Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (3 page)

Rising to his feet, he stretched, wincing a little as his right leg pinched painfully. It was just scar tissue, he knew that and it would probably bite for many years to come but it was a minor irritation. He had healed so well that some days, he hardly felt it at all.

So yes, his situation could be so much worse, he reminded himself again as he banked the fire down and headed up the stairs. He just had to tell himself that on a regular basis but even in his darkest moments he knew it to be true. It could be so much worse than it was.

Their days at Thule Cottage fell into a pleasant, undemanding rhythm and Millie was an excellent companion. Marcus loved all three of his sisters but Millie had held a special place in his heart from the moment she was born. There was something about the way her hazel eyes had followed him about, something infinitely sweet in the manner in which she would seize hold of him the moment she had gotten her legs under her. And then, of course, there was that personality; blunt, honest and exquisitely quirky. Growing towards womanhood had not changed her in the least and he was entertained by her stories as they wandered through forest and field, looking for something to put in the pot. Particularly amusing were her observations about London and the people she had encountered there. He found himself hoping that he would be present when she made her debut in several years’ time.

It was after a particularly droll account of a meeting in Hyde Park with a character that Marcus himself was acquainted with, a Mr. Hester-Smythe, that he had exclaimed with mingled dismay and amusement, ‘Millie, you horror! Did you really comment on his waistcoat? Old Alfred is particularly enamored with them, you know. He thinks of himself as a pink of the ton.’

‘But he looked entirely ridiculous,’ Millie protested. ‘Truly Marcus, you should have seen him. That waistcoat was rose colored silk embroidered with little gold
poodles
. And he is enormous! How could he not know how foolish he looked?’

‘A great many people don’t know how foolish they look,’ Marcus returned ruefully. ‘The thing is, my dear girl, one mustn’t point out the obvious. You would be doing it forever in London where eccentricity is as common as horse droppings. The
ton
take themselves very seriously.’

‘Too seriously if you ask me,’ Millie said with a toss of her amber curls.

‘I dread to think what your coming out will be like,’ he muttered, knowing full well that a girl with Millie’s considerable beauty would have any number of beaus, most of whom she would probably treat with fine contempt. It was not that his sister was unkind; it was just that she did not suffer fools gladly and there were a great many fools to be found in the metropolis.

She fell silent at this, frowning at the ground ahead. ‘I don’t think I want to come out,’ she said, after a time. ‘It all seems like a dreadful hum. You know that Bella does not care overly for dresses and the suchlike but she was forever being dragged off to be fitted for things. And there were dances every night! Just imagine how dull it will be. I was hoping to persuade Mama to let me forego such nonsense. She has Audrey, after all.’

‘I don’t much fancy your chances. Mama will want to give you exactly what Isabella and Audrey have had.’

‘Even if I don’t want it?’

Marcus gave her a sideways glance. ‘What
do
you want, then?’

There came another silence and then a sigh. ‘What I cannot have,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘But failing that, I will be quite content to live with you and Mama.’

He grinned. ‘You say that now but that will change, believe me.’

‘You’re talking about romance, I suppose,’ she said, putting an inflection on the word romance that indicated her disgust with the concept. ‘I do like Harry Carstairs but it is a little sickening the way he and Isabella carry on. I am not interested in romance. Instead I would like to go exploring. There are a lot of places to see, are there not? I would like to travel.’

Marcus gravely agreed that there were a great many places to see and privately wondered if Millie would find the means to do so. She had just the kind of indomitable spirit that might very well carry her beyond the constraints of other females. He wouldn’t put anything past her when it came to achieving her dreams. He wouldn’t put much past his youngest sister at all.

It was a week before Christmas when they finally set off for Somerset again, taking Mrs. Turner with them for the celebrations. It was a very pleasant interlude, the Hathaways happily reunited beneath the one roof again and for a time, Marcus was content to kick his heels and wallow in the delights of his brother-in-law’s table. As January progressed, however, and the snows came down
with increasing enthusiasm, he found himself becoming more and more restless. The relentless question of what he was going to do with himself began to plague him in good earnest. It was all very well to be a man of leisure if one had the funds to manage it, but he was being far too leisurely at somebody else’s expense. He knew he needed to sort himself out, find a direction, work out some kind of future. All of the things that he had once taken for granted no longer seemed to be practicable. How could he possibly marry when he had no means to support a wife? How could he produce an heir when there was not the means to raise him as a gentleman? Marcus was not prone to dark introspection but increasingly, he found himself depressed by the distinct lack of possibilities that were open to him.

It was the weather that was keeping him riveted to one place. If the snow had been a little less deep and the elements a little more forgiving he would have gone riding. The lack of physical activity only exacerbated his restlessness and by the beginning of February he was battling a bad case of fugue.

Naturally, his family sensed his mood but it was his mother who tackled him about it. She hunted him down in the conservatory, an icy cold room that was, mercifully, usually deserted. It was an enormous room and it was here that he stalked among the long rows of potted plants, kicking the odd pebble about while he puzzled over the conundrum of his life.

How was a man supposed to provide an heir for a peerage that had run aground, financially? And what was that same man supposed to do for the rest of his life? No matter how he looked at it, his options seemed severely limited. He found himself growing heartily sick of the whole subject but he also found that he could not let it go. He would pace and think, pace and think, until it seemed that even the glass of the conservatory was pressing down on him. Determined as he was not to take it out on his family or host, Marcus took himself off, sometimes for the entire afternoon rather than risk the possibility of uttering terse words he knew very well he would regret. His current predicament was nobody’s fault but his father’s and Gideon Hathaway was well out of his reach.

‘It’s times like this I would welcome a Hamlet moment,’ he’d snapped impatiently to a potted zinnia, ‘just so I could better express my annoyance at my lamentable sire, curse him!’

Although even that sentiment seemed churlish when one considered the depths of despair that must have gripped Gideon before he had taken such a drastic step.

He had thought he was being subtle with his miserable musings until his mother had made an appearance one afternoon. So sunk in moody retrospection was he that he did not see her until he was almost upon her and then he gave a grunt of surprise at the sight of her.

‘Mother! You… startled me.’

She smiled, dark eyes twinkling. ‘Did I, my dear? I am sorry.’

‘Not at all. I was just getting some exercise.’

‘Yes, I could tell you are not relishing confinement overmuch,’ she agreed. She crooked an elbow at him. ‘Walk with me?’

He took the proffered arm and they began to stroll along the green walkways, although at a more moderate pace than he had been moving. Her silence was not expectant, not in the least and yet Marcus felt impelled to speak.

‘It’s really too cold for you in here, you know.’

‘Not at all. You seem to manage very well.’

‘Yes, but you’ve been ill. Isabella said -’

‘I have quite recovered, my dear. There is no need to fuss about my health.’ She glanced up at him. ‘It’s you that I am concerned about.’

‘There is no need, truly. The leg has healed up nicely. In fact, I am perfectly fit.’

‘Your leg might be fit but you are not.’ When he would have protested, she raised her voice a little. ‘It’s your spirit that is troubling me. You’re unhappy. Perfectly understandable but I do feel that you’re a little premature. You’ve only been back for three months.’

‘More than enough time to get a handle on how things stand,’ he said ruefully. ‘And there’s no denying they don’t stand in my favor. I can’t for the life of me work out what I’m supposed to do next.’

‘Well why should you do anything?’ his mother inquired reasonably. ‘I think you have gone through quite enough over the past three years to warrant a little peace and quiet.’

‘All very well, but I can’t just sit around,’ he said, more irritably than he’d intended. He glanced at his mother and grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Carstairs is an excellent fellow and I am delighted that he has come on the scene. How could I not be when he is bankrolling my family? But I must admit, it makes me feel…’ he hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word, ‘somewhat redundant.’

Instead of chiding or reassuring him, his mother nodded thoughtfully. ‘I can understand that. You were always a very responsible creature, even as a child. But is there really any need for all this soul searching now? Take a few months. Catch your breath. I’m not saying that anything will change over the next six months but you need to step back from the situation. Returning as you did to the loss of your father and your home… dear heavens, Marcus, such revelations would have overset anyone!’

‘You suffered as well, Mother,’ he returned quietly. ‘You and the girls. If I had only been here -’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Spare yourself that, at least. Who could have anticipated anything so shocking? And you went through so much in France.’ She gave him a swift look. ‘Having you come back to us was truly a gift, my son. I might regret that you have so little to come back to, but I am eternally grateful to have you here.’

Marcus grinned. ‘And I’m eternally grateful to be here,’ he said, deliberately jovial. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m in a fit of the doldrums at the moment but I swear I’ll snap out of it. If only I knew what to do with myself.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. Why don’t you put a saddle on that fine beast Harry and Isabella gave you and take a little trip?’

‘A trip?’ he repeated, puzzled. ‘To where?’

Lady Hathaway shrugged. ‘Wherever you like. It might be better if you had no destination in mind. Just wander, my son. Enjoy the sights. Take a month and lose yourself.’

He stared down at her, both surprised and intrigued by the idea. Just climb on the back of a horse and ride with no particular destination in mind? It sounded… wonderful. ‘That is an excellent idea,’ he said slowly. It wouldn’t take much to feed himself and his horse – a marvelous beast gifted to him by the happy couple – along the way and he had the princely sum of thirty pounds, more than enough to maintain himself for some considerable time.

‘Of course it is,’ she said comfortably. ‘I’m your mother and I am full of excellent ideas.’ She glanced towards the glass windows that overlooked flowerbeds and lawns that were covered in snow. ‘It has not snowed since the day before yesterday. Although perhaps it is still too unpleasant to venture out?’

‘On the contrary,’ he said, suddenly a great deal more cheerful. ‘It will be irksome, I daresay but far from impossible for a single rider.’

‘As long as you take shelter if there is a storm,’ she said firmly. ‘I would be loath to lose you in the English countryside after you were returned to me from France.’

He laughed, feeling more lighthearted than he had in some weeks. It wasn’t that traveling would change his circumstances, not in the least. But he would be
doing
something and the very notion was enough to lift his spirits. His mother was right; he would have every opportunity to dwell on his lamentable future when he returned but for the time being he could immerse himself in the pleasures of thoughtless action.

‘I promise you that I will remain out of ditches, avoid highwaymen and write to you. I daresay I will be back before a letter reaches you, but I promise, just the same.’

‘Take your time,’ his mother recommended softly. ‘And forget about your problems along the way. There is a larger world out there, my son. Look at it with open eyes and perhaps those problems will not seem so insurmountable.’