I heard you sigh.”

“I’m not the only person who sighs.” She rolled her eyes.

He finally turned around and looked at her. “But yours holds a fair amount of annoyance that is not heard in the sighs of others.”

Mia nearly turned on her heel and left. But she had already accepted his proposal. And if she was being honest, she loved chocolate. And it had been some time since she’d had any. She was not one to cut off her nose to spite her face.

“The service should be here any moment,” he motioned to the chair across from him. “Please sit down.”

Katie moved off into the corner where she usually sat when they visited that parlor.

Lord Montcort tossed his paper onto the low table.

Mia smiled. It was a smile she had been practicing of late. She had discovered if she smiled just a hint past halfway, the small crease at the side of her eye would appear and make her look as if she meant it. Which she rarely did. It was deceitful and surely the vicar would think her evil. But one had to take drastic measures to survive a house party.

Lord Montcort had yet to say anything. He sat there, staring at her. The scrutiny was unnerving, and Mia rubbed her fingers over the edge of the couch pillow. She had come to this meeting to set the man straight on their relationship. But now that she was here, her courage waned.

Thankfully, a maid walked into the room just then with a tray, saving Mia from having to speak.

The maid set it on the low table and curtsied. “Thank you, Hannah,” Lord Montcort smiled. The maid blushed.

Mia tipped her head to the side. Except for their conversation about his sisters, it was the first time she felt it might be the real Lord Montcort she saw. Interesting.

He leaned forward and grasped the handle sticking out of the pot on the tray. Putting it between his palms, he vigorously rolled it back and forth. He caught her eye and grinned. “It’s not an acceptable cup of chocolate without a good head on it.” He winked at her.

She could not say she’d had enough chocolate to know if his words held truth or not. She would have to trust him, she supposed.

“You said in your note you bought the chocolate in the West Indies?”

He shrugged. “In a way. I bring my cocoa nuts from the West Indies and make the chocolate tablets myself. I’ve found it has the flavor I like best.” He handed her a cup. “Just the right amount of orange water, vanilla, and sugar.”

Mia put the cup to her lips. She’d had chocolate while she was in London for her Season, but she could not recall if it had tasted like orange or not. Indeed, she could not remember the precise flavor—only that she liked it.

The drink was thicker than she remembered and sweeter. She knew not if it was the special ingredients or if her memory was faulty. Likely the latter.

“It’s very good. Thank you for sharing with me.” She licked her lips, unprepared for the conversation she planned. “You discovered it in the West Indies?”

He shook his head. “I first had chocolate in London. When I went to the West Indies to observe the management of my family’s estate, I learned how to process it for myself.”

She stared into her cup.

“When I returned to England, the tablets available didn’t have the flavor I’d grown accustomed to. I could hardly stomach it. I import the dried raw nuts and make it myself.” He shrugged. “Or at least with the help of Caonabo. I brought him back from Barbados with me.”

Mia narrowed her eyes slightly. “You keep slaves in Barbados?”

Lord Montcort scooted away from her as if her question wounded him. “Of course not. My grandfather freed all his slaves in his will. It nearly ruined my family financially, but my father was determined to not use slave labor.” His tone cooled. “Caonabo is a paid servant, just like any of my other servants. And it was his choice to come to England.” He stared at her accusingly. “In case that was your next question.”

She shook her head. He need not know that she had thought it. Perhaps it was best to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Do you travel to the West Indies often?” Mia settled into her seat, the cup hovering an easy distance from her lips.

He relaxed, obviously more at ease with the turn. “I did when my father was still alive. But since I assumed the title, there is little time. And the danger of sea travel is not advisable. With only sisters and no other direct heir, I do not make the journey any longer.”

Mia looked away. Is that what he was hoping to get from her? Marriage and then an heir? She glanced out the window, eager to change the subject. “The weather must be very different from here.” She glanced back at him. “I read in a book that there are monkeys in the West Indies.”

He laughed, and it sounded more genuine than any other she’d heard from him. “Yes. Some are friendly. But you have to watch them. If you don’t, they will wreak havoc on your bananas and sugar cane.”

This man had seen a monkey? It was almost too fantastic to believe. She had never left England. And while she longed for the adventure—perhaps not exactly like Lawrence was having—she did not know that she could stay away from England for long. “Who manages the estate in your absence?”

“One of my cousins.” He set his cup and saucer on the table. “It’s a very advantageous opportunity for him.” He eyed her. “You seem like the adventurous type. Would you travel to the West Indies? Perhaps if your husband were so inclined?”

She closed her eyes for a moment to gather her courage. She needed to stop procrastinating and say what she had come to say. Had he not introduced the topic most aptly?

Placing her cup on the tray, she sat back and clasped her hands in her lap. “My lord, I must confess that the chocolate was not the only reason I agreed to meet you. I wished to speak to you about something of great import.”

Lord Montcort dropped his biscuit onto the plate, and his brow ticked up slightly.

“Certain rumors circulating about the drawing room have caught my attention. And while I know not the truth of them, I wish to address them with you, to avoid any…” She cleared her throat and looked away from him. “Misunderstanding or embarrassment.”

His brows rose the rest of the way into his hair. “Please, go on.”

Mia pressed forward. “Many say that you will propose before the end of the ball tomorrow eve.” She fingered the edge of the couch cushion. “I wish for you to know— before you ask something that might bring us both embarrassment—that I have no inclination toward marriage. It is a decision I made many years ago, and I have no intention of changing my mind.”

Lord Montcort placed his cup on the tray and crossed one knee over the other, intertwining his fingers and wrapping them around the knee. “I see.” He watched her intently.

Mia dropped her gaze to the pin fastened to his cravat.

“And why did you make this decision? I believe we get along well enough. Perhaps in time, we might even come to admire, if not love one another? Do you not think it possible?” His voice was even, but she thought there might be a hint of enjoyment in it.

She shook her head, her brows drawn down into a V. “My decision has nothing to do with love, my lord, or even you,” she contested.

“Then you could love me?” Yes, enjoyment was definitely there. She did not think him mocking her. Just that he was enjoying the conversation. Perhaps he thought he had a chance of changing her mind? Or maybe he simply liked the challenge of it.

She shook her head. “I think it unlikely.”

He frowned but then narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you incapable of love, my lady?” He asked. His tone was not accusatory, but it still felt like an insult.

“Such impertinence!” She glared at him. “I’m perfectly capable of loving, sir. I just do not love you.”

He sat back, his look challenging. “If you do not love me, how do you know you are capable?” He lifted a hand. “And do not say you love your father. Everyone loves their parents.”

Mia flinched. Was that true? He was correct; she loved her father. But had she loved her mother? She paused. Looking back, she knew she had loved her mother even though her mother had not reciprocated. But while she had loved her mother, she hadn’t liked her, in the least. Her mother had been a very hard woman. “I had no intention of saying I love my father, although I do.”

Lord Montcort looked as though he was holding back a smile. “Then there is another man who holds your affections?”

Mia stared at him with slightly widened eyes. How had this conversation moved from monkeys to her professing her love? Did she confess the truth to him? She could admit to loving someone without revealing his name, could she not? And was it not the kinder way to let Lord Montcort down? She nodded.

His smile bloomed fully. “Finally,” he boomed. “It is just as I suspected.” He slapped his hand on his thigh and sank back into the couch, his hands rubbing up and down his face. “Lud, it’s been exhausting pretending to court you all this time. I was losing hope in the whole situation.”

Mia stared, gap-mouthed, at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He sucked in a deep breath. “It’s Ben, is it not?” He looked expectantly at her. “He is the one who holds your affection?”

Mia sat, twisting her little finger. What did she say? Surely her silence said everything. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “How did you know?”

Lord Montcourt laughed. “I believe Ben and you are the only ones who don’t know. It’s evident every time you look at each other. But you both refuse to acknowledge it.” He shook his head in disgust. “You forced my hand. I had to put on the facade so you would finally see how much you loved one another.”

Mia lifted her chin, annoyed that he was making her seem like such a dolt. “You need not have put forth such an effort on my account. I’ve known of my feelings for Ben for years.”

Montcort looked at her like she was daft. “Then why do you not tell him? I’m certain if you did, he would set out for London and an audience with the Archbishop to secure a special license.”

Mia shook her head. “No,” she nearly shouted. “Knowing his feelings would only make it harder to deny him.”

If Lord Montcort had thought her daft before, he must think her an imbecile now.

“Why the devil would you deny him? If you love each other, why can you not be together?”

She put a hand to her temple, rubbing at the headache tightening in her head. “Because I would only make him miserable. He’d grow to despise me. I’ve already seen the results of such a marriage, and I love Ben too much to do that to him.”

“Why do you suppose you’d make him miserable? In case you’ve missed it, he’s been nothing but miffy to me for the whole of the party. I’m certain it’s because he has spent little time with you.” He shook his head. “I believe you’re wrong.”

She took in a long, deep breath. “I wish I were. But unfortunately, I have too much of my mother’s temperament. She did nothing but belittle and carp at my father until he was nothing but a shell of a man. It has taken years for him to regain even a sliver of what he once was.” She had not experienced her father before her mother had stripped him of his personality, but she’d heard stories from Mrs. Pierson and Hastings. Even Mrs. Handley had offered a tale or two. She shook her head. “No. I cannot risk it. Ben deserves a kind wife—one who values his opinions and character. Someone who sees the best in him, not the worst.”

Lord Montcort watched her. “You are not to be deterred?”

She pulled her lip between her teeth. “Not if I truly love him.”

Mia could think of little else as she rode home from Tweed and chocolate with Lord Montcort. Could what he told her be true? Did Ben love her?

It seemed too fantastical, yet she could not figure a reason why Lord Moncort would lie. The only thing she could conclude was he was simply mistaken.

Mia bit her lip. But what if he wasn’t? She’d allowed a small—very small was all she could permit—part of her to imagine it to be true after he’d kissed her. But if it were the truth, it only muddied the waters. And made their kiss that much more of a mistake.

She stepped from the carriage, a restlessness gnawing at her. What was she to do? Normally, when she felt as she did, she would go in search of Ben. But he could not help her with her current problem.

Instead, she climbed the stairs and headed for her father’s room. She prepared herself to find Lady Cornfeld inside, so it surprised her to find his room empty. She frowned. Could he be in his book room?

She moved toward the corridor and knocked on the closed door.

“Enter,” came his reply. She did not detect the rasp in his voice that had been there for the last few days. Could he be feeling better? Lawks, she hoped so.

She pushed open the door. “Papa, how are you feeling?” She settled herself in the chair opposite him, wishing to see his face as they talked. He could not hide his well-being from her if she were to see his face.

He smiled up at her. The color had returned to his cheeks and his eyes appeared clear. An unexpected turn, to say the least. “I’m the pinkest of pinks, my dear.”

Mia smiled. He did seem better, but she could not account for it. Had he taken to his bed at just the right time to stave off the illness? She refused to give any credit to Lady Cornfeld and her attentions. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She played with her fingers in her lap. She’d wished to ask him something several times but had always shied away. Or when she’d brought it up, he’d not answered her question. But now, she had to know. It would not change things with Ben, but perhaps it would make the disappointment bearable. “Papa,” she looked at her hands. “Why did I have to be so much like Mama? Why could I not have more of your temperament?” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading with him to answer her. “Was there a time when I might have changed my course but didn’t?”

Her father looked at her, confusion on his face. “What do you mean? I see very little of your mother in you.”

Mia rolled her eyes in frustration. Now was not the time she wished for him to placate her. She wanted the truth. “Come now, Papa. Do not trifle with me. I know you think me ill-tempered—just like Mama.”

His face fell into a frown. “Oh, dearest. I never meant for you to take my words in that way.”

“But they are the truth. Should I not acknowledge my failings? How else am I to improve—if such a thing is possible.” If possible, she would do what she must to be with Ben.

“Amelia,” he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “What am I to say? I had no intention of making you believe you and your mother were of the same ilk. Indeed, it could not be further from the truth.”

She clenched her hands in her lap. She was tired of going in circles. Why could he not just tell her the truth? “Do you not say I’m ill-tempered and grumpy? Did you not believe my first Season a failure because the gentlemen thought me unpleasant?”

He shook his head. “Indeed, I think only a special sort of gentleman is right for you. That is not because of your temperament but because I do not wish you to live life with a man who smoothers your spark. The men who came to our door in London, were your mother’s choices for you. Not mine. They would have trained you into a docile shell of yourself. That is not you, dearest. You have passion and are not afraid to put a voice to it.” He frowned as if he were trying to sort out his words. “You are rather the opposite of your mother in many ways.”

Mia snorted. “Yes, I am a terrible hostess and disdain all it entails.”

Her father grinned. “Perhaps in that way, but that is not what I speak of. Indeed, your determination not to marry—so you might take care of me—is nothing your mother would have done. She married me to further her climb in society. She cared nothing of my well-being, not of anyone around her.” He reached out and patted her arm. “If your mother had put up the money for the autumn festival, it would have been so others would know of her contribution and think better of her.” He gave her a soft smile. “I understand from Mr. Miller that you’ve given him leave to take the credit.”

Mia shrugged. “It’s a hard time for everyone. I do not wish for people to believe we think ourselves above them.”

“That is my point.” He lifted his hands. “Your mother thought us above most people—especially regarding the villagers.”

Mia frowned. She could see what he was saying, but it did not seem right somehow.

He took her hand in his and pulled her toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he kissed the crown of her head. “I cannot even say you look similar to your mother, Mia. Much to her chagrin your features are more in line with my mother’s, not hers.” He sighed. “What I’m trying to say—quite inarticulately—is that you are not your mother, Mia. Lawrence reminds me more of her than you do. Let not your mind be troubled by that thought any longer.”

Mia sat up and placed a kiss on her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Papa.” She smiled out of duty. “I’m glad you are recovered.”

“As am I. I would have been most vexed to have missed the ball.”

“Shall I send for tea for you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I am to have tea with Lady Cornfeld.”

Mia tried to hold down her brows, which ached to rise. “Oh? Lady Cornfeld? You have spent much time with the lady of late.”

He smiled fondly—a bit too fondly by Mia’s estimation.

“She is pleasant enough company. But she leaves tomorrow next along with everyone else.”

He did not seem overly upset by that revelation. Perhaps it was not as serious as Mia originally thought. She released a relieved sigh. “Yes. And our peace will return.”

He chuckled. “Your dreams are finally coming true, I suppose?”

She nodded. “You know me too well, Papa.” She turned to leave him to his book.

“And Amelia,” she paused in the doorway and turned around, “I can’t speak for your mother, but I’m proud of how you handled this party.”

Mia snorted but sucked it back when she saw his sincerity. “Thank you, Papa.”

As she walked down the corridor, she was uncertain what to think. Could it be true that she was not as much like her mother as she’d believed? Was it possible she would not make a husband—someone that she loved—miserable like her mother had?

She was not ready to abandon the notion of spinsterhood nor embrace her father’s assertions, but it was something to think about when she finally had a moment to herself.