When the Marquess Met His Match (19 page)

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

She tossed aside Carlotta’s letter without even opening it. How was she supposed to not think about him when half her letters were about him? Thoroughly exasperated, she reached for a blank sheet of stationery and yanked her pen out of its holder.

She considered for a few moments, inked her pen, and dashed off a short note, asking about his plans and intentions regarding matrimony.

His response came a few days later, and consisted of only one sentence.

Is that a proposal?

She tossed aside his reply with a huff of indignation. Proposal, indeed. He knew perfectly well it was nothing of the sort. Still, a clear and decisive letter clarifying the matter was definitely in order, and she once again pulled out pen and paper.

Lord Trubridge,

My note was most certainly not a proposal. As we discussed only a few days ago—

Belinda stopped, thinking perhaps she shouldn’t refer to that night in the maze even if their argument then was germane to the issue. She wadded up the paper, and tried again.

Lord Trubridge,

You seem to be laboring under a misunderstanding about my feelings, feelings which I have always made perfectly clear. I—

Once again, she stopped, for that was an outright lie. Her feelings regarding that man were anything but clear. She felt so muddled up, in fact, that she couldn’t even seem to write him a simple letter. Once again, she crumpled her composition into a ball and started over, reminding herself that he was a client, and she needed to respond accordingly.

Lord Trubridge,

In regard to your question, my answer is no, and I regret that my letter may have inadvertently given rise to any other impression. I am simply asking, as your matchmaker, whether or not you wish to continue seeking introductions to young ladies of my acquaintance. If so, please inform me at once.

Yours,

Lady Featherstone

She read the letter over, underlined matchmaker three times, and blotted the ink. She then folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and reached for sealing wax.

There
, she thought a short time later as she dropped her note to him onto the tray in the foyer with the other letters for Jervis to post.
That ought to be clear enough. I should be hearing back from him by tomorrow
.

Despite all her determination to put what had happened at Highclyffe out of her mind, the thought of hearing from him brought a tiny thrill of anticipation. But she quashed it as best she could and resumed her efforts to think nothing more about him until she received a reply.

Her resolve lasted a week. Seven days later, when she’d received no response from him whatsoever but had received seventeen inquiries about him from various American mothers, fathers, gossip columnists, and friends, she’d had enough.

Tossing down the afternoon post, she rang for Jervis to have her carriage brought around, and ten minutes later, her driver, Davis, was holding the door of the vehicle open for her.

“Twenty-four South Audley Street,” she told him and stepped into the carriage.

“Yes, Your Ladyship.” Davis closed the door, tipped his cap, and climbed up on the box.

“If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad,” she muttered, paraphrasing Francis Bacon as the carriage jerked into motion, “then, Muhammad will just have to go to the mountain.”

Chapter 16

G
oing to the mountain, she soon discovered, was not as easy as it might appear, for no one seemed to know where the mountain in question happened to be. Lord Somerton, the viscount’s mother informed her over tea, was with Lord Trubridge, but what lark the two were engaged upon, she had not the slightest clue. All she knew was that it seemed to be taking up all their time, for she hadn’t seen either of them in days. Why, she only knew they were alive because their valets had confirmed the fact.

Lady Conyers then shifted the conversation, mentioning her son’s woeful intransigence in regard to marriage, and expressed the desire for Lady Featherstone’s opinion on how he might be brought round.

“Slowly,” Belinda advised. “Very slowly. You don’t want him to dig in his heels. Perhaps,” she added before Lady Conyers could delve more deeply into the matter of marrying off her son, “Lord Trubridge’s valet might know where they’ve gone? It’s very important I reach Trubridge at once, you see. So many young ladies are asking me about him—and asking about Somerton, too, of course. Will they be at this ball or that rout, you know—and I’m sure you will agree that it isn’t right to keep the young ladies in suspense, holding out hope and saving places on their dance cards if the two gentlemen are too busy to attend the events of the season. Somerton will never be brought round to marriage unless he can be brought to earth.”

“I understand,” the countess said gravely, and reached for the bellpull. “We shall see what we can find out.”

Chalmers, Lord Trubridge’s valet, was sent for, but he could provide little information as to His Lordship’s whereabouts.

“Heavens, Mr. Chalmers,” Belinda said, forcing a laugh, “has your master fallen off the edge of the earth?”

Before the valet could even attempt to answer that question, Lord Conyers walked in, whistling. He stopped at the sight of Belinda. “Why, Lady Featherstone, what a pleasure! You grow lovelier every day.”

“You flatter me, Conyers.”

“Edward,” Lady Conyers said, tugging at his coat to tear his attention away from Belinda, “Lady Featherstone is on a hunt for Somerton and Trubridge.”

“On their trail, are you?” He gave her a wink. “Poor fellows.”

Belinda, accustomed to such witticisms about her profession, laughed as expected, then said, “They are not at their club, so I can only conclude they are off punting or fishing or engaged in some other sport, but I really must—”

“Sport?” Lord Conyers interrupted, and it was his turn to laugh. “Oh, no, my dear lady, you’ve got it all wrong. They are engaged in business matters.”

“Business matters?” the two women said in unison.

“Indeed. I can give you the address where they might be found, though I’m not sure Commercial Road is the most desirable place for ladies to go visiting.”

Commercial Road? This situation was growing more intriguing by the moment, so intriguing in fact that Belinda didn’t care what neighborhood they were in, she intended to find them and see what they were up to. “I would appreciate that address very much, Lord Conyers. Thank you.”

Half an hour later, Belinda was gazing with doubt at a brick building on Chelsea’s Commercial Road that had clearly seen better days. What on earth could Nicholas and Somerton be doing down here? Whatever their purpose for this building, part of it involved improving the look of the place, for workmen were swarming over the building like ants, replacing broken windows, repairing the roof, and patching the crumbling brick.

Davis appeared beside the carriage door. “Are you certain you wish to go in, my lady?” he asked. “A construction site isn’t quite the nicest place for a lady.”

At that moment, Belinda caught a glimpse of Nicholas passing by one of the broken-out windows. “I shall be quite all right, Davis.” She waved aside her driver’s offer to accompany her and alighted from the carriage. “I shan’t be long. Wait for me here.”

She crossed the sidewalk, nodded to the pair of workmen scrubbing the brick on either side of the doorway, and passed through the entrance. Coming in from outside, the interior seemed dark despite the many windows, and she blinked several times before her eyes grew accustomed to the dimmer light and she could make out her surroundings.

She was in a single room that took up the entire ground floor of the building. Half a dozen workmen moved amid the reinforcing pillars of the vast space, sweeping up debris from the concrete floor, pulling jagged panes of broken glass from the windows, brushing cobwebs out of corners, and scrubbing down walls. To her right, a plain staircase of rusted wrought iron led to the upper floors, and the only furnishings in the place were a battered oak table in the center of the room flanked by a pair of wooden chairs. The chairs’ peeling paint was a contrast to the fine wool jackets draped over them.

Nicholas was leaning over the table in his shirtsleeves, Lord Somerton and two more workmen with him, and the four were discussing what seemed to be a set of architectural plans laid out on the table.

“We’re connected to the main line here,” Nicholas was saying as he pointed to a spot on the plans, his voice raised to be heard over the bang of hammers and the clink of glass around and above them. “Westminster has assured us that we’re turned on. So why haven’t we any water?”

One of the workmen launched into explanations for what repairs needed to be made to the plumbing, and Belinda studied Nicholas as he listened.

His hair, burnished and tawny even in this dim interior, recalled to her the first afternoon he’d come to see her and evoked again the sunshine of some exotic place. The sight of him in his shirtsleeves reminded her of the muscles and sinew she’d seen in the moonlight of the maze. Desire unfurled within her, spreading to every part of her body before she could stop it, and any resolutions she’d made to be coolly professional and indifferent went to the wall.

Suddenly, he seemed to sense he was being watched, and he looked up to see her standing there amid the bustling workmen. He smiled, making her stomach dip with a giddy weightlessness and her heart twist in her chest with a pang so strong that it hurt—for it reminded her forcefully of a shy, tongue-tied girl standing on the verandah of the Grand Union Hotel. She wanted to look away, leave, run for her life, but she couldn’t seem to command her body to take any of those actions. She could only stand there, happy and terrified, smiling back at him.

“Somerton,” he said without taking his eyes off of her, “we have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” his friend echoed, turning to look. “Why, it’s Lady Featherstone!”

The viscount’s surprise forced her to tear her gaze from Nicholas. “Somerton,” she greeted, turning her smile on him. “Your mother will be glad to know you are well and haven’t taken off for parts unknown.”

“Father knows. He told you, I suppose? How like him not to bother telling Mama about any of it, though. She’s always the last to know the family secrets.” He smiled back at her. “Worried, is she?”

“Not worried, exactly,” Belinda said. “Puzzled might be a more accurate way of putting it. And a bit concerned about what people would say if they knew the two of you were engaged in commerce.”

“Poor Papa. He’ll be raked over the coals for helping us now.”

“I did my best to assure your mother it was perfectly acceptable for titled gentlemen to also have business interests.” She glanced around as she approached the table. “I can see the pair of you have been busy, but what is the purpose of all this?”

Before either man could answer, a loud whistle sounded outside that made Belinda clap her gloved hands over her ears with a grimace.

All work stopped at once. Hammers were set down, leather gloves pulled off, brooms laid aside. Clattering on the stairs had her glancing to her right as a line of workmen came marching down from the upper floors. They touched caps to her respectfully as they came down, nodded to Nicholas and Somerton, and flooded toward the door in an inexorable line. The two workmen standing by the table followed suit, and in less than a minute, she and the two gentlemen were the only people in the building.

An awkward silence followed the departure of the workmen as Somerton glanced from Nicholas to her and back again. “Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I think I’ll be off as well. I must catch the evening train if I’m to go to Kent today, and I’m not even packed. Are you going down to Honeywood on the same train?”

“No, I’m going tomorrow. I want to give a few more instructions to the foreman before I leave since I expect to be away for four to five weeks. How long will you be at Arcady?”

“Only a fortnight. Until I return, we’ll put Jenkins in charge of things here, yes?” When Nicholas nodded, Somerton turned to her. “Lady Featherstone.”

With that, Somerton pulled his jacket from where it was draped over one of the chairs and departed, leaving her and Nicholas alone.

There was still a smile lingering at the corners of his lips as he looked at her. “It’s good to see you, Belinda.”

With those words, a bubble of happiness rose up within her, pressing against her chest and making it hard to breathe. She wanted to tell him she was glad to see him, too, but the words caught in her throat, held there by a wave of her girlhood shyness. It suddenly became vital to look away, but though she transferred her attention to her surroundings, she knew he was still watching her.

“So,” she said at last, forcing the word out, “this is what you’ve been doing instead of answering my letters.”

“I did answer your letter.”

“The first one.”

“Have you corresponded with me since?” He gave a laugh. “Sorry, I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely had time to eat and sleep this week. I haven’t even glanced at my correspondence.”

“But what’s keeping you so occupied? What is it you and Somerton do here? What is this place?”

“My lord?”

Both of them turned as a gnarled old man in worn tweeds entered through the front door. At the sight of Belinda, he stopped and doffed his cap.

“Ah, Mr. Jenkins,” Nicholas greeted, beckoning him forward. “Please tell me you’ve located our copper brewing kettles?”

“I have, Yer Lordship. They’ve been sitting dockside at Pimlico Pier the whole time if ye can believe it, but they’ll be delivered when we want ’em.”

“Excellent.” Nicholas gestured to her. “Belinda, this is Mr. Jenkins, who has been the brewing master down at Honeywood for . . . oh, at least thirty years. Mr. Jenkins, this is Lady Featherstone.”

“My lady.” He gave a bow and glanced again at Nicholas. “I’ve also found ye a supplier for oak barrels. You’ll be wanting oak.”

“Yes, indeed.” He laughed. “I remember you’ve always insisted oak was the only acceptable wood for beer barrels.”

“Oak and no other, my lord. With your permission, I’ll be going over there now to have a look at ’em?”

“Yes, of course. We can’t make beer without barrels, can we?”

“No, sir. Ye be leaving for Honeywood tomorrow?”

“Yes. If you simply must reach me, cable me there. Lord Somerton will also be gone, so you’ll be in charge here until he returns. Make those men work while we’re away, Jenkins,” he added with a wink.

“Indeed, I will, sir. Won’t allow ’em to shirk just because the master’s away.” He nodded to Belinda. “Good day, ma’am,” he said and departed out the door.

“He’s such a slave driver,” Nicholas whispered to her, as Jenkins walked toward the door. “You should see him and my land steward supervising the day laborers at Honeywood during hops-picking time. Ruthless, both of them. They only allow those poor day laborers a quarter hour for their lunch rest. I think—” He broke off, pausing until Jenkins was gone, then went on in a normal voice, “I think I’ll have to insist upon a half an hour for them now that I’m taking charge of it all. Hops picking’s hard work.”

Belinda stared at him, trying to take it all in. “You and Somerton are making beer?”

“Well, not yet,” he said with a laugh. “We need hops and barley first. But yes, once we have a harvest, we’re making beer. It’s something I know how to
do
, you see.”

“I didn’t realize you knew anything about brewing.”

“Well, Honeywood grows hops and barley, and the home farm has always had a brewery. Honeywood makes all the ales, bitters, and stouts for Landsdowne’s estates, so I’ve been around beer making all my life. So has Somerton. His estate, Arcady, grows hops and malting grains also. Many estates do in Kent. We’ve both been selling almost our entire crop every year on the open market, but with agricultural prices so low, there’s little profit in the harvest itself. From now on, both our estates will sell all their hops and grain to our own brewery. Fair prices, of course, but the real profit shall be in the beer.”

She smiled, appreciating the excitement in his voice. “You sound as if you can’t wait to start.”

He laughed. “Yes, well, I’ve always been fascinated by the process. As a child, I was forever following Jenkins around, asking questions, getting in the way, and being a pest generally.”

Belinda studied his face, seeing there a hint of the boy who had wanted to study the sciences at Cambridge.