The Marquess Move Read online

  The Marquess Move

  The Whitmorelands

  Book Two

  Valerie Bowman

  June Third Enterprises, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  The Marquess Move, copyright © 2023 by June Third Enterprises, LLC.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Print edition ISBN: 978-1-7368417-9-2

  Digital edition ISBN: 978-1-7368417-8-5

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  Book Cover Design © Lyndsey Llewellen at Llewellen Designs.

  For my lovely friend Michelle Dawnn.

  It’s such a joy to know you.

  She’s a maid with big dreams.

  A dutiful lady’s maid, Miss Madeline Atwood knows precisely what her future holds: countless nights of dressing her mistress in silk gowns, pinning her hair in elegant curls, and selecting the perfect pair of slippers before sending her off to the ball. But Madeline harbors a secret dream. Just once, she’d like to be the one who attends the grand party—and tonight could be her chance. All she needs to do is borrow her mistress’s cast-off dress and sneak downstairs during the Twelfth Night Ball…

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  He’s no prince charming.

  Lord Justin Whitmoreland, Marquess of Whitmore, is a confirmed bachelor for good reason, and none of the eligible young ladies in London has even tempted him to change his mind about marriage. But after sharing one sensuous dance with a mystery woman, he finds himself looking for her around every street corner and in every ballroom. The very last place he expects his mystery woman to turn up is under his own roof.

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  Can midnight work some magic?

  When Madeline is sacked from her job, Justin’s meddling sister hires her as her new lady’s maid. Which would be well and good if they didn’t have to face temptation every day—and every night. Justin would have to be the worst kind of scoundrel to trifle with a woman in his employ, and Madeline believes she has zero chance of capturing a marquess’s heart…so why is it so difficult for them to resist stealing private moments together? It’s the most improbable of matches, but if the slipper fits…

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Also by Valerie Bowman

  Let’s Keep in Touch

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  London, Twelfth Night, 1814, The Earl of Hazelton’s Town House

  Madeline Atwood had two choices. She could rush back up the stairs, ask Anna to help her remove the stolen ballgown, replace the pilfered slippers and carry on as before, no one the wiser. Or she could continue her descent to the ballroom, where there was music and dancing and her one chance to fulfill her lifelong dream. One magical night when she could pretend she was a debutante at a grand London ball.

  Maddie peered over the servants’ staircase. No one was there. Thank goodness. Now was her chance. The other servants were down in the kitchens preparing copious amounts of food. Or they were scattered about the rooms of Lord Hazelton’s town house, catering to the two hundred guests who were enjoying themselves at the Hazeltons’ annual Twelfth Night Ball.

  Maddie glanced down at herself. She was wearing a sapphire ballgown that (thankfully) fit her perfectly and white satin slippers with blue satin bows on the tips. The slippers were too large, but she would make do. Her friend, Anna, had helped her twist her blond hair into a chignon, though Maddie had not been brave enough to pilfer any jewelry from Lady Henrietta’s collection. She was already taking too much of a chance as it was.

  Maddie took a deep, shaky breath. If she continued and was found out, she’d be risking everything she’d worked for these three past years. Molly was depending on her. Dear sweet Molly, seventeen years old. Out in the country living with Mrs. Halifax, who’d taken in the sisters after Papa’s untimely death and the subsequent nightmare they’d endured. Molly needed Maddie to provide for her. She was all her younger sister had. The day Papa had passed away, his throat so ravaged by consumption, he’d barely been able to speak.

  “Take care of your sister, Madeline,” he’d croaked.

  “I will, Papa. I promise.”

  And then Maddie had gone and done something that had not only compromised Molly’s future, but her own. Which was why at the age of one and twenty, Maddie, the elder daughter of a baron, was working as a lady’s maid for one Lady Henrietta Hazelton in London, scrimping and saving every ha’penny to send back home to her sister.

  Maddie peered down the staircase once more. A thrill of excitement shot through her. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be dressed this way. She shouldn’t be contemplating what she was contemplating. But after three years of following the rules every second, she was about to burst. Tonight, she intended to take a chance, to have a bit of fun. Just a small taste of the life she’d always thought would be hers until it all went wrong.

  What she was about to do was stupid and selfish. But if she had to endure one more day in the drudgery of service without anything exciting, or even mildly out of the ordinary, she’d go mad. There was no choice, really. She already knew what she would do. She had known it since the moment she’d woken up this morning with her outlandish idea lodged in her brain and whispered it to Anna in the early, cold, dark moments before they slid from bed and began their chores. Maddie was going to sneak into her employer’s ball and pretend to be a guest.

  Chapter Two

  Justin Whitmoreland, the Marquess of Whitmore, was bored. He was always bored at ton events and this one was particularly boring. Hazelton’s Twelfth Night Ball was an annual affair attended by nearly everyone in London. Justin was here for only one reason, however. To assist his closest friend, Sebastian, the Duke of Edgefield, who happened to be unhappily married to Justin’s sister, Veronica.

  Edgefield had asked Justin to meet him here to stave off the gossip as to why Veronica wasn’t in attendance. As a duke with a prominent role in Parliament, Sebastian was required to attend such affairs. But without his duchess at his side, there would be questions. The lie was more plausible when Sebastian wasn’t the only one spreading it—Veronica was feeling poorly…for the second Twelfth Night in a row.

  Thankfully, Sebastian had promised that all Justin need do was mingle for an hour, mention to as many people as possible that Veronica had unfortunately fallen ill again—rotten luck, that!—and then he could take his leave. His duty to Edgefield fulfilled, Justin would be free to go to one of his favored gaming hells and spend the remainder of the evening engaged in much more pleasurable pursuits.

  He didn’t have much longer for pleasurable pursuits. This would be his final Season as a bachelor. He intended to make the most of it. Next year, his eighteen-year-old twin sisters would come to town to prepare for their debuts. He adored his sisters, all three of them, and he would do anything for them, but there was no doubt the twins’ presence would require a significant change to his normally profligate schedule. He would be expected to squire them about town and eventually choose husbands for both of them, with their approval, of course. He had no illusions that his headstrong sisters would not be entirely involved in selecting their own husbands. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He wanted all three of them happy. He even held out hope of Veronica and Edgefield reconciling. Though that was taking much longer than expected.

  Fiercely loyal, Justin had a soft spot for his family and friends, which was precisely why he was here at this excruciatingly boring ball tonight, helping Edgefield pretend to be happily married. In fact, Justin had been here nearly a quarter of an hour already, though he had yet to locate his friend in the crush.

  Justin expelled his breath. By God, the ball was even more crowded than last year…filled with marriage-minded misses and their mothers. The Season was not yet underway, so the ladies of the ton used Hazelton’s ball as their one opportunity to march their darlings under the eyes of perspective grooms before it began.

  Justin had already dodged half a dozen such mamas, their prim little daughters standing demurely at their sides. He was a thirty-year-old bachelor marquess, a prime t
arget for such duos.

  He glanced up.

  Blast.

  Lady Hazelton herself and her horse-faced daughter Henrietta were headed directly toward him. He needed to remove himself. Quickly.

  Turning and pushing through the throng, he made his way down the nearest corridor and into the last room on the right. He shut the door behind him and pressed his back against it, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief.

  He’d narrowly escaped. Lady Hazelton and Henrietta were one of the most strident pairs he’d encountered. Insistent, loud, and not given to graciously accepting polite refusals of their requests. Justin made it a habit to keep from their sight.

  “That was close,” he murmured to himself, releasing a deep sigh into the empty, darkened room.

  “What was close?” a lively female voice asked.

  Chapter Three

  Maddie immediately regretted the words that had flown from her lips. Molly always said she was too quick to speak at times. She certainly had spoken too quickly one very important time in particular. She should have remained hidden by the potted palm she’d jumped behind when the door to the drawing room opened. She should have remained silent.

  She’d been brave enough to descend the servants’ staircase, lift the skirts of her pilfered blue ballgown, and tiptoe down the corridor toward the grand ballroom, but then a pair of footmen had come round the corner, and she’d fled into the first room she found.

  A drawing room. A thankfully empty drawing room. She’d been trying to work up the nerve to continue with her plan ever since. She’d nearly convinced herself to do the intelligent thing and scurry back abovestairs with her tail between her legs when the door swung open, and a gentleman had rushed in.

  “Pardon me,” the man said, pushing himself off the door and taking a step toward her. His voice was deep and memorable. It sent a pleasurable tremor down her spine. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” she admitted, mostly because she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  She couldn’t help but look at him. A brace of candles sat atop the mantel close to where Maddie stood. They illuminated the room enough to allow her to slowly size him up. He had to be a guest. He was dressed in formal evening attire, mostly black, with a white waistcoat, shirtfront, and cravat. Well-cut and made with the finest of fabrics. As a lady’s maid, she had an eye for such things. His clothes were no doubt more expensive than the entirety of Maddie’s worldly possessions. He was tall and ridiculously fit, with dark-brown hair and obsidian eyes that were returning her gaze with interest. A sigh escaped her lips. He was the exact sort of handsome gentleman she’d imagined dancing with.

  “Why aren’t you supposed to be here?” he asked, a dark brow arching over one eye. “Are you hiding from the party too?”

  No. The exact opposite, actually. She longed to be out at the party. But she was having second thoughts. What if one of the servants recognized her in the ballroom? Anna knew her secret, but no one else did. Maddie had counted on the others being too busy to look at her, just another party guest, but it would only take one servant recognizing her to ruin her plan. “I am hiding,” she admitted, because at least that much was true, and she sensed the handsome gentleman was waiting for a reply.

  “Why?” he asked, taking another step toward her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Why are you hiding in here?” she asked instead of answering him. She was truly curious to know the answer. A man this good-looking would be popular at an affair such as this. He must have a good reason for sneaking off.

  “Because I detest these sorts of things,” he replied. The hint of a smile quirked up his lips, and she loved that she’d been the one to put it there.

  “You don’t like to dance?” It ought to be against the law for a man that handsome to refuse to take to the dance floor.

  “Dancing is for married men, lovesick fools, and fops,” he replied, slowly shaking his head.

  “I see,” she replied, before asking him another question that was sure to elicit another negative response. For some reason, she was enjoying prodding him. “You do not like to mingle?” She’d so longed to be a carefree party guest, but she supposed not everyone felt the same.

  “Not at all.” He chuckled this time.

  “How do you feel about eating hors d'oeuvres?” she ventured, suppressing her smile.

  He shrugged. “Mostly indifferent, I’m afraid.”

  “So, you don’t care for fun then?” She nearly laughed but stopped herself.

  “Not the sort of fun found at an event such as this,” he drawled.

  “But if you don’t like to dance, mingle, or consume hors d'oeuvres, then why are you here?” Oh, dear. Maddie frowned as an unwelcome thought occurred to her. Perhaps he was a rake…perhaps he had arranged an amorous liaison…and perhaps she walked right into the middle of it. Her voice had gone a little breathless at the end there, but the thought of him meeting another woman was oddly provoking.

  A smile spread across his face, making him even more handsome, if that was possible. He moved even closer to her. He was standing only two paces away. He was quite tall and the scent of his obviously expensive, yet sparingly applied cologne made her knees wobble.

  She was in over her head. She needed to leave. Soon.

  “I am doing a favor…for a friend,” he told her.

  Now that was interesting. Perhaps he wasn’t a rake after all. He certainly looked like one, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved. “What sort of favor?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “Are you close with Lord Hazelton?” Because if he was, she needed to leave immediately. She should not be consorting with anyone who might mention their encounter to her employer.

  The handsome gentleman smiled again, and she briefly wished he would always smile. “No. I barely know him,” he said.

  She allowed her shoulders to relax. “Thank goodness,” she said before she had a chance to think better of it.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “May I ask your name?”

  Oh, no. She needed to get out of here. Perhaps he wasn’t a rake, but he was disordering her thoughts, and she needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to pull off this mad plan. At some point during this remarkable conversation with this outrageously handsome man, she’d found the courage she’d needed and now she was anxious to get on with it.

  “You may ask, but I cannot share it. In fact, I must go.” She hurried past him to the door and cracked it open, peeking out, trying to ignore the alluring scent of sandalwood that met her nostrils as she passed him.

  “You are in a hurry?” His voice came from behind her this time.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I don’t have much time to accomplish my goal.” Thank goodness. The way was clear. She would make her way down the corridor and blend into the sizable crowd. Surely, no one would notice one more lady in the crush. She opened the door wider. “Good night, Mr.…”

  “Mr.?” he said as if it were a question.

  Oh, no. Was he not a mister? Was he a lord? Good heavens. She truly must leave immediately. She had no business messing about with lords. Though no doubt the ballroom was lousy with them. “My apologies, I thought—”

  “Mr. Whitland,” he said quickly. “But wait. Where are you going? What is your goal?”