A Marquess for Christmas (Scandalous Seasons Book 5) (5 page)

The ghost of a smile played about his hard lips. He cleared his throat. “Nonetheless, you have it, my lady.”

She dug her toes into the soles of her slippers at having been caught scrutinizing him.

Before the scandal, Patrina would have been capable of a witty rejoinder, or a prettily polite response. That young woman might as well have been dead and buried by Albert’s cruel hands. More than ever, she wished to be the same innocent, carefree woman from before, instead of this defensive, fractious creature she didn’t much like. Because then, perhaps she and the marquess might not be these two combative souls spewing bitterness at one another.

The marquess stood stoic, and in his elegant black coat sleeves, seemingly unaffected by the chill of the winter air, clearly awaiting a response.

“Forgive me,” she said softly. It seemed they two did that often when in each other’s company. “Charlotte is a wonderful little girl and I’m so very glad I was there to help her. She is spirited,” she said, thinking how she herself hadn’t been all that different when she’d been an eight-year-old girl. His eyebrows knitted into a single line. Patrina fisted the fabric of her cloak. “Protect her, my lord.”
Protect her from her future flights of fancy, protect her from the cruel grasping of those around her.
She turned back to the carriage.

“Wait!” A child’s voice broke the winter still.

Patrina spun around.

Little Charlotte came hurtling down the steps, sailed past her father, and skidded to halt in front of Patrina. “My lady,” she said, slightly winded from her efforts.

She dropped to a knee and brushed a hand over the girl’s cheek. “What is it, sweet?”

“Ices,” she blurted.

Patrina angled her head.

The girl turned to her father. “We must repay Lady Patrina. She saved me, Father. She found me and brought me home. Such a deed must be repaid with ices.”

Patrina rose awkwardly to her feet. Warmth filled her heart. Had she herself ever been so sweetly innocent? Even before her own father’s death?

The marquess came over and settled a large palm on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Char,” he began.

The little girl interrupted him. “But when we do good deeds, you always take us for ices at Gunter’s. Lady Patrina did a good deed.”

He cleared his throat and glanced momentarily over at Patrina. “It is too cold for ices, Char.” He returned his focus to his daughter.

Patrina had been dismissed. She bit down hard on her inner lip in abject humiliation. It shouldn’t matter that Lord Beaufort did not want to escort her to Gunter’s. After all, she took great pains to avoid Society’s scrutiny any more than necessary. So why did this keen regret dig at her?

Charlotte folded her arms across her chest with a mutinous expression on her determined face. “It is never too cold for ices, Papa.” She looked to Patrina. “Isn’t that right, my lady?”

Heat blazed her cheeks. “Er—”

“See,” Charlotte supplied for her. “It’s never to cold for ices.”

“I didn’t say that,” Patrina said with bemusement. She glanced over at Lord Beaufort and tilted her chin up. “I never said that.”

Another smile played upon his lips. “I know, my lady.”

She tipped her head. He really was quite magnificent when he smiled. Not the cold, emotionless beauty of a stone statue he’d put her in mind of at their first meeting, but someone very real, and very much full of life.

“But Papa,” Charlotte pleaded, jerking Patrina back to the moment. The girl tugged at her father’s hand. “How can you not show appreciation for—?”

“That is enough.” His softly spoken words brooked little room for argument and managed to silent the loquacious child.

She hated the deep, innocent part of herself that still longed to be invited on an outing to Gunter’s. Patrina turned around.

“My lady?” the marquess called out to her.

She froze.

“Surely you wouldn’t allow me to be rude, my lady?” A gentle teasing threaded the marquess’ question.

She spun back on her heel. “My lord?”

He held a hand to his chest. The somber gentleman she’d come to expect had a lighthearted glint in his eyes. “Would you reject my offer of gratitude by not joining me and the children for ices to reward your efforts?”

“I didn’t….” Her cheeks warmed yet again. “Oh.” She’d been about to assure him she’d not assisted Charlotte for the promise of ices or rewards and stopped with the sudden realization that he merely teased.

Charlotte reached for her fingers and Patrina forced her gaze from the marquess’ riveting stare. “Oh, please say you’ll come. Please.”

The proper thing to do would be to politely decline. What would the scandal sheets say about Lady Patrina being escorted to Gunter’s with the Marquess of Beaufort and his two, motherless children?

Only… She dropped to a knee yet again. “How could I ever refuse an offer of an ice?’ She tweaked the girl’s nose.

Charlotte giggled. “That is splendid, my lady! Isn’t it, Papa?”

Patrina glanced up to find the marquess studying her and Charlotte with his usual solemnness. He held Patrina’s gaze. “Splendid, indeed.” His mellifluous baritone washed over her like warmed chocolate, so very different than the curt, gruff responses she’d come to expect of this man.

As she took her leave she realized the absolute folly in accepting the marquess’ offer. Yet as she peeled back the curtain to stare out at the passing snow-covered streets, a smile played about her lips.

Weston remained closeted in his office. He tapped the tip of his pen rhythmically upon the immaculate surface of his oak desk.

Protect her.

Lady Patrina had encouraged him to protect Charlotte, yet, something in the deep, aching hurt in her eyes and etched in the lines of her heart-shaped face suggested she spoke of something so much more than his daughter’s antics earlier that day.

Not for the first time since he’d come upon Lady Patrina at the frozen waters of the Serpentine, did he wonder at what could make a young lady so melancholy. She couldn’t be more than twenty or so years, and though it seemed an eternity since he himself had been that tender age, he remembered the carefreeness of youth. He’d been very nearly that age when he’d first lost his heart to Lady Cordelia.

She’d been just nineteen, vivacious, bright-eyed, flirtatious, a diamond of the first waters--in short everything Lady Patrina was not. The subtle differences in the two women most likely spoke volumes to Lady Patrina’s character. After all, as long as he’d known Cordelia, she would never have done something as plebeian as tossing a snowball, nor for that matter, personally escorting a lost child home to her family.

The gold brocade curtains fluttered, and his pen froze mid-tap. He glanced up, and dropped his pen.

“I wonder what I should do with Charlotte for giving me quite the terror today,” he said into the quiet. He tapped a finger along his chin. “Perhaps I should take away her desserts through the end of the Christmastide season.”

A gasp met his ponderings, followed by boyish snickering.

Weston leaned back in his seat and rested his forearms on the sides of his chair. “Then Daniel must certainly be punished, too.”

The little imp from behind the curtain giggled.

His son stomped out and glowered in Weston’s direction. “Whyever would you punish me? She’s the one who left her nursemaid.” He jabbed his finger at the gold brocade.

Protect her, my lord.

Weston quirked an eyebrow in Daniel’ direction. “But as her brother, it is your responsibility to protect your sister.” Where he could. Though, Lord knew he charged the boy with a difficult task. Especially considering that Weston had done a rather deplorable job in protecting his children from hurt at their mother’s hands.

Daniel scuffed the tip of his shoe along the ivory Aubusson carpet. “But she was looking at gowns, Papa. Gowns,” he said with a more pointed emphasis.

Charlotte shoved aside the curtains and raced out. “I wasn’t looking at gowns. I was looking at a toy theatre.” She clapped her hands together and a wistful expression settled on her face. “Oh, Papa, you should have seen it. It was magnificent. It had—”

“Papa doesn’t care about your toy theatre,” Daniel snapped. Charlotte and Daniel proceeded to argue, their voices increased in volume.

“That is enough,” Weston said quietly. They immediately went quiet. He stood. “Now, I gather there is a reason you two have hidden away behind my curtains?”

Brother and sister exchanged a look. “Ices,” Charlotte said on a frown.

“Beg pardon, Char?”

She stuck a foot out and tapped it on the floor “You promised to take Lady Patrina and us for ices. You know, for saving me,” she said, drawing out those last three words.

“Only ninnies eat ices in the winter,” Daniel muttered.

His sister shot a glare at him. “Then
you
don’t have to have one.” She dusted an imaginary speck of dust from her white frock. “You may stay in the schoolroom with Nurse and we’ll go for ices.”

“Why do you get an ice anyway? You’re the one who left Nurse.” Brother and sister proceeded to shout over one another.

“Silence. Silence!” Weston repeated with more firmness when they continued to argue. They fell quiet with Daniel favoring his sister with a pointed glare. He perched his hip on the edge of the desk. “Charlotte,” he began softly. “It’s not appropriate to take Lady Patrina for ices.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Whyever not?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Because, if he wasn’t careful, the young lady with her kind spirit and regard for his children, posed a threat to the steely guard he’d erected about his heart. “Well, for one, it is the winter and a gentleman must not be in the company of a young lady in the confines of a carriage.”

Charlotte scratched at her head. “Why?” Yes, his spirited daughter would certainly require close attention in the years to come.

“Because improper things can occur,” Daniel said on a drawn out sigh.

“What kind of improper things?”

Oh, for the love of all that is holy.
He glowered Daniel into silence and then directed his focus to Charlotte. “A gentleman can’t just go escorting any young lady for ices.” Ices might as well constitute dances and afternoon calls and a real showing of interest. All of which he could not offer a lady.

“Why?” Charlotte persisted. If she’d been born a male, she could have out-argued all the barristers in England combined.

“Because you just don’t do it,” Daniel interjected. “You only take ladies for ices if they are your intended or wife. And she’s not his wife or his intended.”

The hard edge in his son’s words gave Weston pause. When had his son become this cynical, angry young child? And how had he not realized it before now? Gone was the grinning, dimple-cheeked boy with a fun spirit. In the wake of his mother’s betrayal he’d become this combative, older-than-his-own-years boy before him now.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Weston said.

“See,” Charlotte said, that one word more gloating than had she run around the room and waved her arms, yelling ‘victory’. “So, then we shall go for ices?”

Weston swiped a hand over his face. “Char—”

“But you said we would,” she cried. “You promised Lady Patrina, and gentlemen do not go back on their promises.” Her words rang damning and true in the space of his office.

He sighed. His seven-year-old daughter had the right of it. He walked over to his desk and pulled out the top drawer.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked suspiciously.

He was trying to figure out how in hell he was going to manage collecting three frozen ices from Gunter’s and discreetly carrying them to a more appropriate place. He withdrew a sheet of velum. “I’m sending an invitation to Lady Patrina.”

His daughter clapped her hands together in pleasure, the sound drowned out by Daniel’s groan of annoyance.

A gentleman did not go back on his promises. That referred to offers of marriages or ices where honorable gentlemen were concerned. Weston sat down to pen his note. It would seem they were to have ices. That was of course assuming Lady Patrina still cared to join him and his troublesome children.

Patrina sat at the windowseat. She stared down into the white-covered streets below. Perhaps it had been the rather snowy weather to account for it. Or perhaps he’d merely been indulging his small daughter. Or even yet, mayhap he’d merely been teasing Patrina. But the Marquess of Beaufort had never sent ‘round his invitation.

She touched her fingers to the frost-stained window and trailed her nail over the frozen flake upon the cold windowpane. And if she were to be honest with herself in this moment, she could admit to an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

Not because she dearly loved muscadine ices, which she did. Rather, too much. But because after months of being withdrawn from polite Society, she’d embraced the opportunity to go out, if even just for a bit and pretend she was still a respectable young lady with an interested suitor.

She considered the marquess’ usually frowning countenance and smiled wistfully. Granted, the marquess in no way could be mistaken for an interested suitor. Still… She’d enjoyed the dream of it.

Logic had driven home the very obvious fact. Young, respectable ladies did not join gentleman in closed carriages for ices at Gunter’s and sensible people didn’t ride in phaetons in the cold of winter.

A knock sounded at the door and she glanced over.

“May I come in?” Her sister-in-law hovered hesitantly at the entrance of the room.

Patrina swung her legs over the side. The rustle of her skirts filled the quiet. “Of course.”

Juliet ambled into the room, at an uncharacteristically awkward gait due to her swollen belly. She walked over to the window seat and lowered herself carefully onto the floral cushion. She grimaced.

“Are you all right?” Patrina made to rise, prepared to fetch her brother.

Her sister-in-law waved her off. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Please, whatever you do, do
not
fetch, Jonathan.”

Patrina grinned. “He’s been unbearable?”

Juliet returned her smile. “He’s been unbearable.”

Yes, Jonathan seemed to be constantly hovering at his wife’s side. Who would have imagined her rogue of a brother would have fallen in love so hopelessly and helplessly with his wife? But then, with her kind heart and resilience, it was rather hard not to love Juliet.

Her sister-in-law placed her hand on Patrina’s, as if having sensed the direction her thoughts had traveled. “I don’t think I shall ever live a day without guilt and pain for what my brother has done to you,” Juliet said softly.

Patrina winced, hating any and every mention of Albert Marshville “It isn’t your fault, Juliet.” How many more times would she have to assure the other woman she didn’t hold her to blame? Oh, she would trade her right hand for the restoration of her good name so she might make a respectable match. But she’d never trade away any of her sibling’s happiness for that of her own.

“Your brother was so certain he could silence all hint of scandal,” Juliet said wistfully.

“Then, that is Jonathan.” He seemed to think he could assure each of his sisters’ every happiness.

“That is Jonathan,” Juliet murmured in reply.

Gentlemen possessed an arrogance far greater than the clear logic of a woman. Patrina had known with the same certainty Juliet surely had, that Patrina’s actions that day nearly a year ago would be the ruin of her.

“You deserve more than this.”

Patrina managed a smile.

Juliet gently squeezed her fingers. “Might I ask the question I’ve longed to, Patrina? You needn’t answer.”

She stared on expectantly and her sister-in-law continued on a rush. “You are so lovely, so vibrant and talented. Why, Albert?”

Her heart warmed at Juliet’s faithfulness. This was why she could never begrudge Juliet her relationship with that fiend. “He paid me attention.” She grimaced as she realized what an absolute ninny she’d been trading everything for someone who merely ‘paid her attention’. She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I’d had two Seasons. In that time, do you know how many suitors I had?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “None. Not a single gentleman brought me flowers or wrote me sonnets or…” She allowed her words to trail off and looked out the window a long while in silence.

Then Albert had come along. And he’d teased her and flirted shamelessly with her. He’d snipped a black curl and tucked it close to his heart—his black, empty heart. And for that alone, she’d lost her pride and good standing in Society.

“I believe there is a gentleman who will be brave enough to overlook a youthful mistake.”

“Then you’re a fool,” Patrina said harshly. Her cheeks warmed. “Forgive me,” she said, immediately contrite.

Juliet waved her off. “I’m not too proud to admit I’ve been a fool more than once in my life.” She squeezed her fingers yet again. “This, however, is not one of those times.”

She was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of the butler. He bore a silver tray. “Lady Patrina, you have a letter,” he shouted into the room. Her heart paused and then resumed a hard, fast beat. She scrambled out of her seat.

“It was delivered…”

She all but sprinted across the room and accepted the missive. “Thank you, Smith! That will be all.” She gave him a pointed look.

The astute butler might be deaf, but he was still savvy. He glanced over her shoulder to where Juliet sat, surely staring with curiosity, clearly wondering who’d sent ‘round a note to Lady Patrina Tidemore.

Patrina’s heartbeat sped up again. She could think of only one such gentleman.

Smith bowed and took his leave.

Unable to resist the almost painful curiosity, she looked down at the missive in her hands. She studied the black wax of an unfamiliar seal. Her fingers fairly twitched with a desire to unfold the note, but… She glanced up quickly. Juliet remained seated at the window, head angled, a question in her eyes. Patrina folded her hands behind her back and concealed the letter from her sister-in-law’s worried eyes. “None of this is your fault, Juliet,” she said, returning to the matter that had brought her sister-in-law here.

“I would see you happy,” she murmured.

The note fairly burned in her hands. The closest to happy intrigue she’d felt in a long while. “I am happy.”
Now. I’m happy right now
. Happy because with the arrival of a note, something uniquely different had happened to her in a world where everything had become so entirely the same.

Juliet placed her hands on the small of her back and arched it as though in pain.

Patrina frowned. “You’re certain you are well? I shouldn’t—?”

“No! You should not get your brother,” she said. She walked over and kissed Patrina on the cheek. She ran a searching gaze over her face. Concern radiated from the depths of her violet-blue eyes. “If you need anything, Patrina, if there is anything you require of me, you know you must simply ask.”

This offer referred to the note she still held out of her sister-in-law’s line of vision. It spoke volumes to the woman’s character that she didn’t flat out distrust Patrina following the incident with Albert… “Thank you,” she said softly.

The other woman looked as though she wished to say more, but then gave a nod and took her leave.

Patrina waited several moments after she’d gone and then turned her attention to the letter in her hands. She slipped a finger under the wax seal and opened the note. Her heartbeat sped up.

Lady Patrina,

Forgive the delay in my sending round this note. Alas, after your departure, I placed a good deal of consideration into the difficulty in coordinating a respectable trip for ices in the heart of winter.

Her heart slipped with disappointment and she paused mid-way through the missive. Of course, the marquess had surely realized the scandal in being associated with one such as her, after she’d left. She forced herself to keep reading.

After I discussed the logistics of such an endeavor, considering the rules of etiquette and weather, with my very
insightful
children
.

Her lips twitched at the heavily emphasized word.

I ask that you brave the winter weather tomorrow afternoon at the edge of the Serpentine where we first met, so that I might repay your good deed (my dear Charlotte’s words) with ices from Gunter’s. If you, of course, do not wish to brave the cold, you just need send word. I’ll have to brace Charlotte for the disappointment….

She sighed, foolishly and wished some of that disappointment had been held by the gentleman himself—

And of course, myself

Your humble servant.

W

And, of course, myself
. Those four words, so very important.

Patrina folded the note, an unwitting smile played about her lips. There had been no need to add that last ‘myself’, and yet he had. Perhaps she was reading more into those four words and a comma, but—

“What is that?”

She shrieked and spun around. “You scared me.”

Poppy stood, framed in the doorway, a suspicious glimmer in her eyes. “What is that?” she repeated.

“What is what?”

Her sister shoved away from the door and advanced on Patrina like she were Boney on his march through the frozen wilds of Russia. “Why did I scare you?” She screwed her mouth up. “The last time I scared you was when…” Patrina braced for the hesitantly spoken words about Albert Marshville. “You went and made a cake of yourself over
that…man
.”

A bubble of laughter escaped her lips.

Her sister started. She stared unblinking at Patrina. “Did you just laugh?”

“I did.”

The girl folded her arms across her chest, the suspicion deepening in her gaze. “You’ve not laughed in…” She tossed her hands up. “I don’t remember how long. And when you do laugh, well it’s not this…this…loud,” she said on a skeptical whisper. “It makes one wonder…”

Patrina stared at her expectantly.

Her sister let out a sigh of exasperation. “Must you and Jonathan always do that?” she mumbled. “You’re supposed to ask me.”

Patrina bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at poor Poppy’s indignant expression. “Ask you what, dear?”

Poppy pointed her gaze to the ceiling. “You’re supposed to ask
what
it is that makes one wonder.”

She took pity. “Very well,” she said, schooling her features. “What does it make you wonder?”

“Why you’re so happy. Not because I don’t want to see you happy,” she continued on a rush. “And not because you shouldn’t be happy, that is to say.” An uncharacteristically serious expression settled over the girl’s face.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

“I just…” Poppy’s gaze wandered to a point beyond Patrina’s shoulder, and then she returned her focus to her older sister. “I just want to make sure you aren’t a ninnyhammer again.”

God love Poppy for being direct with her when the whole world still tiptoed around the mistakes of her past. She stood there a moment and thought about the marquess, with his gruff demeanor but obvious love for his children. “I promise not to be a ninnyhammer,” she pledged.

Though, if she was being truthful with herself for the first time since Albert’s betrayal, Patrina could admit she still believed in and longed for her own true love.

Perhaps she really was a
ninnyhammer
, after all.