Chapter One
Alverleigh, hereditary seat of the Earls of Alverleigh.
England
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“YOU’RE LEAVING? NOW?” Maude, Lady Gosforth trained her lorgnette on her eldest nephew with exasperated indignation.
“I am.” Marcus Renfrew, the seventh Earl of Alverleigh, was in his library, sorting through a small stack of documents on the desk in front of him. Outside a footman and valet were loading baggage into his traveling coach.
“But I only just arrived from Bath.”
“I’m sorry Aunt Maude. Had you notified me you were coming, I might have been able to delay my departure.
But I have appointments in the city I cannot put off.
Peverill and Cook and several other servants have gone ahead to ready Alverleigh House, but the under-butler and Mrs. Allen and the remaining staff will take good care of you, I’m sure.
” His aunt periodically descended on him—invariably without warning and with a purpose of which he was well aware.
And so, since he really did have appointments to keep, he saw no reason to delay his departure.
“If you had a wife, she could take good care of me,” she said pointedly.
Marcus didn’t respond. His aunt managed to introduce the subject of his wifelessness into almost every conversation she had with him. She watched him now, shuffling through papers.
“You’re going to London, I assume.”
“I am.”
“At this time of year?” she said with faint emphasis.
“Yes. Why not?” he said indifferently. “The worst of the winter weather has passed, and since there has been little rain in recent days, the roads will be in good condition.”
“Pshaw! I’m not talking about the roads.”
Marcus knew very well she wasn’t. But though he was fond of his aunt, he had no intention of dancing to her tune.
No doubt if he stayed at home, within a few days, she would invite ‘friends’ to stay, the kind of friends who brought marriageable daughters, nieces or granddaughters with them. It had happened before.
“It is May, Marcus, and the season is well begun. So, are you going to London to seek a wife? At last?”
“No, I am going to London on business. And as you very well know, the season coincides with the sitting of Parliament, and my presence is required in the Lords, as is my duty.” Marcus selected a document and set it to one side.
“Duty!” She made an impatient noise. “Then while you are there you can begin the search for a wife—which is another of your duties.”
Ignoring her—it was an old song she sang—he concentrated on the documents.
She stamped her foot. “You are one-and-thirty years old, Marcus. It’s high time you married and got yourself an heir.”
“I have several heirs already.”
“Pah! Your brother Nash is in Saint Petersburg, and has no intention of returning to England to live. And don’t tell me Gabriel is next in line because as the Regent of Zindaria, he has his hands full, and will until little Prince Nicky comes of age, which is at least a decade away.
So with both heirs out of the country indefinitely, what would happen to the estate if something happened to you? ”
Marcus slipped the documents into a slim leather folder.
“I understand that Nash’s wife is in an interesting condition and Gabriel’s wife has already given birth to a girl, and may well be breeding again, so the next generation is well on its way, and thus the succession will be secured.
Now, while I am gratified by your concern for my continuing health, Aunt Maude, it is time I left. ”
“I am not talking about your dratted health,” she said acidly.
“You are as healthy as a horse—and just as stubborn—and yes I know it’s mules that are the stubborn ones, but you know what I mean.
There are such things as accidents, Marcus, as you very well know.
How would the estate fare if you had one? ”
“Leaving my brothers aside, I have a number of excellent employees maintaining all aspects of the estate, so if I did happen to slip from this mortal coil, I’m sure everything would continue as usual. I hope that reassures you.”
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “It’s your parents, isn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I understood they were dead.”
She made an impatient gesture. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Their marriage was a disaster and it has put you off the very idea of marriage.”
“You are mistaken, surely,” he said dryly. “I was under the impression they were passionately in love.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t call that love.
Obsession maybe, and utterly destructive.
Their frequent tempestuous quarrels and dramatic reconciliations tore this family apart—literally!
—and I know how damaging that was to all you boys.
” Her voice softened. “I know you’ve done your best to repair the damage, bringing your brothers—even Harry—back into the fold and reuniting the family again, and for that I praise you.
But Marcus, dear boy, I fear the worst of the damage was to your heart. ”
“Nonsense,” he said crisply.
“It’s not nonsense. Now, listen to me. Nash and Harry were chary of the whole idea of marriage and courtship, and each of them turned to me for assistance in finding them a suitable bride.
And look at them now—both of them married and blissfully happy.
You could be the same. Let me help you as I helped them. ”
Marcus turned away, hiding a smile as he perused some books on a shelf.
While it was perfectly true that both Harry and Nash had initially sought Aunt Maude’s assistance in finding a suitable bride, the brides they’d ended up choosing had never been anywhere near Aunt Maude’s list of ideal candidates.
His half-brother, Harry, had found Nell sitting on the back of a dray, muddy, drenched, exhausted and in utter despair.
And Nash had found Maddy living in poverty in a small rural cottage trying desperately to keep herself and a gaggle of children alive.
Actually, you might say that it was Maddy who found Nash when he came off his horse and crashed into a stone wall, unconscious.
For all that Aunt Maude claimed the credit for their happy marriages, she’d had nothing to do with arranging them.
“Marcus, dear boy, let me help you find the perfect bride. I know the sort of gel you need, and most of the gels coming out this season—”
“Aunt Maude,” he said firmly. “I thank you for your concern but I am not going to London in search of a bride and I don’t need your help.
” He picked up his document folder, selected a book and turned to leave.
“In the meantime, stay as long as you want. Make yourself at home. Anything you need, ask the under-butler or Mrs Allen.”
She followed him out of the room. “One-and-thirty, Marcus—one-and-thirty! If you wait much longer, the new crop of gels will be young enough to be your daughters.”
He turned and said dryly, “You flatter me, aunt, but I was not quite as enterprising at thirteen as you obviously imagine.”
She made a frustrated noise. “Mark my words, Marcus Renfrew: you will rue the day you refused my assistance.”
“Undoubtedly.” He walked toward the door.
She snorted. “You’re just like my stupid, stubborn, rigid, impossible brother.”
Marcus didn’t wait to hear her response. “Who else should I be like but my father?” he tossed over his shoulder.
“Yourself, whoever that might be — but you won’t, unless you get that stick out of your arse.”
Marcus whirled, shocked. “What did you say?”
Aunt Maude gave him a gimlet look. “You heard.”
Marcus shook his head. “Goodbye, Aunt Maude.” He kissed her cheek, climbed into the carriage, and tapped on the roof to signal the driver to move off.
His aunt watched, and as the carriage rolled away, muttered, “You stupid boy, don’t you realize how lonely you are?”
As the carriage passed through the front gates and turned onto the main road, Marcus settled back in his seat. His aunt’s never-ending and unsubtle efforts to get him leg-shackled might amuse him if they weren't so irritating.
Stick out of his arse? What nonsense. He was rational, that’s all. Level-headed. Responsible.
His aunt was getting more outrageous the older she grew.
As for the way she prated to him of his duty, he didn’t need her to remind him.
His estate—and those under his supervisions that would eventually pass to his brothers—were in excellent order.
He did his duty by his family, his tenants, his dependents and his country, just as his father had raised him to. He was a damned dull dog, in fact.
But he would not marry to order. When the time came for him to choose a bride—which would be if and when he decided—he would choose one soberly, dispassionately and prudently. And if that was cold-blooded, all the better.
He wasn’t opposed to the idea of marriage, but he was wary of the idea of choosing a bride from the ton. The young ladies one met in society showed the world one face, one wholly agreeable face, intended to lure a man into proposing. But after marriage . . .
The beautiful Lady Anthea Quenborough came to mind.
Better to remain single the rest of his life than leg-shackle himself to one like that.
If he ever did decide to seek a bride, he would make a practical, unemotional marriage, entirely without his aunt’s so-called assistance. And ensure that his bride understood that.
Even so, he shuddered at the thought, imagining the kind of fuss and botheration his wedding would entail.
His aunt often complained that his brothers had done her out of a grand society wedding, but that his own would be done properly, as befitted an earl.
Aunt Maude adored a fuss, the bigger the better.
All the more reason, should he ever consider marriage, to go about the business quietly and discreetly. Or not at all.
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