Make Me a Marchioness Read online

  "Are you stuck?"

  Julia's head jerked up, awaking from her reverie as if from a deep sleep. Mrs Potter was smiling at her across the table. "You haven't knitted a stitch these past ten minutes, Miss Mallory."

  "Oh..." Julia looked down at the half-finished scarf in her lap. She wanted to make Annabelle a new set of woollen winter things for Christmas, but at this rate it would be summer again before she got on to the hat and the gloves. "Perhaps I'm just a little tired."

  "It's these dark nights," sighed Miss Kelsey. "I never get on as well by candlelight as I do on a nice summer evening."

  "The dark hasn't put his lordship off his nightly adventures," remarked Mrs Potter. "I declare, he's a brave man to be out and about in this weather." Only the day before, they had all been surprised by a flurry of snow. It had delighted Annabelle, frozen Julia half to death, and eventually come to nothing.

  "I expect he's warm enough wherever he is," said Miss Kelsey. Julia smiled and nodded, hoping they would not invite her to speculate on where he might be.

  "I haven't known him to be away from home so much in years," Mrs Potter continued, counting her stitches. "Not since the young Marchioness passed on. My, but that was a difficult time. It's no easy thing, seeing such a great man brought so low."

  "Is it the season, perhaps?" asked Miss Kelsey. "Christmas can be the most unhappy time of year for a man without a wife. You need a woman's touch to make things merry, that's what I always say."

  "He usually adores the Christmas season," said Mrs Potter. "This year, he hasn't even ordered us to decorate the house."

  "Why not do it anyway?" asked Julia. "Perhaps it will lift his spirits."

  "Do you think that would be right?" asked Mrs Potter. Julia could tell she liked the idea. "I must say, it doesn't feel like Christmas without a bit of holly about the place."

  "Not to mention mistletoe," said Miss Kelsey, winking at Julia. Julia jumped as though she'd been burnt by a hot poker.

  "Who on earth do you imagine I'd be kissing?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't like to presume," Miss Kelsey laughed. "If I were given the choice, though – I don't mind telling you I'd corner that Peter Kildare under the mistletoe and no mistake!"

  Julia laughed, relieved. The thought of the portly, grey-haired Miss Kelsey swooping down on the young and handsome Mr Kildare was too funny. "Then let's hang some mistletoe and see whether your luck wins out!"

  "I'll talk it over with Mr Larkin tomorrow," said Mrs Potter. "You know what a miserable stick-in-the-mud he can be. I shall have to use all my wiles to convince him."

  "Perhaps there should be a sprig of mistletoe in it for him, too," teased Miss Kelsey.

  "Lawks! The very thought of it!" Mrs Potter flapped her knitting to shoo the idea away. "Well, ladies, it doesn't seem that we're getting much done in the way of needlework. What do you say to a glass of mulled wine and a game of cards?"

  "Mulled wine, Mrs Potter?" Miss Kelsey's eyes gleamed greedily. "I wouldn't say no."

  "Let me just pop down to the kitchens, then, and see if I can rouse Miss Graham. Not a word to Mr Larkin, mind. You know he wouldn't approve."

  "I'll go," said Julia. Mrs Potter suffered from terrible pain in her knees in the cold, and she didn't want her to go downstairs unnecessarily.

  "Don't forget your broadsword and shield," said Mrs Kelsey slyly. "I wouldn't brave the dragon without them."

  "Hush, Miss Kelsey!" laughed Mrs Potter. "What a tongue you have on you!"

  Julia left them laughing between themselves. In perfect honesty, she did not think Miss Graham was as much of a dragon as the other servants believed. Prickly, certainly, and very proud of her hard-won station, but that was only natural in someone who had achieved her position so young. The pressures of running a kitchen in a great house must certainly be extreme, and Julia did not envy her the task.

  The kitchen was empty and silent except for the crackle of the ever-burning fire under the oven. Julia considered taking out the spices for the mulled wine herself, but she had long since learned that the cook did not appreciate strange hands meddling in her kitchen. Miss Graham kept a strict watch over her kitchen stock and she would notice immediately if something were missing.

  Julia went into the servants' quarters and knocked softly on Miss Graham's door. To her surprise, it had not been properly closed, and it sprang open.

  Miss Graham was sitting on her bed, still dressed in her day clothes but with her hair hanging loose, and was holding something in her hand. A little wisp of something, tiny and delicate. It took Julia a moment to realise what it was.

  A pressed sprig of honeysuckle.

  Miss Graham dropped it in shock when she realised Julia was watching her. "Oh! Oh, no!" The anguish in her voice said all it needed to about the importance of that fragile dried flower.

  "I'm so terribly sorry," said Julia. "I didn't mean to startle you – the door sprang open quite by itself. Here, let me help you look –"

  "Stay back!" snapped Miss Graham, flinging up her hands to ward Julia away. "What are you doing, coming to disturb me at this time of night? Go away!"

  She sank to her hands and knees and began running her hands over the floor, searching for the flower.

  "Wait a moment!" cried Julia, spotting it. "Don't move, Miss Graham – it's just there, just by your knee. I'll get it – don't move." She bent down and picked the flower up carefully. Yes, there it was unmistakably – two tiny, trumpet-shaped golden flowers. Honeysuckle without a doubt.

  Miss Graham held out her hand. "Give it back at once."

  Julia dropped the flower in obligingly. Miss Graham held it to her chest, cupping it gently to avoid crushing the delicate petals. "You had no right to come in here and touch my things. I don't come barging into your chamber of an evening, do I?"

  "I was only trying to help," said Julia. Felicity Graham tossed her hair back, and Julia was struck by how uncommonly pretty the young cook was.

  "You have helped quite enough. What are you doing here, anyway? What is it you want?"

  "I was only after a little mulled wine for Mrs Potter," said Julia meekly. "I didn't want to go messing around in the kitchen without your permission."

  Felicity sniffed, mollified. "Quite right, too. I'd cut your hands off if I saw you messing in there."

  Julia blanched, thinking her quite capable of it. Felicity rolled her eyes. "You're such a frightened little mouse, Miss Mallory! It was only a joke. Come, let me put this away." She slipped the flower back between the pages of a diary, which she tucked under her pillow. "Let's see what we can find you."

  The kitchen was the warmest part of the house. Julia was glad to stay a few moments as Felicity heated the wine, throwing in a pinch of cinnamon and a few cloves for good measure.

  "You wouldn't believe the budget his lordship sets aside for spices," she said, when Julia raised her eyes at the extravagance. "I could put nutmeg in every dish and not make a dent in it."

  "I love nutmeg!" Julia exclaimed. "May we add a little to the wine?"

  "Certainly, but I have something even better than mulled wine, if you'd care to try it?" Felicity opened a cupboard and withdrew a bottle of some luminous golden liquid. "Honey wine – mead. They brew it in the village. His lordship buys them oranges to put in the barrels for flavour. Try a little?"

  "I'd love to," said Julia, surprised by Felicity's generosity. She realised that, in all the months she'd been at Harding Hall, she'd avoided the kitchens as much as possible. Perhaps the cook was simply lonely. Julia could understand that. She felt suddenly guilty for not making more effort to get to know her.

  The honey wine was cool and refreshing, with a spicy, floral scent and a lingering sweetness. It was delicious.

  "Now this is the stuff I'd be drinking, if I were a fine lady," said Felicity, holding the bottle up to the light. "None of that nasty brandy his lordship likes."

  "I'd have him off the brandy altogether, if I were Marchioness," Julia mused. "And I'd banish that awful
Lord Christopher from Harding Hall for good."

  Felicity's eyes sparkled. "You don't like Lord Kit?"

  "I think he's a terrible influence on the Marquess."

  "I think the Marquess ought to take responsibility for his own demons," shrugged Felicity. "Now, Mrs Potter will be wondering where you are. Here's a tray to carry up the glasses. Would you like me to send up Sally to help you carry them?"

  "Oh, no, let her rest." Sally's first morning task was lighting the fires, and so she was always awake long before the rest of the household. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Miss Graham."

  "Call me Felicity," said the cook. "If it's not too bold of me to say."

  "Not too bold at all," Julia smiled. "You may call me Julia."

  They smiled at each other for a moment before Felicity held open the door for Julia to walk through with her tray of mulled wine.

  Julia wondered what it had been that convinced Felicity to extend her friendship. The care Julia had taken over her precious pressed flower? The shared glass of honey wine? Or perhaps simply the loneliness she had inflicted on herself with her rough manners?

  Julia sensed that she was on the verge of a discovery. It was too much of a coincidence that Felicity had kept a honeysuckle flower, and that the thought of honeysuckle had upset Charles and Lord Kit so greatly. Perhaps this new friendship with the cook would bring her one step closer to uncovering one of the secrets of Harding Hall.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Christmas morning could never be anything but cheerful, but the Christmas of 1820 was a particularly bright and pleasant day. Frost sparkled on the ground as Charles lifted Annabelle up into the carriage to go to church. Miss Kelsey was already inside, fussing over her scarf and fur muff, and taking unnecessarily great pains to see Annabelle tucked up warm under the blanket.

  Charles turned around to take a glance at his home, so unusually festive with the holly that could be seen peeping through the windows and the frost heaped like bushy eyebrows over each ledge. He was just in time to see Julia emerge from the house, her cheeks already pink with cold.

  She was absolutely beautiful. There was no denying it. She was wrapped in black furs, the tip of her nose reddening instantly in the chilly air, and wore a coat of grey wool with embroidered silver leaves running along the hem. Her hair – that hair Charles could never see without longing to run his fingers through it – barely peeped out from her bonnet. He wished he could lift her up the way he did Annabelle, spin her in the air and tuck her into the carriage himself.

  "Merry Christmas, Miss Mallory," he said. Julia glanced around, seeing that no-one was close enough to hear them, and whispered,

  "Merry Christmas, Charles."

  His heart soared. He could not help himself. Any reminder of the intimate moment they'd shared in the library was the best sort of intoxication for him. Julia made his head spin more surely than any brandy. She was a potent, dangerous drug that he was already craving after only one dose.

  On any other day, he would have been able to avoid her, but now that Christmas had forced them into the same carriage, he found he did not regret it at all.

  He did his best to keep a friendly chatter going as they rattled along the path towards the church in Chiltern village. Miss Kelsey was a welcome companion in that regard – or she would have been, if he had been inclined to speak to anyone other than Julia. For her part, Julia simply sat and smiled, leaning forwards once only to tuck Annabelle's hair back into her hat. Charles's leg brushed against Julia's each time the carriage moved, and it was like a shock of lightning each time.

  He'd done his best. No-one could fault him. He'd avoided her for weeks after their kiss. But now, having her so close, tracing out every contour of her pretty profile with his eyes, he was every bit as enthralled as he'd been the moment he kissed her.

  They arrived at the church in good time to greet all the villagers. Charles was pleased to see that Julia was well-received by everyone she encountered. She had clearly become a favourite among them.

  The service passed with the usual sermon about love and good cheer. Charles took the message to heart more than he had done in previous years. For the first time in a long while, his heart was more full of love than pain.

  Love. Was that really the word for it? He had not been able to shake Julia from his mind despite riding out each morning and wasting away every evening with his male companions. Did that signify love?

  He felt the sun rise in his chest every time he caught her eye. Was that what it meant, to love someone?

  She sat at his side on the pew at the front of the church, singing the Christmas hymns in a voice almost unbearable in its sweetness. Charles finally understood the feelings that had stirred within him the moment he heard Julia sing.

  He was unmistakably, irrevocably, all-encompassingly infatuated with Miss Julia Mallory. The moment he admitted it, he was overcome with the desire to open his heart to her at once. There was no more use in resisting. He was not man enough for it, and besides, he no longer even wanted to.

  "Sarah, forgive me," he murmured to himself, looking up at the beams of jewelled light shining through the stained glass window. There came no reply. No blessing or condemnation. He was alone, to act as he chose.

  The notion was liberating.

  When he had finished bidding the vicar and the villagers a Merry Christmas, Charles caught Julia's arm before she got into the carriage.

  "It's a fine morning," he said. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"

  "I don't want to walk home!" Annabelle chimed in, assuming he was talking to her as well. Charles smiled indulgently.

  "You do not have to, my little snowdrop. Miss Kelsey will take you back in the carriage."

  Julia shot him a look of alarm. He wondered whether she found the thought of being alone with him frightening or enticing.

  He certainly hoped for the latter.

  It took a few moments for the chatter of the churchyard to die away behind them. The walk back to Harding Hall was a delightful one, even in the middle of winter. The path was lined with ivy-laden trees and, thanks to the morning frost, the way was not too muddy. Charles enjoyed the sensation of having Julia on his arm and watching his breath turn to clouds of fog in the cold air.

  "Thank you for asking me to walk with you," said Julia. "I find it much more pleasant than being confined in a stuffy carriage."

  "Are you much of a rider?" asked Charles. "I will have to take you out exploring the edges of my estate on horseback someday."

  Julia flushed. "I can barely keep my seat on a horse. But I will try."

  "Very good. I will be happy to teach you." They came upon a fallen log, pushed to one side of the road. Charles took a seat and gestured to Julia to sit beside him. She smiled, caught unawares.

  "I am far from tired, Charles."

  "I didn't think you were." He cleared his throat. "I must confess that I have quite another motive in asking you to walk with me today."

  Julia's eyes widened. She looked ready to run away.

  "Don't be alarmed," said Charles, soothingly. "Come. Sit. I will not say anything bad, I promise."

  "That is exactly what I am afraid of," Julia whispered. "That you will say something good – very good – too good – and that things will change once I have heard it."

  "Don't judge my words before they've been spoken," said Charles. Finally, with a show of reluctance, Julia sat. "Here. I have something for you that I thought I had better not give you in front of the household."

  He handed her a package he had been carrying under his arm. Julia unwrapped it, biting her lip as though the thought of what lay inside frightened her.

  The brown paper parted to reveal a roll of leather tied with a ribbon. Julia unrolled it to find a set of brand new paintbrushes. The finest London had to offer; Charles had ordered them especially.

  "These are beautiful," she gasped, running her fingers over them.

  "I expect you to create beautiful things with them," he repl
ied, smiling. At last, an answering smile illuminated Julia's face.

  "You overestimate my talent, as usual."

  "I do nothing of the sort." Charles rested his hand on Julia's knee. At first, she started away from him, but after glancing around to check that they were alone, she relaxed under his touch. Charles leaned closer. "It would be dishonest of me not to warn you that this was not my only motive for seeing you alone this morning," he murmured. Julia's lips parted, but she made no answer. The cold had turned her mouth a deep crimson which drew Charles's attention like nothing else in the world. He took a deep breath to quell the desire to kiss her, and ploughed on. "Julia... I cannot go another moment without confessing my feelings to you."

  "Don't," she gasped, clutching her coat tight around her as though she had grown suddenly cold. "It's such a lovely morning. Let's not spoil it with foolish talk."

  "There is nothing foolish about my desire for you," Charles growled, leaning ever closer.

  Julia's eyes were wide and miserable. "It is extremely foolish to indulge in a fantasy which will never become real," she replied.

  "Who says it must remain a fantasy?" Charles demanded. "I have wrestled with my emotions in secret for long enough. I will no longer deny myself the pleasure of telling you that I have admired you since the moment I first saw you, and loved you since – since I do not know when. I only know that the depth of my longing for you surpasses anything I have ever felt for another woman. Sarah, God rest her soul, deserved every part of this restless longing, but I could not give it to her. My marriage was based on affection, but nothing more. Indeed, I thought that friendly affection was all I was capable of. You have opened my eyes. You have enraptured my heart. Julia, tell me I am not going mad. Tell me you have an ounce of the feelings for me which I have for you."

  Julia listened to his speech with a rising colour in her cheeks and a silence which almost destroyed him. When at last Charles was finished, he waited in agony to hear what she would say.

  "I will not lie to you," Julia said softly. "My feelings for you have been deepening since the day that we met in London. The way I feel now... In truth, I do not have the words to tell you all that I feel." She gave a shy smile. "There is only one way to express all that is in my heart."