Amy Lake (11 page)

“You already have a child to care for,” said Eddie, her concern evidently sincere.

“I can assure you that Madelaine is so diverted by his lordship’s presence that ’tis little extra work for me. He has entirely taken over her lessons.”

This was news to Lady Edwina. “Lessons!” she said, and although the tone was mildly indignant Fiona thought she also caught the quirk of a smile. “The Marquess of Carinbrooke is giving lessons to a
child
?”

“Edwina,” said Lord Ashdown.

Lady Edwina pursed her lips, but said nothing more.

“Now,” he added, “if you and Dr. Fischer would be so kind as to take your discussion elsewhere, I would like a few words alone with Mrs. Marwick.”

Chapter 18: Lord Ashdown’s Dilemma

Lord Ashdown, after retiring to Mrs. Marwick’s guest room for the night, laid in bed sleepless, acknowledging to himself that events were shifting more and more out of his control. He was not used to this feeling; barring a royal summons, the marquess was the person in charge in all circumstances of his life.

Gods. What a pickle, as Eleanor would say. Edwina and Dr. Fischer were at odds, and Madelaine was making such a renewed effort to charm and amuse him that it broke his heart. Several times during the previous day he had surprised a spark of panic in the girl’s eyes.

Colin doesn’t have a fiancée!

How could he explain the situation to Maddie?

To make everything worse, Mrs. Marwick was now behaving towards him with a cool, polite reserve. Her reaction made him want to take her into his arms and kiss her until she gave in, but gave in to what? Lord Ashdown was not quite sure.

His conversation with Fiona had not gone as planned, to say the least. The marquess wanted to make a clean breast of the supposed engagement, and to explain that had not set out to deliberately mislead her, but acknowledging this would suggest that—

Well, it would certainly suggest something. He was not prepared to ask for her hand, as yet, and what else was there to say?

Why not?
suggested a small voice.
Why not marry her?

But the marquess, who was indeed feeling considerable pain from his leg and had not slept well the previous night, and who had been suddenly confronted publicly with a supposed fiancée, slipped back—under these combined stresses—into old habits.

His life must be ordered. Every activity had its prescribed time and must be deliberated in advance. He had not intended to marry a widow from Barley Mow; this did not make the thing impossible, but the plan certainly required more thought.

So instead of what he truly wanted to say to Fiona, and as an excuse for being alone with her for a few minutes, Colin had apologized. Once again he told her how sorry he was for the trouble he had caused, and for Edwina’s behavior.

“And I realize that this has been an incredible inconvenience, and extra mouths to feed, not to mention the horses, but I cannot tell you how much it has been appreciated.”

He could see nothing objectionable in his words, but apologies are never a man’s strength, and he quickly discovered that Mrs. Marwick was not mollified. She was, in fact, growing quite annoyed with him.

“Do you really think me such a wilting country mouse?” she finally replied. Her cool reserve had broken and her eyes flashed in a manner that made his breath catch in his throat. “I may be poor in the eyes of your
ton
, but I am hardly devoid of resources to extend hospitality.”

Lord Ashdown was unprepared for this response. In his world he was ever the one who was gracious, he was the gentleman with resources, to whom others came in application. “I understand of course, but—”

“I’m perfectly capable of coping with two guests in my own home.”

She rose to her feet and swept out of the room, leaving behind a breath of vanilla and rose. The marquess closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, imagining what scent his lips might find on her skin. He wondered how the conversation had taken such an odd turn and on what pretext he might call her back to continue it. Lord Ashdown urgently wanted to know whether Fiona Marwick was attracted to him as strongly as he was to her and if not, what he might do to change that situation, since—he thought, ruefully—another apology was sure only to make things worse. Would he need to
woo
her? This had never been required before, with any other marriageable female, but the marquess was prepared to undertake whatever proved necessary.

A right pickle, indeed.

Eddie had seen it immediately. His sister had known he was in love from the moment she stepped across the threshold at Tern’s Rest. What would be her response if he confessed his plans to
marry
Fiona; a village widow, and with a child at that? Lady Edwina had less concern for society conventions than most in the
ton
but she also had little of the romantical nature supposed to be innate to women and was, in truth, intensely practical. As Lord Ashdown considered the matter more seriously, he began to think that he might ask Edwina for her thoughts.

If nothing else his sister could give him a woman’s point of view. Lord Ashdown had no more concern than Eddie for what the Lady Jerseys of London might think of such a marriage. Both he and London society would survive the event. But the effect on Fiona herself—that was another matter, and serious enough to merit pause.

Mrs. Marwick and Madelaine could not remain here, in the village, after the wedding. Oh, they could visit from time to time, if she wished, but he had duties both to his estate and in London. His usual routine would change, and the month in Kirriemuir would be abandoned unless Scotland appealed to her; still, most of the year would be spent at Wintermere—the Lancashire estate—or Marchers. Unless they lived apart, of course, and some couples did, but Colin saw no point to it.

He wanted Fiona with him, every day. And every night.

What would she think of town society, the endless balls and fetes and musicales? Lord Ashdown did not enjoy them overmuch himself. And what would she feel when the inevitable comments came her way, remarks about her background and education? They would never be said to her face, but she would hear them nevertheless. One had that much faith in the gossips of the
ton
.

Or worse—Colin frowned, feeling anger spark—the young men who would see a beautiful, vulnerable marchioness, and wish to test the waters. Fiona was a
naïve
in the ways of society, perhaps her head would be turned—

No. Lord Ashdown turned restlessly, and carefully, in the bed. He had yet to ask for the woman’s hand, and already he was imagining marital problems, problems that made him want to smash the face of any male that looked her way.

Gods.

This would never do. He should return to his previous plan, of marriage to some typical
ton
miss, someone he would never care about. Lady Susan would do as well as any, he supposed; but in his deepest heart, the marquess knew it was far too late for that.

The thought of returning to his previous life was insupportable. He had enjoyed good company and excellent food at Tern’s Rest, laughed until his sides hurt, learned to appreciate the mind of a young child—and felt a strength of desire that he had never known before. Mrs. Marwick fascinated him wholly, and Lord Ashdown would happily spend the remainder of his life discovering everything about her that it was possible for a man to know.

The thought of leaving—

Lord Ashdown groaned, and tried to turn over in bed. His leg sent out a sharp stab of protest.

  * * * *

The marquess woke up the next morning determined to conquer this newfound, and quite irksome, indecisiveness. But Mrs. Marwick remained distant, Dr. Fischer and Eddie continued to trade polite jabs, and even Madelaine’s anxious attempts to please him began to wane. As the week went on his leg did improve, and Lady Edwina began making inquiries after a coach. But then one evening it rained, turning the local roads to mud. The next morning it rained again, and ’twas obvious even to his sister that they would need to wait for another few days, at least, of dry weather.

The night after that, it snowed.

Chapter 19: Snow

Fiona could tell something was wrong even before she had opened her eyes. The noise of the surf was muffled. As it was in mid-winter, during—

Oh, dear heavens.

Her eyes flew open and she threw back the covers, leaving her slippers beneath the bed in her hurry to gain the bedroom window.

It could not be.

It was. The stable was only half-visible through the heavy flakes, her garden buried beneath what looked like a good foot of snow. And there were tracks, already, extending from the kitchen door. She heard the kitchen door slam.

“Mum! Mum!”

Maddie burst into the room, her hair dusted in white. She was nearly jumping up and down in her excitement.

“It snowed! It snowed!”

“I see that,” said Fiona, brushing hair wet with the melting flakes back from Madelaine’s face.

“It’s a real tempest!”

Fiona smiled as her daughter ran back outside to make snow angels. Maddie’s vocabulary had always been large for her age, thanks to Dee—and now, Lord Ashdown, who still did lessons with the girl each morning, as he had for the past several weeks.

It had become her daughter's favorite part of the day, thought Fiona, a bit sadly, as she brushed her own hair out and pinned the heavy curls somewhat haphazardly into order. Madelaine and Lord Ashdown sat together in the parlour and read selections from
The Faerie Queene
or took parts of a play, with the marquess showing a remarkable ability to voice odd characters. Falstaff from
The Merry Wives
was Maddie’s favorite, and Fiona allowed this, even with some doubts about the play’s suitability for a young girl.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love—

Presumably her daughter did not everything of what an adult would.

She appreciated Lord Ashdown’s efforts with Madelaine, but she was still angry with him, and the last few days had been a trial. After the initial shock had faded—her houseguest was the Marquess of Carinbrooke, injured en route to his own engagement party—Fiona had felt herself go numb, and thought of nothing but putting it all out of her mind, and going about her daily chores.

A woman from Barley Mow might marry a lord. But not a marquess.

And his apologies! Speaking to her as she imagined that he was accustomed to speaking to the help, oh so gentle and condescending, as if the lowly Mrs. Marwick could hardly be expected to feed her own guests. She had never been a figure of pity in her own village, thought Fiona. Never, not even after Joseph’s death. People respected her, they recognized that she had resources; the land and the cottage, and enough money to get by.

 She had wanted to slap Lord Ashdown. But now, even as color came to her cheeks at the memory she also heard her grandmother’s voice, from long ago.

Aye, child, you can wrap yourself in pride, but it makes thin fabric against the cold.

The marquess had meant only to be kind. She knew it, and yet she could not let go of the anger, because once it was gone, what would she have left? The prospect of a third cousin’s arrival on the morrow, and being turned out of her only home with Lord Ashdown and his sister looking on. In pity, and perhaps this time it would be deserved.

Fiona closed her eyes. She drew a deep breath and resolved to focus only on the day ahead.

  * * * *

Dr. Fischer and Mrs. Marwick had spoken briefly on the evening of Lady Edwina’s arrival, and Dee had told her, of course, that Lord Ashdown was not truly engaged to Lady Susan.

She stared at him in confusion. “What on earth can you mean?”

The doctor explained, and Mrs. Marwick fought against her first, traitorous reaction, which was one of relief.

“He’s never even met her? How can he be thinking of marriage?”

Dee only shrugged. “’Tis the way of the thing, I suppose for a marquess.”

She knew this to be true, but it did not improve her opinion of society, nor of Lord Ashdown. But, as Mrs. Marwick reminded herself, it could make little difference to her one way or the other. If the gentleman was not affianced as yet he might as well be, and even if he had not lied to her he had certainly been less than frank.

Dee’s next bit of information was even more disconcerting.

“Lady Susan was not told that she is being considered as his wife,” he told Mrs. Marwick. “She was to visit Elswick Manor on inspection, as it were.”

She laughed despite herself. “How lovely. As if he’s buying a horse.”

“The young woman may have suspected, I suppose, but—”

But Fiona could endure no more. “I need another onion for this soup,” she said, interrupting, and they did not discuss Lord Ashdown’s near-engagement further.

  * * * *

After that Mrs. Marwick had even begun to wish—or so she told herself—that Colin and his sister would leave as soon as possible, and let her return to her previous life, which had been unremarkable but happy. At least she might have a few days Wilfred Thaxton arrived, days which she fully intended to enjoy without thinking one bit of the future.

And now it had snowed.

She heard Hobbs enter the kitchen, with Madelaine, and began to quickly dress. “Get Hobbs a cup of tea,” she called out to her daughter.

Maddie re-appeared at the bedroom door, even more excited than before. “Can I ride Bunny in the snow? If I fell off in the snow it wouldn’t hurt and Colin said I could ride him sometime.”

The thought of her daughter astride the stallion’s huge back gave Fiona pause. She remembered, unwillingly, her conversation with Lord Ashdown in the stables.

I should have a different saddle made for her, she’ll never manage mine.

Had he truly meant it?

“I’m not sure,” she temporized. “We’ll have to ask his lordship again.”

“Maybe I could ride Artemis instead. She’s smaller.”

Fiona almost laughed. “Get Hobbs’ tea,” she told Maddie. “Please.”

  * * * *