Compromising the Marquess (2 page)

Thank heavens for small mercies.

Gabriel rang the bell, Potter appeared with stately alacrity and showed the ladies out. As soon as the coast was clear, Hal emerged from his hiding place.

“God’s teeth, Hal!” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. “How do you cope with them?”

Hal laughed. “By avoiding them at all costs.”

“And leaving them to me.”

Hal elevated a brow. “You did say that you wanted to take on more responsibility here at the Hall.”

“Yes, but dealing with that harridan wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Hal helped himself to a measure of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. “Rough with the smooth, little brother. Unfortunately one can’t pick and choose.”

Gabriel grunted. “You appear to do so.”

“I thought Miss Elliott has possibilities,” Flick remarked.

Hal pulled the local newspaper from his sister’s grasp. “That isn’t for your eyes.”

Flick pouted. “How else am I supposed to learn about Mrs. Fitzherbert’s latest doings with the prince regent?”

“You’re not. Whoever writes all that gossip deserves to be clapped in irons.”

Flick merely laughed and retrieved the paper from where Hal had thrown it. “What a charmingly old-fashioned view. I adore gossip.”

Hal and Gabriel exchanged a look.

“With regard to Miss Elliott,” Hal said. “Was it really necessary to invite her here?”

“It’s all very well for you,” Flick said, casting the paper aside again. “You come and go as you please, getting up to I know not what. So does Robert, for that matter, and Gabriel’s having a grand old time of it at Cambridge. Whereas I—”

“Will be going up to town for your second season. And,” Hal added, “you could have been comfortably married with an establishment of your own by now, had you deigned to consider any of the many suitable offers that came your way when you made your debut.”

“Bah!” She flapped a hand. “They were all so stuffy.”

“But rich enough to keep you in silk,” Gabriel pointed out.

“Oh,” Flick said carelessly, “Hal can do that without my having to give anything in return.”

“Felicity!” Gabriel said, shocked.

Hal merely laughed. “Unless you bankrupt me with your extravagance first,” he said, unable to keep the affection he felt for the minx out of his tone.

“Well, I fully intend to take up with Miss Elliott.” Flick’s smile was full of mischief. “I understand that her sister is quite the beauty.”

“More than can be said for Miss Elliott,” Hal muttered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Flick mused. “I thought her face possessed great strength of character. And I absolutely adore the colour of her hair.”

“Such lofty considerations being sufficient for you to decide she’s worth knowing?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. There are few enough young ladies in the district whom you would consider suitable companions for me, and I get lonely.”

Hal ruffled her curls. “You have Miss Archer to bear you company.”

“Archie is more a friend than a governess nowadays, but it’s not at all the same thing.” Flick canted her head. “The Misses Elliott might be impecunious but their relationship to Sir Percy makes them a perfectly respectable connection.”

“Oh, God!” Gabriel groaned. “If you invite the Elliotts, I suppose you’ll have to invite Sir Percy too. I don’t mind him but his wife is worse than Mrs. Wilkinson, if that’s possible. No wonder Miss Elliott insisted upon inhabiting the gatehouse.”

Chapter Two

“How did it go?” Meg asked.

Leah removed her bonnet, cloak and gloves and handed them to their elderly housekeeper. “Actually it was quite amusing.”

“Come into the parlour then. I have a fire going.”

Leah frowned. “It isn’t cold, Meg. The expense—”

“Miss Bethany was glad of the warmth.”

“Of course.” Leah felt guilty for even bring the subject up. Her sister was far too thin, always felt the cold and seemed to catch a chill every time she was exposed to the slightest draft.

“She will be anxious to hear all about your excursion.”

“How is she today?” Leah asked. “She wasn’t up when I went out this morning.”

“She has a little more colour in her cheeks, I’m happy to say.”

“That’s good.”

Bethany, reclining on a sofa, looked up when Leah entered the room. Pickle, Leah’s young black-and-white mongrel dog, lifted his head from his position in front of the fire and flapped his tail. Once his ears had received a good scratching, he was content to return to his slumbers.

“Ah, there you are,” Beth said, smiling. “Did you know that Henry VIII ordered a Frenchman to behead Anne Boleyn because he was the most skilled executioner around?” She grimaced, indicating the open book on her lap. “He must have cared for her a little, I suppose.”

“A quick death, you mean.” Leah quirked a brow. “You’ve become very bloodthirsty. Wherever did you get that tome?”

“Our uncle sent it down from the big house. He thought it might interest me.”

“Well, clearly he was right about that.” Leah bent to kiss her sister’s brow, trying not to make it too obvious that she was examining her closely for signs of improvement.

“How did you get on?” Beth asked.

“Very interesting, and I shall tell you all about it directly.” Leah flung herself into the chair opposite Bethany’s sofa. “But first, tell me how you feel.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” Beth scolded. “I feel very well indeed.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so.”

“You have exaggerated my symptoms because you want people to think that’s why we came here, I understand that very well, but really—”

“It
is
why we came here.”

“No, dearest,” Beth said, reaching across to touch her sister’s hand. “We came here because we could no longer afford to pay the rent in Wapping.”

“That’s not
precisely
true.”

“Yes, it
precisely
is.”

Leah gave up the argument. Beth may have guessed correctly that they were not well placed, but Leah would never admit just how close to the brink they actually were, or Beth would never consent to seeing a doctor for fear of incurring more medical bills. As it was, Beth wouldn’t admit the inflammation of her lung was anything more than a minor ailment. It was considerably more than that since she couldn’t stand the slightest exertion without becoming seriously short of breath.

The doctor had recommended removal from the grime of London, suggesting that sea air would be more beneficial to his patient’s well-being. Leah wouldn’t wish her sister ill, of course, but their temporary removal from London had been a perfect solution to an increasingly pressing financial situation.

Sir Percy was applied to and didn’t disappoint. For her sister’s sake, Leah would even have put up with living under the same roof as their detested Aunt Augusta. Fortuitously, the offer of the gatehouse was a happy compromise that suited everyone.

“Have it your way.” Leah smiled at Meg as she bustled into the room with a tray of tea. “Thank you,” she said, accepting a cup from her.

“Come on then,” Beth said, blue eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Tell me everything. I’ve been dying of curiosity. What was the marquess like? Is he very fierce? Did he send Mrs. Wilkinson away with a good set-down?”

“None of those things because unfortunately he wasn’t there.”

“Oh, bother. I so wanted to hear about him. Where have you been all this time then?”

“We saw the youngest brother instead. Lord Gabriel. Mrs. Wilkinson tells me that he’s one-and-twenty and about to finish his final year at Cambridge.”

“He must be very clever then, but is he handsome? Is what we’ve heard about the family’s good looks true?”

“I met his sister as well. She was charming and put me quite at my ease. She intends to call on us, so you will be able to judge for yourself. But to answer your question, Lord Gabriel is tall, with thick blond hair and brown eyes. He had a hard time of it, dealing with Mrs. Wilkinson—”

“Anyone would,” Meg decreed, grimacing.

“Lady Felicity is also blonde. She’s very pretty and perfectly charming. You won’t be able to help liking her.”

“That’s good.” Beth pondered for a moment. “I wonder why she wishes to know us, though. I mean, Forster Hall is very grand, whereas we...” She cast her hands round the small room, her words trailing away.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Meg argued stoutly. “Her father was just an ordinary landowner, before the king elevated him to a marquisate.”

“Hardly that,” Leah said, smiling. “He was the younger brother of the Duke of Dawlish and the current marquess is the duke’s heir.”

“How can he be a marquess and heir to a dukedom?” Beth asked, frowning.

“Sir Percy explained it to me. It seems his father was just plain Lord Forster when he was younger but very political. During the Gordon Riots—”

“I read about those.” Beth shuddered. “It was a terrible time of unrest.”

Beth liked to pretend that she didn’t have a quick mind but that was quite untrue. And she had a great love of history.

“Indeed it was. Our military forces were stretched too thin to deal with civil unrest of that magnitude. They were deployed in the American War of Independence and in conflicts with France and Spain. The riots damaged Britain’s reputation across Europe and our neighbours saw our constitutional monarchy as inherently unstable.”

“Those French devils would have seen to that,” Meg said.

“Lord Forster conducted diplomatic missions across Europe, specifically in Austria to challenge the strong coalition the French had built, at the same time doing much to repudiate those rumours about our monarchy.”

“Then he deserved to become a marquess,” Beth said, nodding decisively. “He was a patriot and a hero.”

“Well,” Meg said, “whatever previous generations of Forsters might have got up to, I still maintain that you’re quite their social equals. Your mama was from a good family and your father was extremely well-read.”

“But that hardly puts us on an equal footing.” Beth shared an amused glance with Leah.

“I heard a very different account regarding the acquisition of the marquisate,” Meg said. “Rumour has it that old Lord Forster made himself indispensable at court, chose his allies wisely and was rewarded accordingly. Not that any land or riches came with the title, but he already had those in abundance. In fact, he used his wealth to buy himself favour, some would have it.” Meg frowned. “Of course, that was when the poor king was in possession of all his faculties, not like now.”

“Rich gentlemen with the ear of the king make a lot of enemies,” Beth said. “I could recite any number of examples from recent history alone. I could also cite instances when rumours have deliberately been generated to occasion a rival’s fall from grace.”

“I’m not sure you should repeat such rumours anyway, Meg,” Leah said gently.

Meg merely sniffed. Employed by their parents before Leah was born, she’d been with the family ever since and felt free to speak her mind. She was quite one of the family and the girls had few secrets from her. Their only other help was Jonny, a young lad who had adopted them whilst they still resided in Whitechapel, carrying out all the heavy work in return for bed and board.

“Besides,” Leah added, “Mrs. Wilkinson is firmly of the opinion that the current marquess does not follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“Don’t believe everything that woman tells you,” Meg warned. “Just like Miss Beth’s historical figures, she probably has her own agenda.”

“I think it very forward of Mrs. Wilkinson to express herself so freely to her betters,” Beth said. “I wonder the marquess puts up with it.”

“Perhaps that’s why he avoids her,” Leah said. “Mrs. Wilkinson seems to think that being married to the vicar gives her some sort of divine right to speak her mind. From what I’ve heard of the marquess, he’s unlikely to tolerate being lectured to in such a fashion.”

“Still, it’s a shame the marquess wasn’t there,” Beth said. “He’s quite a man of mystery, and very eligible by all accounts.”

“I think he was there, actually,” Leah said, grinning.

“Why do you say that?” Meg and Beth asked together.

“Well, as I was waiting to get into Mrs. Wilkinson’s old carriage—what a squash that was, by the way. I felt quite sorry for the poor horse. Anyway, I was the last to get in. I happened to glance back at the house and saw a very tall blond man standing at the window, watching us.”

“It must have been Gabriel Forster. You said he was tall.”

“No, this man had his hair in a queue. I saw that much quite clearly.”
And I felt a very strange sensation trickle through me when our eyes locked.

“The marquess is reputed to wear his hair in such a fashion,” Beth agreed, nodding. “Presumably he had the good sense to steer clear of Mrs. Wilkinson, as you should have done.”

“I don’t think it was very gallant of him to leave his youngest brother to face her displeasure. He was quite unequal to dealing with her.”

“Most people would be,” Meg said.

“Fortunately, Lady Felicity defused the situation. Without her, I daresay we would all still be there, enduring Mrs. Wilkinson’s diatribe.”

Meg hauled herself to her feet. “Well, I must be getting on.”

“Can I help?” Leah asked.

“No, Miss Leah, thanks all the same. You don’t need to concern yourself with the kitchen. Besides, your uncle’s been kind enough to send a housemaid down each morning, so we’re well organised.”

“I’ll wager Aunt Augusta doesn’t know about that,” Leah said beneath her breath.

“So, what did you really learn?” Beth asked as soon as the door closed behind Meg.

“A few snippets of information that might be useful. It seems the Boar’s Head requires further investigation.” Leah chewed her lower lip as she thought about the plan that had been incubating inside her head since leaving the Hall.

“Oh no, Leah, don’t do anything rash. I couldn’t bear it if you were found out.” Beth put on a stern voice but a giggle still escaped. “Just imagine Mrs. Wilkinson’s reaction if you were caught frequenting such an establishment.”

The girls fell into one another’s arms, laughing until they cried.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be there,” Leah said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Leon, however, might put in an appearance.”

Beth shook her head. “I despair, I really do. Is it really necessary to go to such lengths just to seek out scandal for Mr. Morris?” Beth picked up a copy of the same scandal sheet that had so engrossed Felicity earlier. “It seems to me that he has more than enough gossip to satisfy even the most curious nature.”

“Well dearest, you said yourself that we needed more money if we are to move back to Whitechapel. Besides,” Leah added, “something odd is going on at the Boar’s Head, Mrs. Wilkinson got that much right. And, unless my instincts fail me, it’s something a deal more serious than drinking and debauchery.”

“And you won’t rest until you discover what it is,” Beth said with a resigned sigh.

Leah grinned. “Naturally not. Besides, Mr. Morris wants to print more than just society gossip nowadays.”

“There’s plenty of gossip to be had in Brighton, what with the prince being there so often.” Beth looked thoroughly disapproving. Leah wished she could afford such refined principles. “With Mr. Morris situated there too, he never runs out of rumour and innuendo with which to regale his readers.”

“He’s made a name for himself as
the
newspaperman to be reckoned with outside of London, so he would have me believe.” Leah smiled. “The gentry are wary of getting on his wrong side, and with good reason.”

“Then I wish you would not associate yourself with him. I never have liked him, not even when he worked so closely with Papa, which is why I was so glad when he quit London.”

“I know that.”

What Beth didn’t know was that Mr. Morris’s sudden decision to leave the capital left Leah short of gainful employment and far shorter of available funds. Moving to the south coast, albeit some distance from Brighton, provided her with a temporary opportunity to right that situation. Gossip pertaining to
any
member of the aristocracy would fuel the collective curiosity of Mr. Morris’s readers, and Leah couldn’t afford to ignore such a prime opportunity.

“There’s something about him that makes me uneasy,” Beth said. “Anyway, no good can come of your meddling in the marquess’s affairs.”

Leah, already fired up for a new adventure, dismissed her sister’s concerns with a casual shrug. “You worry too much.”

“That’s as may be, but I still hold that Mr. Morris is far too full of himself.”

“He doesn’t want for ambition, but that’s to my advantage. If I can discover what iniquities occur at the Boar’s Head, I shall be assured a good payday.”

“What makes you think that anything
is
going on there?”

“The back door leads directly to that concealed cove we caught a glimpse of the other day.” Leah smiled. “A perfect landing place for contraband, wouldn’t you say?”

“Is that where Mrs. Wilkinson thinks all the iniquities occur?”

“Yes, but she’s not referring to smuggling. Word has got about town that the area is dangerous and so everyone avoids it.” Leah tilted her head, smiling. “Rather convenient for the smugglers, if they exist, don’t you think?”

“Smuggling is not so very uncommon around these parts. Why would a little illegal activity in a small village so close to Dover persuade Mr. Morris to be generous? He’s always proved to have deep pockets and short arms in the past.”

“Because the marquess
is
involved, of course, silly. I’m absolutely sure of it. And he would hardly concern himself with anything as mundane as rum smuggling.”