How to Manage a Marquess (11 page)

She looked up at Lord Hellwood, but his face was in shadows. She couldn't read his expression.

“A
family
gathering, Miss Davenport.”

A family gathering . . . oh, God, no. A family gathering meant—

The marquess
must
be mistaken. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I recognized the men in the drawing room. Watch your step through this area, Miss Davenport. You don't want to trip over a tree root.”

“I'm used to country walking, my lord. You don't need to worry about me.” That sounded rather surly, even to her own ears, but anxiety made it difficult to modulate her voice. A
family
gathering . . . And Papa had admitted in the coach that he hoped Mrs. Eaton could give him an heir—

“Oh!” Drat it all, after insisting she didn't need Lord Hellwood's help, she'd stepped on a root and twisted her ankle.

His hand shot out to steady her. Kindly—and wisely, since she'd likely have snapped at him in spite of herself—he didn't point out he'd just warned her of this danger.

“Who were the men in the drawing room?” she asked quickly in case he was still thinking of saying it. He'd dropped his hold on her elbow as soon as it was clear she'd recovered her balance, but she kept her eyes trained on the ground to avoid another misstep.

“Lord Inwood, Banningly's cousin, and Lord Gleason and Mr. Kimball, husbands to Lady Banningly's sisters. The only one not currently on some branch of the family tree—besides you, your father, and me, of course—is the vicar, Mr. Huntley.” He paused, and then added gently. “And I suspect your father may soon be joining the list of Banningly connections.”

Not if I can help it.
“Perhaps more guests are expected.”

“Perhaps.” The marquess's tone was carefully noncommittal.

It did seem unlikely, especially as this house party followed almost on the heels of the last and had a collection of much older guests.

Much older
and
already married.

She risked looking up from her feet. “What of the Duke of Hart and Lord Evans? Aren't they coming? I thought you never let the duke out of your sight.”

He gave her a long look and she flushed.

“Well, you
were
spying on him when he was in the vicarage bushes.”

His brows snapped down.

Her wretched tongue! She did not wish to brangle with Lord Hellwood, especially when he'd been so kind as to rescue her from that gang of men in the drawing room. “Pardon me. I did not mean to be argumentative.”

“Oh, the duke would agree with you.” His mouth tightened. “He does not appreciate my, ah, concern for him.”

Unexpected sympathy swept through her, and she reached out, lightly touching his arm. “Perhaps it's just that he feels a bit smothered by it from time to time.” She forced a laugh. “I wish I had someone who was so interested in my well-being.”

His brows rose. “You have your father.”

She snorted. “No. I
had
my father. Now all he can think about is Mrs. Eaton and her ch-children.” She bit her lip and looked away. “You heard Lord Banningly. I
will
be very much in the way if—no,
when
—Papa starts a new family.”

She could feel Lord Hellwood studying her, but she refused to look at him. She didn't want to see the pity or disgust that must be in his eyes.

“When did your mother die?”

He'll think me foolish, it was so long ago.
“Soon after we returned from my first Season.”

In her more rational moments, she knew the thought of Papa marrying again shouldn't be so distressing. And it wouldn't be if he was interested in someone closer to his own age. But this—it was embarrassing.

“Papa was perfectly happy until he met
that woman
.”

Lord Hellwood regarded her calmly. “How do you know?”

Was he trying to provoke her? “How do I know what?”

“That he was happy.”

“He's my father. Of course I know.” Though suddenly she didn't feel quite so certain.

Ridiculous. Yes, Papa had been spending a lot of time by himself, but he'd never been one to seek out social gatherings.

Lord Hellwood was silent for a few moments and then, his tone carefully neutral, said, “Change is always difficult.”

Now
there
was a profound statement. Good God. The patronizing poltroon.

“Don't tell me that. You're a man. You're in control of your life. You have the freedom to make your own decisions. I, on the other hand, have only two alternatives: find a man I can tolerate and marry him and then live subject to his whims, or remain a spinster and be a guest in my own home, deferring to my father's wife.” Anger and frustration choked her, keeping her from saying more.

Lord Hellwood shook his head. “Even putting aside the question of securing the succession, men are not as free as you say, Miss Davenport. I am chained by responsibilities to my lands and my people.” His voice roughened. “And I have the duke to look out for, no matter how much my efforts go against his wishes.”

That wasn't the same thing at all. “Oh, you don't understand.” Of course he didn't. Not only was he a man, he was a marquess, at almost the pinnacle of the peerage. He had no idea how it felt to be so powerless. She blew out a frustrated little hiss. “Oh, how I
wish
I'd won the Spinster House! I just hope Cat marries—”

She suddenly remembered to whom she was speaking. She bit her lip and darted a glance at Lord Hellwood.

He was scowling fiercely. “I thought Spinster House spinsters never married.”

“They don't,” she said quickly. “Well, they hadn't until Miss Franklin. Everyone was shocked by that.”

Did she sound guilty? She'd had nothing to do with Miss Franklin's wedding, and her attempt—her very small attempt—at prodding Cat and the duke up the aisle hadn't been successful.

“But you just said you hoped Miss Hutting married someone. The duke, I presume.”

“Of course I said that. I want to live in the Spinster House, and the only way I can is if Cat marries—or dies, but I certainly don't want that to happen. Cat's one of my dearest friends. I want her to be happy—just not in the Spinster House.”

The marquess was still scowling. “If she marries the duke, the duke will die, and
I
don't want that. Hart is more like my brother than my cousin, Miss Davenport. We grew up together.” His eyes were suddenly quite chilling. “I will not let anyone force him into matrimony.”

They had stopped walking and were now standing toe to toe. Lord Hellwood was a good six inches taller than Anne and far larger and more intimidating. A sensible woman might be afraid—but she wasn't afraid. She knew he wasn't dangerous. They'd been quite alone in the Spinster House garden, and he hadn't hurt her then, even though he'd been laboring under some very strong, ah, emotions.

“I don't see how anyone can force a duke to do something he doesn't wish to do,” she said, “but even if that were possible, you needn't worry. He's already offered Cat marriage, and she declined.” Unfortunately.

“Thank God for that.”

The marquess started walking, and she fell into step with him.

The trees met over their heads to form an almost magical green tunnel. Birds called to each other from the high branches, and small creatures rustled through the underbrush.

I
know
Cat has strong feelings for the duke. How can I persuade Lord Hellwood not to fight so determinedly against their union?

After all, the duke had to marry eventually if he wanted an heir, and all peers wanted that—look at her father.

Instead, she looked at Lord Hellwood.
He must want an heir, too.

The thought made her stomach flutter. Stupid!

“Don't you want the duke to be happy?” she said quickly to distract her thoughts from the marquess's procreative duties.

Lord Hellwood frowned down at her. “Of course I do. But mostly I want him to be alive, Miss Davenport.” He raised a brow. “I might ask you the same question: Don't you want your father to be happy? If you believe marriage is so vital to a man's contentment, you should be encouraging him to wed.”

A small shock went through her. There it was again. Papa's happiness.

She'd never really considered the question. Papa was just . . . Papa.

And this marriage had nothing to do with happiness.

“Papa merely wants an heir.” That was it. Her father was growing old and a bit . . . daft. Mrs. Eaton was taking advantage of that.

She scowled up at the marquess. “Up until a few months ago, he was content to have Cousin Barnabas, his brother's son, inherit. Barnabas is two years younger than I am and a bit of an idiot, but Papa always said he'd settle down and be sensible once he was past his salad days.” Her voice darkened. “And then he met Mrs. Eaton.”

Lord Hellwood said mildly, “You know, Eleanor—Mrs. Eaton—is not a bad sort.”

“Not a bad sort?!”
She took a deep breath. She must remember the woman was the marquess's friend. “Oh, I suppose I can understand her point of view. She has her children to consider. It is a reasonable bargain: a home and security for them in exchange for”—she swallowed, feeling a bit ill at the thought—“a son for my father.”

“Perhaps your father loves her.”

She snorted. “I'm sure he wants her.”

“And perhaps Eleanor loves your father.”

“Oh, come, Lord Haywood. Mrs. Eaton is twenty-five years old—a year younger than I am. My father is fifty. Love has no part in the matter.”

Strangely, Lord Hellwood did not agree. “Perhaps that would be true with another woman, but not Eleanor. She has not had an easy life, Miss Davenport. I am quite certain that she would not marry again for anything other than love.”

They rounded a curve and came out of the trees. A sloping lawn led down to the lake, where a few ducks floated in the afternoon sun.

“Is that an island?” Anne shielded her eyes. “And a cottage?”

“Yes. The cottage is the old Lord Banningly's doing. He was very fond of follies, but his first wife did not want the grounds sprinkled with Grecian temples so she limited him to this one.” He laughed. “Banningly can probably thank her for the financial soundness of the estate.”

Anne snorted. “I wager many estates would be better off with a female in charge.” And she wouldn't be in her current untenable position if
she
could inherit Davenport Hall.

“You will not succeed in picking a fight with me over that, Miss Davenport. I happen to agree with you.”

“You do?” She felt a spurt of pleasure. Perhaps Lord Hellwood was more than just a handsome face.

She flushed. She could
not
think about the scandalous things they had done together in the Spinster House garden.

“Surprised you, have I?”

“Well, yes. I didn't think you were so enlightened.”

“Perhaps you need to look to your own opinions and divest yourself of a few preconceived notions.”

Her first reaction was to defend herself, but his smile disarmed her. She smiled back.

He returned to the subject of the folly. “The cottage looks rather rustic and a bit decrepit from here, but it's actually quite snug and comfortable. George and Marcus and I would just about live there when we visited.” He glanced down at her. “Eleanor was very annoyed that she wasn't allowed to join us. I never thought about it at the time—I was just happy not to have George's little sister tagging along—but I imagine she was rather lonely growing up.”

He pointed to another structure on their side of the water. “That's the boathouse. If you like, we can go out rowing one day.” He grinned. “Or fishing. I suspect we are going to be left to our own devices this week.”

“I see.” Perhaps she should do some fishing of her own—fishing for information. The more she knew about Mrs. Eaton, the easier it would be to lure the woman into showing her true colors.

Lord Hellwood might think such a young woman could love a man her father's age, but that was just another example of masculine blindness. In her experience, every titled cabbage-head—even the bowlegged, stooped, creaky old ones—thought himself an Adonis graciously bestowing his attention on the females in his vicinity.

She began her campaign as they started back toward the house. “So Mrs. Eaton didn't have any friends?” She must have been a sneaky, manipulative, disagreeable person even as a girl.

“No, she didn't. The second Lady Banningly—George and Eleanor's mother—never got on well with the other women in the neighborhood.” He shrugged. “In truth, she never got on well with anyone. I know my parents thought the old Lord Banningly had made a mistake in marrying her. They said he was lonely and the woman was young and lovely.”

“Eleanor was not strong-willed like you, Miss Davenport. She always hated confrontation and would avoid it at all costs”—his brows lowered into a scowl—“except when her sons were threatened.”

A tendril of apprehension chilled her heart. “
Were
they threatened?”

“Yes.”

Compassion and concern made an unwelcome appearance in her breast. She wanted to hate Mrs. Eaton, but any woman with a heart, even a confirmed spinster such as herself, had to be moved by the thought of children in danger.