Married by Morning (4 page)

Leo gave her a warning glance. His sister knew better than to start a conversation with him so early. He preferred to ease his way into the day, whereas Amelia liked to fling herself at it full tilt. Moreover, he’d slept badly the night before, plagued by erotic dreams involving Catherine Marks.

“You know I’ll never marry,” he said.

Marks’s voice came from the corner. She was perched on a small chair, a sunbeam glancing off her fair hair and causing dust motes to glitter around her. “Just as well, since no rational woman would have you.”

Leo took up the challenge without hesitation. “A rational woman…” he mused aloud. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met one of those.”

“How would you know if you did?” she asked. “You wouldn’t be interested in her character. You would be far too busy examining her … her…”

“Her what?” he prompted.

“Her dress measurements,” she finally said, and he laughed at her prudishness.

“Is it really so impossible for you to name ordinary body parts, Marks? Breasts, hips, legs—why is it indecent to talk about the human anatomy in a straightforward manner?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because it leads to improper thoughts.”

Leo smirked at her. “Mine already are.”

“Well, mine aren’t,” she said. “And I would prefer them to remain that way.”

His brows lifted. “You don’t have improper thoughts?”

“Hardly ever.”

“But when you do, what are they?”

She gave him an indignant glance.

“Have I ever been involved in your improper thoughts?” Leo persisted, causing her face to flame.

“I told you I didn’t have any,” she protested.

“No, you said ‘hardly ever.’ Which means one or two are rattling around in there.”

Amelia broke in. “Leo, stop tormenting her.”

Leo barely heard her, his attention fixed on Catherine. “I wouldn’t think badly of you at all if you did,” he said. “In fact, I’d like you much better for it.”

“No doubt you would,” Catherine shot back. “You probably prefer women with no virtues at all.”

“Virtue in a woman is like pepper in the soup. A little makes for a nice seasoning. But overdo it, and no one wants very much of you.”

Clamping her mouth shut, Catherine pointedly looked away from him, putting an end to the rapid-paced argument.

In the silence, Leo became aware that the entire family was staring at him with collective bemusement.

“Have I done something?” he demanded. “What’s going on? And what the devil are you all reading?”

Amelia, Cam, and Merripen had spread papers over the table, while Win and Beatrix appeared to be looking up words in a massive legal tome.

“A letter was just delivered from our London solicitor, Mr. Gadwick,” Merripen said. “It seems there are legal issues that weren’t made clear when you inherited the estate.”

“No surprise there,” Leo said. He went to the sideboard, where breakfast had been laid out. “The estate and title were tossed in my direction like used fish wrappings. Along with the Ramsay curse.”

“There is no Ramsay curse,” Amelia said.

“Oh?” Leo smiled darkly. “Then why did the last half-dozen Lord Ramsays die in quick succession?”

“Pure coincidence,” she replied. “Obviously that particular branch of the family was clumsy and inbred. It’s a common difficulty for bluebloods.”

“Well, we certainly don’t have that problem.” Leo returned his attention to Merripen. “Tell me about our legal issues. And use small words. I don’t like to think at this hour of the morning. It hurts.”

Looking none too happy, Merripen sat at the table. “This house,” he said, “and the parcel of land it stands on—about fourteen acres in total—were not part of the original Ramsay estate. It was added later. In legal terms, it’s a copyhold portion, which is a separate property within the main estate. And unlike the rest of the estate, the copyhold can be mortgaged, bought, or sold at the will of the lord.”

“Good,” Leo said. “Since I’m the lord, and I don’t want to mortgage or sell anything, it’s all fine, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“No?”
Leo scowled. “According to the rules of entailment, the lord always retains his land and manor home. It’s nonpartible. And nothing can change that.”

“That’s right,” Merripen said. “You are entitled to the ancient manor home. The one on the northwest corner of the estate where two streams meet.”

Leo set down his half-filled plate and stared at him blankly. “But that’s a pile of rubble covered with scrub. It was built at the time of Edward the Confessor, for God’s sake.”

“Yes,” Merripen said in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s your true home.”

Becoming more and more irritated, Leo said, “I don’t want that bloody wreckage, I want
this
house. Why is there a problem with that?”

“May I tell him?” Beatrix asked eagerly. “I’ve looked up all the legal words, and I know it better than anyone.” She sat up with her pet ferret Dodger draped around her shoulders. “You see, Leo, the original manor home was left to ruin a few centuries ago. And one of the ancient Lord Ramsays acquired this fourteen-acre parcel and built a new home on it. Ever since then, Ramsay House has been handed down to each new viscount by special custom in the manor. But the last Lord Ramsay—the one just before you—found a way to leave all partible property, including the copyhold, to his widow and daughter. It’s called an award of enfranchisement, and it’s theirs for life. So Ramsay House and the fourteen-acre parcel it stands upon have been left to Countess Ramsay, and her daughter Vanessa Darvin.”

Leo shook his head incredulously. “Why haven’t we learned of this before?”

Amelia answered in a glum tone. “It seems that the widow had no previous interest in the house, because it was a shambles. But now that it’s been restored so beautifully, she has informed our solicitor that she intends to move in and take possession.”

Leo was filled with outrage. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone take Ramsay House from the Hathaways. If necessary, I’ll bring this to chancery at Westminster.”

Merripen pinched the corners of his eyes wearily. “Chancery won’t take it.”

“How do you know?”

“Our solicitor has talked to the copyhold specialist at his firm. Unfortunately, there was never an entail placed on Ramsay House, only on the original manor home.”

“What about purchasing the copyhold from the widow?”

“She has already stated that no amount of money would induce her to part from it.”

“Women’s minds are frequently changed,” Leo said. “We’ll make her an offer.”

“Very well. But if she refuses to negotiate, there’s only one way for us to keep this house.”

“I can’t wait to hear this,” Leo said.

“The last Lord Ramsay made a provision that you would retain the copyhold, including the house, if you married and produced legitimate male issue within five years of ennoblement.”

“Why five years?”

Win answered gently. “Because in the last three decades, no Ramsay has managed to live longer than five years after receiving the title. Nor have any of them sired a legitimate son.”

“But the good news, Leo,” Beatrix said brightly, “is that it’s been four years since you became Lord Ramsay. If you can stay alive for just one more year, the family curse will be broken.”

“And furthermore,” Amelia added, “you have to marry and sire a son as soon as possible.”

Leo stared at them all blankly in the expectant silence. A disbelieving laugh escaped him. “You’re all mad if you think I’m going to be forced into a loveless marriage just so the family can continue living at Ramsay House.”

Coming forward with a placating smile, Win handed him a piece of paper. “Of course we would never want to force you into a loveless marriage, dear. But we have put together a list of prospective brides, all of them lovely girls. Won’t you take a glance and see if any of them appeals to you?”

Deciding to humor her, Leo looked down at the list.
“Marietta Newbury?”

“Yes,” Amelia said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I don’t like her teeth.”

“What about Isabella Charrington?”

“I don’t like her mother.”

“Lady Blossom Tremaine?”

“I don’t like her name.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Leo, that’s not her fault.”

“I don’t care. I can’t have a wife named Blossom. Every night I would feel as if I were calling in one of the cows.” Leo lifted his gaze heavenward. “I might as well marry the first woman off the street. Why, I’d be better off with Marks.”

Everyone was silent.

Still tucked in the corner of the room, Catherine Marks looked up slowly as she realized that she was the focus of the Hathaways’ collective gaze. Her eyes turned huge behind the spectacles, and a tide of pink rushed over her face. “That is
not
amusing,” she said sharply.

“It’s the perfect solution,” Leo said, taking perverse satisfaction in annoying her. “We argue all the time. We can’t stand each other. It’s like we’re already married.”

Catherine sprang to her feet, staring at him in outrage. “I would
never
consent to marry you.”

“Good, because I wasn’t asking. I was only making a point.”

“Do not use me to make a point!” She fled the room, while Leo stared after her.

“You know,” Win said thoughtfully, “we should have a ball.”

“A ball?” Merripen asked blankly.

“Yes, and invite all the eligible young women we can think of. It’s possible one of them will strike Leo’s fancy, and then he could court her.”

“I’m not going to court anyone,” Leo said.

They all ignored him.

“I like that idea,” Amelia said. “A bride-hunting ball.”

“It would be more accurate,” Cam pointed out dryly, “to call it a groom-hunting ball. Since Leo will be the item of prey.”

“It’s just like Cinderella,” Beatrix exclaimed. “Only without the charming prince.”

Deciding to calm the brewing squabble, Cam lifted his hand in a staying gesture. “Easy, all of you. If it happens that we lose Ramsay House—God forbid—we can build another one on the freehold portion of the estate.”

“That would take forever, and the cost would be enormous,” Amelia protested. “And it wouldn’t be the same. We’ve spent too much time restoring this place, and putting our hearts into it.”

“Especially Merripen,” Win added quietly.

Merripen gave her a slight shake of his head. “It’s only a house.”

But they all knew it was more than a structure of brick and mortar … it was their home. Cam and Amelia’s son had been born there. Win and Merripen had been married there. With all its haphazard charm, Ramsay House was a perfect expression of the Hathaway family itself.

And no one understood that better than Leo. As an architect, he knew well that some buildings had an inherent character that was far more than the sum of their parts. Ramsay House had been damaged and restored … it had gone from a neglected shell to a thriving, happy home, all because one family had cared. It was a crime that the Hathaways would be displaced by a pair of women who had invested nothing in it, through what amounted to nothing more than a legal sleight of hand.

Swearing beneath his breath, Leo dragged his hand through his hair. “I want to have a look at the ruins of the old manor home,” he said. “Merripen, what’s the best way to reach it?”

“I’m not certain,” Merripen admitted. “I rarely go out that far.”

“I know,” Beatrix volunteered. “Miss Marks and I have ridden there to sketch the ruins. They’re very picturesque.”

“Would you like to ride there with me?” Leo asked.

“I’d love to,” she said.

Amelia frowned. “Why do you want to visit the ruins, Leo?”

He smiled in a way he knew would annoy her. “Why, to measure for curtains, of course.”

Leo smiled quizzically, replacing a book on a shelf. “Who’s Lucky?”

“Oh, I forgot you hadn’t met her. She’s a three-legged cat who used to belong to the cheesemaker in the village. The poor thing got her paw caught in a rat trap, and it had to be amputated. And now that she’s no longer a good mouser, the cheesemaker gave her to me. He never even named her, can you imagine?”

“Given what happened to her, the name ‘Lucky’ is something of a misnomer, isn’t it?”

“I thought it might improve her fortunes.”

“I’m sure it will,” Leo said, amused. Beatrix’s passion for helping vulnerable creatures had always worried and touched the other Hathaways in equal measure. They all recognized that Beatrix was the most unconventional person in the family.

Beatrix was always sought after at London social events. She was a pretty girl, if not classically beautiful, with her blue eyes, dark hair, and tall, slender figure. Gentlemen were attracted by her freshness and charm, unaware that she showed the same patient interest to hedgehogs, field mice, and misbehaving spaniels. And when it came time for active courtship, men reluctantly left Beatrix’s engaging company and turned to more conventional misses. With each successive season, her chances at marriage diminished.

Beatrix didn’t seem to care. At the age of nineteen—nearly twenty—she had yet to fall in love. It was universally agreed among the Hathaways that few men would be able to understand or handle her. She was a force of nature, unhampered by conventional rules.

“Go take care of Lucky,” Leo said gently. “I don’t expect to have any difficulty finding the ruins by myself.”

“Oh, you’re not going alone,” she told him. “I arranged for Miss Marks to accompany you.”

“You did? And she was willing?”

Before Beatrix could answer, Catherine entered the library, her slim figure dressed in riding clothes, her hair pulled back in a tight braided chignon. A sketchbook was clasped beneath her arm. She stopped short at the sight of Leo, who was wearing a gentleman’s riding coat, close-fitting breeches, and well-worn boots.

Her wary gaze went to Beatrix. “Why haven’t you changed into your riding habit, dear?”

Beatrix replied apologetically, “I’m sorry, Miss Marks, I can’t go after all. Lucky needs me. But it’s just as well—you can show Leo the way even better than I.” Her sunny smile encompassed them both. “It’s a fine day for riding, isn’t it? Have a good outing!” And she left the library in her long, lithe stride.

Catherine’s slender brows rushed downward as she looked at Leo. “Why do you want to visit the ruins?”

“I just want to look at them. Hang it all, do I have to explain myself to you? Just refuse if you’re afraid to go somewhere alone with me.”

“Afraid of
you
? Not in the least.”

Leo gestured to the doorway in a parody of gentlemanly manners. “After you, then.”

As a result of the strategic importance of the ports of Southampton and Portsmouth, Hampshire was filled with ancient castles and picturesque ruins of forts and Saxon dwellings. Although Leo had known that there were remains of an old manor on the Ramsay estate, he hadn’t yet found the opportunity to visit them. Among the concerns of farming, the accounting of rents, rates, and labor, the timber cutting and the architectural commissions Leo took on occasion, there hadn’t been much time left for idle touring.

Together he and Catherine rode past fields of flowering turnips and wheat, and clover pastures where fat white sheep grazed. They crossed through the timber forest to the northwest of the estate, where heavy streams cut through green hills and limestone crags. The ground was less arable here, more rock than loam, but its location was a solidly defensible position for an ancient fortified manor home.

As they ascended a hill, Leo took covert glances at Catherine. She was slim and graceful on horseback, guiding the horse with a smooth economy of motion. An accomplished woman, he mused. Poised, articulate, competent in nearly everything she did. And yet when another woman would have advertised such qualities, Catherine went to great lengths to keep from drawing attention to herself.

They reached the site of the original manor, where the remains of ancient walls protruded from the ground like the vertebrae of fossilized creatures. Inequalities in the scrub-covered ground marked the locations of the manor’s outbuildings. A shallow circular ring, approximately twenty-five feet wide, revealed the dimensions of the moat that had surrounded a sixty-square-foot elevation of land.

After dismounting and tethering his horse, Leo went to assist Catherine. She disengaged her right leg from the pommel and took her foot from the stirrup, letting Leo control her descent. She alighted on the ground, facing him. Her face lifted, the brim of her riding hat partially shadowing her opalescent eyes.

They stood together with her hands on his shoulders. Her face was flushed with exertion, her lips parted … and all at once Leo knew how it would be to make love to her, her body light and supple beneath his, her breath rushing against his throat as he moved between her thighs. He would bring her to ecstasy, slowly and ruthlessly, and she would claw and moan and sigh his name …

“Here it is,” Catherine said. “Your ancestral home.”

Tearing his gaze from her, Leo regarded the crumbling ruins. “Charming,” he said. “A little dusting and sweeping, and the place will be as good as new.”

“Will you go along with the family’s plan to find a bride for you?”

“Do you think I should?”

“No, I don’t think you have the makings of a decent husband. You haven’t the character for it.”

Leo’s sentiments exactly. Except that it rankled to hear her say it.

“What makes you a fit judge of my character?” he asked.

Her shoulders lifted in an uncomfortable shrug. “One can’t help hearing about your exploits when all the dowagers and matrons are together at the balls.”

“I see. And you believe every rumor you hear?”

She was silent. Leo expected her to argue, or insult him. To his surprise, however, she stared at him with something like remorse. “You have a point. And whether the rumors are true or false, it was wrong of me to listen.”

Leo waited for her to follow that with some stinging insult, but she appeared genuinely chastened. Which was a surprise. It made him realize there was much he didn’t know about her, this solitary and serious young woman who had hovered at the edge of his family for so long.

“What do the gossips say about me?” he asked casually.

She gave him a wry glance. “Your prowess as a lover is much vaunted.”

“Oh, well, those rumors are definitely true.” He clucked his tongue as if shocked. “Do dowagers and chaperones really prattle about such things?”

Her slender brows arched. “What did you imagine they talked about?”

“Knitting. Jelly recipes.”

She shook her head and bit back a smile.

“How tedious these affairs must be for you,” Leo said. “Standing at the side of the room, listening to gossip and watching everyone else dance.”

“I don’t mind it. I don’t like dancing.”

“Have you ever danced with a man?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then how can you be sure you wouldn’t like it?”

“I can have an opinion about something even if I haven’t done it.”

“Of course. It’s so much easier to form opinions without being troubled by experience or facts.”

She frowned but kept silent.

“You’ve given me an idea, Marks,” Leo went on. “I’m going to allow my sisters to plan the ball they mentioned earlier. Only for this reason: I’m going to come to you in the middle of it and ask you to dance with me. In front of everyone.”

She looked appalled. “I would refuse.”

“I’m going to ask nevertheless.”

“To make a mockery of me,” she said. “To make fools of us both.”

“No.” His voice gentled. “Just to dance, Marks.”

Their gazes locked in a long, fascinated stare.

And then to Leo’s surprise, Catherine smiled at him. A sweet, natural, brilliant smile, the first she had ever given him. Leo felt his chest tighten, and he went hot all over, as if some euphoric drug had gone straight to his nervous system.

It felt like … happiness.

He remembered happiness from a long time ago. He didn’t want to feel it. And yet the giddy warmth kept washing over him for no reason whatsoever.

“Thank you,” Catherine said, the smile still hovering on her lips. “That is kind of you, my lord. But I will never dance with you.”

Which, of course, made it the goal of Leo’s life.

Catherine turned to retrieve a sketchbook and roll of pencils from the saddle pouch.

“I didn’t know you sketched,” Leo said.

“I’m not very good at it.”

He gestured to the book in her hands. “May I see that?”

“And give you reason to mock me?”

“I won’t. My solemn promise. Let me see.” Slowly Leo extended his hand, palm up.

Catherine glanced at his open hand, and then his face. Hesitantly she gave the book to him.

Opening the book, he glanced through the sketches. There was a series of the ruins from different angles, perhaps too careful and disciplined in places where a bit of looseness would have given the sketch more vitality. But on the whole it was very well done. “Lovely,” he said. “You have a nice feeling for line and form.”

She colored, seeming uncomfortable with the praise. “I understand from your sisters that you are an accomplished artist.”

“Competent, perhaps. My architectural training included a number of art classes.” Leo gave her a casual grin. “I’m especially good at sketching things that stay still for long periods of time. Buildings. Lampposts.” He leafed through the book. “Do you have any of Beatrix’s drawings?”

“On the last page,” Catherine said. “She began to sketch a protruding section of the wall, over there, but she became preoccupied with a squirrel that kept hopping into the foreground.”

Leo found a perfectly rendered and detailed portrait of a squirrel. He shook his head. “Beatrix and her animals.”

They exchanged a grin.

“Many people talk to their pets,” Catherine said.

“Yes, but very few understand the replies.” Closing the sketchbook, Leo gave it back to her and began to walk the perimeter of the manor enclosure.

Catherine followed, picking her way among the gorse studded with yellow flowers and shiny black pods. “How deep was the original moat, do you estimate?”

“I would guess no more than eight feet where it cuts into the higher ground.” Leo shielded his eyes as he surveyed their surroundings. “They must have diverted one of the streams to fill it. You see those mounds over there? They were probably farm buildings and serf quarters, made of clay and stud.”

“What was the manor home like?”

“The central keep was almost certainly made of stone, with the rest a combination of materials. And it was likely crowded with sheep, goats, dogs, and serfs.”

“Do you know the history of the original overlord?” Catherine sat on a portion of the exposed wall and arranged her skirts.

“You mean the first Viscount Ramsay?” Leo stopped at the edge of the circular depression that had once been the moat. His gaze traveled across the broken landscape. “He started as Thomas of Blackmere, known for his lack of mercy. Apparently he had a talent for pillaging and burning villages. He was regarded as the left arm of Edward the Black Prince. Between them, they virtually destroyed the practice of chivalry.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled at the sight of Catherine’s wrinkled nose. She sat with schoolgirl straightness, the sketchbook in her lap. He would have liked to snatch her off the wall and do some pillaging of his own. Reflecting that it was a good thing she couldn’t read his thoughts, he continued the story.

“After fighting in France and being held prisoner for four years, Thomas was released and returned to England. I suppose he thought it was time to settle down, because he subsequently rode on this keep, killed the baron who had built it, seized his lands and ravished his widow.”

Her eyes were wide. “Poor lady.”

Leo shrugged. “She must have had some influence on him. He married her afterward and sired six children by her.”

“Did they live to a peaceful old age?”

Leo shook his head, approaching her leisurely. “Thomas went back to France, where they put an end to him at Castillon. But the French were quite civilized about it and raised a monument to him on the field.”

“I don’t think he deserved any kind of tribute.”

“Don’t be too hard on the fellow—he was only doing what the times demanded.”

“He was a barbarian,” she said indignantly. “Regardless of the times.” The wind had teased a lock of light golden hair loose from her tight chignon, and sent it straying over her cheek.

Unable to resist, Leo reached out and stroked the tendril back behind her ear. Her skin was baby-fine and smooth. “Most men are,” he said. “It’s only that they have more rules now.” He removed his hat, set it on the wall, and stared into her upturned face. “You may put a man in a cravat, teach him manners, and make him attend a soiree, but hardly any of us are truly civilized.”