Loving Lady Marcia (11 page)

She couldn’t finish the statement. It was too painful a hypothesis.

Dr. Trimp shrugged. “You won’t have to look far. Tonight she’s to be at the Livingstons’ ball.”

“My goodness,” said Marcia. “You’re well informed.”

“I told you.” Dr. Trimp looked quite proud of himself. “Miss McCloud keeps an eye on her competitors. But she gets no credit for this
on dit
. I heard it from one of my patients this morning, and
she
read it in the paper. You haven’t been in London much the past few years, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Lady Ennis makes sure everyone knows what she’s doing. Speaking of which”—he leaned close again—“the newspapers are a vital source of information for Miss McCloud for other reasons, too. She scouts out potential new students there.”

“Really?” Marcia felt guilt gnaw at her.
She’d
never done such a thing.

“Yes. She also keeps abreast of the political scene so that her board of trustees is always composed of powerful elder statesmen.”

“She’s very clever, isn’t she?” Oak Hall didn’t have any duke’s daughters, nor did it have a board of trustees. So perhaps Lysandra had had a point about Marcia’s deficiencies. “I—I wonder what Miss McCloud knows about
me
?”

Dr. Trimp chuckled. “Is there anything particularly interesting to know, other than the fact that your parents are an intriguing match? Influential Irish peers don’t often marry impoverished English widows.”

“True.” Marcia smiled. “As for me, I’m distinctly boring.” She felt a frisson of worry. Of course, she had her secret. But no one knew but her and Finn, and he’d gone straight to America the day after they’d—

He wasn’t in America anymore, was he? He was here in London. But it had been years since that eventful night. Finn would have no reason to bring the subject up to anyone.

Dr. Trimp chuckled. “No doubt Ella McCloud knows
something
about you beyond what I’ve relayed to you tonight.”

Marcia felt indignant at the idea of being spied upon. But she felt most indignant recalling how Lysandra had been lounging at Gunter’s with her friends as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It was quite possible that her firing of Marcia the day before had been only the beginning of a grand plan to disband the school.

If it hadn’t been for Dr. Trimp, Marcia might be sitting in ignorant bliss while Oak Hall was closed without her knowledge.

How did she ever think card parties were boring?

There was only one thing to do.

“I must go.” She stood and looked at her parents in deep conversation on the other side of the room with an elderly baron and his wife. Their engaged expressions and occasional smiles made it clear that they were enjoying themselves.

“Where will you go?” asked Dr. Trimp.

“To the … ladies’ retiring room.” She stared at the Jensen sisters, who were over at the sideboard getting second helpings of trifle and chatting with the very deaf Lord Davis. She looked back at the doctor. “To fix my hem.”

“All right.” Dr. Trimp looked down at her perfectly intact hem.

He’d obviously guessed she was lying. She was about to do much worse than that, actually. She was going to sneak away from the party without telling anyone and go to the Livingstons’ ball alone. She reassured herself that Gregory would be there, so he could serve as a chaperone.

But first she had to find a way to get to the ball unnoticed and then slip into the festivities without attracting attention. After that, she’d have to find Lysandra, get her alone, and confront her on all counts.

None of those were easy tasks, but what choice did she have?

Dr. Trimp rubbed his beard. “You’re pale of a sudden. And trembling. Do you need a glass of water?”

“No,” she said in a thin voice. “No, not at all.” She felt she was about to be sick.

“Lady Marcia.”
The doctor’s voice was firm. “Are you planning to do something you shouldn’t? Such as seek out Lady Ennis—right now?”

She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak.

“I see.” He pressed her hand and then her wrist. “Skin moist. Pulse is skippy. Perhaps you should sit back down.”

“I’m all right.” Marcia forced herself to feel hearty, like Daddy. “Really, I am. And it’s merely my hem—that needs fixing.” She pointed over her shoulder. “In the retiring room.”

The doctor shook his head. “If you really think you can … fix your hem, go do it. But no fainting, please.”

“All right.”

“Wait.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, adding whatever golden liquid was in it to a glass of lemonade. “Drink this first.”

Marcia drank it. Something warm and fiery went down her throat, and she coughed, as delicately as she possibly could at a card party. She was thankful most of the elderly people here were hard of hearing.

“What was it?” she gasped softly.

“A bit of Scottish whisky. Enough to help you … with your hem.” He winked. “I wish I could go with you,” he added wistfully, “but I’ve the sisters to look after.” He glanced over at his card companions, who’d returned to the table and were happily eating their second helpings of trifle.

“It’s all right,” Marcia told him. “Some things a woman has to fix alone. So that she may be herself entirely. Without interference. Because certain matters are
that
important.”

“Hems are,” he said in a teasing manner.

“Exactly.”

They smiled at each other.

“Good luck,” he told her. “If you were seventeen or eighteen and this were your first Season, I’d force you to stay here … with your torn hem. But you’re a bit older now, eh? Headmistress of a school. No doubt you’ve faced many a trial looking after your charges.”

“That’s right.” She drew herself up. “I think I’ll leave a note with the butler telling my parents I slipped out to go home. In case they become worried. About my hem.”

“Excellent idea. And one more thing. It hasn’t made the papers yet, but the Duke of Beauchamp has a twelve-year-old granddaughter who despises her Swiss boarding school.”

“Really? The Swiss schools are excellent. My own sister attended one. I wonder why the girl’s unhappy?”

“I don’t
know.
” Dr. Trimp threw her an exasperated look. “That wasn’t my point. My point is that Ella McCloud doesn’t even know. Only I do. The duke is my patient, and he was grumbling about the situation just yesterday.”

“Ohhh,” Marcia said. “Oh, I see.” She bit her lip. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” The doctor chuckled. “Let me know how the hem situation resolves itself.”

“I will.”

Marcia wrote a brief note in the library and gave it to the butler to hold for her parents. “I really must go,” she told him, “and I don’t want to disturb the party. Could you tell me the nearest spot to flag down a hackney, please?”

He told her. “But a young lady shouldn’t—”

“I’ll be fine,” she interrupted him gently. “I promise. It’s rather an emergency.” She pulled a poker from behind her back. “I’m only going to borrow this,” she whispered. “I promise I’ll return it tomorrow behind the bushes out front.” She waggled her brows.

“If you insist, my lady,” he said, not moving a muscle in his face.

“Don’t fret.” She winked. “At least
something
happened at this card party, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” he returned smoothly. “But I can only hope nothing happens anywhere
else
you travel tonight.”

“Oh, it won’t. This is the most exciting it will get.” She accepted help with her cloak from him and thanked him for his assistance.

And then, throwing caution to the wind, she slipped out the front door.

Chapter Nine

After dumping his brother unceremoniously onto a street in Mayfair, Duncan had only one desire: to see Lady Marcia Sherwood. To that end, he directed his driver to the Davises’ home. On the way, he couldn’t help brooding. What would he do when he saw her? He wasn’t sure. But
something
.

Yes, he’d do something. He couldn’t simply stand by while—Zeus take it, while she lived her life, the victim of his brother’s perfidy.

And now, to add insult to injury, she’d been dismissed from her school. Surely there was something odd about that. She was damned clever and competent. Who would ever let her go?

But the time for frustration over past injuries done her was past. Now he must use every skill of diplomacy he had to—

To what?

To win her over, that was what.

I’m going to marry her,
Duncan determined.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking it would be an easy task convincing her to have him. But if she did, she’d never have to worry about her reputation again. She’d be safe, and he’d have put things right.

But he found he’d gone to the wrong Davises,’ who were not at home. It took him but a moment to realize his mistake but an entire half hour to get to the correct Davises’ house.

He was a block away and nearly boiling over with frustration again when he saw a young lady in a cloak walking toward him on the street as if she were on a mission of great importance, something at the level of national security, at least.

There was only one woman he knew who walked like that.

Lady Marcia Sherwood.

His frustration turned to fury. He thumped his cane on the ceiling of the carriage and leaned out the window. “What the devil are you doing alone on the street?” he called to her.

Who cared that he was in Mayfair and respectable people were at home, hoping for a peaceful night? Thugs abounded in London.

Lady Marcia looked up, her eyes wide and unguarded, and despite his agitation, his heart twisted. In that moment, he saw that whatever Finn had carelessly taken from her, she hadn’t lost a sense of vulnerability. She hid it well beneath her capable exterior, but it was there, a brief glimpse of softness.

The carriage stopped beside her.

“Please get in.” He felt a great desire to jump out, pick her up, and put her in the carriage himself. “You shouldn’t be alone. I’ll turn around and take you to your destination.”

“I most certainly shall not. You might boss your brother about with that tone of voice, but not me. Besides, we’d be unchaperoned.”

She kept walking. Rupert was forced to maneuver the carriage in the opposite direction to go after her.

“I’ll take my chances,” Duncan said when he’d caught up with her again.

She made an audible gasp, and her mouth became a beautifully round
O
. “As if I would—” She clamped her mouth shut. “Never mind. You’re insufferable.”

And then she began walking again.

He jumped out.

“You’re not going to follow me again, are you?” she said, looking straight ahead.

He grabbed her elbow, and pulled her to a stop. “You’re not going anywhere alone,” he said in his starchiest earl’s accent.

“I’ve a poker in my cloak, and I’m not afraid to use it,” she said softly.

“And I’m not afraid to pick you up and carry you over my shoulder to my carriage and fling you inside,” he said back, “poker be damned.”

She sighed. “I’m just going to the gas lamp on the corner. The Davises’ butler assures me he knows of no one who’s been set upon there. I can flag down a hackney.”

“That’s absurd. This is London. No place is safe, especially for a young lady, even one with a stolen poker. Either walk with me now to my carriage, or I’ll follow through on my threat.”

“Oh, all
right.
” Her shoulders drooped, but then she straightened them and cast him an accusatory glance. “You’re ridiculously stubborn.”

She didn’t make it easy for him, of course, staying as far apart from him as she could, her fingertips barely touching him, her gait slow and reluctant.

“This works out very well.” He flung open the door to his carriage. “I was coming to see you anyway.”

“Why?”
she pleaded. “I told you, Lord Chadwick, I don’t care if I ever see you again.”

“You don’t?” He held out a hand to help her up.

Her fiery blue gaze locked onto his. Reluctantly, she took his hand, and something warm and vital passed between them, palm to palm, leaving his chest tight and his body aching with a need to prolong the touch.

“No, I don’t,” she said in a thin voice.

“I believe you’re not as indifferent to me as you say you are,” he said on a low note.

She wouldn’t answer. Her lips were pinched and white when he helped her up.

“Stick to Mayfair,” he called up to Rupert, “until I get further directions.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Duncan got in after his quarry and sat across from her. The carriage began to roll. She dropped the hood of her cloak and placed the poker on the floor. The flowery scent of her tantalized his nostrils.

God, she was beautiful.

“Mr. Lattimore said
he
might come to the card party,” she said, making it very clear that she’d have preferred his company over Duncan’s.

Did she have a lingering
tendre
for his brother? It would be a shame if so. “Finn encountered a distraction that prevented his seeking an invitation. I decided to come in his place.”

He wouldn’t tell her that the distraction was his fist.

“But why”—she didn’t bother to hide her irritation—“did you want to see
me,
my lord?”

“Because I like you,” he replied. And it was true. Let her make of it what she would.

She lifted her chin and looked out the window. “You hardly know me well enough to like me,” she said carefully.

“Certainly I do. I might have ignored you all those years ago, as you so aptly reminded me yesterday, but you can’t travel with someone and not get to know them a little. I’m aware, for example, that you prefer bacon over sausage.”

“You remember
that
?”

“Yes, I do.” And now that he thought about it, he remembered a great deal more about her, too. “It could be the reason I like you. I prefer bacon, as well.”

She glanced darkly at him, doing her best not to be even remotely amused.

But surely she was. She could pretend all she wanted to be a stick-in-the-mud, but he knew she wasn’t.