The Marquess and Miss Davies (26 page)

But he would marry no-one else.

Anthony wished desperately to return to Suffolk, to lose himself in the running of the Claresholm estate and stables. But he could not leave London. He could not, while she was there.

He turned Tantevy in the direction of Sovereign Street, and home.

* * * *

The butler was waiting for him, catching him in the back hall as he came in from the stables.

“Oh, your lordship,” said Dean. “There is a young woman who says you are expecting her. She is waiting in your study.” The butler hesitated. “I took the liberty of providing tea and a selection of cakes. She did look a bit peaked.”

Lord Leighton kept his expression perfectly calm, showing nothing but a mild interest. “Of course. Thank you, Dean, I shall apologize for being late.”

“And her ladyship took the opportunity to, ah, converse briefly with the young lady.”

Gods.

The marquess turned and walked, without hurry, toward the front of the house, and his study door.

* * * *

“Carys,” said the marquess, thankful that his mother had left, and Miss Davies was now alone in the room.

She ran into his arms. He held her for several long moments, and then pushed her—gently—away.

“You must return to your family at once,” said Lord Leighton. “My servants will not gossip. But—”

“I will not go,” said Carys. “Unless you say you do not wish to marry me.”

“I wish it more than anything in the world. But—”

“Then let us go to Scotland and be done with this.”

One day previous, the Marquess of Clare had thought his marriage to Miss Carys Davies all but accomplished, only to have this prize—something he wished for heart and soul—taken from him. To have it now offered again, in a manner entirely within his power to effect, was nearly irresistible.

Especially with the young woman standing in front of him, eyes wide and blushing. They could be married within days. There might be scandal, of course, but ‘twould be short-lived, and the
ton
would survive.

He could have what he wanted. He could.

“No,” said Lord Leighton, and closed his eyes. He felt her soft touch on his arm. She was wearing the same riding habit she had worn in Richmond Park, and he remembered—vividly—the feel of the soft wool under his fingertips. One kiss—

One kiss and he was undone. One kiss and there would be no choice but to go to Scotland.

Anthony suspected Miss Davies knew it. He suspected that she knew that her fate was in her own hands, that he had been pushed to the edge of endurance. If she continued that touch, if she—

Lord Leighton did not know when the embrace began, or who started it. One moment he was trying to summon the last tatters of self-control, and the next moment she was in his lap, on the sofa. Her hands clung to the back of his neck, his arms crushed her to his chest. The scent of her hair, the feel of it against his cheek—

A knock on the door.

Gods.

But Miss Davies only laughed. “Isolde,” she said.

She was right.

“My gods,” said Isa, entering, and seeing Odysseus collapsed on the rug next to the sofa. “Is that a dog or a horse?”

* * * *

“No.”

“Don’t be—”

“I’m not!”

“Lady Reggie will—”

“But I cannot believe that he—”

Lord Leighton sat and listened in some bemusement. He had never heard the twins in extended conversation before, and was frankly astonished that so much could be communicated in so few words.

There had been some discussion of age, with Carys expostulating with her sister as to the practicality of waiting until she was twenty-one. The marquess was given to understand that Miss Davies would prefer a move to Liverpool than to spend another two years in London.

According to Isolde, Lady Regina had promised to attempt what she could with her husband. Lord Leighton shook his head at this.

“A married couple should not be brought into conflict,” he told them. “This is between your brother and myself.”

“Why is it always the men who decide?” cried Isa.

The marquess made no protest. “Heaven knows,” he said mildly. “I’m beginning to doubt the wisdom of it, myself.”

He worried much less for Carys’s reputation now that Isolde was here. And the thought of being separated from her was misery.

Still, ‘twas time for the sisters to return home.

As if she had read his thoughts, Isolde turned to him. “We are going back to Cardingham House.”

The marquess nodded. ‘Twas no more than what he would insist on, but he found a knot of disappointment and frustration still very much at his heart. There would be no midnight carriage ride to Scotland, no beautiful young woman as his bride.

“I will have the coach brought round for you,” he said.

“By no means,” said Isa. “You’re coming with us.”

Lord Leighton raised his eyebrows.

“I believe this matter needs to be reconsidered. And you should be there.”

Carys was staring at her sister, frowning. “How did you get
here
?” she asked Isa.

“I rode!” said Isolde, proudly.

“You
rode
.”

“Jeffers was ever so glad of the sidesaddle. He thinks you’re a bad influence.”

They found the viscount and Lady Reggie sitting side by side in the study. Talfryn looked up at the marquess.

“Have you come to take her away from us?” he asked quietly.

“No,” said Lord Leighton. “As it happens, I am bringing her back.”

Lord Davies’s eyes went to Carys. She nodded.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I never wished to grieve you.”

“Talfryn—” began Isolde.

But the viscount interrupted her.

“I know what you wish to say. But—” He turned his gaze on Carys. “—would it be so unreasonable to at least ... wait?”

“I am near nineteen, brother,” she replied. “And you know me well. You know I am no schoolgirl.”

Talfryn glanced at Lord Leighton.

“I will wait,” said the Marquess of Clare, “for as long as it takes. And I hope that someday we will have your true and willing consent.”

There was a long pause. Lady Regina was looking at her husband with a small smile, and there was something else in her expression—

Carys’s heart began to race.

“You have it now,” said the Viscount of Cardingham.

Another pause. Then Carys, laughing, threw herself into the marquess’s arms and Isolde—and Lady Reggie—burst into happy tears.

It would end happily ever after, after all.

The wedding took place within the fortnight; with a special license, to be sure, but not so quickly that there was excessive talk, nor was Isolde deprived of the chance to spend hours at the dressmakers, getting fitted for a gown that would be her sister’s to wear. The dowager marchioness was so delighted that she actually finished one of her canvases and gave it to the new couple as a wedding gift; ‘twas a bold composition in blues and greens, and Carys rather liked it.

Afterwards Lord Leighton and his new marchioness departed for Suffolk—on horseback. This was simply not done, of course, but they had a grand time on the journey, on one occasion burrowing into a haystack during a rain shower, and enjoying a passionate night or two in the inns along the way. Isolde had given her sister both volumes of Lord Brabury’s poetry as a wedding gift; the marquess found them inspirational.

Once settled, Carys discovered that the role of chatelaine to a large estate was exactly to her liking—she could be useful, and out-of-doors—and the Claresholm stables were even better than imagination had hoped. She and Anthony were utterly content with each other, and neither the days—nor the nights—were long enough for everything they might enjoy to do.

Isolde visited Suffolk regularly, but the new couple did not appear in London for over a year, and when they did ‘twas with a babe in each arm—twin boys.

“Good heavens,” said Lady Regina, smiling. “It shall be bedlam.” Taliesin was yet only two.

Lady Josephine returned to Hertfordshire with the earl, and her own visits to London became less frequent. When she was in town she would occasionally see Lord Harcourt in passing, and they would greet each other, and laugh.

“Can you imagine?” they would say, and shake their heads, and if Benjamin’s laughter was not quite as genuine as Lady Bainborough’s, ‘twas only a little less so.

Lord Davies and Lady Reggie stayed on a bit in London, and when Isolde was not attending a ball or dance she delighted in her role as aunt. Taliesin was good-natured and curious about everything; Isa introduced him to Jesse, and she began petitioning the viscount for a pony.

“I am doing you a favour,” she told her nephew. “He will be worn down by the time you are old enough to ask for yourself.”

She missed her sister. But London had much to offer, and when life beckoned, Isolde was never one to answer no.

Copyright © 2013 by Amy Lake

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.