Page 11 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A llan burst into the sports room of Stephen’s house, moving so quickly that the door ricocheted off the wall behind him.

“Good Lord!” Stephen cried from the other side of the room in alarm. “What’s got into you? I asked you around to my house, not to break down the door to get in.”

Allan came to a halt, his eyes falling on Stephen and Gerard who had broken off in the middle of their fencing match. As usual, Stephen was dressed formally for his fencing, with padding over his chest and bearing a thin foil at his side.

In contrast, Gerard hadn’t bothered with the padding. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he carried a much broader sword. At a glance, it was obvious that he hadn’t had the formal fencing training that Stephen had, having grown up outside of the ton.

“Who’s winning?” Allan asked, knowingly.

“Do you need to ask?” Stephen replied as he darted to the side, avoiding another blow from Gerard. “He’s too good. He doesn’t play by the rules.”

“What rules?” Gerard said with a satisfied smirk.

Stephen darted out of the way from another blow and hurried toward Allan across the room.

“Your turn,” he said, thrusting the sword into Allan’s grasp.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Stephen asked, looking at him intently.

Allan didn’t answer. He turned away and shrugged off his tailcoat, pulling on the padding that Gerard passed him next.

“Aye, a couple of days of wedded bliss, and look at him?” Gerard gestured toward him. “Glowin’, are ye nae?”

“This is not amusing,” Allan replied tartly.

“Aye, all right.” Gerard backed up into the middle of the room. “How about ye take yer frustrations out on me with that sword? It might make ye feel better.”

The temptation was too much to refuse. Allan advanced forward with the blade, doing his best to forget all thoughts of Frederica.

He thrust the blade forward though Gerard dodged it easily. Allan had to keep advancing, his footwork neat as per all the lessons he had ever been given in fencing, but Gerard was the greater fighter. With one firm blow back from Gerard, Allan was pushed so far back that he nearly fell over.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Where did you learn to fight like this?”

“Trust me, ye dinnae want to ken the answer to that,” Gerard said with a deep laugh. “Growin’ up nae in the ton has its advantages, and its disadvantages.” He waved his broader sword at Allan, urging him to fight again. “Ready?”

“Ready — ah!” Allan practically yelped in surprise as Gerard leapt toward him again.

Allan could hear Stephen sniggering nearby as he watched though Allan attempted to block it out as much as possible. He threw himself into the fight, managing to get a few strikes in that nearly caught Gerard though he never quite made contact.

For a few blissful minutes, Allan was able to forget the anger in him. He could ignore the fact that though Frederica had indeed come to have her breakfast as he had requested, she had risen before him and was practically done when he got to the table. They’d had just a minute or so of polite conversation before she had left.

“There.” Gerard cried as he managed to press the blunted sword to the middle of Allan’s padded chest. “Ye need to move yer feet faster, me friend.”

“Ah, I know.” Allan sighed and dropped the sword at his side. “It’s your turn to get beaten up, Stephen.”

“How about we take a break for a minute instead?” Stephen suggested. “I’d like to know why you are so angry with the world so soon after marrying.”

“Why do you think?” Allan dropped down to a bench at the side. Gerard threw him a towel as Stephen passed him a glass of lemonade.

“Ah, yer new lady wife nae takin’ to bein’ yer wife so easily?” Gerard asked, sitting beside him.

“It’s like she’s a stranger in the home,” Allan said tartly. “She and I aren’t complete strangers to each other. We met before. At the time, I thought…” he trailed off though he caught Stephen’s gaze.

Just in that look, he could tell his oldest friend had sensed what he had thought existed all those years ago.

When Allan and Frederica had met, conversation had been a little easier. It had made the attraction he had felt to her burn all the brighter, but that was long ago now, as if it had never happened at all.

“I just thought that when we had married, things might be easier,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Stephen to look at the lemonade glass in his grasp. “She was asking permission to change things in the house, as if it isn’t yet her home.”

“May I make a suggestion here?” Gerard said, sitting forward.

“Please, I’d be glad of your thoughts.”

“We dinnae ken where yer wife has been this last year, do we?” Gerard pointed out. “As such, I highly doubt she spent the year in vast fortune or a house anywhere near as big as yers. For all ye ken, she could have been hidin’ in a very modest house indeed. She may be very used to feelin’ like a guest in someone else’s house. To showing it respect because of it.”

“Well said from a humble man,” Stephen pointed out as he handed Gerard another lemonade.

“Thank ye,” Gerard said, toasting him with that glass. “I’m just sayin’ that her experience of housin’ and a home is very different to yers, Allan. She wasnae exactly goin’ to move into yer house and feel like it was her home overnight.”

“When you put it like that, I feel like a fool for expecting it in the first place. I am not used to women being so cold. Usually, women like being around me.” Allan rubbed his brow in frustration.

I want it to be her home though. How do I make her feel at ease there?

“That’s you, the charmer,” Stephen said with a laugh. “May I also make another suggestion?” Stephen asked, sitting down on Allan’s other side. “Maybe this isn’t just about making her feel at home. Maybe you never really wanted a marriage that was for convenience at all. Now, she’s in your home, and it’s not a marriage of love… it’s harder.”

Allan sighed, knowing his friend was right. He hung his head forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the sports floor.

“You had a marriage for love,” Allan reminded Stephen who grimaced a little. “You are married to my sister, remember.”

“Ha! I wasn’t grimacing because it’s Dorothy. You know I love her.” Stephen smiled broadly. “I was merely thinking that it was hardly what I was expecting, to fall in love with her, after all our arguing.”

“It’s a fair point,” Gerard piped up. “Ye never ken what the future may hold.”

“What do you mean?” Allan asked.

“I mean…” Gerard leaned forward, catching his eye. “… I certainly never expected to have the title of a gentleman. I thought I’d be in Edinburgh forever, a man of business. Now, I have me business and me title too.” Then he smiled, the sudden softness lighting up the strong and rough face. “That was just one surprise in me life. Charlotte was the other.”

“She surprised you,” Allan whispered knowingly.

Gerard nodded.

“He’s right,” Stephen agreed. “Just because you and Frederica are finding it hard to be content with one another now, it doesn’t mean that will always be the way. You never know what is going to happen.”

“Give her time,” Gerard agreed. “She hasnae had an easy life.”

“Patience,” Stephen seconded.

“When did you two turn into my agony aunts?” Allan shook his head.

“That’s us, Auntie Gerry and Auntie Steph,” Gerard said and stood, holding the sword over his arm as if it were a reticule.

Allan and Stephen both erupted in laughter. The break from the tension — the release — was a wonderful thing for Allan.

“Right, my turn,” Stephen said as he jumped to his feet and moved toward Gerard with the foil.

As Allan watched them sparring, he thought carefully about everything his friends had said. There was much sense in it, the fact that he was being impatient, hoping for a happy marriage at once when such a thing would certainly be impossible after all that Frederica had been through.

What were you looking at during the ceremony, I wonder?

A memory shot across his mind. It was when she had glanced at the door of the church, biting her lip. Had she been hoping someone else would join the congregation? Or was she fearing it?

As Stephen managed for the first time to get a hit on Gerard, he celebrated so much that Gerard got him back twice. Stephen finished his parrying by cursing a lot, leaving Gerard to chuckle loudly.

“One thing more, my agony aunts,” Allan called to them. They both stopped and turned to face him. “Any suggestions of how to make her feel more at home? Other than just giving her time?”

“Gifts?” Stephen suggested though Gerard was already shaking his head.

“Gifts are nae enough.” Gerard leaned on the sword beside him. “She may like somethin’ sparkly, but it willnae change her nervousness unless it means somethin’ more. Give her something that will make her feel safe.” He smiled rather sadly. “Is that nae what everyone wants in this world? To feel safe?”

Allan blinked, considering how interesting this suggestion was.

When he’d come across Frederica in Almack’s Assembly Rooms, she had looked desperate. When she had been arguing with her parents and he’d walked in to propose, she was furious. Even at the wedding, she was consumed by sadness.

Ah, Freddie, I do not think I have seen you feeling anything remotely close to safe.

He stood, his mind made up. Both Gerard and Stephen were right. If he wanted his marriage to ever be happy, then he first had to let Frederica know that she was safe with him.

* * *

“These? All of these, My Lord?” The modiste practically tripped over the bundle of material which Allan had placed nearby.

“All of them, please.” He reached into the pocket of his tailcoat and pulled out a wallet, handing bank cheques to the modiste. Her eyes widened as she counted out the numbers.

“My Lord… this is extraordinary.”

“You deserve good payment for what I am asking,” Allan assured her. “I’ve been reminded there is a ball in two days that I must attend, so I’m afraid one would have to be made quite quickly. Would that be possible, please? How about this one?”

He picked up a blue silk, unlike any other he had ever seen. It was soft, shimmering from the sunlight gleaming through the windows of the shop in Covent Garden, but it also bore tiny white fleck marks, as if it was dappled with the lightest of snowflakes.

“Of course.” The modiste nodded at once, hurrying to put away the bank cheques. “Who is the lucky lady?”

“Lady…” Allan began then realized what he was doing. “My wife,” he said with a smile, addressing her as such for the first time in public. “I wish her to feel safe in our home. That it is hers as much as mine.” He didn’t add that he had noticed her wardrobe was somewhat limited.

Even at their wedding ceremony, she had picked uncomfortably at the gown. He’d caught sight of Lady Campbell adjusting it on her shoulder, and he had a hunch it was her mother’s choosing rather than her own.

“I’d also like to bring her here sometime, so she can pick out a selection for herself.”

“Of course, My Lord.” The modiste nodded eagerly. “Well, if it is a warm welcome you wish to offer your wife, may I make a recommendation?”

“Please.” He encouraged her then she disappeared out of the back of the shop. It left him to stare down at the pile of material and swatches he had placed together, wondering if this was too much of a gift or not enough.

When the modiste returned, she had something small in her hands. It was a small, embroidered box, bordered in one of the fine materials from the multiple bolts that were placed behind her on shelves. Pearlescent white, it was a very pretty thing.

“I have recently started making these. They’re for letters, a lady’s correspondence.” She handed him the box, beautifully made and petite. He lifted the lid, finding inside multiple compartments, so a lady could separate all her correspondence. “In my experience, a woman’s friends are the most important thing to her.”

Allan smiled when he recalled the way in which Frederica had smiled at the wedding breakfast with Dorothy and Charlotte.

“Thank you. I shall take this too.”

A short while later, Allan left the shop with the promise of the dresses being soon delivered to the house. The correspondence box he took with him right away, tucking it safely under his arm as he pulled himself up onto his horse and rode out of Covent Garden, toward his estate.

When he pulled up on the gravel driveway outside his house, he found it wasn’t empty. A small black carriage stood at the bottom of the stoop leading to the front door. The footman and driver remained with the carriage, standing to attention, as if they might be called at any minute.

“Gentlemen?” Allan called to them as he descended his horse, and the stable boy ran forward to take it from him. “Will you not rest a while if you are visiting?” It was customary in his home for any driver and footman to be welcomed into the kitchen to share a drink with the staff.

The driver and footman both shared alarmed glances at this suggestion.

“No, thank you, My Lord,” the footman said swiftly. “We have been given our orders to remain here in attendance.”

“Very well.” Allan called the stable boy back and whispered in his ear. “Do them a favor, lad. Bring them something to drink from the kitchens.” He gave an extra coin to the lad for his hard work. “Thank you.” The boy ran off with a smile on his face as Allan returned inside the house.

He placed the correspondence box down on the hall table, wondering who his guests were who could be so inconsiderate towards their staff. He didn’t have to wonder for long. When he heard their voices, he thought himself rather a fool for not realizing at once who it would be.

“Lord and Lady Campbell,” he muttered aloud.