Make Me a Marchioness Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Epilogue

  Also by Gemma Blackwood

  Copyright © 2017 by Gemma Blackwood.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  "I won't do it," said Julia, setting her heavy bag down on the cobblestones. "Whatever the cost, I refuse to begin my new life with a lie."

  She waved away the footman who stood ready to take her luggage. It still felt strange to have servants available to cater to her every need. In any case, there was no point getting used to it. That luxury would soon be gone.

  "It is not a lie!" exclaimed the Dowager Duchess of Westbourne. Julia was familiar with the myriad outrages which crossed the Duchess's face daily. This particular expression, wrinkled lips pursed and eyes wide, portrayed injured innocence. An innocence the Duchess could truthfully lay no claim to.

  "How can you expect the Marquess to accept me as a governess unless we lie about my..." Julia swallowed. It still hurt her to think of the past. "My background?"

  "By being judicious with the truth, my dear." The Duchess patted her arm with a hand encased in an exquisite silk glove. "I will let the Marquess know every detail about your good character, and nothing more than that."

  "It smacks of deception. I cannot approve it." Julia listened to her own steady voice, hardly able to believe the words came from her own lips. Just imagine – Miss Julia Mallory, a nobody from Seven Dials, arguing with a Duchess!

  It was among the most unbelievable of the twists her life had lately taken.

  "Let me assure you, Julia, a Duchess does not deceive. It is out of the question. Neither does a Duchess muddy a situation with unnecessary truths. She speaks only what is necessary. That will serve us well here."

  Julia could not help but laugh at her friend's lofty attitude. "And if it all comes to light?" she asked. "My brother – his depravity – my true father – what will I do when the Marquess turns me onto the street in disgust?"

  The Duchess put an arm through hers. Julia stumbled under the sudden excess of weight; she was a rather small woman, and the Duchess was not. "My dear, if the Marquess is not pleased with you, I will take you into my service as a lady's companion. You have nothing to fret about at all."

  Julia pretended to agree. Inwardly, her heart trembled with trepidation.

  If the truth about her family were ever revealed, she knew she could not seek refuge in the Duchess's service. Society would never accept her as a companion to a respectable lady of the ton.

  She would be alone.

  "Let me do the talking, my dear," the Duchess whispered as they were shown into the Marquess's handsome townhouse. "All you need do is smile."

  Fortunately for Julia, smiling came easily. She had spent her life smiling in the face of her brother's wild moods. Surely, after that, a Marquess could not be so awful?

  The moment she entered his drawing room she realised that awful was not the word.

  The Marquess was everything she had not expected. Tall, with a well-shaped figure that spoke of strength and power, dark-haired with a faint smattering of silver at the temples, and above all, handsome. Julia hated to admit it to herself – surely she was mature enough not to think of such silly things? – but he was, in a distant and dark-eyed way, one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

  As his eyes passed over her she felt that he was curiously unpicking every detail about her dress, her pinned-up hair, her bonnet, her gloves, and reading into them all the secrets she would rather he did not discover. She had never encountered such a deeply intelligent set of eyes. It made her regret allowing the Duchess to purchase her new wardrobe. Far better to appear in her own clothes, modest though they might be. At least, then, she would be playing no part but herself.

  Julia remembered a piece of the Duchess's advice from that morning. "Pull yourself together, girl! The Marquess is only a man!" She concealed a smile at the memory. A man – flesh and blood, after all, and with no reason to suspect her. She had been momentarily startled by the fact that he looked younger than she imagined, that was all. The Duchess had described a staid, somewhat melancholy man of five-and-forty, and Julia had pictured a balding head and a pot belly. Nothing could be further from the reality.

  The Marquess made an elegant bow. "Your Grace. It is always such a pleasure. And this must be your friend, Miss Mallory?"

  "Indeed," said the Duchess, pushing Julia forward. "Miss Mallory, I present Charles Harding, Marquess of Chiltern."

  "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." He had a deep, dark-chocolate voice that matched his looks perfectly. Julia did not think of herself as a person who blushed, but she felt a distinct strawberry hue enter her cheeks as she curtseyed. What on earth had gotten into her? It wouldn't do any good at all to begin simpering after her employer. She did her best to squash the flutters in her stomach.

  If she was going to land this job, she needed to concentrate.

  "Is Lady Annabelle at home?" asked the Duchess. "Miss Mallory is so good with children, I'm sure it will be love at first sight."

  Julia couldn't believe her friend's brazenness! A Duchess does not deceive, indeed! The Duchess had no idea whether Julia was good with children or not; she had never seen Julia interact with a child at all.

  "Annabelle is at home in Chiltern, in the care of Mrs Potter, my housekeeper. She has grown up under the care of a nurse, but she has now outgrown Miss Kelsey's skills." Charles gestured to the sofa, inviting the ladies to sit. "My daughter requires a feminine touch in her upbringing; something I am not able to provide myself. She needs an educated woman, a forward-thinking woman. Someone who can teach her the ways of the ton in addition to drawing, singing, languages, and the usual female accomplishments."

  The Duchess clasped her hands together. "My lord, you are describing Julia to perfection!"

  Julia coughed, alarmed. Charles narrowed his eyes. "Is something wrong, Miss Mallory?"

  "I do not speak any foreign languages," Julia admitted. She took care
not to glance at the Duchess.

  "That is no great concern. I can engage a tutor for French and Italian when Annabelle is old enough. I have made my own endeavours to teach her, but I am too often away from home to take it on seriously. I must admit, Miss Mallory, that while your doubtless fine mind is of concern to me, it is not my chief object in considering you. You are much better-connected than the average governess. To count the Duchess of Westbourne among your friends is no small thing, and I am told that the present Duke considers you one of the family. Is that correct?"

  The Duchess answered for her, covering Julia's hand with hers and giving a silky smile. "Julia's father was extremely dear to me. It is for his sake that our family considers her one of our own." She squeezed Julia's hand. "All the same, I do not think I am blinded by partiality when I say that Julia is one of the finest young women of my acquaintance."

  Julia thought she detected a flicker of amusement in the Marquess's eyes. Clearly, Charles was not as easily taken in as the Duchess imagined.

  "I wonder how Miss Mallory will fare in Chiltern? We are close enough to London, certainly, but her duties as governess will keep her away from her friends... should I choose to employ her."

  "It will suit me very well to leave London," said Julia, wishing to speak for herself as much as possible. Her reasons for leaving were not fit for the Marquess's ears, but she could not allow the Duchess to fabricate any more stories to cover the deception. "I think I will enjoy a quiet, country life very much. London society does not suit me." Indeed, even after some weeks as the Duchess's companion, she hardly had the nerve to conduct herself properly around the Dukes and Earls who frequented Amberley House.

  The Marquess leaned forward and fixed her with those mesmerising eyes. "You strike me as a very honest woman, Miss Mallory. That is the second time you have admitted to a flaw."

  Julia could not hold his gaze. "I do not wish to deceive you, my lord. If you are to entrust your daughter to my care, you must know who I am." The knowledge that she had not, and could not, tell him all that she was cut into her like a knife. He was right; she had always prized honesty. Now, she was lying by omission.

  The Marquess sat back. Julia felt something between relief and disappointment as his steady gaze turned elsewhere. "I am satisfied. Thus far. Miss Mallory, I asked you to bring a selection of drawings for me. I am a great lover of art, as you will discover. Annabelle's artistic education is of vital importance."

  Julia took out a small sketchbook from her reticule. She suppressed a twinge of nervousness as she handed it over. The Duchess had warned her to bring her drawings along, but not that the Marquess placed such value on them.

  He leafed through the sketchbook with animated interest. It was almost possible to tell which of her simple pictures he was looking at by the expressions which crossed his face: pleasure, surprise, analysis, concentration.

  "Your style is more revivalist than romantic, Miss Mallory."

  "Indeed, I can make no pretensions to any style at all. I draw only what I see before me."

  "And yet your pictures, by their very fidelity to what you see, illuminate a greater beauty beyond the mere physical world."

  "It is nothing more than a hobby, my lord."

  He closed the sketchbook. "I should very much like to see what you consider a serious pursuit."

  "Education," Julia answered feelingly. "I believe above all things that a woman should be educated. She should be made aware of the wider world and her own place in it."

  "That is a strikingly modern way of thinking, Miss Mallory."

  "How else may she rise above her circumstances, should the need arise?"

  The corner of the Marquess's mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. "Lady Annabelle is my daughter. At birth, she had already risen above any circumstances you might name – do you not agree?"

  "Julia sings!" interrupted the Duchess, rapping her cane on the floor, before Julia could answer in too modern a fashion. "You ask for something she takes seriously, my lord – well, I think you will not be displeased with her attention to music."

  "Is that so?" The Marquess raised an eyebrow, and Julia wished the floor would swallow her.

  "Music has ever been my solace, my lord." In her brother's house, sometimes playing her little pianoforte and singing aloud was the only way to drown out the sounds of male schemes not meant for her ears. But it was a pleasure meant for herself alone, not for public display. Julia had never longed for a wider audience for her musical efforts.

  "Do you desire to hear her, my lord?" asked the Duchess, quite oblivious to her friend's discomfort. The Marquess's penetrating gaze touched on Julia's bowed head.

  "I do not want Miss Mallory to feel she is an animal on display in the Royal Menagerie."

  "Nonsense! She has such a lovely voice. Julia, dear, give the Marquess a quick taste of that charming little folk ditty you were singing yesterday in the garden."

  Julia's throat dried the instant the Marquess gave her a nod. She doubted she could make any noise at all. "May I have a glass of water first?"

  To her surprise, rather than calling for a servant, the Marquess stood up of his own accord and went to the side table, where a jug of water stood. He spilled a little on his glove, and removed it, making a soft sound of displeasure. As he handed her the glass she noticed that his fingers were larger than she'd expected, and faintly stained with different colours. Ink, perhaps, or paint. These were clearly a man's hands – not the delicate, unworked fingers of the other aristocrats she'd encountered.

  Her throat still felt tight and dry after the drink, but she was determined not to let her nerves show. The ditty the Duchess had requested was As I Walked Through the Meadow, a light-hearted little song about a wedding in springtime. Julia clutched her hands behind her back to stop herself from fiddling and began to sing.

  She'd been told her voice was clear and bright. Not highly trained, but pleasant on the ear. The sort of voice to bring a smile to the listener's face. Julia found herself thinking, even as she concentrated on giving her best performance, how handsome a smile would be on the Marquess's lips.

  She was disappointed. He listened to her with such an unnervingly grave expression that it was impossible to tell whether her performance pleased him or not. When she drew to a close, falteringly, before the third verse began, the Duchess applauded. The Marquess did not.

  "You can read music?"

  "Yes, and I play the pianoforte tolerably well."

  "You will instruct my daughter in these arts. Should her talent surpass your own, you will inform me, and I will engage a music master for her."

  A music master and a languages tutor – and what else besides? Julia was beginning to wonder whether the Marquess ought to bother engaging her services at all.

  Something had passed between him and the Duchess. A nod of approval, perhaps, or the faintest glimmer of agreement. The Duchess let out a sigh of satisfaction.

  "It is settled, then?"

  "Two hundred pounds a year," said the Marquess, "and one day off every week to follow your own pursuits. Should the opportunity arise, you will be given a week or so once a year to spend time with your friends. I cannot see that I will be spending much time in London anymore, not now..."

  He had been about to reveal something about himself that he would rather keep quiet. Julia noticed the tightening in his jaw. She wondered what had happened to him in London that he would rather avoid.

  The Marquess smiled; a rather cold smile that left his eyes grave. "Well, I mean to settle down at Harding Hall for the foreseeable future. How will that suit you, Miss Mallory?"

  "Excuse me, my lord, but I thought you said – that is, I must have misheard, but..." Julia swallowed. "Two hundred pounds?"

  "That is what the best governesses are paid, my dear," said the Duchess warmly.

  "Two hundred pounds?" She had heard of governesses being paid a tenth of that sum. She knew the Marquess was a wealthy man, but all the same, she had expected
much less.

  "Does it suit you?" he repeated, a line of irritation forming between his brows. Julia nodded hastily.

  "It more than suits, my lord."

  "Very good. I will have a contract drawn up for us this afternoon. Have you everything you require to leave tomorrow morning?"

  Julia nodded. All of a sudden, she felt a little sick at the thought of leaving the Duchess so soon. Her life was about to change completely – and she had only recently settled from the last great change she had suffered.

  "I will leave you ladies to say your goodbyes. Please, Miss Mallory, make yourself at home. I will not have the butler give you a tour of this house; there's no need for you to become acquainted with my London residence." He rose to his feet. "Duchess, a pleasure, as always. Do excuse me – I have much to do before I'm ready to leave."

  "A most satisfactory meeting all round, I'd say," smiled the Duchess, offering him her hand. "I wish you a very pleasant stay in Chiltern, my lord."

  The Marquess made a brief bow and left them. Even when moving quickly, he had that air of unhurried grace that seemed bred into the upper classes. Julia felt rushed by comparison, even from her place on the sofa.

  She had no time to contemplate her new situation before the Duchess had drawn her into a crushing embrace. "Oh, dear girl! What will I do without you? Must you really leave me?"

  "Now, now." Julia patted the Duchess's back, wondering why it was not herself being comforted. "You know I cannot stay in London. The risk..." She paused, knowing it was unwise to mention her past in the Marquess's house at all.

  "Yes, yes. You are quite right. Always so sensible." The Duchess took Julia's face in her hands. "You will always be welcome at Amberley House and Westbourne Hall. Oh, I know they're not really mine anymore, not since my dear Westbourne passed away, but I know my young nephew will have no objection."

  "The Duke has already made it quite clear that I am to consider him my family," said Julia. She could not bring herself to do as he'd asked her and call him by his first name, Harry. Just imagine! Julia Mallory, on first name terms with a Duke! It was too ridiculous.