The Marquess Move Read online

  He casually made his way to the small group where she stood. The most expeditious way to do this would be to ask her to dance. It would be worth a dance with Lady Henrietta to learn who Madeline was or where he might find her. He gritted his teeth and bowed to the lady.

  “May I have this dance?”

  Lady Henrietta exchanged a look with her mother that could only be described as dumbfounded.

  “Me?” She pointed at herself, her mouth slightly agape, her large front teeth on full display in her too-small mouth.

  “Yes.” He kept his most charming smile pinned to his face, even though it pained him.

  “Yes!” She launched herself into his arms, propelled no small amount by a hearty shove from her mother.

  Justin helped her regain her footing. Then he took her hand and placed his other at her waist. She stepped closer to him and grabbed his shoulder. The white feathers jutting from her coiffure nearly poked out his eye.

  Another waltz began to play, and in a word, the dancing was…awkward. She stepped on his feet more times than he cared to count and made a sort of snorting, honking noise by way of an apology. At least he presumed it was an apology. It may well have been an issue with her throat and nostrils. She held on to him far too tightly. She clutched at his shoulder as if she would fall without his support and her fingers in his other hand were icy and skeletal beneath her gloves. He did his best to keep the smile plastered to his face, but he wasted no time coming to the point.

  “I have a question for you, Lady Henrietta,” he began, wincing as she stepped on his foot again.

  The lady stumbled, falling into his arms, causing him to have to right her and assist her in regaining her footing. “A question?” she croaked in a particularly braying voice that sounded exactly like a donkey.

  The way she repeated ‘question’ while leering at him made him wish he’d used another word. For heaven’s sake, she couldn’t possibly think he was going to offer for her on the dance floor after one-quarter of an awful dance, could she? This was precisely why he detested these sorts of affairs. A lot of marital aspirations and nonsense.

  “Yes,” he replied stiffly, hurrying to quickly disabuse her of any misconception as to the nature of his question. “I had the pleasure of meeting one of your guests earlier tonight.”

  Lady Henrietta’s face crumpled into a frown. “A guest?” she repeated, turning up her nose and sneering the word.

  “Yes, a young lady, actually,” Justin continued.

  Her frown turned into a dark glare. “And?” she asked woodenly.

  “She dropped an earbob, and I thought perhaps if I showed it to you, you might recognize it. We hadn’t been introduced yet, and I don’t know her name.”

  “Very well,” Lady Henrietta said with a long, loud sigh.

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Justin was thrilled to have a reason to end the dancing. He led Lady Henrietta to the side of the room, where he pulled the earbob from his coat pocket and presented it to her.

  She glanced at it and her orange-brown eyes narrowed. At first, she looked entirely uninterested, but then she leaned in closer and glared before taking the bob from his hand and rolling it over in hers. “Where did you get this?” she hissed.

  “I found it. On the floor. I believe your guest dropped it. I didn’t receive a formal introduction, but I believe her Christian name was…Madeline.” There. That was true. He only hoped Lady Henrietta didn’t ask him how he’d managed to come by a lady’s Christian name and not her surname.

  Lady Henrietta’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Madeline?” She dragged out the name in an overly exaggerated fashion. “Are you certain her name was Madeline?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. Damn. Had he made a mistake? It didn’t appear that Henrietta knew anyone named Madeline.

  Lady Henrietta pursed her lips, her eyes darting back and forth as if she was contemplating the matter. “I only know…wait. What did she look like, my lord?”

  “Blond hair, blue eyes. Your height.” He also wanted to say the most beautiful lips and startling dimples he’d ever seen and mention that she smelled like fresh lilacs, but he refrained.

  Lady Henrietta’s nostrils flared, and her face turned a mottled red. “I see,” she snapped.

  “Do you know her?” he prompted, eyeing her carefully. She certainly seemed to have someone in mind.

  “I believe so,” Lady Henrietta managed through a clenched jaw.

  Hope bloomed in Justin’s chest. “Who is she?” he asked a bit too quickly. “So that I may return the earbob,” he added, to seem less excited to learn the news.

  Lady Henrietta closed her long fingers over the earbob in her palm. Her eyes remained slits. “She is no one you would know, my lord. No one of consequence. I shall return the earbob myself.” She turned on her heel and stalked away.

  “Wait—” Justin called, but Henrietta had left so quickly she was already halfway across the ballroom.

  Justin followed her long enough to see that she went out into the foyer and up the grand marble staircase at the front of the house. He couldn’t follow her up there. Damn it. It wouldn’t be proper. Now he’d not only lost the chance to learn who Madeline was, he’d lost the blasted earbob. He resisted the urge to punch the nearest wall.

  Five minutes later, he found himself standing outside of the drawing room where he’d first met Madeline. He stared at the door and took a deep breath. He knew she wouldn’t be there, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d been inexorably drawn to the room again.

  This time, when he opened the door, the room was occupied, though not by Madeline.

  His sister Eliza sat on a cream-colored settee near the fireplace reading a book. Her profile was highlighted by the candle that rested on the table beside her.

  Justin exhaled his breath. No doubt Mama was looking for Eliza. She tended to hide in unassuming places in order to read. Well, he certainly wouldn’t reveal her secret. “May I come in?” he asked.

  “Yes, as long as you’re not chatty,” she replied without looking up from her book.

  “Then perhaps I should go.” Justin was not at all secure in his ability to remain silent at the moment.

  This time Eliza looked up and snapped shut her book. “You’re never chatty. Come sit.” She patted the space next to her with a free hand.

  He strolled toward her, but instead of sitting, he paced slowly in front of the icy windows behind the settee while he rubbed the back of his neck. “Have you been here since I left?”

  “Yes,” she admitted with a sigh. “But if you see Veronica or Jessa, please don’t tell them. They’ll want me to do something awful…like dance.”

  He chuckled. He’d always appreciated Eliza’s directness. He felt much the same as she did, which made it easy for him to sympathize. “Aren’t you going to ask me the identity of the young lady I was looking for?”

  “Absolutely not,” she replied. “I’ve no intention of prying into your personal affairs. I leave that for the other ladies in our family. They’re adept enough at it.” She gave him a sly smile.

  He returned the smile. “Her name is Madeline.” He told his sister because he had to tell someone.

  “Madeline who?” Eliza set the book atop her lap and her folded hands atop the book.

  “I don’t know her surname.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “All I know is that she’s beautiful and blond and has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen and dimples that could tempt a saint.”

  “Dimples that could…I must say, I’ve never heard you describe a lady like that before,” she replied, cocking her head and blinking at him in surprise.

  Nodding, he continued to pace. “Yes, and I don’t know why I’m doing it now.”

  “I certainly know little about such things, but it sounds as if you might be smitten. Every time Jessa is smitten, she says things that sound like that.”

  “Blast. I’m turning into Jessa?” He used both hands to scrub through his hair this time.

  Eliza chuckled. Then she stood and hefted her book in one hand. “As I said, I’m hardly an expert, but I do promise not to tell the others.”

  “I know you won’t,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That’s why I told you.”

  “Is that all you know about her?”

  He shook his head. “I know she lost a diamond earbob. I returned it to Lady Henrietta because I didn’t know Madeline’s surname.”

  “Didn’t Lady Henrietta tell you her surname?”

  “No,” he groaned. “She took the earbob and went upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” Eliza blinked. “That is curious. Do you think she means to keep it?”

  “I do not know.” He stopped and braced a hand against the windowsill. He stared out into the dark night beyond the cold panes of glass. “Regardless, I’m quite certain I’ll never see Madeline again.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Mayfair modiste. If there was a worse place in the civilized world to spend an afternoon, Lady Elizabeth Whitmoreland didn’t know where it was. Oh, she supposed torture or war would be worse in an objective sort of way, but wasn’t being poked and prodded and endlessly measured its own sort of torture?

  While she’d never enjoyed going to the modiste, these days it was particularly excruciating because she had an entire wardrobe to procure. Ballgowns and day dresses and shifts and stockings and stays and hats and reticules and ribbons. All the accoutrements for a young lady about to make her debut. And all a lot of silly nonsense if you asked Eliza. How many day dresses did one person need? Certainly not a round dozen, which was how many Mama had ordered for her. And those were in addition to the dresses she’d ordered for Jessa. Why, Justin’s house would be overrun with day dresses. And if the day dresses seemed excessive, the number of ballgowns on order was ludicrous.

  Meanwhile, Jessa flitted about the shop crooning over ribbons and stroking silks as if her wildest dreams were coming true. Eliza steadfastly detested being fussed over. And the modiste’s shop was as fussy as fussy got. Nothing made her more impatient than standing on a short wooden stool while Mama and Jessica and the modiste debated whether pink or violet was a more fetching color for a piece of trim around the bottom of a gown. First, Eliza preferred green. Not violet and certainly not pink. Green was a sensible color. Not overly romantic or fancy. The color of trees and shrubs and practical, useful things. To date, she’d only ever been allowed one green gown, and she was already scheming for ways to wear it every day.

  Speaking of schemes, Eliza had tried a variety of them to extricate herself from the endless trips to the modiste, the most convincing—in her humble opinion—being that Jessa was her identical twin and couldn’t they just make two of everything using Jessa as the model? Instead of being hailed as the obvious genius that it was, however, the idea had merely made Mama raise her eyebrow in that frightening manner that meant she was quite through with Eliza’s mischief-making. It made Jessica blink at her sadly and say, “Oh, Eliza, don’t you want to pick out all the lovely bits?”

  She did not, in fact, want to pick out all the lovely bits, or any of the bits for that matter, but given the state of Mama’s eyebrow, Eliza had resigned herself to come along. The only thing worse than being poked at was trying to dodge the question for the hundredth time when Mama asked her when she intended to choose a lady’s maid for the Season.

  Eliza had no intention of hiring a lady’s maid. Why would she intentionally make it someone’s profession to pick at her, poke at her, drape her in fabrics and jewels and yank at her hair? No, thank you. She detested having her hair up. It only served to make one’s neck cold. But Mama refused to listen to such sensible arguments. Regardless, Eliza intended to stay exactly as she’d always been, sans lady’s maid. She’d lived to the age of eighteen without a maid, and she would continue to do so. Jessa could have a maid and enjoy the experience. Eliza would prefer to find a quiet spot and read.

  Which is precisely why she found herself hiding behind a row of fabric swaths when Jessica greeted Lady Henrietta Hazelton and her mother, who had apparently entered the shop.

  After the niceties were exchanged, including much talk about how lovely the Hazeltons’ Twelfth Night Ball the previous night had been, Lady Hazelton said, “Yes, well, after we finish here, we’re off to the employment agency. Henrietta requires a new lady’s maid.”

  “Does she?” Mama replied, obvious interest in her voice. “So does my Eliza. I’ve half a mind to send her with you.”

  Elizabeth winced and scrunched down further behind the swaths, hoping Mama didn’t notice her.

  “Why are you looking for a new maid, Henrietta?” Jessica asked in her bright, friendly voice.

  “I had to dismiss my previous maid last night, during the party, actually,” Henrietta replied, disgust in her tone.

  “Really!” exclaimed Mama. “That’s awful.”

  “What happened?” Jessica prodded.

  Eliza shook her head. Leave it to Jessica to prod.

  “The most egregious thing,” Henrietta continued. “I discovered she’d stolen a diamond earbob from me.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Jessica exclaimed.

  “Yes,” Henrietta continued, “and when I went to confront her, I found she’d stolen a gown and slippers too. Turns out, she sneaked down to the ball and pretended to be a guest. Can you imagine?”

  “No!” came Mama’s horrified voice.

  “Yes,” Lady Hazelton replied in an equally horrified tone. “Such a shame. She seemed like a nice young lady when we hired her.” She let out a long, loud sigh. “It’s so difficult to find good help.”

  “Yes, well, best of luck,” Mama said as the two other women left the store.

  “Don’t let your sister hear that story,” Mama said to Jessica when she thought they were alone. “She’ll use it to argue with me about not hiring a maid.”

  Eliza had to smile at that. Her mother was perfectly correct. But she didn’t wait to hear whether Mama said more. Instead, Eliza slipped away from the swaths to follow Henrietta and her mother out of the shop. The two other ladies were about to climb back into their waiting coach when Eliza stopped them.

  “Oh, Henrietta,” she called, clasping her white-gloved hands together in front of her.

  Henrietta turned. “Yes?”

  Eliza hurried toward her, tossing a glance behind her to ensure Mama and Jessica were still in the shop. “I, er, I wanted to ask…that is to say…would you mind terribly telling me…what is your maid’s name?”

  “My maid?” Henrietta repeated, frowning. “The one I sacked?”

  “Yes.” Eliza nodded, feeling like a fool, but entirely determined to see this through. “I overheard the story you told Mama and Jessica inside.” She might be awkward, but she was also convinced she already knew the answer and wanted to ensure she was correct. There was no other way around it than to ask Henrietta directly.

  Henrietta’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion covered her long features. “Why do you want to know?”

  Why, indeed? Eliza bit her lip for a moment while she thought of a plausible reason to ask such a question. “Er, I’m to hire a maid soon myself and I want to ensure I avoid the one you dismissed. She sounds positively dreadful.”

  Henrietta’s frown disappeared. Apparently, she was satisfied with the answer. “I have no intention of giving her a reference, of course. She’s a most egregious thief. Her name is Madeline Atwood.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Justin sat on the sofa in the blue drawing room reading the morning paper while his mother perched on the settee opposite him, looking over the new calling cards for the twins that the print shop had sent for her perusal. Jessica sat straight-backed at the pianoforte, practicing her Bach for the hundredth time. Elizabeth lounged in an overstuffed chair in the corner, reading a book.

  Justin paused for a moment in his own reading to glance around. He smiled to himself. It was nice to have company in the town house for a change. For some reason, his usual pursuits—the gambling and the drinking and the women—hadn’t been quite as entertaining this past year. When Mama and the girls arrived, he’d welcomed their presence as a nice change of pace and surprisingly he hadn’t missed the gaming hells as much as he’d expected to. Though no doubt it was only temporary. Once his sisters were married and Mama was back in the country, he would return to his usual pastimes with all due haste.

  Of course, he’d understood this Season would be unlike the others. He had a duty to perform. He was the marquess, after all. Therefore, it fell to him to ensure his sisters were introduced to Society in the proper manner. Mama would take care of all the details. All Justin need do was escort them to a ball or two, host one himself in their honor, and then field the scores of marriage offers they were certain to receive. He would choose the best man for each of his beloved sisters, taking into account their desires, of course. Then they would marry, and by this time next year, they would be out of his hair, happily installed in their own households, and he would be back to his bachelor lifestyle. Precisely what he longed for.

  Oh, he would have to marry as well, eventually. But he’d managed on his own all these years, and after seeing what Edgefield had been through with Veronica, Justin wasn’t in a particular hurry to tighten the parson’s noose around his own neck. He would enjoy a few more years of fun, thank you very much. After all, he was his father’s son.

  “Keep up, boy,” Father said, as Justin attempted to spur his mount to keep pace with the larger horse.

  At thirteen years of age, Justin wanted nothing more than to please his father. He rarely came to the countryside to visit Mama and his children and when he did, Justin was usually at Eton. But this was the summer holiday, and Father had come home expressly with the purpose of teaching Justin about running the estate. “You’re my heir,” Father said proudly each time he showed him a new bit of the property, “and all of this will be yours one day.”