Chapter Two
Before leaving on his trip to Stanhope Abbey, Markham paid a call at the boarding house owned by his friend, Georgie. She wore her elaborately embroidered, red silk dressing gown, her normal garb before mid-afternoon, and sat in her kitchen enjoying eggs and toast with her tea.
“My boy, how good to see you,” she said after wiping her mouth with a serviette. “Will you join me?”
“I came for your company, not your food, but I thank you.” He sat at the small table in the dining room. The house was quiet, its girls likely sound asleep after a late night of entertainment.
“It’s been some months since I last saw you. Did you marry? You’re no longer in need of my comfort?”
“Your companionship is always welcome, Georgie. I haven’t chosen a wife or anything so drastic as that. I was in the country for most of the time. Since my sister became engaged, I’ve been able to spend less time with Polite Society, so I haven’t needed the escape you offer.”
“As much as I miss your company, I’m pleased you’ve been happy.” She took a nibble of her toast, then after she’d swallowed, she said, “When will you marry?”
He frowned, or attempted to, but failed to sound stern. “You might have some years on me, but don’t think that gives you permission to scold me like my mother.”
She grinned and patted her hair. “I’m much too young to be your mother.”
Too young, he’d agree, but much was an exaggeration. In the eleven years he’d known her, she hadn’t aged at all. Whatever concoctions she used on her skin kept it smooth and young, and her hair was pale, silver blonde, so any graying would blend in.
“You’re as dear to me as my mother.” In some ways, he owed her more than he did his parents. She’d helped him salvage his self-worth at a time he needed it desperately.
Georgie set down her fork and napkin, took a sip of her tea, then relaxed in her chair. “What was her name?”
He didn’t need to ask which woman she meant. “Lady Susan Green.”
“Ah, yes, I remember her now. She fled to the Continent with her dance tutor, if I remember correctly.”
The reminder had stopped causing him pain only after two years’ worth of Georgie’s friendship. He and Lady Susan had been intended to marry by a friendly proposal between their parents. Having known her since childhood, he’d believed himself in love.
At a ball his mother hosted in honor of his eighteenth birthday, their engagement was announced. A week later, Lady Susan left her mother a note explaining her love for her tutor, then eloped to France.
The loss of love, the embarrassment of being jilted, and pity in the eyes of the young ladies he’d seen in assemblies, were more painful than he’d imagined possible. After one such evening at Almack’s, Markham made his besotted way to the outskirts of London where the better boarding houses—filled with young ladies of questionable upbringing—lined the streets. Choosing one at random, he’d opened the bright red door and stumbled upstairs where voices and laughter rang out.
Georgie had greeted him, offered him a drink, and asked him to join her in a room abovestairs. Once he was settled in a gilt-framed chair, she asked, “Why are you here?”
He’d blinked, then squinted at her, trying to decide which of the two images was the real woman. “Why does any man come?”
“I’m not asking about other men. What is your name?”
“I’m the Marquess of Markham.”
“Well, imagine that. And what is a duke’s son doing in a boarding house, when he could have a mistress of his own?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but got lost in a yawn. He blinked once more, and nodded off.
Realizing he’d gotten lost in memories, Markham cleared his throat. “I’m lucky I found you that night, and not someone who’d take advantage of me. Maybe I will have some eggs. It’ll be some time before I can call on you again, so I might as well make this visit last.”
Georgie was the only woman he’d kept company with these past eleven years. She didn’t ask for love, she argued when he gave her money, and she was exactly what he needed to show Polite Society what he thought of them as a whole.
***
Arriving at Stanhope Abbey late in the evening, Markham hoped to find everyone retired to their bedchambers, but that wasn’t the case. Someone pounded on the pianoforte in the music room, and the clapping and stomping of feet told him they danced. If his mother learned he hadn’t said hello, he’d never hear the end of it.
He changed his coat, but refused to don dancing slippers and black trousers for a brief stroll around the room. He discovered the guests weren’t dressed formally, so he felt comfortable.
Well, as comfortable as possible when he expected to be introduced to any single young woman in attendance whom he’d yet to have the pleasure of meeting.
Remaining in the doorway, he planned his maneuver—first to Mother, while greeting everyone he passed along the way, then to Lavinia. Once those obligations were done, he could escape, having removed any possible reason for chastisement.
That irked him more than anything. He was nine-and-twenty years old, and still his mother harped on his behavior.
He saw Motheer in the connecting doorway to the withdrawing room. Before he could make even one step in that direction, however, his path was blocked.
“Lord Markham, how pleasant to see you.” Lady Matilda was one of his sister’s closest friends, but often a thorn in his side. At times, he wondered if she deliberately sought him out as more than just her friend’s brother.
He bowed. “You knew I had to come.”
“Had to come? To your sister’s wedding?” Her eyebrows were nearly hidden beneath the curls across her forehead, but her eyes laughed at him.
He shot a glance around the room. “You know me too well to pretend to question my interest in having guests or being happy to see Lavinia wed.”
“Ah, but there was a time you weren’t pleased to see her with Ringley.”
She’d opened herself to teasing by bringing up how his sister and the viscount fell in love. “I don’t believe I ever heard whom you were supposed to kiss. I have a limited number of respectable friends—although someone wrote Ringley on that list, so respectability clearly wasn’t a requirement.”
Mattie nibbled her lower lip to hide her smile. “What fun would we have stealing a kiss from a respectable man? Why, he might insist on a wedding!”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “I fear for the man you marry. He’ll never know what to expect. I must make my greetings. Will you walk with me?”
“Of course.”
He strolled as slowly as he could, feigning interest in the guests. Having Mattie beside him saved him from stopping to chat in most cases. He could smile and nod and move along.
He spoke softly so only Mattie would hear. “Please tell me you, Clara, and Selena don’t plan to continue your game.”
She coughed, then cleared her throat. “Of course not. There’s little point since Lavinia already won. Why would we wish to come in second, or third, or…?” She gasped.
“Be advised, you’re practically sisters to me, so I’ll be as harsh on those poor souls as I was on Ringley.”
“Lord Markham, I think it best we aren’t discussing kissing when we reach my parents.” Mattie’s smile was quite smug while her eyelashes fluttered.
He gave her a side glance, shaking his head. “Minx.”
Unable to do anything less while walking with their daughter, he paused in front of the Earl and Countess of Abernethy. “Good evening. I hope your stay has been pleasant. When did you arrive?”
“Yesterday,” Lady Abernethy answered.
“Good, then you missed the bit of rain this morning.”
“You must be delighted to see your sister wed,” the earl said.
More than the man knew, after the girls had their wager last year. “I’ve never seen her so happy. Excuse me, but I must greet my parents.”
Mattie continued to stroll beside him. She was the rare female he’d met who was capable of remaining silent for longish periods, which he appreciated. On this night, however, he wished she was chattering away so he wouldn’t have heard her parents.
“It’s not at all surprising,” Lord Abernethy said, to whom Markham couldn’t see. “They’ve been good friends these many years.”
Any thought Markham had that they discussed Lavinia and Ringley was shattered by Lady Abernethy. “And just imagine, our Matilda will be a duchess!”
“Well, not right away,” Abernethy said hurriedly. “The current duke should have a good many years left in him.
A light brush on his sleeve brought his attention to Mattie. Her face glowed red, and tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
“I would never blame you.” He huffed out a breath while calming himself to speak gently. “Your parents would be foolish to allow you to marry anyone but a duke.”
He bit back a groan. He’d be a duke one day, so he hadn’t done well deflecting the insinuation they would marry.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
His sister stood with their parents. “Lavinia, look who I brought you,” he said a bit louder than necessary. If anyone hadn’t already overheard the Abernethys, they’d catch the gossip as it spread.
“Mattie, I wondered where you got off to. Come. Mr. Ulchester was asking about you.” Lavinia grabbed her friend’s hand and led her away.
Mother caught Markham’s face between her cool hands. “I’d begun to wonder if you planned to arrive mere moments before the wedding.”
He placed a kiss on her cheek. “And miss all the dancing and trivialities of the next few days?”
Father muttered, “You’ve got the right about that.”
Markham smiled and stepped away from his mother’s clutching hands. Sometimes he felt she was afraid he would vanish if she didn’t hold tightly to him. “I could use a drink after my journey, Father.”
“I’ll join you. We have much to catch up on.”
When they were seated in the library, swirling his father’s fine brandy in their glasses, an amiable quiet settled between them.
Father was first to speak. “Did you bring that wastrel Ringley with you?”
“Don’t let Lavinia hear you call him that. I spoke to him, and expect him to arrive in the morning.”
“He’d better.”
Markham had no worries about him. The love he saw in his friend’s eyes when he looked at Lavinia told him how much the couple cared for each other. He changed the subject. “What do you know of Sir Rollo Walford?”
“I know the name, but not the man.”
“What have you heard about him?”
“There was talk about his having been banned from the Jockey Club for cheating.”
Nodding, Markham considered that. If Sir Rollo had given up the horses, there was little wonder why he gambled so heavily in the gaming hells. “Ringley thinks he’s cheating at Vingt-et-un.”
“That’s harder to prove. He could be quite skilled at counting cards and no one could catch him at it.”
Explaining his suspicions, Markham filled in the details.
“I don’t know how you can prove that,” Father replied. “Wait a moment. Did you say Ringley suspected him? What is he doing at those tables? Weren’t you firm enough in your warning, should he be caught gambling again?”
“It was in favor to a friend who lost quite a sum to Sir Rollo. And Ringley is careful not to stay too long when the cards aren’t falling his way.”
Father tapped a finger against his glass, then set it on the table between them. “He’d better. I won’t have Lavinia suffer the embarrassment and deprivation a gambler might bring her. You’re aware your mother has been looking for a suitable woman for you?”
“She’s done so since I was born.” Markham grimaced and tossed back the last of his drink before pouring another.
“Yes, well. This time she’s looking for a willing bride.”
“They’re as rare as hens’ teeth, is my guess. Who would marry the Miscreant?”
“Any young lady who knew you better than that. There must be some who’d make a good duchess, as well.”
“I hope she doesn’t encourage anyone, since I don’t plan to marry.”
“Still obstinate, I see. I made my father wait until I was thirty-four before finding the woman I desired…your mother, of course.”
“Good, you can convince Mother to leave me to my own devices. Standing witness for Lavinia is as close as I plan to be to an altar for the indefinite future.”