Page 53 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
It seemed an eternity before the carriage at last stopped on the street before a large house bordered by tall white columns. There were at least three levels to it, and each one contained several large windows whose panes shimmered in the sunlight.
“My townhouse,” Luke said, and Lizzie watched as the black-lacquered front door, which had been polished to a high shine, opened to reveal a footman heading for the carriage. That vague, unsettled feeling returned full force as the footman offered her a hand to help her from the carriage, and Luke climbed out behind her.
For a moment she could only stare at the tall, imposing house that would be her home from this day onward, her feet rooted to the ground as if any movement might invite that great black door to snap her up and swallow her whole.
“Well?”
Luke’s voice startled her out of her dazed reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
“The house,” he said, jerking his head toward it. “I admit it lacks a certain…rustic charm to which you might be accustomed.”
Rustic charm. As if she had grown up in a groundskeeper’s cottage! Lizzie managed a wan, thin-lipped smile. “It’s…nice, I suppose.”
“Nice!” Luke reared back as if she had struck out at him. “I’ll have you know that Grosvenor Square is a very fashionable address.”
“Is it?” Of course, she was aware of that much. Even out in the countryside, those that went to London for the Season brought back tales of its grandeur.
“Yes, you insufferable harridan.” With an exasperated laugh, he caught her by the elbow and dragged her toward the door. “I suppose we’ll just have to see whether the inside meets with more than your begrudging approval, then.”
Lizzie stumbled after him, intensely aware of the state of her gown—wrinkled and missing a button—and the wild tumble of her hair, which she had been unable to wrestle back into any sort of order. He dragged her over the threshold as she imagined Hades might have pulled Persephone down into the underworld, and the worn soles of her shoes skidded across the marble floor.
They were not alone. The butler she had expected—in homes that could afford such staff, of course there would be a butler present to manage visitors, or to greet his employer upon his return home from a long journey.
But the woman who stood in the center of the room, arms akimbo and bristling with indignation she hadnotexpected.
Luke paused, dropping her arm as surprise overtook his features. “Susan,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
A furious sound erupted from the woman’s mouth, and she seemed to puff up rather like an angry hen. Her ivory skirts swished across the floor with an effortless grace, but hidden beneath the hem of her gown, her footsteps resounded like gunshots upon the marble. “You have beenmissed,” she hissed, her mouth twisting. “Did you forget that you were meant to attend my ball Friday last?”
“Regrettably, I did,” Luke said. “I found myself otherwise engaged.”
“Your absence wasnoted!”
“I’ll just bet it was.” The surly tone of Luke’s voice surprised Lizzie. “Perhaps if you’d cease casting frothy little debutantes at my head, I’d be more inclined to attend your entertainments.”
“Anyoneof thosefrothy little debutantesmight have been the next Marchioness of Ashworth!”
“They damned well would not have, and it’s irrelevant now, besides.” With one hand, he gave a vague motion to Lizzie. “My wife, Lizzie. Lizzie, this is my sister, Susan, the Countess of Sudley.”
Lizzie felt her mouth drop open in shock. “You have asister?” Though she might’ve known, if she hadn’t been so very surprised. It was clear that Susan was the elder, but they shared that deep, rich brown hair, the same bright blue eyes, the square jaw that was softened only slightly in Susan.
Luke shrugged, fiddling with his cuffs. “Lots of people have sisters. You’vegot two of them.”
Yes, but—at least she’d thought tomentionthem. They wereknownto him. And she’d had no idea at all of his. That odd, unsettled feeling in her stomach wrenched tighter, grew larger. He had an entirelifehere to which she had not been privy, and while it wasn’t precisely a terrible thing to discover that he had a sister, it felt like a warning, an ill omen.
She’d married a man she hardly knew.
Susan had recovered herself enough from her own surprise to gasp, “Yourwife?”
Luke heaved a particularly dramatic sigh, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Susan, I do so loathe repeating myself. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to get my wife acquainted with her new home before the rest of her family arrives from Hatfield.”
“Hatfield,” Susan echoed in a tone of wonder, and there was a strange shift in her expression, from open-mouthed horror to something rather like pity. From the way the woman’s gaze raked over her in an openly assessing manner, Lizzie felt rather that she was being measured up and no doubt had fallen far short of what she ought to have been. Probably Susan had imagined her brother’s bride somewhat differently. Perhapsaltogetherdifferently.
Squaring her shoulders, Susan said, “I assume this alleged wedding is quite a recent occurrence.”
“Only this morning,” Luke said. “You would have been invited, of course, except that I didn’t particularly wish to invite you.” To Lizzie, he added, “She might have tried to talk me out of it.”
“Of course I would have done!” Susan snapped, which Lizzie thought was rather rude of her. Shaking herself of her pique, Susan collected herself once more and said, “No matter. There is still time, then, to have it annulled.”
