Page 5 of The Marchioness of his Desire
Laura looked up at her. “Are you certain?”
Rebecca nodded her head. “I am quite certain. In fact, I give you my word on this. Please do not worry, my darling. Right now, I must kiss you good-night and hurry below” Rebecca placed one last kiss on Laura’s brow, quietly closed the door, and hurried down the stairs.
* * *
The coach rattled through the cobbled streets, bringing him closer to the encounter he dreaded.
Twenty-six-year-old Lord Nicholas Lowood, Marquess of Somerset, rubbed the carriage glass impatiently. Waning light from the late April sun wove a pattern through his fingers.
He hated small spaces, even for short periods of time. A view through the window, however bleak, still merited favor with him. His companion, twenty-five-year-old Ian Bennet, chuckled.
“Have done, man. You shan’t see anything save poor urchins running alongside, hoping to catch a few pence from you.”
Lowood grunted and pulled his hand back from the window.
“I know.” He glanced at Bennet. “Thank you for meeting me this afternoon, Ian.”
Ian grinned. “My pleasure, Nick. I always enjoy our discussions, and, I must add, I am curiously eager to make the acquaintance of the Duchess.”
Nicholas snorted. “That eagerness shall soon be quenched, my friend. You are very near to bearding the dragon in her den.”
“Perhaps so. Still …” Ian lifted his hand and feigned an examination of his fingernails. “One wonders what sort of woman could capture the attention of a man as formidable as your exalted sire. Gossip, you know, has her as either the most retiring and docile creature to be found or …” He paused and shot another grin at Nicholas. “Or as a partner of equal, or even superior, cunning – directing and ordering the lives of those around her to suit her personal whims.”
“Interesting. As sole surviving progeny of the match, I would be imprudent to comment on such delicate family matters. You shall have to judge for yourself.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, although Nicholas’ thoughts darkened. Despite what people thought, he had no reason to rejoice in his homecoming. Quite the opposite, in fact.
His mother was sure to be working some plot or another, intent on keeping herself the center of attention among her cronies. As long as she left him out of it, he would leave her to her devices. She had already done enough damage to last him a lifetime, though Nicholas wondered what was worse: an interfering mother or an absent father. His own, the Duke, was ever away on business in the colonies, a business which was more concerned with women and wine than the amassing of fortune.
He closed his eyes and visions of his last meeting with Rebecca flashed into his mind. His mother’s poisonous tongue had finally shattered the only true friendship he had ever had.
He could not blame Rebecca, although she had immediately assumed the worst of him. He could not bring himself to confess the reasons for his behavior, so she had believed the rumors spread by an ever scandal-hungry ton, and he had lost her.
The carriage jolted over a rough spot and jarred him out of his reverie.
“Finished brooding, have you?”
He opened his eyes and gave Ian a lopsided smile. Stretching his long limbs inside the coach proved challenging, but he did so anyway.
“Well, Ian. What other gossip have you to share? Anything of note or absurdity occur during my absence?”
“Some events which might be of mild interest to you, I believe.”
“Go on, pray.”
Ian tipped his head back. He looked Nicholas in the eye, sighed, and refocused his gaze out the window.
“I believe I do have news of a somewhat … personal … nature that will interest you.”
“Have you, indeed? Do tell, now. Do not keep me in suspense.” Nicholas leaned back. “What could possibly interest me about the affairs of the merchant class? No — wait — do not tell. Let me guess.”
Ian smiled. “Very well, then. Guess away!”
Nicholas sat forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “You are to be married.” He slapped his hand against his leg. “Congratulations, old man! Not a state I ever plan to enter upon myself, but you, on the other hand, are excellent husband material. Who, pray, is the fortunate maiden?”
Ian laughed long and loud. “No, no. Not I, Nick. You know me better than that. ‘Tis rumored though, that someone of your acquaintance is soon to enter that state.”
“Truly? Well, do enlighten me. Perhaps I can save the poor blackguard from making a mistake.”
