How to Marry a Marquis Read online

  She nodded, picked up a book that was sitting on the table next to her, and drew from its pages a single sheet of paper. Silently, she held it out to him.

  James gently tossed the cat onto the carpet and stood. He took a few steps in his aunt’s direction and took the letter. Still standing, he looked down at the paper in his hands and read.

  Lady D—

  I know your secrets. And I know your daughter’s secrets. My silence will cost you.

  James looked up. “Is that all?”

  Agatha shook her head and held out another sheet of paper. “I received this one as well.”

  James took it.

  Lady D—

  Five hundred pounds for my silence. Leave it in a plain sack behind The Bag of Nails Friday at midnight. Tell no one. Do not disappoint me.

  “The Bag of Nails?” James asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “It’s the local public house.”

  “Did you leave the money?”

  She nodded, shamefaced. “But only because I knew you couldn’t be here by Friday.”

  James paused while he decided how best to frame his next statement. “I think,” he said gently, “that you had better tell me about this secret.”

  Agatha shook her head. “It is too embarrassing. I cannot.”

  “Agatha, you know that I am discreet. And you know I love you like a mother. Whatever you tell me shall never go beyond these walls.” When she did nothing other than bite her lip, he asked, “Which daughter shares this secret?”

  “Melissa,” Agatha whispered. “But she doesn’t know.”

  James closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. He knew what was coming next and decided to save his aunt the embarrassment of having to say it herself. “She’s illegitimate, isn’t she?”

  Agatha nodded. “I had an affair. It lasted only a month. Oh, I was so young and so silly then.”

  James fought to keep his shock off of his face. His aunt had always been such a stickler for propriety; it was inconceivable that she could have dallied ouside of marriage. But, as she said, she’d been young and perhaps a little foolish, and after all she’d done for him in his life, he didn’t feel he had the right to judge her. Agatha had been his savior, and if the need arose, he would lay down his life for her without a second’s hesitation.

  Agatha smiled sadly. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  James weighed his words carefully before asking, “Your fear, then, is that your blackmailer will reveal this to society and shame Melissa?”

  “I don’t give a fig about society,” Agatha said with a huff. “Half the lot of them are bastards themselves. Probably two-thirds of those not firstborn. It’s Melissa I fear for. She’s safely married to an earl, so the scandal won’t touch her, but she was so close to Lord Danbury. He always said she was his special favorite. It would break her heart if she were to learn that he was not her true father.”

  James didn’t remember Lord Danbury being much closer to Melissa than he was to any of his other children. In fact, he didn’t recall Lord Danbury being close to his children, period. He had been a genial man, but distant. Definitely of the “children belong in the nursery and should be brought down for viewing no more than once a day” variety. Still, if Agatha felt that Melissa had been Lord Danbury’s special favorite, who was he to argue?

  “What are we going to do, James?” Agatha asked. “You are the only person I trust to help me through this unpleasantness. And with your background—”

  “Have you received any more notes?” James interrupted. His aunt knew that he had once worked for the War Office. There was no harm in that, as he was no longer an active operative, but Agatha was ever curious, and always asking him about his exploits. And there were some things one just didn’t want to discuss with one’s aunt. Not to mention the fact that James could get himself hanged for divulging some of the information he’d learned over the years.

  Agatha shook her head. “No. No notes.”

  “I’ll do a bit of preliminary investigating, but I suspect we won’t learn anything until you receive another letter.”

  “You think there will be another one?”

  James nodded grimly. “Blackmailers don’t know how to quit while ahead. It’s their fatal flaw. In the meantime, I shall play at being your new estate manager. But I do wonder how you expect me to do this without being recognized.”

  “I thought not being recognized was your particular forte.”

  “It is,” he replied easily, “but unlike France, Spain, and even the south coast, I grew up here. Or at least I almost did.”

  Agatha’s eyes suddenly lost their focus. James knew that she was thinking of his childhood, of all the times she’d faced his father in silent, angry showdowns, insisting that James was better off with the Danburys. “No one will recognize you,” she finally assured him.

  “Cribbins?”

  “He passed on last year.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” He’d always liked the old butler.

  “The new one is adequate, I suppose, although he had the effrontery the other day to ask me to call him Wilson.”

  James didn’t know why he bothered, but he asked, “That wouldn’t be his name, would it?”

  “I suppose,” she said with a little huff. “But how am I to remember that?”

  “You just did.”

  She scowled at him. “If he’s my butler, I’m calling him Cribbins. At my age it’s dangerous to make any big changes.”

  “Agatha,” James said, with far more patience than he felt, “may we return to the matter at hand?”

  “About your being recognized.”

  “Yes.”

  “Everyone’s gone. You haven’t visited me for nearly ten years.”

  James ignored her accusing tone. “I see you all the time in London and you know it.”

  “It doesn’t count.”

  He refused to ask why. He knew she was dying to give him a reason. “Is there anything in particular I need to know before assuming my role as estate manager?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “What would you need to know? I raised you properly. You should know everything there is to know about land management.”

  That much was true, although James had preferred to let managers watch over his estates since he’d assumed the title. It was easier, since he didn’t particularly enjoy spending time at Riverdale Castle. “Very well, then,” he said, standing up. “As long as Cribbins the First is no longer with us—God rest his eternally patient soul—”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  His head fell slightly forward and to the side in an extremely sarcastic fashion. “Anyone who butlered for you for forty years deserves to be canonized.”

  “Impertinent bugger,” she muttered.

  “Agatha!”

  “What’s the use of holding my tongue at my age?”

  He shook his head. “As I was trying to say earlier, as long as Cribbins is gone, being your estate manager is as good a disguise as any. Besides, I rather fancy spending some time out-of-doors while the weather is fine.”

  “London was stifling?”

  “Very.”

  “The air or the people?”

  James grinned. “Both. Now, then, just tell me where to put my things. Oh, and Aunt Agatha”—he leaned down and kissed her cheek—“it’s damned fine to see you.”

  She smiled. “I love you, too, James.”

  By the time Elizabeth reached her home, she was out of breath and covered with mud. She’d been so anxious to be away from Danbury House that she’d practically run the first quarter mile. Unfortunately, it had been a particularly wet summer in Surrey, and Elizabeth had never been especially coordinated. And as for that protruding tree root—well, there was really no way to avoid it, and so, with a splat, Elizabeth saw her best dress ruined.

  Not that her best dress was in particularly good condition. There certainly wasn’t enough money in the Hotchkiss coffers for new clothing unless one
had completely outgrown one’s old garments. But still, Elizabeth had some pride, and if she couldn’t dress her family in the first stare of fashion, at the very least she could make certain they were all neat and clean.

  Now there was mud caked onto her velvet sash, and even worse, she’d actually stolen a book from Lady Danbury. And not just any book. She’d stolen what had to be the stupidest, most asinine book in the history of book-binding. And all because she had to auction herself off to the highest bidder.

  She swallowed as tears formed in her eyes. What if there were no bidders? Then where would she be?

  Elizabeth stamped her feet on the front stoop to shake off the mud, then pushed her way through the front door of her small house. She tried to sneak through the hall and up the stairs to her room without anyone seeing her, but Susan was too fast.

  “Good heavens! What happened to you?”

  “I slipped,” Elizabeth ground out, never taking her eyes off of the stairs.

  “Again?”

  That was enough to make her twist around and stab her sister with a murderous glare. “What do you mean, again?”

  Susan coughed. “Nothing.”

  Elizabeth swung back around with every intention of marching to and up the stairs, but her hand connected with a side table. “Owwwww!” she howled.

  “Ooh,” Susan said, wincing in sympathy. “I’ll bet that hurts.”

  Elizabeth just stared at her, eyes narrowing into angry slits.

  “Terribly sorry,” Susan said quickly, clearly recognizing her sister’s bad mood.

  “I am going to my room,” Elizabeth said, enunciating every word as if careful diction would somehow remove her to her private chamber more quickly. “And then I am going to lie down and take a nap. And if anyone bothers me, I shall not answer to the consequences.”

  Susan nodded. “Jane and Lucas are out playing in the garden. I shall make certain they are quiet if they return.”

  “Good, I—Owwwwwwww!”

  Susan winced. “What now?”

  Elizabeth bent down and picked up a small metal object. One of Lucas’s toy soldiers. “Is there any reason,” she said, “that this is sitting on the floor where anyone may step upon it?”

  “None that I can think of,” Susan said with a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

  Elizabeth just sighed. “I am not having a good day.”

  “No, I didn’t think you were.”

  Elizabeth tried to smile, but all she did was stretch her lips. She just couldn’t manage to get the corners to turn up.

  “Would you like me to bring you a cup of tea?” Susan asked gently.

  Elizabeth nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I’ll just—What’s that in your bag?”

  “What?”

  “That book.”

  Elizabeth cursed under her breath and shoved the book down under a handkerchief. “It’s nothing.”

  “Did you borrow a book from Lady Danbury?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve read everything we possess. Not that we possess much any longer.”

  Elizabeth just nodded and tried to dash past her.

  “I know it broke your heart to sell off the books,” Susan said, “but it did pay for Lucas’s Latin lessons.”

  “I really must go—”

  “Can I see the book? I should like to read it.”

  “You can’t,” Elizabeth snapped, her voice coming out much louder than she’d have liked.

  Susan drew back. “I beg your pardon.”

  “I have to return it tomorrow. That’s all. You won’t have time to read it.”

  “Can’t I just look at it?”

  “No!”

  Susan lunged forward. “I want to see it.”

  “I said no!” Elizabeth hopped to the right, just barely managing to elude her sister’s grasp, and then dashed toward the stairs. But just as her foot hit the first step, she felt Susan’s hand grabbing the fabric of her skirts.

  “I have you!” Susan grunted.

  “Let me go!”

  “Not until you show me that book.”

  “Susan, I am your guardian and I order you to—”

  “You’re my sister, and I want to see what you’re hiding.”

  Reason wasn’t going to work, Elizabeth decided, so she grabbed her skirt and yanked hard, which only resulted in her slipping off the step and her bag tumbling to the floor.

  “Aha!” Susan yelled triumphantly, snatching up the book.

  Elizabeth groaned.

  “HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS?” Susan looked up, her expression somewhat puzzled and wholly amused.

  “It’s just a silly book.” Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm. “I just thought…that is, I thought I—”

  “A marquis?” Susan asked dubiously. “Setting rather lofty goals for ourselves, aren’t we?”

  “For the love of God,” Elizabeth snapped, “I’m not going to marry a marquis. But the book might have some sort of useful advice in it, since I have to marry someone, and nobody is asking.”

  “Except Squire Nevins,” Susan murmured, flipping through the pages.

  Elizabeth swallowed down a little dash of bile. The thought of Squire Nevins touching her, kissing her…it made her skin turn to ice. But if he was the only way she could save her family…

  She squeezed her eyes shut. There had to be something in that book that would teach her how to find a husband. Anything!

  “This is really quite interesting,” Susan said, plopping down on the carpet next to Elizabeth. “Listen to this: ‘Edict Number One—’”

  “Edict?” Elizabeth echoed. “There are edicts?”

  “Apparently so. I say, this business of catching a husband is more complicated than I’d thought.”

  “Just tell me what the edict is.”

  Susan blinked and looked back down. “‘Be unique. But not too unique.’”

  “What the devil does that mean?” Elizabeth exploded. “If that isn’t the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’m putting that book back tomorrow. Who is this Mrs. Seeton, anyway? Not a marchioness, so I don’t see why I should listen—”

  “No, no,” Susan said, waving her arm at her sister without looking at her. “That’s just the title of the edict. She goes on to explain.”

  “I’m not certain I want to hear this,” Elizabeth grumbled.

  “It’s actually quite interesting.”

  “Give me that.” Elizabeth snatched the book back from her sister and read silently:

  IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU BE A WOMAN WHO IS WHOLLY UNIQUE. THE MAGIC THAT IS YOU MUST ENTRANCE YOUR LORD UNTIL HE CANNOT SEE THE ROOM BEYOND YOUR FACE.

  Elizabeth snorted. “‘The magic that is you’? ‘See the room beyond your face’? Where did this woman learn how to write? A perfumery?”

  “I think the bit about the room and your face is rather romantic,” Susan said with a shrug.

  Elizabeth ignored her. “Where is the bit about not being too unique? Ah, here it is.”

  YOU MUST STRIVE TO CONTAIN YOUR UNIQUENESS SO THAT ONLY HE MAY SEE IT. YOU MUST PROVE TO HIM THAT YOU WILL BE AN ASSET AS HIS WIFE. NO LORD OF THE REALM WISHES TO BE SHACKLED TO EMBARRASSMENT AND SCANDAL.

  “Did you get to the part about the shackles yet?” Susan asked.

  Elizabeth ignored her and kept on reading.

  IN OTHER WORDS, YOU MUST STAND OUT IN A CROWD, BUT ONLY IN HIS CROWD. FOR HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO MATTERS.

  Elizabeth looked up. “There is a problem here.”

  “There is?”

  “Yes.” She tapped her finger against her forehead, as was her habit whenever she was thinking hard on a subject. “All of this presupposes that I have set my sights on a single male.”

  Susan’s eyes bugged out. “You certainly cannot set your sights on a married man!”

  “I meant one particular man,” Elizabeth retorted, swatting her sister on the shoulder.

  “
I see. Well, Mrs. Seeton does have a point. You cannot marry two.”

  Elizabeth pulled a face. “Of course not. But I should think I must indicate my interest in more than one if I am to secure a proposal. Didn’t Mother always say we must not place all of our eggs in one basket?”

  “Hmmm,” Susan mused, “you have a point. I shall research the matter this evening.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  But Susan had already sprung to her feet and was dashing up the stairs. “I shall read the book tonight,” she called out from the landing, “and I shall report to you in the morning.”

  “Susan!” Elizabeth used her sternest voice. “Bring that book back to me immediately.”

  “Have no fear! I shall have worked out our strategy by breakfast!” And the next thing Elizabeth heard was the sound of a key turning in a lock as Susan barricaded herself in the room she shared with Jane.

  “Breakfast?” Elizabeth muttered. “Is she planning to skip supper, then?”

  Apparently she was. No one saw hide nor hair of Susan, nor even heard the veriest peep from her room. The Hotchkiss clan numbered only three that night at the table, and poor little Jane couldn’t even get into her room to go to bed and had to sleep with Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth was not amused. Jane was a sweetheart, but she stole all the blankets.

  When Elizabeth went down to breakfast the next morning, Susan was already at the table, little red book in hand. Elizabeth noted grimly that the kitchen showed no signs of use.

  “Couldn’t you have started breakfast?” she asked grumpily, searching the cupboard for eggs.

  “I’ve been busy,” Susan replied. “Very busy.”

  Elizabeth didn’t reply. Blast. Only three eggs. She’d have to go without and hope that Lady Danbury was planning a hearty luncheon that day. She positioned an iron skillet on a tripod over the hearth fire and cracked the three eggs open.

  Susan got the hint and started slicing bread for toast. “Some of these rules aren’t so terribly difficult,” she said as she worked. “I think even you could follow them.”

  “I am overwhelmed by your confidence in me,” Elizabeth said dryly.

  “In fact, you should begin practicing now. Isn’t Lady Danbury going to host a party later in the summer? There will surely be prospective husbands in attendance.”