The Training of a Marquess Read online

  Christ, the little devil was clever. He was going to have to keep an eye on him or the child would soon be running circles around him and his entire staff. Harry’s twin didn’t seem to be paying any attention as he busied himself drawing a beautiful garden of flowers.

  “Do you like flowers, Bensey?” Chase asked.

  Bensey shifted his gaze from the picture to his brother, his eyes wary. Harry moved to block his brother from view. “I tells him not to draw flowers, my lord, but he likes the way they look. Ain’t nothing wrong with him.”

  Chase leaned around Harry to see Bensey’s reaction to his brother’s words. His attention back on his drawing, the boy didn’t seem to understand the undercurrents flowing through the room.

  Chase studied Harry’s posture as he stood protectively in front of Bensey, anger radiating from every pore. Chase had a sinking feeling in his belly. “Have men tried to hurt Bensey?”

  Harry tensed, and Chase had his answer. What would it be like to be that young, living on the streets, having to steal for survival and having a brother like Bensey to protect? Somehow, his problems seemed to pale in comparison.

  “You and your brother will always be safe with me,” he gently said.

  Harry’s smile was beatific.

  Chase’s heart found a new home.

  Chapter Two

  One year later

  Chase glared at the stack of invitations Stillwell had left on his desk. He should have considered society’s hostesses would have marked the date his mourning officially ended—wasn’t ready to face the matchmaking mamas and their daughters, didn’t have any desire to attend their balls and musicals. He would not marry again. His brother, Robert, could produce the next Kensington heir because it was not going to be him.

  He scribbled a note to his secretary to regretfully decline all invitations until otherwise notified. A knock sounded on his study door. “Enter.”

  His butler stepped into the room. “My lord, you have a visitor.”

  “I am not at home, Stillwell.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord, but he is most insistent.” Stillwell handed Chase an embossed card. “Lord Bennet.”

  What the devil could the man possibly want with him? “Very well, you may show him in. If you see Harry, tell him to meet me in the stables at ten, please.”

  “I believe that is where he is now, your lordship.”

  “Of course, it is. If you ever catch him trying to move his bed there, notify me immediately.”

  “My lord, if Harry decides to relocate his bed, no one will know about it until after the deed is done.”

  Chase chuckled. “Right you are.” He waved a hand in the air. “Show Lord Bennet in.”

  The man who entered his study was small, bookish looking and held a satchel in his hand. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “My lord. Thank you for seeing me.”

  Chase nodded at a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat and tell me what brings you here.”

  Lord Bennet sat and placed the satchel on his lap. “I am here on behalf of the House of Lords to deliver a writ of summons. Do you know Thomas Tremaine, the Marquess of Derebourne?”

  “I believe he is a very distant cousin, but I have never met the man. What does he have to do with me?”

  “As of eight months ago, my lord, quite a lot.”

  “What happened eight months ago?”

  “He died, my lord.”

  This conversation grew stranger by the moment. “I confess I’m perplexed. Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

  “First I should tell you the pertinent result of his death. You, my lord, are the new Marquess of Derebourne.”

  Well, the devil. “I suppose that is something I should have been aware of, but I guess it just proves how distant a cousin he was.” Nor had he been out in Polite Society this past year, thus missing all the latest gossip. Actually, he hadn’t missed a bit of it.

  Lord Bennet handed Chase the summons. “You are his cousin, six times removed, and closest living male relative on your father’s side, thus making you his heir.”

  “Do you know how he died?” Chase asked.

  “Lord Derebourne took a fall from his horse and hit his head on a rock. His family home, Hillcrest Abbey, is located in Kent and is a profitable estate. He’s well known for his stables.”

  The marquess was said to breed some of the best stock in England. Chase gave an inward sigh of relief. It had taken years to repair his family’s fortunes after his father had taken them to near ruin. He had no desire to have the responsibility of another failing estate.

  “He had no other family?” When Lord Bennet squirmed Chase was sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “His lordship was racing to the village to fetch the doctor for his two-week-old son. The child died the same night.”

  “What of Derebourne’s wife?”

  “She is in seclusion at Hillcrest Abbey.”

  Chase sighed. He didn’t need this. “Does the marchioness have family?”

  “No, my lord. She was an only child, and her parents were killed in a carriage accident after she married.”

  “So she has no place else to go?”

  “To my understanding, no.”

  Chase would like to go back to bed and start this day over. He would have to travel to Kent, and had no idea what to do with a grieving widow with no place to go. Profitable or not, he would give it all back without a second thought. The title meant more responsibility. He didn’t need a despondent widow on his hands and didn’t need the income from the Derebourne estates.

  Ten years ago, he would have welcomed it. He was one and twenty when his father was killed in a duel and he inherited the earldom. There had been times when he worried he would lose everything not entailed. He had been young and frightened by the responsibility of seeing his family fed and clothed. Creditors had lined up at the door upon his father’s death, and there had been no money to pay them. But he had dug in and persevered, making a promise to himself to never follow his father’s example.

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Other than to deliver the summons requiring you to appear before the House of Lords for the announcement, I have nothing further.”

  Thank God. He needed time to assimilate this turn of events. “Very well, my butler will show you out.”

  Lord Bennet stood and bowed. “Thank you.”

  “My lord,” Chase called as the man walked out the door of his study. “Do you know the Marchioness of Derebourne’s name? Her Christian name?” The deuce. Why had he asked that?

  “Claire Tremaine, my lord.”

  ****

  Claire Tremaine, the Marchioness of Derebourne, read the missive from Lord Derebourne and seethed. It had been three months since he had been informed he had inherited the title and he was only now getting around to visiting Hillcrest Abbey. Granted, he had sent his steward to the abbey a month ago, but only to go over the ledgers. Apparently all the new marquess cared about was the income from the estate.

  She had heard rumors about his profligate ways. The vicar’s wife had delighted in passing on the letter from a friend in London detailing the man’s many sins. Never mind the letter was several years old. Once a rake, always a rake, Mrs. Fisherman claimed.

  Claire paced the room in agitation. What was going to happen to her horses? Although, they were no longer hers. True, but that didn’t keep her from worrying about their welfare. If nothing else, her husband had, after an ugly scene, given her free rein with the stables. She had put her heart and soul into making a name for the business. Claire couldn’t imagine the new marquess agreeing to let her stay and manage the stables.

  She mourned the loss of her son for many reasons. When he died, she hadn’t been sure she could go on living. If Andrew had lived, Hillcrest Abbey would have been his and she wouldn’t be faced with losing her home. She would have been able to stay and raise her son the way she wanted and life would have been lovely for the t
wo of them.

  Tears fell down her cheeks as she thought of the baby boy she would never see grow up. She didn’t even have a portrait of him and her greatest fear was that there would come a day she would forget what he looked like. Shortly after he died, she tried to draw a picture of him, but she wasn’t an artist and the effort had been in vain.

  She crushed Derebourne’s letter in her fist. She wouldn’t make it easy on him to take the only thing left that was important to her. He could have Hillcrest Abbey; it was his by rights. But the horses were hers and she wouldn’t hand them over without a fight.

  Surely, the marquess wouldn’t evict her upon his arrival—could only hope he wasn’t so heartless. She needed to observe him, learn his weakness and come up with a strategy. Feeling better for having the beginnings of a plan, she walked to the bell pull and tugged the rope twice.

  When the housekeeper answered the summons, Claire instructed her to ready the master’s chamber. “Also, he writes he is traveling with two young boys, their tutor and his valet. He doesn’t say the children’s ages, but prepare the nursery and adjoining rooms.” She resented the idea of strange boys occupying what should have belonged to Andrew.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Please move my things to the yellow guest room in the east wing.”

  Mrs. Smithfield gave her a pitying look and left. Claire had no intention of staying in her bedroom as it was attached to the master’s chamber. By all accounts, the man was a rogue and she wanted to be as far from him as possible. Perhaps she should sleep with her pistol under her pillow. Wouldn’t he be in for a surprise if he tried to enter her room in the middle of the night? She knew right where she would shoot him. Smiling at the image, she headed for the stables.

  ****

  Chase halted Mischief a half-mile from Hillcrest Abbey. Aptly named, the abbey stood in magnificent glory atop the hill. Below the front of the great red stone structure a terrace had been cut into the hill, and grazing sheep dotted the landscape. Below and across from him, a sparkling blue lake covered several acres.

  “It’s beautiful here, Father,” Harry said from beside him. “Will you teach me and Bensey to swim?”

  Chase was still getting used to being called Father. The twins had come to him a month ago and shyly asked if they could call him Father. He had been honored they wished to do so. By the relief in their eyes, he realized that, even after a year of living with him, they had been unsure of their permanence in his life. He hadn’t thought about it because they belonged to him. To them, it appeared being their father meant he would keep them.

  “If you wish. We shall take a rest here and wait for the carriage so we can all arrive together.”

  They dismounted and walked to the grass, allowing Mischief and Victory to graze. He had let three months pass since inheriting the title, not wanting to intrude on Lady Derebourne’s time of mourning.

  He had, however, sent his steward. The man reported that the ledgers were in good order, the current steward competent, and lastly, that he hadn’t set eyes on Lady Derebourne. Nor had his solicitor been able to learn much of the widow. It seemed she led a quiet, private life, never leaving Hillcrest. Chase had an image of a mousy, fragile, and possibly ailing widow.

  After much consideration, he had decided on what he considered a brilliant plan. He would take her to London so she could find a husband. Having lost her husband, child and soon her home, he had great sympathy for her and would happily offer whatever necessary to see her settled with a decent man. He would treat her gently and with compassion.

  The carriage arrived and he and Harry mounted their horses, leading the way up the hill. Liveried footman in forest green and gold, and servants in starched black and white lined the steps. Grooms waited to take the horses. It occurred to Chase that the place must be awfully expensive to maintain, and he felt fortunate the estate could afford the upkeep. He climbed the steps to where a butler waited.

  “Lord Derebourne, welcome.”

  Chase caught himself before he looked behind him. He supposed in time he would get used to being addressed as Derebourne. “Thank you.”

  “I am Smithfield, my lord, and this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Smithfield.” He indicated the woman standing next to him. “I imagine you would like to be shown to your rooms to freshen up. Lady Derebourne will meet you in the family parlor for tea at four, my lord.”

  “Very good.” Chase pulled Harry and Bensey to his side. “The one on my left is Harry and on my right, Bensey.” He put a hand on each of their heads. “Go with Mr. Edwards and I will find you after I meet with Lady Derebourne.”

  “Yes, Father,” they said in unison, following their tutor and a maid into the house.

  Mrs. Smithfield led Chase and Anders to the master’s chamber.

  ****

  “They called him Father?” Claire asked.

  “Yes, my lady,” Mrs. Smithfield said.

  Claire had watched from the window as the marquess approached with a young boy riding by his side. When another boy alighted from the carriage, it was obvious the two were identical twins. Mrs. Fisherman had told her Derebourne had been briefly married before losing his wife. The boys were too old to be from that marriage, which meant they were his bastards.

  She didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed he would publicly claim the boys. It just wasn’t done, yet she thought gentlemen who carelessly sired bastards and left them to uncertain fates to be the lowest of men. After one look at the man standing on the steps, she could imagine how women would swoon at his feet.

  She wouldn’t be one of them.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Smithfield. Have tea and cakes brought in promptly at four. We will keep country hours unless his lordship instructs otherwise.”

  Which she was sure he would promptly do. The man probably slept until noon and spent his nights carousing. Perhaps she should send a warning to the village fathers to hide their daughters.

  Claire sighed. She was feeling nasty and possibly not being fair to the man, but she had seen the proof of his perfidy standing on the steps next to him. If he were a careless reprobate, would that not serve her purpose?

  Surely, all he cared about were the monies she would pay, enabling him to continue his dissolute ways. Yes, he had only just arrived and she had him figured out.

  Claire had no doubt things would go her way.

  ****

  Chase entered the family parlor at precisely four. He stopped on the threshold and studied the woman standing at the window. She was as pale and fragile as he had imagined. Seeming to sense his presence, she turned. He had visited Greece on his Grand Tour—had stood on sand as white as sugar and marveled at the shimmering blue of that ancient city’s sea. The color of her eyes took him back to that moment in time.

  She curtseyed. “My lord.”

  Her gaze raked over him, her expression clearly meant to let him know she found him lacking. The skin on his neck bristled. Who was she to judge him?

  “Lady Derebourne.” He bowed. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “Is it?”

  Startled, he quirked a brow. “Of course, why would you think otherwise?”

  “I might think otherwise because you find me a burden. I might think otherwise because you don’t know quite what to do with me.”

  He’d always been at ease around women, but this one confused him. He didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot, but apparently, without understanding how, he had.

  “Lady Derebourne, please forgive me. It’s not my desire to upset you. You are correct, however. This was your home, yet no longer. So, you tell me, what am I to do about you? I do have some thoughts on the matter, but welcome your opinion. I’m all ears, my lady.”

  She stared at him with those deep blue eyes and he waited, surprisingly curious to hear her response. She gestured at the tea tray. “You are correct, my lord. This is my home no longer. Shall we sit and have tea and some honest discussion?”

  “As you
wish.” She chose the sofa and he settled in a chair facing her.

  “How do you like your tea, my lord?”

  “Only a small amount of milk and sugar, please.” Chase watched her perform the ritual, his gaze resting on her slim, elegant fingers as she stirred in the milk. He followed the line of her arm up to her pale, delicate face.

  The lady wasn’t at all what he’d expected.

  Her black widow’s weeds were not flattering and drained the color from her face, but he’d once been a connoisseur of women and saw her potential. With the right color of gown and artfully styled hair, she would be quite striking. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. It shouldn’t be difficult after all to find her a husband, especially with the dowry he planned to offer.

  He glanced at her neck searching for any loose hair that would tell him its color, but no strands escaped the ugly lace cap. She caught him studying her and raised a questioning brow. Embarrassed, he shifted his gaze away, noticing the painting above the fireplace.

  His breath caught in his throat. The portrait was of her, and the man standing behind her must be Derebourne. She was exquisite—a fragile, pale beauty that made a man want to cherish and protect her.

  The rose-colored gown she wore brought color to her cheeks and lips. Her hair was the color of moonlight and her eyes—her best feature—looked back at him in amusement. In his rogue days, she would have been a woman he would have been determined to possess. The man standing behind her had to be at least thirty years older.

  “Was that Derebourne?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  There was no affection in her voice, and he found himself curious about their marriage. Ill at ease, he sipped tea and waited for her to set the tone of their conversation.

  “I know this must be awkward for you, my lord. What does one do with an unwanted guest? I have the right to the dower house, but I don’t want to live there, and I doubt you much like the idea. So, do you give me time to make other living arrangements or do you show me to the door? Perhaps you think I might be desperate enough that I would agree to be your mistress. If it is the last, I assure you I am not. Desperate or agreeable, that is.”