Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
" W e absolutely must not waste this opportunity. We absolutely must not! I don't care what they say about the Duke of Haddington personally, the man is an absolute genius at business. Four years he's held the title and he's completely turned the estate's finances around. Imagine what advice from a man like that could do for me—for us, that is. The earldom isn't in nearly as dire straits as his dukedom was; I could earn a fortune off Haddington's connections. So we all must be on our best, most sociable behavior—are you listening, Marina?"
"Of course," murmured Marina, who was not listening.
Ladies did not typically carry pocket watches, so Marina couldn't be certain, but by her estimate, her cousin Martin had been rambling on for the better part of an hour, having seized his opportunity to preach to a captive audience, though at some point in the conversation, Marina had distracted herself by wondering just how badly she would be hurt if she'd leapt from the moving carriage just to be free from her cousin's endless diatribe.
He'd gone on and on ( and on and on and on , thought Marina despairingly) about advancements in shipbuilding made by a corporation that the duke had invested in and how this would make the import of ice more profitable and with less melting, something about the materials of the hull or the way it was constructed, and why this was a perfect opportunity for him, except he needed the duke to get him access to these fancy ships, and wasn't that so unfair, why should Martin have to share the profits of his idea, except maybe it was good to have a partner, to share the risk, back and forth between boring business and self-aggrandizement for positive ages .
He'd scarcely taken a breath. By rights, the man should have expired from lack of oxygen a good half hour ago.
"We've talked about this, Marina," said Martin, an edge in his voice, suggesting that he had perhaps not entirely believed Marina's assurances that she was hanging on his every word. "It's past time you make yourself a match; you'll be fully on the shelf before you know it. And then you'll wind up damaging Julia's chances at making a match, as well. I won't have that, Marina. You must be married before your sister makes her debut."
"Yes, Martin," replied Marina, only just managing to stop from gritting her teeth. "I know."
She did know. Lord only knew that Martin never shut up about it. It had been his continual refrain since he'd assumed the title, a year previously, following Marina's father's death. He was insistent on this point—that if Marina didn't marry before Julia's debut next year, Marina would be ruining the family name, destroying her sister's life, and probably welcoming a plague of locusts upon England, not to mention that he was not required to care for his late uncle's daughters, Marina might take care to recall.
He was, in fact, so insistent that even Marina's mother, who normally stayed out of the business of her daughter's life, had impressed upon Marina the importance of trying to make a connection with one or more of the high-status, eligible bachelors that were certain to be at the Duke of Haddington's house party, to which Martin and Marina were currently en route .
A young, unmarried duke was always going to be the talk of the ton , and the Duke of Haddington was one of four young, unmarried dukes gadding about these days. To make matters worse, the four of them had the propensity to gad about together .
It was enough to make the Society matrons faint dead away any time the group of them appeared anywhere. Marina's mother certainly had, when she'd learned that Marina had been invited to this house party, and the Dowager Countess of Packley hardly had her finger on the pulse of Society gossip.
The whole mess had started when the four were just heirs—although, Marina thought, frowning to herself as she rifled through her own imperfect mental file of ton gossip, one of them might not have inherited yet, come to think of it—and had only grown progressively more dramatic as the old dukes, in the manner that old dukes always do, had passed their titles on to their sons.
If there had been a ladies' equivalent of the legendary betting book at White's, it would have been full of wagers regarding who, when, and if the four dukes— or would they be counted as three and a half dukes , Marina wondered, though it hardly mattered—would wed.
This duke, their host, the Duke of Haddington, was particularly interesting to the gossips, given his reputation for being—if the gossiper in question were interested in putting it nicely—taciturn.
Privately, Marina wondered how bad one's personality had to be in order to be a duke and have even so mild a rebuke spoken publicly.
Needless to say, when it came to making connections with well-stationed gentlemen, the Duke of Haddington was not at the top of Marina's list.
"Martin," Marina said cautiously because, really, it was best to remind her cousin that he couldn't always make things go his way through sheer force of will. "You do realize that just because there will be titled gentlemen here, it doesn't necessarily follow that one of them will wish to marry me?"
Martin glared at her even as a bump in the road caused his head to bobble ridiculously. Marina held back a giggle; Martin did not take kindly to being laughed at, no matter the reason.
"That is precisely the attitude you should not be adopting, Marina," Martin scolded. "That's the kind of attitude that has gotten to you two and twenty and not a single proposal to show for it."
Marina rather thought that she had gotten to two and twenty without a proposal because she had been busy seeing to everything else besides her marital status—making sure the household accounts were paid when her father would gallivant off for months at a time, attending to her mother's anxiety and fits of nerves regarding said absent father, keeping an eye on Julia, who had only been a child, because Lord knew someone had to—but there was no sense arguing with Martin. Especially not when one was stuck in a carriage with him—he'd simply talk her to death.
Yet Marina could not bring herself to out and out agree with him, either. "How did we end up securing an invitation?" she asked instead, using the closed quarters to her advantage. Martin had been oddly mum on this issue, and, as far as Marina knew, none of the other attendees could be counted among Martin's particular friends. Mainly because Martin did not seem to have any particular friends.
Martin sniffed. "I made the connection via a business associate," he said haughtily. Marina struggled not to roll her eyes.
"Which business associate?" Marina pressed.
Martin sniffed again and stiffened his posture. "I don't see how it matters, Marina," he scoffed. "Not when you should be thinking about finding a suitor. Business isn't a suitable topic for a lady, in any case."
Marina wanted to counter that it had been a suitable topic for a lady five minutes ago, and for the full sixty minutes before that, when Martin had beaten the topic to death and then some, but the threat of receiving a lecture on what constituted ladylike discourse was too much to bear at the moment. Instead, she tried to paste on what she hoped was an agreeable expression and then turned to gaze out the window in case she had not managed to look appropriately demure. Given the tension headache forming behind her eyes, she very much doubted she was successful.
Fortunately, she didn't have to wait long before the carriage turned and began to rumble down the—obscenely long; Lord spare them from the self-importance of wealthy aristocrats—drive towards a beautiful country manor that had, it must be said, seen better days. The house gave the effect of a grande dame of Society entering her dotage, still upright but perhaps no longer adhering to the most current of fashions.
Despite herself, and despite how much she was not looking forward to the party, Marina loved the house instantly. She'd always had the most terrible soft spot for things that needed care.
Martin, however, was scowling at the places where the bricks looked a little crumbled, having given way under the force of crawling lines of ivy, or where shutters needed a new coat of paint. "Perhaps one doesn't feel the need to care about one's image when one is a duke," he sniffed.
"Maybe he's concerned about other things more than image," murmured Marina, still admiring the house, before she could think better of it.
When she turned back to Martin, his expression was aghast. "Stars above, Marina! We can't have you thinking like that!"
Marina bit back a sigh and tried not to let dread for the upcoming week overtake her.
"Remind me why we're doing this again?"
Percy's question was more a means to express his displeasure than an actual inquiry.
His mother, who knew this perfectly well and recognized her son's sarcasm, even masked, when she heard it, cut her eyes to him. "You had best get that out of your system now, Percy," she admonished, as if he were a troublesome youth and not a landed duke of six and twenty. "I shan't have you embarrassing me in front of our guests."
"I wouldn't be able to embarrass you if we didn't have guests," Percy pointed out reasonably. His mother, the Dowager Duchess of Haddington, scowled at him.
Lucy, Percy's younger sister, who stood with her mother and brother in the entry of their home as the first of the guests' carriages rumbled up the drive, looked at once excited and nervous. "I think it will be fun," she said, sounding as if she were trying to convince herself. "I am looking forward to meeting more of Society."
Though already one and twenty, Lucy had not had a full Season, due to a string of bad luck. She'd had her debut only for, less than two weeks later, her and Percy's father to succumb to a riding accident. The family had gone into mourning—some members, Percy always thought perversely, feeling the grief of the late duke's loss more authentically than others—which had wiped out the remainder of Lucy's debut season. By the time their year of mourning had been over, the following year's Season had been in full swing and Lucy, just nineteen, had not felt particularly ready to plunge in, and Percy had not felt inclined to rush her.
The following year she had been excited, eager to attend the glittering parties of the ton, but had, shortly before her departure for London, been stricken by a dreadful illness that had left her bedridden for weeks and weak and shaky for another month after—and had, Percy often thought privately, scared years off his life at the thought of losing his sweet, lovely sister. His father's death had been one thing; the old duke had been feckless, idiotically trusting, and entirely lacking in foresight.
He'd taken a thriving estate and nearly driven it into the ground and would have managed doing the thing in its entirety if he hadn't had the consideration to get himself killed by taking a reckless jump on his horse in unknown territory, leaving him with a head injury that had culminated in death.
Lucy, though, was the kind of sweet that deserved only good things, and it was, in Percy's view, a sign of the unfairness of the world that she'd been dealt such a terrible hand these past few years. Seeing his sister wringing her hands anxiously now, despite her confident words, Percy felt that familiar spike of protective irritation.
"It will be fun," he said, trying to sound as though he believed it. "I'm sure you'll have a grand time with, ah, Lady Mary?"
"Marina," Lucy corrected idly, nibbling on her lip. "Lady Marina Fitzgerald."
"That's right," agreed Percy.
His cousin Andrew had provided the girl's name as a potential friend—or at least companion—for Lucy during this event. Lady Marina Fitzgerald was evidently of an age with Percy's sister, or perhaps slightly older, and unmarried, though this was not due to any deficiency in the girl's character, Andrew had assured him.
Percy assumed Andrew had some sort of agenda in suggesting Lady Marina presumably having to do with her cousin, the new Earl of Packley, who would be accompanying her to the party—Andrew was not generally given to the type of generosity of spirit that would lead him to matchmake friendships between young ladies simply for the joy of seeing them happily acquainted.
But Percy found he didn't care what Andrew was up to—Lady Marina was the daughter of an earl and a gently reared, unmarried young lady who could offer his sister a friendly face when she arrived in London. This was, as far as Percy was concerned, all the qualifications the woman needed.
Lucy sighed. "Well, I know you're lying when you say you think it will be fun, Percy, but I appreciate you doing this for me."
The dowager duchess shot Percy a smug look that might have meant See, I told you that having this party was a good idea or maybe Aren't I impressive to have birthed such loving children? One couldn't be certain when it came to Selina Dunn.
"It will be fun," said Selina, whose tone clearly implied the addition of or else .
Percy heaved an inward sigh but said nothing. He loved his mother, truly he did—even when she was forcing him to host parties he had no interest in for reasons that frankly escaped him, despite their endless back and forth on the topic—but it was generally best to let her get the last word.
Besides, the arriving carriage was pulling to a stop in front of them. Percy's mother always did have a good sense for timing.
Percy heard his sister take a slow, shaky breath as the well-sprung but otherwise unremarkable carriage came to a stop in front of them. The coachman leapt down and opened the door for a dandyish nobleman who was dressed in bright colors that did not suit him in the least, who then turned back to hand down…
Percy blinked but otherwise showed no other external sign of emotion. The young lady who emerged from the carriage was quite astonishingly pretty. Percy looked at her as the gentleman introduced himself with an absurdly obsequious bow.
"Your Grace," he said, sweeping back to his feet with rather more dramatics than the situation warranted. Percy felt the almost imperceptible way his mother stiffened next to him as if bracing herself against the onslaught of politeness that was due to come forth. "Please allow me to introduce myself; I am Martin Fitzgerald, the Earl of Packley. I am so very honored to have been granted an invitation to your party based upon my acquaintance with your cousin, Viscount Gloustoshire—" as if Percy didn't know who his own cousin was, he thought wryly as he continued to look at the woman "—whom I very much look forward to seeing again. And may I say that I am very pleased to make your acquaintance…" Packley trailed off, seeming to notice that Percy's attention was elsewhere. "And may I introduce my cousin, Lady Marina Fitzgerald, daughter of the late earl."
Lady Marina gave a much more measured curtsey than her cousin's fawning posture. "A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," she said. Then she turned to Percy's mother and sister. "And you as well, Your Grace, Lady Lucy." The two women curtsied in return, Selina shooting a quelling glance at Packley for neglecting to greet the women.
Lady Marina was not the kind of pretty that ended up in fashion plates, nor did she cut the kind of figure that made for diamonds of the first water. She was a bit short for that, and her slim figure had more curves than was strictly a la mode —which meant that she was the exact kind of pretty that made Percy think dangerous, sinful thoughts.
Like what the lush curve of those hips might feel like under his hands, or how those generous breasts might crush pleasantly against his firmer chest. After a day of travel, Lady Marina was slightly rumpled, her coiffure struggling against her hairpins. To a more refined, genteel member of the aristocracy, this might have made her less appealing. For Percy, this made him wonder how much more rumpled she might look, say, if he took her up against a wall.
Percy was enjoying a brief indulgence in such lustful thoughts when movement at his side jolted him out of his carnal reverie. His sister was moving, posture a bit rigid but expression shyly optimistic, towards Lady Marina.
"Lady Marina," Lucy said, reaching out to clasp the other woman's hand for a moment before letting it drop. "Thank you so much for coming. I am very much looking forward to spending time with a lady who knows London so well."
Her words, the slight anxiety in her tone, reminded Percy that he needed to put a leash on any improper thoughts regarding Lady Marina Fitzgerald. She was here to be a friend to his sister, not for him to seduce, fun as the prospect might seem. Besides, she was an unmarried lady, not a merry widow. He had to keep his thoughts to himself. Or, better yet, not even think them in the first place.
Lucy smiled and she and Lady Marina murmured another pleasantry or two before the assembled group drifted into silence, not out and out staring at Percy expectantly—they were all far too well-bred for that—but gently anticipating that he, as the duke, say something.
It was terrible manners, Percy knew. Fortunately, however, he didn't give two figs about what the rules of propriety dictated. That was Joseph's problem, and sometimes Percy's mother's.
Besides, sometimes bad manners were very useful. Such as, for example, when one needed to expediently remove oneself from conversation with a woman with whom one could not flirt , regardless of how charmingly one was sure said woman would blush.
"Right," he said gruffly, turning to his mother. "Let's go inside, shall we?"
In the instant before he turned his back on the group, he glimpsed his mother's moue of disapproval and Lady Marina's brief open mouthed look of shock. Percy stalked inside, leaving his mother and sister to play hostess, and nursed a glass of port in his office, though it was only now midday, in an attempt to distract himself from thinking about a cupid's bow mouth and bright brown eyes.