Redeeming the Marquess Read online

  “She is not worthy of my notice,” Roswell commented as he came around his desk.

  Rising, Charles stated, “That is rather harsh of you to say.”

  “I don’t believe it is,” Roswell remarked. “She intends to live off our good graces for the rest of the Season as if she were a poor relation.”

  His mother gave him a stern look. “I want you to behave,” she instructed firmly. “Remember that Miss Bentley is a guest in our home and should be treated with respect.”

  Roswell put his hand up in front of him. “As you wish, Mother.”

  “I shall see you both in the drawing room,” their mother said, opening the door. “Do not dillydally.”

  Roswell watched her depart. “Mother is far too trusting.”

  “How so?” Charles asked.

  “She has naïvely taken in a girl she knows nothing about.”

  “You must give Mother some credit.”

  Roswell walked over to the door. “I shall reserve my judgement until after I have met this Miss Bentley,” he said.

  As he approached the drawing room, he heard laughter coming from within. It was a light, airy sound that he hadn’t heard in quite some time. It was the sound of genuine happiness, and he found it quite irksome.

  Charles spoke up next to him. “It would appear that something is rather amusing.”

  “Yes, it would,” Roswell replied flatly.

  They stepped into the room, and he saw what had to be Miss Bentley standing next to their sister and mother. She was a pretty enough young woman, with an oval face, delicate features, and an upturned nose. But beauty was not enough when dealing with Society. Miss Bentley had no idea the uphill battle she was about to fight.

  Miss Bentley’s gaze shifted towards Roswell, and they stared at each other. He found himself drawn in by the warmth that was reflecting in her green eyes.

  He blinked and dropped his gaze. Enough of that foolishness, he thought. It would not do to have any type of concern for Miss Bentley’s welfare. She meant nothing to him, and he was determined for it to remain that way.

  His mother gestured towards them. “Miss Bentley, allow me to introduce you to my sons, Lord Bideford and Lord Charles.”

  Roswell tipped his head but didn’t feel the need to say anything.

  Charles bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bentley.”

  Miss Bentley curtsied. “The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she responded graciously.

  Emma spoke up. “Miss Bentley was just telling us about how she rode on a mail coach to come to London.”

  “Is that so?” Charles asked.

  Miss Bentley’s smile blossomed, her eyes sparkling. “It was an interesting experience,” she replied. “I was fortunate enough to have a seat in the interior, but there were nearly eight passengers who sat on the roof of the coach.”

  “I thought travel on mail coaches was mostly done at night, since the roads are not as busy,” Charles commented.

  “I was most fortunate that this particular route is driven during the day,” Miss Bentley said. “I do not think I would enjoy traveling at night.”

  “Nor I,” Charles replied. “It is generally not safe to travel on the roads at night, what with the threat of highwaymen and all.”

  Miss Bentley smiled. “Although it would be quite an adventure to meet a highwayman.”

  “I agree,” Emma said.

  Roswell huffed. “I doubt having your valuables stolen from you in such a traumatic fashion would be an adventure.”

  “No, but it would make a grand story to share,” Miss Bentley replied. “It is better than listing my many accomplishments.”

  “Do you have many accomplishments, my dear?” his mother asked.

  Miss Bentley nodded. “My mother made sure of that,” she replied. “I also attended Mrs. Potter’s Ladies’ Seminary for many years.”

  “That is a fine boarding school,” Emma acknowledged.

  “I was pleased that it was close enough to Maidstone that I was able to frequently visit my father,” Miss Bentley said. “It was hard to be away from him when he was ill.”

  “May I ask how your father died?” Emma inquired.

  “He had wasting disease,” Miss Bentley shared. “He was sick for many years before he finally succumbed to death.”

  His mother placed a hand on Miss Bentley’s sleeve. “Our condolences,” she offered. “Losing a father is never easy.”

  “No, it is not,” Miss Bentley agreed. “But I am not the first, and I won’t be the last person to lose a loved one. The way we learn to deal with grief is what helps shape us into the people we are.”

  “Well said,” Charles praised.

  Roswell stifled a groan as he listened to Miss Bentley prattle on. What did she know about unrelenting grief that gnaws at you until it threatens to take every ounce of joy out of your life? She couldn’t possibly understand that kind of pain, something he dealt with every day.

  A silence descended over the group, but it ended when Thorne stepped in and announced dinner was ready.

  3

  As a footman placed a bowl of soup in front of her, Ellie snuck a glance at Lord Bideford. He had a commanding presence about him that she found rather unnerving. She had taken an immediate liking to Emma and Charles, but Lord Bideford was different. He was a handsome man with his dark, unruly hair, sharp cheekbones, and long nose, but those features seemed permanently fixed in irritation. It was evident that this was not a man to trifle with.

  Charles was perhaps not as handsome as his brother, but he was quite pleasant in his own way. He had blond hair, and he wore the look of one who listened closely and pondered deeply.

  Ellie picked up her spoon and started eating her soup. Dinner was turning out to be rather a quiet affair, but she didn’t mind the silence. She never had. It gave her a chance to collect her thoughts, and she couldn’t help but wonder how her mother was faring. She worried how Lord Worthington would react when he discovered she had left the estate.

  Harriet’s voice broke the silence. “I must admit that you have changed so much since I last saw you, Ellie,” she commented. “You have grown from a lanky child to a beautiful young woman.”

  Ellie put her spoon down before she responded. “That is kind of you to say.”

  “I do hope you will play the pianoforte for us,” Harriet said.

  “I would be honored to.”

  Harriet smiled in approval. “Do you play any other instruments?”

  “I play the guitar and harp.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Harriet commented. “Do you speak any languages?”

  Ellie nodded. “I speak multiple languages, and I am well-versed in a variety of topics,” she revealed. “I assure you that I am not lacking in that regard.”

  “You will have to excuse my mother,” Emma said. “She can be rather nosy at times, especially when it comes to rooting out accomplishments.”

  “I am doing no such thing,” Harriet declared. “I am merely ensuring that Ellie is prepared for Society.”

  “I assure you that I am,” Ellie replied.

  Harriet leaned to the side as a footman removed her bowl. “We will go shopping tomorrow and get you fitted for some gowns.”

  “I do apologize for the inconvenience,” Ellie said.

  “Nonsense,” Harriet declared. “I look for every opportunity to go shopping.”

  Charles chuckled. “It’s true.”

  Harriet exchanged an amused look with her son before saying, “In fact, your mother and I used to go shopping whenever she was in Town for the Season.”

  Ellie smiled. “I do recall my mother mentioning that.”

  “Your mother dressed in the height of fashion,” Harriet said. “I always envied her sense of style.”

  “As do I,” Ellie admitted. “She still manages to dress fashionably, despite our reduced circumstances.”

  Harriet gave her a look of compassion. “I was terribly saddened to hear about the di
fficulties you and your mother have endured.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie acknowledged. “I am most grateful that you were willing to open up your home to me for this Season.”

  “It is the least we could do,” Harriet said with a wave of her hand. “We are all pleased that you are with us. Aren’t we?”

  “We are,” Emma and Charles replied in unison.

  Ellie’s eyes shifted towards the silent Lord Bideford and saw that his jaw was clenched so tightly that a muscle was pulsating below his ear. It was rather obvious he did not share his mother’s opinion on the matter.

  Despite her reservations, Ellie decided she would try to win over Lord Bideford. She smiled at him and asked, “Do you ride, my lord?”

  “Yes,” he replied curtly, “but I only ride alone.”

  “Why is that?”

  He stared at her blankly. “It saves me from useless chitchat.”

  Curious, she asked, “What do you consider useless?”

  “Frankly, this.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” she murmured, lowering her gaze towards the table.

  Emma spoke up. “Do not mind my brother,” she said. “He was dropped on his head as a baby.”

  A giggle escaped Ellie’s lips at that unexpected remark, and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth.

  Lord Bideford cast his sister an annoyed look. “Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” Emma met Ellie’s gaze. “Charles and I ride nearly every morning, if you would care to join us.”

  “I believe I shall,” Ellie said. “It has been quite some time since I have been riding.”

  “Then you must join us,” Emma pressed. “It has been far too long since I have ridden with anyone besides Charles.”

  Charles lifted his brow. “I thought you enjoyed riding with me.”

  “I do, but our conversations are rather commonplace,” Emma commented. “At times, I feel that we only ever discuss polite topics.”

  “I don’t think we have ever discussed the weather on our rides,” Charles said.

  Emma smirked. “We did so this morning,” she reminded him. “You asked me if I thought it was going to rain today.”

  Charles chuckled. “I stand corrected.”

  “That is why you must save me from my boredom,” Emma said, turning her attention towards Ellie.

  Ellie was amused by the interaction between Emma and her brother and found herself smiling. “I would be more than happy to render any assistance that I can.”

  “Thank you,” Emma said.

  Harriet spoke up. “Not that one should downplay the significance of polite conversation. It is most important when speaking to people within our circles.”

  Emma let out a slight groan. “No one loves polite conversation more than my mother. I daresay she encourages me to rattle on about the state of the gardens and my many, many accomplishments.”

  “You must set yourself apart from the other young women,” Harriet said. “You do not want to be discounted by a potential suitor.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Emma gasped.

  Harriet frowned. “You will thank me one day when you are happily wed and are raising a horde of children,” she paused, “my grandchildren.”

  Emma lowered her voice. “Run, Ellie,” she urged. “Run while you still can.”

  Ellie laughed. “I believe I will stay and take my chances.”

  Emma shook her head, feigning disappointment. “You have been warned.”

  “I do thank you for your concern,” Ellie said, “but I will need your mother’s help if I am going to find a suitor this Season.”

  “What a remarkably astute young woman you are,” Harriet declared. “We shall have suitors lining up to court you.”

  “That is my greatest wish.”

  Lord Bideford huffed as he reached for his glass. “It will all be but a waste of time,” he declared.

  “Why do you say that?” Ellie asked.

  “You have no dowry,” he said frankly.

  “That may be true—”

  He spoke over her as he placed his glass down. “I contend you should just become a companion and be done with it.”

  Not cowed by his dismissive tone, she replied, “I would like to try to have a Season first.”

  “But why do you wish to waste everyone’s time?”

  Harriet interjected, “You are being rather rude to our guest.” She shot him an annoyed look from across the table, indicating that he should behave.

  “My apologies,” Lord Bideford said in a tone that was anything but apologetic, “but I do not believe we should give Miss Bentley false hope.”

  “I believe hope to be very important,” Ellie responded. “It allows me to believe that perhaps tomorrow will be better, and I only have to endure this hardship for a little longer.”

  “That is nonsense,” Lord Bideford remarked. “The sooner you recognize your lowly status, the faster you will come to terms with your new path.”

  “How do you know what my future holds, my lord?” she asked defiantly.

  Lord Bideford met her gaze unflinchingly. “Because I used to have hope like you, and it was for naught.”

  “I am sorry to hear that, but I am not ready to give up without a fight.”

  Shoving back his chair, Lord Bideford declared, “Then I’m afraid I am just wasting my time speaking to you.”

  Ellie watched his retreating figure as he stormed out of the room. “I don’t believe Lord Bideford likes me,” she remarked ruefully.

  Emma grinned. “I wouldn’t give him much heed,” she said. “He doesn’t like anyone.”

  “It’s true,” Charles agreed. “He barely tolerates any of us.”

  Reaching across the table, Harriet placed her hand over Ellie’s. “Do not let Roswell’s words get you down,” she encouraged. “Stay your course and you will be fine.”

  “Thank you,” Ellie murmured, giving her a timid smile.

  A footman stepped into the room with a tray of meat and placed it in the center of the table. Charles rose. “Allow me to serve you lovely ladies,” he offered.

  With a drink in front of him, Roswell sat at a table in the corner of White’s. He was not in a mood to converse with anyone. He never was; he preferred his solitude—craved it, actually. He gripped his glass tighter as his mind began to wander unbidden to that fateful night in his past. His future had been determined the moment he killed that man.

  He took a sip of his drink and noticed his brother approaching him with a solemn look on his face. “I assumed you would be here,” Charles said.

  “Go away,” Roswell muttered.

  Charles pulled out a chair and sat down. “I see that you are in your usual pleasant mood,” he said. “Lucky me.”

  “What do you want?” Roswell asked.

  “I came to speak to you about your performance at dinner.”

  Roswell frowned. “Did Mother send you?”

  “She did,” Charles replied. “She wants me to remind you that Miss Bentley is a guest in our home and should be treated with respect.”

  “It is a waste of time.”

  “It is Mother’s time to waste,” Charles insisted. “Furthermore, Emma is pleased with Miss Bentley’s presence because Mother is now focused on someone besides her.”

  “Emma should already be married,” Roswell said. “She is on her fourth Season.”

  “I daresay that she is only twenty-two and has many Seasons ahead of her.”

  Roswell shook his head. “Emma is entirely too headstrong for her own good,” he said. “Her husband will need to take her in hand.”

  “I disagree,” Charles responded, “and you would, too, if you spent any time with her.”

  “Emma hates me.”

  “Well, you do give her ample reason to.”

  “Is that so?”

  Charles gave him a knowing look. “You mope around the townhouse and are quick to criticize. It is quite maddening.”

  “I do not mope.”
/>
  “No?” Charles asked. “Do you prefer the term ‘sulk’, then?”

  “I prefer neither,” Roswell said, taking a sip of his drink.

  Charles leaned back in his chair and watched him for a moment. “I daresay that you have been miserable since—”

  He was cut off. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

  “You never do.” Charles glanced over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “The magistrate ruled in your favor. You did nothing wrong.”

  Roswell clenched his jaw tightly. “Is that supposed to make it right?”

  “I just feel—”

  “I did not ask for your opinion,” Roswell interrupted.

  “Fine,” Charles said. “At times, I wonder if you just want to be despondent.”

  “Are you finished?”

  Charles sighed. “Did you listen to anything I said?”

  “I heard what you said, but it changes nothing for me.”

  “You are not alone in this, brother.”

  Roswell gulped down the rest of his drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “Thank you for that, but it isn’t necessary.”

  “No?”

  “It is better that you distance yourself from me, so I don’t drag you down into my abysmal pit of despair.”

  “It’s a chance that I’m willing to take.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  A server walked over and placed another glass in front of Roswell. As he picked up the empty glass, he turned his attention towards Charles. “Would you care for something to drink, sir?”

  Charles nodded. “Whatever he has will do for me, as well.”

  “I shall see to it,” the server said.

  Just as Roswell reached for the glass, he saw two familiar faces approaching the table and stifled the groan on his lips.

  “As I live and breathe,” Lord Townsend said as he stopped at the table, “is that Roswell, the Marquess of Solitude?”

  Roswell met his gaze. “What is it that you want?”

  “Nothing but the pleasure of your company,” Townsend replied as he pulled out a chair at the table.

  Mr. Cosgrove spoke up as he walked around the table to sit down as well. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Roswell grunted. “It hasn’t been long enough for me.”