How to Manage a Marquess (6 page)

He could lay
this
at Miss Hutting's door, too. If she hadn't lured Marcus into the bushes, Nate wouldn't have had his own leafy encounter. He would still be indifferent to Miss Davenport—

Well, all right, he hadn't been precisely indifferent before, but he was still determined that nothing would come of his odd feelings. However, if Marcus stayed in Loves Bridge, Nate would have to stay, too. That would make everything more difficult.

Alex finished pouring his drink. “Interested in Miss Davenport, are you, Nate?” he said as he went back to his seat.

Unfortunately, Nate had taken a sip of brandy, which then went up his nose. He gasped and coughed.

“Are you all right?” Marcus asked.

Nate hadn't yet recovered his powers of speech, so he merely nodded—and glared at Alex.

“You didn't think I missed the way you stood dumbfounded when you opened the door for her the other day at Cupid's Inn, did you?” The blackguard laughed. “I believe Loves Bridge is going to prove far more entertaining than the Lake District or London.”

“Stubble it, Alex,” Marcus said.

For once, Nate was in complete agreement with his cousin.

Chapter Four

Anne strode under a blue and cloudless sky from Cupid's Inn, where she'd left her gig, toward the Spinster House. In just a few minutes, she would draw lots to see if she would be the next Spinster House spinster.

She'd overheard Mr. and Mrs. Bigley talking early this morning. They thought Papa would pop the question sometime in the next few weeks and marry Mrs. Eaton shortly thereafter. As Mrs. Bigley had said, there was no point in waiting. Neither of them was getting any younger.

Oh, God! As soon as the end of next month, Davenport Hall could have a new mistress and two little boys running wild through it. Papa would have a new family.

And Anne would be very much in the way.

I
have
to win the Spinster House.

“Early, I see.”

Anne blinked, coming out of her reverie to notice Jane standing on the pavement a few feet in front of her. “You're early, too.”

Jane snorted. “I wasn't about to wait at home.” She nodded toward the Spinster House. “Randolph is in there, getting the lots ready. I told him to make certain the drawing could not be manipulated to favor one candidate over another.” She scowled. “Or to disfavor. I wouldn't put it past him to arrange things so I don't win.”

Randolph was Jane's brother and the village solicitor. His firm Wilkinson, Wilkinson, and Wilkinson—though there was only one Wilkinson now—had overseen the Spinster House since Isabelle Dorring's time.

Jane looked over at the vicarage. “I'm surprised Cat isn't here, too.”

“Maybe she's not coming.” Anne felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps the duke
had
offered for Cat in the bushes last night, because if Cat were still interested in the Spinster House, she'd be here right beside them.

Jane's eyebrows shot up. “What?! Why wouldn't Cat be coming?”

“Oh, er, I don't know. I just—”

Jane grabbed her shoulders. “Anne Elizabeth Davenport, you tell me right now why you think Cat would not still be interested in being the next Spinster House spinster.”

Jane could be very determined and, well, the secret was rather burning a hole in her chest. And Jane was Cat's friend, too. What could be the harm?

“I saw her go into the trysting bushes with the duke yesterday evening.”

Jane sucked in her breath. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I wouldn't make up such a thing.” Anne shifted her shoulders. “
Will
you let go?”

Jane dropped her hands. “I wonder what it means.”

“Perhaps it means she's going to be a duchess.” Though there
was
that London girl whom the duke had lured into the bushes and then refused to wed. But surely he would not be so bold as to take liberties with Cat! Still, she shouldn't get her hopes up. “Or perhaps it means nothing.”

“Nothing? Ha! You know
nothing
is not what happens in those trysting bushes. Cat's sisters made good use of them when they were hunting for husbands.” Jane looked across the road to the bushes in question as if she could discern what had happened in their shadows by the arrangement of their leaves.

“Cat has always said she doesn't want to be a wife.”

“She doesn't want to be
Mr. Barker's
wife.” Jane snorted. “Who would? But the duke is a different matter entirely. He's handsome, educated, wealthy—
and
he doesn't smell as if he's been mucking around in manure all day. He'd be an excellent match for Cat.”

That was precisely what Anne thought.

“Did you hear any gossip about them when you left the gig at Cupid's Inn just now?” Jane asked.

“N-no.” Oh, dear. If Cat was indeed betrothed, her mother would have wasted no time in getting the word out. The entire village knew how much Mrs. Hutting worried that her oldest daughter would never marry. And though Mrs. Hutting, being the vicar's wife, didn't put a great quantity of stock in things of this world, she wouldn't be human if she didn't gloat a little over Cat landing such a lofty peer. So, no, there must not be a betrothal.

Jane was scowling. “The duke has to know he can't trifle with Cat. She's the vicar's daughter!”

“Yes. Unless he's reluctant to propose because of the curse.” Though he shouldn't have been in the bushes with Cat in that case.

Jane looked at her as if she were a complete noddy. “You don't believe that superstitious nonsense, do you?”

“N-no.” But even Papa hadn't totally discounted it. “Though it does seem odd that every duke since Isabelle Dorring's time has died before his heir was born.”

Jane flicked her fingers at her. “Mere coincidence. And people died younger in those unenlightened times.” She looked at her pocket watch. “It's almost time. Let's go in.”

She glanced back at the vicarage as she started up the walk to the Spinster House. “If Cat has decided she
would
rather be a duchess”—she smiled rather tightly at Anne—“that leaves just the two of us in contention.”

“Yes.” Anne matched steps with Jane. Perhaps whatever had happened in the trysting bushes had changed Cat's mind about marriage. Anne's own interlude in the foliage had been extremely . . . unsettling.

“I hope you understand that I
must
win the Spinster House,” Jane said. “I cannot abide living one more day with Randolph.”

Jane always had been a bit self-centered.

“I realize Randolph can be maddening, Jane, but I think you must agree my need is greater. In a matter of weeks, my father will marry Mrs. Eaton and move her and her two little hellions into Davenport Hall. I'll no longer be in charge of the household. I'll b-be—” She swallowed and then took a deep breath to regain her composure—and scowled. “I wouldn't be surprised if I'm saddled with the woman's children, made to be their governess or nursemaid.”

Jane paused with her hand on the latch. “Your father has offered for her, then, and been accepted?”

“N-no. But I heard the Bigleys discussing it this morning, and you know how the servants are always aware of everything that is happening in a family.”

Jane sniffed and jerked the door open. “Actually, I don't know.”

Oh, right. Randolph was too parsimonious to hire more than Mrs. Dorn, an older, rather sour woman who was a maid-of-all-work. She did some cleaning, some laundry, and some cooking, none of it particularly well. Everything else fell to Jane.

“There you are,” Randolph said as they came in. He looked a bit harried. “Have a seat. I'm sure Cat and the duke will be along shortly.”

“Cat has changed her mind,” Jane said. “She's not coming.”

Randolph frowned. “Why would you say that? She seemed very determined just a few days ago.”

Jane turned to Anne. “Tell him what you saw.” She looked back at her brother. “Once you hear what Anne has to say, you'll realize Cat has had a change of heart.” Jane sniffed. “Or if she hasn't, she should be disqualified.”

Anne gasped. She hadn't thought of Cat being disqualified.

“What?” Randolph scowled at Jane and then at Anne. “Are you daft? The only way Cat could be disqualified is if she were married, which you know very well she is not. And you also know the duke doesn't wish to deviate one letter from the terms of Isabelle Dorring's directives.” He looked at Anne. “If His Grace doesn't follow each step precisely, he risks sudden death.”

“That's ridiculous.” Anne couldn't help it—she laughed. Good Lord, did Randolph think her an idiot? To imagine that an educated man like the Duke of Hart would believe he was fated to die before his heir was born was hard enough, but to also accept he thought he'd drop dead if he didn't do exactly as instructed by some long-deceased woman . . . It was ludicrous.

“I'm afraid it's no laughing matter, Anne,” Randolph said.

“But you're a solicitor. Surely you don't believe in such magical goings-on.”

“Whether I believe in them or not, I must follow Isabelle Dorring's—my client's—instructions.” He looked at Jane. “As my sister so vehemently pointed out just the other day when we were going over the details in my office.”

“That was different,” Jane said. “The duke thought he could ignore the process completely.” She looked at Anne. “He would have handed Cat the keys outright if I hadn't spoken up.”

Anne gasped. She'd had no idea how close she'd been to disaster.

“Which I wouldn't have been able to do if I'd been out running the silly errand Randolph tried to send me on.” Jane looked back at her brother. “Isabelle would care about this, Randolph. Go on. Tell him, Anne.”

She didn't truly wish to spread tales, but . . . but if Cat wasn't betrothed and there actually was a curse of some sort, perhaps she
should
share the story. The woman who'd been wronged by the duke's ancestor might not wish Cat to live in the house if Cat was on, er, exceedingly
friendly
terms with the current Duke of Hart.

“Yesterday evening,” she said, “I was looking around the Spinster House grounds, and I saw Cat go into the trysting bushes with the duke.”

Randolph raised a brow. “So?”

“So you know what happens in the trysting bushes, Randolph,” Jane said.

“As it happens, I do not. Pray, enlighten me.”

“Ohh, you are being purposely obtuse. Kissing happens, Randolph. Kissing and cuddling and Other Things.”

His right brow winged up. “And you know this from personal experience, I presume, Jane?”

Her brows slammed down. “No, of course I don't.
I
don't frolic in the shrubbery.”

Randolph muttered something that sounded very like “Perhaps you should.”

“Look what happened to her sisters!” Jane said.

“They got married, as most women do. I don't recall any scandal attached to their nuptials.”

Randolph was right about that.

“But the Spinster House is for
spinsters
.” Jane almost shouted the words.

“Which Cat still is. I hope we don't need to disqualify every unmarried woman who ever let a man kiss her.”

Lud, I hope so, too.
Anne also hoped she wasn't blushing, though she was rather afraid she was.

It didn't matter. Neither Randolph nor Jane was paying her any attention.

“Haven't you ever been kissed, Jane?” Randolph asked.

Jane turned quite red. Interesting.

“That is none of your concern.”

Randolph nodded. “Just as it is none of my concern what Cat may or may not have done in the bushes with the Duke of Hart, thank God. This whole business is difficult enough without having to be so bold as to quiz His Grace on his amorous intentions. And since he seems to believe marriage will be the beginning of his end,
and
since he knows full well Cat is a gently bred virgin and the vicar's daughter to boot, I think we can absolve him of any salacious intentions.”

“But perhaps Cat is no longer a virgin.”

Randolph's jaw dropped. “Jane! I cannot believe you just said that.”

Jane did have the grace to look somewhat embarrassed.

“And even if Miss Hutting was not . . . was not . . .” Randolph took a deep breath. “I cannot bring myself to repeat the ugly thing you just said. However, even if it were true, it wouldn't make any difference. Isabelle Dorring's instructions say nothing about that matter. And given that she found herself enceinte and unwed, one could reasonably assume she'd be sympathetic.”

“Still, the duke is in charge of the lottery.” Jane looked quite mulish. “If he is in any sort of a relationship with Cat, he might favor her.”

Heavens, Jane was right!

“We want to be certain we each have an equal chance,” Anne said. It was bad enough to leave the decision to something as arbitrary as lot drawing, but if the duke manipulated the process to give the house to Cat—

Anne's stomach fell, and she thought she might lose her breakfast.

“That must be Cat now.” Randolph headed to the door. “And from the sound of that knocking, she's quite desperate to participate in the drawing.”

* * *

“I think we need something stronger than tea,” Jane said, putting her cup down with a click. She and Anne were sitting at a table in a corner of the Cupid's Inn taproom. The place was deserted. The villagers who'd stopped by for a bit of luncheon had left, and no one had yet showed up for an afternoon pint.

“Perhaps it would help if we added some French cream.” Anne poked at her meat pie again. She had no appetite.

“Good idea.” Jane got up and went over to try to wheedle some brandy from Mrs. Tweedon, the innkeeper's wife. The woman had been sending them worried looks for the last half hour.

Well, knowing Jane, she would just tell Mrs. Tweedon they had need of the spirits and take a bottle. Jane wasn't much for wheedling.

Anne jabbed the poor, innocent meat pie with her fork.

Randolph had gone to great lengths to be certain no one could tell which lot was the shortest, and the duke had even donned a blindfold when he'd held the vase the lots were in. But she'd still thought Cat must know something, so when she'd seen which lot Cat was reaching for, she'd darted her hand in to get to it first.