The Marquess (13 page)

“Blanche has done what she can, but her powers are
limited until she comes of age. Everything she suggests must be approved by her
trustees. So far, they haven’t agreed to her desire to pay her
tenants’ taxes.”

The marquess sat back in his chair, seemingly relaxed as he
listened to her tirade. His shirt gleamed white in the candlelight, contrasting
with the darker coloring of his skin.

Dillian couldn’t believe that she sat here actually
talking to this madman. Despite the starkly aristocratic structure of his face
and the elegant lines of his figure, she knew this man as a reclusive eccentric
at best. A demented American came closer. What interest did he have in the
economic and social disasters of a country he so blatantly despised?

“And this Neville you mentioned is one of the trustees?”
Long, thin fingers peeled at an apple with a fruit knife.

Captivated by the sensuous grace of his movements, Dillian
answered without thinking. “No, but his solicitor is. Neville and Blanche
are first cousins. Their grandfather was the fifth Duke of Anglesey. He had
three sons. The eldest, of course, was expected to take over Anglesey.
Blanche’s father, the second son, made a career of the military, so her
mother stayed mostly at Anglesey.

“Her grandfather had a falling out with
Neville’s father, the youngest, who wanted to make changes that no one
else thought necessary. So Neville’s family moved to London when Neville
was quite young. Blanche’s grandfather doted on her.

“When the heir apparent died without issue before his
father, the old duke made out his will leaving Blanche’s father
everything, but Blanche’s father died at Waterloo shortly after he became
the new marquess. The old duke could not stop the title or the entailment going
to his youngest son, Neville’s father, but he refused to change his will
leaving everything to Blanche’s family, making it nigh on impossible for
Neville’s family to make any changes in the estate without the
cooperation of Blanche’s family.”

The marquess grimaced. “I need something stronger than
tea to sustain me through this. Why don’t we get to the point? Tell me
who is responsible for the fortune Lady Blanche has apparently inherited?”

Dillian gave him an impatient look. “That is what
I’m trying to tell you. Blanche’s grandfather outlived all three of
his sons. Neville’s father died of small pox a few years ago. The old man
was not only distraught, but furious. He distrusted Neville. He wanted Anglesey
to go on as it has always done, and the estate came before anyone or anything.
He knew Blanche loved Anglesey and would take care of it, but only Neville
could inherit it. So he arranged it so her inheritance and Neville’s are
so entangled and guarded by the same trustees that the only way either of them
can get anything out of it is to marry each other.”

“Unless one of them dies,” he summarized dryly.

Dillian made a face. “That is one way of looking at
it. If Blanche dies without marrying, her inheritance reverts to Anglesey. The
old duke didn’t want to bankrupt his estate, he merely wished to force
Neville into accepting Blanche.”

“But once he married her, what power would she have to
prevent him from doing what he wished? I understood that wives have no rights
of possession.”

Dillian grinned. “That’s where the old man made
a mistake. He had it in his head that lovely, docile Blanche wanted Anglesey so
much that she would marry Neville without question. He meant only to force
Neville. So he set Blanche’s inheritance up as a trust which her husband
cannot touch. Neville would have to beg for every penny. If she marries before
she comes of age, the trustees will most likely grant her husband a large
dower. But once she comes of age, she can control her own fortune. She would
very much like to have Anglesey, but not at the cost of marrying Neville and
giving up her independence, not to mention a large share of her fortune. They
have reached an impasse.”

“When does she come of age?”

“In October.”

The marquess stretched out his long booted legs and stared
at his toes. “That gives Neville nearly six months to either persuade her
into marriage or kill her.”

“Well, she could marry another. Neville couldn’t
touch her inheritance, then. Her husband would have control of the dower
amount. She would have the power to will the remainder to her husband and
children if she so chose.”

Dillian didn’t mention the estate Blanche’s
mother had left to her, the one they currently occupied. That wasn’t
protected by a trust but would instantly become her husband’s property if
Blanche married before she had control over it. It was also normally biddable
Blanche’s strongest reason for not marrying until she turned twenty-one.

Dillian worried about the consequences of Blanche’s
determination not to marry until then, but since Blanche had found no suitor
she madly desired, Dillian had not concerned herself greatly until now. The
possibility that marriage was the only way to save Blanche’s life
concerned her deeply indeed.

The marquess continued frowning at his boots. “It all
sounds like a bucket of sheep dip to me. Let Neville go find another heiress to
support his fancy estate. I’m sure there are many willing to buy a duke.”

Dillian made a slight moue of puzzlement. “Neville has
never shown much interest in any woman but Blanche. He enjoys politics. Even
when they attend a ball together, he spends all his time in dark corners and
smoky rooms, talking to his political cronies. I don’t think he has the
time or interest to look elsewhere.”

“But he has time to hire arsonists? That doesn’t
make sense.” The marquess stood up and pushed the heavy velvet draperies aside.
“I’d better go. I want to keep a lookout on the grounds at night
until you find those dogs.”

“You will have to wait until the servants retire if
you don’t want to be seen,” she reminded him.

He threw an enigmatic look over his shoulder at her. “I
can hide as well as you. Take away your tray and pretend your invalid is
asleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She didn’t like being ordered about. She might play
the part of Blanche’s paid companion, but that had never been her role.
Still, although she had little regard for propriety, lingering alone in
Effingham’s presence suddenly made her nervous. She would do well to
remove herself before he remembered how easily he had overpowered her earlier.

Picking up the tray, she left the marquess contemplating the
nighttime.

* * * *

Neville arrived at Blanche’s door two days later.
Dillian had purchased the geese just the day before. They squawked noisily
around the carriage when the visitor climbed down, but the footman chased them
from his impeccably polished boots. Dillian watched from an upstairs sitting
room as the butler opened the front door before the duke even reached the
bottom step. The long-suffering servants weren’t any more fond of the
birds than Neville, but they hadn’t offered a complaint.

Dillian debated refusing to appear when summoned, but she
saw no benefit in declaring war on Blanche’s powerful cousin. Not yet,
anyway. She checked to make certain her cap held her wayward curls in place,
then dawdled just long enough to irritate him.

When she entered the salon where the butler had placed him,
Neville glared at her without his usual bland countenance. “Where is she?”
he demanded.

Dillian crossed her hands in front of her and asked
innocently, “Who?”

She thought for a moment that he might take the stick in his
hand to her. He hadn’t even allowed the butler to take his hat or cane.
He didn’t mean this as a polite visit, then.

“Where is Blanche? What have you done with her? I hold
you entirely responsible if anything happens to her! I’ll have you up in
assizes if one hair on her head is harmed.”

Dillian gave him her best irreproachably missish look. “Her
hair has already been singed. I have trimmed it. Will you have me transported?”

He shook the cane in his hand at her. “Don’t
give me that faradiddle, Miss Reynolds.” He called her by her
mother’s name, the only one he knew her by. “Don’t think you
have me fooled for a minute. I know you’re the reason she refuses to
marry me. I can have you removed anytime I want. I am trying to be patient, but
I want to know how my cousin is. Let me see her at once.”

Dillian fluttered her lashes. “She isn’t here.”

Furious, Neville shoved past her and toward the door. “I’ve
had enough lies. I’ll see her now.”

Dillian stepped out of his way and let him pass. He knew
little or nothing of this house since it had belonged to Blanche’s
mother. She watched as he started up the stairs. “I wish you luck,”
she called after him.

From his position at the back of the hall, the butler sent
her a questioning look. Unsmiling, Dillian shook her head. Neville didn’t
flaunt his power carelessly, but she wouldn’t risk the position of any of
Blanche’s staff should he choose to do so now.

She heard him flinging doors and cursing. A footman and maid
peeked through a door at the end of the hall but darted back at a frosty look
from the butler. Biting her lower lip, Dillian waited for the duke’s
rampage to lessen. Neville seldom worked himself into a rage. She doubted if he
knew how to control one. She had no intention of standing in his way until he returned
to some semblance of normality.

By the time he bellowed “Where is she?” with
more frustration than fury, Dillian had her story composed. Climbing the stairs
where they could speak out of range of the servants, she waited for him in the
main hall. The lovely old wood gleaming in the sunshine from the windows on
either end gave her a degree of confidence. The old woven carpet had withstood
the feet of generations. It would withstand the wear of many more if she had
her way. She loved this house, and she would protect it any way she could. She
just wouldn’t exchange it for Blanche’s life.

When Neville finally stood before her, he no longer looked
his complacent, arrogant self. He looked thoroughly shaken. Dillian might have
felt sorry for him had she not been there the night the house went up in flames
and Blanche nearly died in the inferno.

“Where is she?” he demanded again, but in a less
forceful manner.

“Safe,” Dillian answered calmly. “As safe
as anyone can be knowing an arsonist wishes her dead. Did you think she would
endanger her staff a second time?”

The duke’s lips tightened in frustration. “That
is specious nonsense. Why would anyone kill Blanche? I want to see her. How do
I know you haven’t harmed her for some sick reason of your own?”

“You don’t, not any more than I can believe you
aren’t the one who harmed her in the first place. So we are at checkmate.
You know she is alive. Your solicitor must have told you of the message he
received. That’s all you need know. You can do nothing else for her but
worry her to death.”

He slammed his fist into the old paneling. “I want to
marry her, not worry her to death. She needs the best physicians. You must
return her to London.”

“How do you know she isn’t there already? I have
no control over Blanche’s actions. It’s not my place. I’m
simply here to supervise the staff.”

“Then, she’s coming here or she wouldn’t
have sent you ahead. I want to know the instant she arrives.” He looked
at her shrewdly. “I’ll pay you well. I’ll double the money
she saved for you.”

Dillian gave him a pitying smile. “I hope someday
you’ll learn that friendship and loyalty buy more than all the gold on
earth. Good day, Your Grace. I’ll have Jenkins see you out.”

Dillian frowned at the empty bedchamber. She’d found
the marquess waiting here these past nights. She’d offered good food,
wine, and coffee as lures, and he’d neatly fallen into the trap. Without
Blanche, she found the house unbearably lonesome. The marquess had given her a
few hours of interesting conversation and company of an evening, in return for
her culinary offerings, of course.

She couldn’t believe he would miss his supper unless
something dire had happened. She set the dinner tray on the table and pulled
back the drapery. The night looked innocent enough. She saw no mobs, no lurking
intruders. But the woods beyond the neatly cultivated lawns could hide an
immensity of evil.

She sipped at her tea and waited. As the hour grew later,
she paced. The food on the tray grew cold, and she didn’t notice. She had
no appetite. Where could he be? What could have happened?

It was idiotic worrying about the madman. Just because she
had lured him in here a few times didn’t mean the marquess would behave
in any orderly fashion. By now he could have found an inn with an accommodating
serving girl. He might have found an old friend on the road and gone home with
him. Or he may have tired of the game and gone back to Hertfordshire. Anything
was possible.

But none of the above seemed logical from what she knew of
the reclusive marquess, and something in her rebelled at thinking he would have
deserted her without good reason. She glanced out the window again, but there
was even less to see than before. The servants had started turning out the
lights on the lower floor.

She didn’t hear the geese. The guard dogs
wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. She had no way of knowing if anyone
lurked out there. Perhaps she should go out and see for herself.

Dillian dropped the drapery again, knowing the foolishness
of that notion. If the marquess had found trouble, he would come here if he
could. She was useless roaming around lost in the dark.

After another hour, she left the tray of cold food in
Blanche’s room and returned to her own. She told herself she had no
reason to worry over a grown man who could obviously take care of himself. Any
man who had survived whatever he’d gone through to earn those scars could
defend himself. She would do well to look after her own concerns.