Make Me a Marchioness Read online

  The sobbing he had expected. Julia's reaction, he had not. She swept forwards and gathered the little girl up in her arms, rocking her back and forwards like a baby. Annabelle was really too old to be coddled in that way, but Charles knew he had no right to stop her. Within a few moments, Annabelle's tears stopped falling.

  "Now, you will be the Lady of the House when your father is gone," said Julia sternly, setting her back down on the ground. "You must show that you are a grown-up girl who is able to take on the responsibility."

  Annabelle, still sniffling, surprised Charles with a near-perfect curtsey. "Don't worry, Papa, I will look after everything. I promise."

  Charles smiled at Julia over Annabelle's head. "Thank you," he whispered. Julia answered him with a cold nod.

  "If you have a moment, my lord, I would like to speak to you privately."

  Charles could not deny that his blood rose at Julia's request. There were a great many things he would like to do with his new governess in private, and talking was...certainly number six or seven on the list.

  He took the liberty of placing his hand on her elbow as he steered her from the room. Julia glanced down at the place where his gloved hand touched her. Her eyes met his, and he fancied he heard her catch her breath.

  Perhaps she was not as immune as she appeared to his charms, few though they were. The possibility both enticed Charles and repelled him. How could he entertain such notions in the house Sarah had died in?

  It was a good thing he was called away to Cornwall, after all.

  "My lord," began Julia hesitantly, when they were alone together in the corridor, "I do not know whether Mr Larkin told you what happened last night..."

  Charles shook his head. He had cancelled his daily meeting with the butler in order to come to the schoolroom.

  Julia looked embarrassed as she continued: "It's only that, last night, Annabelle saw something – someone – out in the grounds after dark. Neither I nor Miss Kelsey saw anything untoward, but it unsettled me all the same. Mr Larkin did not take me seriously."

  "That was wrong of him," said Charles at once. "My daughter's safety is paramount. I shall have the footmen make a search of the grounds at once."

  "I'm sure Mr Larkin has already taken care of it, and I doubt anyone was caught." Julia held his eyes coolly. "I expect you were too busy to deal with it yourself."

  Charles coughed, embarrassed. She really was the perfect governess – he felt as wretched as a naughty schoolboy being scolded for stealing a pie from the kitchens. "When I am in Harding Hall I live the life of a country bachelor, Miss Mallory. I make no excuses for it."

  "It's not my place to tell you how to behave, my lord."

  "No," Charles said, and in his embarrassment, he said it rather coldly. "No, it is not."

  "I must tell you that I do not feel perfectly at ease knowing that there may be strange men prowling the grounds while you are away," said Julia. Charles was perplexed. She didn't strike him as someone who was easily frightened. He felt a sudden need to take her in his arms and soothe that worried crinkle from the middle of her brow.

  "I will ask Lord Kit to stop by regularly to check that nothing more disturbs you, and to make sure the household is running as it should," he promised.

  Julia's expression told him all he needed to know about her opinion of Kit. "Forgive me, my lord, but is that the gentleman who was...celebrating your return last night?"

  "Lord Kit is my dearest friend here at Chiltern," said Charles. "He is the second son of the Duke of Fenbury. I expect you to defer to him in all matters and treat him with the respect his position deserves. No doubt you are used to speaking to Dukes and Duchesses on first name terms; well, you will find that here in the countryside we keep proper manners alive. I do not wish to hear you insinuate that Kit is anything but a fine and upstanding gentleman." Good gracious, he sounded a complete brute! Charles wondered what had gotten into him. It must be the guilt that he rightfully felt after his appalling behaviour the evening before.

  A blaze of anger kindled in Julia's eyes, but was quickly hidden. "Of course, my lord," she said evenly. Charles imagined the tongue-lashing he would receive if she were able to speak to him as an equal. He almost longed for it. It was all he deserved, after all.

  "Did you have any other concerns?"

  "Nothing I wish to bother you with, my lord," she said icily. Charles tried to make himself grateful for her anger. It was much more appropriate than the friendship he found himself chasing after whenever Julia was in the room.

  "Very well. I will not have time to see you or Annabelle this evening. I wish you luck with her, and I bid you farewell."

  "Safe travels, my lord." Julia made him a delicate curtsey. There was something self-conscious about the way she did it. It did not come as naturally to her as it did to the society ladies of the ton. Charles wondered again where she came from, and what her past had been.

  Ah, well. He'd certainly ruined all his chances of ever finding out.

  With a degree of reluctance, Charles turned his thoughts from his daughter and her pretty governess, and went to make preparations for his departure to Cornwall.

  CHAPTER NINE

  What an arrogant pig of a man!

  Julia had no experience at all with the gentry beyond the Duke of Westbourne, who insisted she was family, but she would never dream that Harry would ever disgrace himself as thoroughly in her eyes as the Marquess had managed in a matter of days. After his debauchery of the evening before, he ought to have fallen over himself apologising to her...

  But who am I, she reminded herself, that a Marquess should apologise to me?

  No-one, that was who. Miss Mallory the governess. Closer to a servant than an equal. Better seen and not heard.

  For once, she actually missed her brother. Edmund would never allow any man, however great, to speak to her so rudely. Although Edmund would have resolved the situation with his fists, or worse, and that was never something Julia could wish for.

  Speaking of Edmund...

  Julia returned to the schoolroom to find Annabelle sitting peacefully at her desk, daubing a sheet of paper with watercolours. Moving quietly so as not to disturb the child, Julia took that morning's letter and crunched it into a ball before she flung it onto the fire.

  Her face had betrayed her that morning. She'd recognised Edmund's handwriting, and the Marquess had seen the fear in her eyes.

  How was it that with all the distance that now lay between them, Edmund still filled her with fear?

  Even more pressing... how did Edmund know where to send the letter in the first place?

  Julia shuddered, though the room was warm. Her brother had risen to a position of power by the strength in his fists and the depth of his cunning. He had spies in his pay across London, she had no doubt. Had someone been watching a few mornings before when she'd entered the Marquess's townhouse? When she'd stepped into his carriage to leave for Chiltern?

  At least here, in the countryside, she was surely beyond his grasp.

  Julia sat beside Annabelle and tried to decipher the painting. Though the Marquess had made his love for art clear, it did not appear that his daughter had inherited much talent.

  "What is it?" she asked, finally, when the watery splashes of paint failed to resolve themselves.

  Annabelle sighed as though it were obvious. To her, of course, it was. "It's a fairy king."

  "The one you saw last night?"

  Annabelle nodded. "I am painting it for Papa as a present for when he comes home."

  Julia's heart broke a little in the face of Annabelle's childish faith. Her father had not even left, and already she was looking forward to his return. How could the Marquess bear to leave her behind so often?

  "Lord Kit will be visiting us while your father is away," she said, wishing to find out more about the sneeringly elegant man she'd met the night before. "Do you know him?"

  "Yes, a little bit. He visits Papa almost every day." Annabelle frowned. Juli
a could tell she was, in her own small way, jealous of her father's friendship with that awful man. And she couldn't blame Annabelle for her jealousy one bit.

  "We must find something pleasant to do tomorrow to take your mind off your father," Julia mused, gently stroking Annabelle's golden hair. "I know! Let's go and explore Chiltern village together. You can show me all the best places to shop, and perhaps we'll find some pretty ribbons so I can teach you how to make an old bonnet look like new again." In addition to her own income, Julia had access to a small allowance to provide for Annabelle's school supplies. It would stretch to cover the cost of some small trinkets to ease the little girl's aching for her father.

  "Yes, please," gasped Annabelle, charmingly diverted. If only Julia could distract herself from her own worries so easily!

  "Very good. I'll ask Mr Larkin to have a carriage ready for us in the morning. Now, wash off your paintbrush. I am going to teach you how to stop the colours from running into each other."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Julia was glad to escape the confines of Harding Hall. Driving to the village in an open-topped carriage was a fine way to spend a breezy autumn morning. She was especially glad of the distraction for Annabelle, who had passed breakfast in low spirits due to her father's absence.

  Julia tried not to admit to herself that she had missed Charles at breakfast too. His conversation might be dangerous, given his apparent fascination with her past, but his appearance was never less than pleasing. Even on the morning after his ill-fated escapade with Lord Kit, he had been handsome in a tired, tousled way.

  Well, it did not matter how much she longed to brush his unruly dark hair out of his eyes – or how inappropriate such thoughts were. He was gone, and would be gone until Christmas.

  Julia held tightly onto Annabelle's hand as they entered the village. The little girl was waving enthusiastically to everyone they passed, and Julia feared she was in danger of falling. Thankfully, they arrived at the high street without any accidents, and Julia descended with her excitable charge to look around the village of Chiltern.

  It was a picture-perfect little English village. Annabelle was well-known to the villagers, who greeted her with bows and cries of "Good morning, Lady Annabelle," which went beyond the usual realm of politeness.

  Julia bought some new watercolours to replenish Annabelle's stock, and then, as promised, they stopped at the milliner's. Annabelle pressed her nose against the outside window, fascinated by the array of different hats and bonnets.

  "Oh! Miss Mally! May I have that one?" she asked, pointing towards an elegant turban meant for the ballroom. Julia laughed at the thought of the large ostrich feather set atop Annabelle's dimpled face.

  "When you are grown, you shall have all the turbans you could wish for," she promised. Annabelle rolled her eyes.

  "I have to wait for everything until I'm grown! When I come of age, you know, I'll be able to follow Papa when he goes away. No-one will be able to stop me then!"

  Julia smiled and squeezed Annabelle's shoulder. "Indeed, they will not." She wondered what the life of an adult woman looked like in the child's eyes. A wonderland of freedom, no doubt.

  If only that were really the case.

  "Now, let's go inside so that you can choose your ribbon. Remember not to touch anything until the shopkeeper gives you permission."

  Annabelle nodded obediently, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that told Julia she intended to play with every feather in sight.

  "Now, Lady Annabelle," said Julia, as sternly as she could manage. "I will have your word. No touching!"

  "But do you think, Miss Mally, I may touch that one? Only that one!" Annabelle beseeched her, pointing to the ostrich feather. Julia glanced again at the extravagant hat –

  And it was then that she saw it.

  A reflection in the glass. A face she knew.

  Edmund.

  Acting on instinct and pure terror, Julia shoved Annabelle forwards into the shop. The little girl cried out in protest, but Julia could not possibly take the risk of exposing Annabelle to Edmund's malice. She slammed the door behind them, to the shock of the elderly milliner, and whirled around with Annabelle behind her back. She scanned the street through the shop window, ducking her head from side to side to see past the display of hats.

  Nothing.

  No-one.

  Only the baker across the way, coming out to inspect his own display of fresh loaves.

  Julia pressed a hand to her racing heart. She'd seen him. She was certain of it.

  The milliner came forwards cautiously. "Are you quite well, Miss? Did something startle you?"

  Julia's mouth hung open for a moment as she tried to think of an answer that wouldn't add to the impression that she'd lost her mind. "A rat," she said finally.

  "Ugh! Nasty creatures!" said the milliner. "I can't abide them either."

  "Miss Mally?" asked Annabelle, in a half-whisper. Julia realised she had frightened the child.

  "Don't worry, Annabelle, it can't hurt us in here," she said, wondering if she really meant it. "Now, let's have a look at these lovely ribbons..."

  Thank goodness Annabelle was easily distracted from her fright. Julia wished her own heart would stop pounding at the sight of a few pretty ribbons. She did not feel quite at ease the whole journey back to Harding Hall. Every few moments, she caught herself looking over her shoulder, checking to see whether they had been followed.

  She was so certain she'd seen Edmund's face in that glass. Was she losing her mind?

  There was no hope of getting any lessons done that afternoon. Annabelle was too full of lively spirits to sit down and learn mathematics, and Julia herself was far too distracted to teach. She took Annabelle out into the garden instead, meaning to tell her about autumn and the changing colours of the leaves. Even that small hope of education failed as Annabelle went skipping merrily through the piles of crunchy leaves, leaving Julia to trail after her, deep in thought.

  It was a beautiful day, crisp and clear, with just the hint of winter on the breeze. The perfect autumn afternoon. Julia pushed Edmund from her mind and thought how fortunate she was to experience an autumn in the countryside for the first time in her life. London had its parks, of course, but she had too often been kept indoors, keeping house for Edmund, working on the gaming hell's accounts, and hiding away from the unsavoury inhabitants of Seven Dials.

  The Mallory siblings were well known throughout London's underbelly, and Edmund had made too many enemies on his rise to the top for Julia to ever feel truly safe in London.

  "But here, I am far from Edmund," she reminded herself, willing it to be true. "No-one knows who I am. I am safe, safe, safe!"

  "Miss Mally! Come and look!" Annabelle came rushing over, shattering Julia's contemplation. "Look at this, look, look!"

  She waved something before Julia's eyes. Julia caught hold of it, perplexed.

  A ringlet of autumn honeysuckle, the last of the flowers still on the vine, woven into a flowery crown.

  "Where did you find this?" Julia asked. It was far too intricate for Annabelle's clumsy fingers.

  "Under the tree, Miss Mally. Do you think the fairies made it?"

  "It's Miss Mallory, Lady Annabelle," said Julia absently. "Mall-or-y."

  "Yes, Miss Mallor... Mallory, but do you think it was the fairies?" asked Annabelle impatiently. The reminder of the strange man Annabelle had seen in the garden sent a shiver down Julia's spine. Edmund in a shop window, a dark figure haunting the gardens... were these coincidences, or something more sinister? Or did she and Annabelle simply both suffer from the same overactive imagination?

  "Let's go inside," she said, keeping hold of the honeysuckle crown.

  "But I'm not cold!"

  "It's getting dark," she said, and it was almost true. The deep orange light of sunset was creeping through the sky.

  Annabelle took her hand and they went back into the house together. Mr Larkin was waiting for them in the hallway.

 
"Lord Christopher is here," he said to Julia. "He is asking for a report on Lady Annabelle's progress so that he can write to his lordship."

  Julia was amazed. She had not expected Lord Kit to take his promise to check in on the household so seriously. She was not looking forward to having a conversation with him at all.

  "Let me just go and freshen up –"

  Mr Larkin shook his head. "Lord Christopher won't be staying long, Miss Mallory. He wishes to see you immediately."

  Julia sent Annabelle upstairs to find Miss Kelsey and went into the drawing room.

  Lord Kit was leaning against the fireplace, a glass of brandy in his hand. Julia stiffened at the memory of their last conversation.

  "Ah, Miss Mallory. How pleasant to see you again."

  "Lord Christopher." Julia dropped a polite curtsy. She could not truthfully say she was pleased to see him, so she said nothing more.

  "Please. Christopher is my father. My name is Kit. Lord Kit, to you." Kit took a few steps towards her. He moved with the supple threat Julia imagined from the tigers in Annabelle's story books. "You do not seem at ease, Miss Mallory. Has something alarmed you?" He took a sip of brandy and chuckled cruelly. "More fairies in the garden, perhaps?"

  Julia flushed red, but in the midst of her embarrassment she considered telling him what she'd seen in the village. Lord Kit made a poor confidante, but he might be her only means of protection until Charles returned.

  "I saw..." she began, and faltered. How could she possibly explain her fear of Edmund without also telling him that she was Edmund's sister?

  "I saw nothing in the garden," she said, running her finger along the honeysuckle crown she still carried. "But Lady Annabelle's safety is paramount."

  "Of course," said Kit, curling his lip. "But where are my manners? Do take a seat, Miss Mallory."

  She obeyed, feeling that she would rather stand, but not knowing how to refuse without appearing rude.

  "Mallory," Kit repeated, rolling the sound of her name around his mouth lasciviously. "A Mallory from London. There's a club that goes by that name, I believe – Mallory's. Do you know it?"