Loving Lady Marcia (26 page)

On the way to the duke’s house in Kensington, all four of them sang songs, and by the time they’d arrived at the gatehouse, were completely out of breath—and relaxed.

Kerry told them she preferred to wait outside and explore the grounds, and so Duncan, Lady Marcia, and Joe walked up the broad steps of the duke’s mansion without her. Duncan hoisted Joe up so that he could lift and drop the shiny brass knocker in the shape of a lion.

And then the real adventure began. The massive door opened, and they were admitted to the front hall by the duke’s butler.

“Good luck,” Duncan murmured to Lady Marcia when the servant escorted them to His Grace’s study.

“Thanks,” she whispered back.

Joe was oblivious to the strain, taking long, exuberant strides down the opulent corridor, his eyes goggling at the sight of a suit of armor on one wall and a portrait of a black stallion on another.

When Duncan first laid eyes on the duke, he was surprised. He recalled him as being a large man, intimidating, but the bespectacled elderly peer seated in a comfortable armchair before him looked smaller than he remembered, distinctly approachable.

“Have a seat if you dare.” His Grace gestured to several wing chairs and a sofa. “You may introduce yourselves after tea is served, if you’re not too frightened of me by then to do so.”

So much for approachable,
Duncan thought. Marcia sat on the sofa and smoothed her gown, and he recognized that telltale flutter in her fingers that signified she was nervous.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured.

“We’re grateful to be here,” Duncan said, and intentionally sat next to her, hoping she and the duke would guess he was there to lend her his support in any way he could.

Joe sat on the rug before the fire. His eyes were huge in his face as he stared at the duke.

His Grace leaned forward to him. “Yank on that bellpull and order tea and cakes, young man, and do it smartly.”

Joe’s eyes lit up, and he did as he was told. A footman came in response to the summons.

“Tea and cakes, please,” Joe said in a breathless rush. “With cherries on top if you’ve got ’em.”

Duncan froze.

“Unless you don’t like cherries … Duke,” Joe added softly.

The duke scowled at him. “I love cherries. You’re the only person who’s ever asked.”

Joe grinned, and the duke lowered his brows at the footman. “Make sure we always have cherries on our cakes.”

“Very good, sir,” said the footman. “Anything else, Your Grace?”

“Don’t forget to bring my invisible sword.” The servant’s eyes widened at the duke’s order. “And it had better be sharpened.”

“Very good, um, Your Grace,” the footman stammered, and backed out of the room.

The duke looked at Joe. “Did you bring yours?”

Joe put his hand to his waist. “It’s strapped on. And sharper than sharp.”

“Show it to me, then.”

Joe came forward, whipped out his invisible weapon, and watched as the duke examined thin air.

“It’s blasted dull,” the duke determined. “I’ll rip you to shreds.”

“You never will,” Joe flung back.

“Humph,” the old man said, then pointed to the right of the fireplace at a shelf with a small box perched upon it. “You wait patiently while I talk to the grown-ups, young man. If you’re not too bad, you may play with the toy soldiers in that tin box over there. Those were mine, long ago. When we’ve finished our conversation,
then
you and I shall fight. Prepare to die.”

“No,
you
prepare to die … Your Grace,” Joe said, his cheeks rosy with excitement as he dashed to retrieve the tin box.

The duke barked out which soldiers were the best and proceeded to tell Joe how to line them up.

Duncan leaned over to Marcia. “Was he over the line?” he whispered in her ear.

“Who?” she whispered back. “The duke or Joe?”

Her eyes danced. Duncan very nearly laughed.

And he wished he could kiss her.

Joe crouched on the floor and carefully removed the lid on the box, and Duncan was reminded of the day they’d gone to see the shark’s tooth at Finn’s house. The memory depressed him, but rather than think about his brother and how to turn him into a paragon of virtue—actually, one or two virtues would do—he’d focus on the fact that he was fortunate to be here with Joe at such an interesting place, and with Lady Marcia as she attempted to accomplish something very important, not only to her but to her school.

After the tea was served and the introductions made by Duncan, as he’d had that long-ago connection to the duke, the room was quiet a moment, save for the sounds of Joe battling his soldiers on the rug.

It was up to His Grace to speak first.

Marcia braced herself for her own battle with him. She could feel her palms sweating, her mind racing. Next to her, Lord Chadwick exuded a quiet intensity and—dare she acknowledge it?—an air of support.

She wasn’t in this alone.

“My secretary informs me you want my granddaughter at a certain school in England,” the duke finally said to her.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Her heart pounded hard, but her expression, she knew, was serene. “I believe the best place for her is Oak Hall.”

“I might as well tell you now that you’re not the first school to approach me.” He spoke as if it gave him great pleasure to disconcert her. “Greenwood’s headmistress was here just yesterday.”

“Was she?” Marcia’s heart sank.

The duke chortled. “I sent her away with her tail between her legs. And I’m sure you’ll fare no better.”

“We’ll see about that.” If he’d meant to discourage her, he’d only made her hope even more. Greenwood was out of the running. Thank goodness for that.

Without even looking at the earl, she could sense his relief, as well. She didn’t know how to explain it, but it was as if there were an invisible connection between them, as much as she was loath to admit it.

The duke eyed her over his spectacles. “You’re a former student, teacher, and headmistress at Oak Hall? And now you’re a sort of roving ambassador?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am.”

“Then play your role, and do it well, or you’ll leave this house as Ella McCloud of Greenwood did, with nothing but a stern word from me to leave old men alone when they want to be left alone.”

Well
.

Marcia gathered herself and told him about Oak Hall’s physical assets, describing them in detail, holding nothing back: the sprawling Elizabethan manor house, gracefully worn down by decades of sun and wind and almost submerged into the landscape, like a weary mother resting on the grass while her children played around her; the stables, freshly painted a warm brick color and trimmed in white; the fishing pond, where last year two swans had taken up residence; the rose arbor, and all its varieties; the fruit trees and vegetable garden, both tended by a gardener assisted by the girls; and finally, the nearby village, at which Oak Hall students enjoyed all sorts of extracurricular activities, including the annual Mayfair celebration and Christmas pageant.

“What about their lessons?” the duke asked almost scornfully, tapping his fingertips together.

She ignored his obvious impatience to be rid of her and described the academic advantages at Oak Hall—the tremendous teachers, the attitude that no questions are silly, the educational trips the girls and staff took to London to see the museums and galleries.

The duke merely grunted.

And then she scooted forward on her seat. She’d saved the best for last. “But there’s a special something Oak Hall has that separates it from all other boarding schools in England, Your Grace.”

He didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “That’s what they all say. Every school simply wants my money, young lady.”

“It’s love, Your Grace,” she said firmly, refusing to be frustrated by him. “And that’s something money can’t buy.”

“Love? Hah.” The duke turned his attention to a platter of the cakes, all identical with cherries on top. “Hmm … Which one shall I choose?”

Oh, she knew that old tactic. She had brothers. She was used to being tormented by them.

“I can wait, Your Grace,” she said, “as long as I need to, to get your full attention. Meanwhile, I’ll eat my own cake. If you don’t mind, please hold off your questions about Oak Hall—and I know you have many more—until I’m through with it.”

The duke’s hand froze above the plate of cakes, and the earl, by the sounds of it, almost choked on his tea.

Take your time,
Marcia told herself, sensing that this was a crucial moment in her quest to save her school. Whoever would have thought the winning of such a momentous objective would come down to eating cakes with cherries on top? And sipping strong, hot tea?

The clock on the mantel ticked loudly. Even Joe watched avidly as she partook of her refreshments with what she hoped was both élan and detachment.

“What is it?” she asked Joe when he wouldn’t go back to his toys.

“You talked back to a duke.” His little boy’s voice was full of wonder. “I thought you said we weren’t allowed to do that.”

She smiled at him. “Actually, I didn’t talk back to His Grace. I simply asked him to wait. Did I not?”

Joe nodded his head slowly.

She refused to make eye contact with the earl. She knew somehow she’d fall apart. And she wasn’t even sure how. Would she giggle? Or sob?

No, she had to stay focused on the blasted cake, delicious as it was, and her cup of tea.

Finally, after another torturous minute, she was done with both.

“Scrumptious,” she said, and set her teacup back on its saucer. “My compliments to the cook.”

When she looked at the duke, his expression was—she didn’t know what to call it, exactly. But she knew she had his full attention.

At last.

“Would you like to hear more about Oak Hall’s special qualities?” she asked him as if she hadn’t just put on the performance of her life.

“Go ahead,” he said, his usually commanding voice slightly less authoritative than usual.

“Very well.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, Your Grace, our students at Oak Hall receive a great deal of love. When a girl feels supported that way, she has the courage to strive to reach her own potential.”

On the rug, Joe had taken a break from his soldiers and was now eating his second cake. The cherry, of course, was the first thing to go.

The duke leaned back in his chair and sat for a moment, studying her face. Marcia refused to look away.

“I can tell you’re the daughter of an Irishman,” he said. “You’re full of sentiment. Useless stuff.”

The fire flickered in the hearth.

“It’s
not
useless stuff,” she said into the silence, allowing the slightest bit of temper to creep into her tone.

Joe resumed his miniature epic battle.

The duke glared at her. Lord Chadwick seemed poised to intervene, and she hoped he wouldn’t.
Please,
she tried to communicate to him without looking his way.
I’m almost there
.

She hoped he understood, but in case he didn’t, she stood, her spine straight, and walked behind the sofa, laying one hand on its back. “The families of girls at my school don’t want to consider that their daughters, or granddaughters, as the case may be, might someday
not
find themselves supported or loved, Your Grace. It’s anathema to them to even consider the possibility. But you and I both know that life isn’t always a bed of roses … even for rich, irascible old men like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, Your Grace,
you
.” She waited for him to throw her out, but once again, she’d rather stunned him. When she got home, she’d have to thank Gregory, Peter, and Robert for the unexpected training she’d received from them in the art of parrying jibes. “At Oak Hall, we prepare girls for every circumstance. That’s what a true education is for, I believe. It’s a ladder leading to an open window when one finds oneself in a dark cavern. Or to put it in terms a typical society parent or grandparent might understand, when one of our girls finds herself a wallflower at a ball, she’s able to rise above her situation. All because she knows
love,
Your Grace, and what it can do for her.”

He put down his own cup. “Did you say ‘wallflower’?”

For the first time, he didn’t sound annoyed. Or uninterested.

“Indeed, I did.” Marcia felt a spark of hope. For the flash of a second, she allowed herself to look at Lord Chadwick, who’d turned in his seat to watch her.

Yes,
his expression told her.
Keep going
. It was like having someone handing her a drink of water after a long day in the sun.

She took a deep breath. “Your Grace, Oak Hall is—in a wonderful way—a wallflower among schools.”

The duke’s white eyebrows flew up. “A wallflower among schools? You mean you pale in comparison to Greenwood and other schools? My goodness, girl, what kind of roving ambassador are you?”

She held tight to the back of the sofa. “We don’t pale in comparison, Your Grace,” she said in unruffled tones. “We’re
different
.” She walked back around the sofa, resumed her seat, and laced her fingers in her lap. “Yes, we prepare a well-bred young lady to navigate the Polite World’s treacherous waters. Yet what girl wants to blend in with all the other debutantes? Young ladies from Oak Hall have the backbone to stand out—all on their own, if they have to—because they know their worth.”

The duke slapped his right hand on the arm of his chair. “You’re too honest for your own good, Miss Roving Ambassador.”

“And I’ll never change,” she said with a smile. “Not even for you, Your Grace.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “My own duchess was like you. My daughter was the same.”

“Were they?”

“They held out for love. And they were always themselves—and happy—until the day they died. I suppose they were wallflowers in their own way.” For the first time, his gaze softened as he looked at the portrait of a young girl above the mantel. “I want the same for my Marianne. Especially if I’m not here to guide her. I’m getting old, you know. She might find herself alone in this world sooner rather than later.”