How to Marry a Marquis (3 page)

Of course his aunt's scheme did have a major flaw, but that was only to be expected when one let amateurs do the planning. James hadn't visited Danbury House in nearly a decade; his work for the War Office hadn't afforded him much time to visit family, and he certainly hadn't wanted to put his aunt in any kind of danger. But surely there was someone-some aging retainer, the butler, perhaps-who would recognize him. He had, after all, spent most of his childhood here.

But then again, people saw what they expected to see, and when James acted like an estate

manager, people generally saw an estate manager.

He was nearly to Danbury House-practically on the front steps, actually-when the front door

flew open and a petite blond woman came tearing out, head down, eyes to the ground, and

moving just a fraction slower than a filly at full gallop.

James didn't even have a chance to call out before she'd run right into him.

Their bodies connected with a dull thump, and the girl let out a feminine squeak of surprise as she bounced off of him and landed inelegantly on the ground. A clip or ribbon or whatever it was females called those things flew from her hair, causing a thick lock of white-gold hair to slip out of her coiffure and settle awkwardly on her shoulder.

"I beg your pardon," James said, holding out his hand to help her up.

"No, no," she replied, brushing off her skirts, "it was my fault entirely. I wasn't looking where I was going."

She didn't bother to take his hand, and James found himself oddly disappointed. She wasn't

wearing gloves, and neither was he, and he felt a strange compulsion to feel the touch of her

hand in his.

But he could not say such things out loud, and so he instead bent down to help her retrieve her things. Her reticule had flown open when it hit the ground, and her belongings were now strewn around their feet. He handed her her gloves, which caused her to blush.

"It's so hot," she explained, looking at the gloves with resignation.

"Don't don them on my account," he said with an easy smile. "As you can see, I have also chosen to use the fine weather as an excuse to leave mine off."

She stared at his hands for a moment before shaking her head and murmuring, "This is the oddest conversation."

She knelt to gather the rest of her things, and James followed suit. He picked up a handkerchief and was reaching for a book when she suddenly made the strangest noise-nothing so much as a

strangled cry-and snatched it out from beneath his fingers.

James found himself really wanting to know what was in that book.

She cleared her throat about six times and said, "You're very kind to help me."

"It was no trouble, I assure you," he murmured, clearly trying to get a look at the book. But she'd already shoved it back into her reticule.

Elizabeth smiled nervously at him, letting her hand slip into her bag, just to reassure herself that the book was really there, hidden safely out of sight. If she was caught reading such a thing, she'd be mortified beyond words. It was a given that all unmarried women were looking for a

husband, but only the most pathetic of females would actually be caught reading a manual on the subject.

He didn't say anything, just looked her over in an assessing sort of way that made her even more nervous. Finally she blurted out, "Are you the new estate manager?"

"Yes."

"I see." She cleared her throat. "Well, then 1 suppose I ought to introduce myself, as I'm sure our paths will cross. I am Miss Hotchkiss, Lady Danbury's companion."

"Ah. I am Mr. Siddons, recently of London."

"It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Siddons," she said with a smile that James found oddly engaging. "Terribly sorry about the accident, but I must be off."

She waited for his acknowledging nod, then dashed off down the drive, clutching her bag as if her very life depended on it.

James just stared as she ran off, strangely unable to take his eyes off of her retreating form.

"James!" Agatha Danbury didn't often squeal, but James was her favorite nephew.

Truth be told, she probably liked him better than any of her own children. He, at least, was smart enough not to stick his head between iron fence beams. "How lovely to see you!"

James dutifully bent down and offered his cheek for a kiss. "How lovely to see me?" he queried.

"You almost sound surprised by my arrival. Come, now, you know I could no more ignore your summons than one sent by the Prince Regent himself."

"Oh, that."

He narrowed his eyes at her dismissive response. 'Agatha, you're not playing games with me, are you?"

Her posture suddenly became ramrod straight in her chair. "You would think that of me?"

"In a heartbeat," he said with an easy smile as he sat down. "I learned all my best tricks from you."

"Yes, well, someone had to take you under her wing," she replied. "Poor child. If I hadn't-"

"Agatha," James said sharply. He had no wish to involve himself in a discussion of his childhood. He owed his aunt everything-his very soul, even. But he didn't want to get into this now.

"As it happens," she said with a disdainful sniff, "I am not playing games. I am being blackmailed."

James leaned forward. Blackmailed? Agatha was a crafty old thing, but proper as anything, and he couldn't imagine her having done anything that might warrant blackmail.

"Can you even fathom it?" she demanded. "That someone would dare to blackmail me?

Hmmph. Where is my cat?"

"Where is your cat?" he echoed.

"Malllllllllllcolmmmmmmm!"

James blinked and watched as a monstrously obese feline padded into the room. He walked over to James, sniffed, and hopped up onto his lap.

"Isn't he just the friendliest cat?" Agatha asked.

"I hate cats."

"You'll love Malcolm."

He decided that tolerating the cat was easier than arguing with his aunt. "Do you have any idea who your blackmailer might be?''

"None."

"May I ask why you are being blackmailed?"

"It is so very embarrassing," she said, her pale blue eyes growing bright with tears.

James grew concerned. Aunt Agatha never cried. There had been few things in his life that were completely and utterly constant, but one of them had been Agatha.

She was sharp, she had a biting sense of humor, she loved him beyond measure, and she never

cried. Never.

He started to go to her, then held back. She wouldn't want him to comfort her. She would only see it as an acknowledgment of her momentary display of weakness.

Besides, the cat showed no inclination to get off his lap.

"Do you have the letter?" he asked gently. "I assume you received a letter."

She nodded, picked up a book that was sitting on the table next to her, and drew from its pages a single sheet of paper. Silently, she held it out to him.

James gently tossed the cat onto the carpet and stood. He took a few steps in his aunt's direction and took the letter. Still standing, he looked down at the paper in his hands and read.

Lady D-

I know your secrets. And I know your daughter's secrets. My silence will cost you.

James looked up. "Is that all?"

Agatha shook her head and held out another sheet of paper. "I received this one as well." James took it.

Lady D-

Five hundred pounds for my silence. Leave it in a plain sack behind The Bag of Nails Friday at
midnight. Tell no one. Do not disappoint me.

"The Bag of Nails?' James asked with an arched eyebrow.

"It's the local public house."

"Did you leave the money?"

She nodded, shamefaced. "But only because I knew you couldn't be here by Friday."

James paused while he decided how best to frame his next statement. "I think," he said gently,

"that you had better tell me about this secret."

Agatha shook her head. "It is too embarrassing. I cannot."

"Agatha, you know that I am discreet. And you know I love you like a mother.

Whatever you tell me shall never go beyond these walls." When she did nothing other than bite her lip, he asked, "Which daughter shares this secret?"

"Melissa," Agatha whispered. "But she doesn't know."

James closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. He knew what was coming next and decided to save his aunt the embarrassment of having to say it herself.

"She's illegitimate, isn't she?"

Agatha nodded. "I had an affair. It lasted only a month. Oh, I was so young and so silly then."

James fought to keep his shock off of his face. His aunt had always been such a stickler for propriety; it was inconceivable that she could have dallied outside of marriage. But, as she said, she'd been young and perhaps a little foolish, and after all she'd done for him in his life, he didn't feel he had the right to judge her. Agatha had been his savior, and if the need arose, he would lay down his life for her without a second's hesitation.

Agatha smiled sadly. "I didn't know what I was doing."

James weighed his words carefully before asking, "Your fear, then, is that your

blackmailer will reveal this to society and shame Melissa?''

"I don't give a fig about society," Agatha said with a huff. "Half the lot of them are bastards themselves. Probably two-thirds of those not firstborn. It's Melissa I fear for. She's safely married to an earl, so the scandal won't touch her, but she was so close to Lord Danbury. He always said she was his special favorite. It would break her heart if she were to learn that he was not her true father."

James didn't remember Lord Danbury being much closer to Melissa than he was to any of his

other children. In fact, he didn't recall Lord Danbury being close to his children, period. He had been a genial man, but distant. Definitely of the "children belong in the nursery and should be brought down for viewing no more than once a day" variety. Still, if Agatha felt that Melissa had been Lord Danbury's special favorite, who was he to argue?

"What are we going to do, James?" Agatha asked. "You are the only person I trust to help me through this unpleasantness. And with your background-''

"Have you received any more notes?" James interrupted. His aunt knew that he had once worked for the War Office. There was no harm in that, as he was no longer an active operative, but

Agatha was ever curious, and always asking him about his exploits. And there were some things one just didn't want to discuss with one's aunt. Not to mention the fact that James could get himself hanged for divulging some of the information he'd learned over the years.

Agatha shook her head. "No. No notes."

"I'll do a bit of preliminary investigating, but I suspect we won't learn anything until you receive another letter."

"You think there will be another one?"

James nodded grimly. "Blackmailers don't know how to quit while ahead. It's their fatal flaw. In the meantime, I shall play at being your new estate manager. But I do wonder how you expect

me to do this without being recognized."

"I thought not being recognized was your particular forte."

"It is," he replied easily, "but unlike France, Spain, and even the south coast, I grew up here. Or at least I almost did."

Agatha's eyes suddenly lost their focus. James knew that she was thinking of his childhood, of all the times she'd faced his father in silent, angry showdowns, insisting that James was better off with the Danburys. "No one will recognize you," she finally assured him.

"Cribbins?"

"He passed on last year."

"Oh. I'm sorry." He'd always liked the old butler.

"The new one is adequate, I suppose, although he had the effrontery the other day to ask me to call him Wilson."

James didn't know why he bothered, but he asked, "That wouldn't be his name, would it?"

"I suppose," she said with a little huff. "But how am I to remember that?''

"You just did."

She scowled at him. "If he's my butler, I'm calling him Cribbins. At my age it's dangerous to make any big changes."

"Agatha," James said, with far more patience than he felt, "may we return to the matter at hand?"

"About your being recognized."

"Yes."

"Everyone's gone. You haven't visited me for nearly ten years."

James ignored her accusing tone. "I see you all the time in London and you know it."

"It doesn't count."

He refused to ask why. He knew she was dying to give him a reason. "Is there anything in particular I need to know before assuming my role as estate manager?" he asked.

She shook her head. "What would you need to know? I raised you properly. You should know everything there is to know about land management."

That much was true, although James had preferred to let managers watch over his estates since he'd assumed the title. It was easier, since he didn't particularly enjoy spending time at Riverdale Castle. "Very well, then," he said, standing up." As long as Cribbins the First is no longer with us-God rest his eternally patient soul-''

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His head fell slightly forward and to the side in an extremely sarcastic fashion. "Anyone who butlered for you for forty years deserves to be canonized."

"Impertinent bugger," she muttered.

"Agatha!"

"What's the use of holding my tongue at my age?"

He shook his head. "As I was trying to say earlier, as long as Cribbins is gone, being your estate manager is as good a disguise as any. Besides, I rather fancy spending some time out-of-doors while the weather is fine.''

"London was stifling?"

"Very."

"The air or the people?"

James grinned. "Both. Now, then, just tell me where to put my things. Oh, and Aunt Agatha"-he leaned down and kissed her cheek-"it's damned fine to see you."

She smiled. "I love you, too, James."

* * *

By the time Elizabeth reached her home, she was out of breath and covered with mud. She'd

been so anxious to be away from Danbury House that she'd practically run the first quarter mile.