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Page 32 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Thirty

W hen Leith first saw Parkhorne Hall, his first thought was that the place reminded him of Beatrice.

In the moonlight, the large stone building appeared austere and not a little beautiful. Even as they came down the long approach, the place looked faintly untouchable, as though they would never quite reach it.

The land around the hall was for farming—it had none of the manicured parks or hedges seen on aristocrats’ estates. But the house itself had clearly been built, at one time, to impress.

Nevertheless, despite its faded state, the estate had an unusual charm, one that Leith knew from his time amongst lords and their manors, could not be bought or forced into being through improvements. It felt like a place where many things of import had already come to pass.

“It was built in the fourteenth century,” she said. “By my ancestor, Ronald Salisbury.”

“It has been in your family for that long?”

“Yes,” she said. And in that small word he heard a great many things that she did not say.

After what felt like an age, their coach made its way through the central drive and up to the manor.

“Sally,” Beatrice said, rousing her sister. “We’re home.”

The girl blinked her eyes dreamily and looked out at the house. “So we are.”

“Come,” Beatrice said, as Charles opened the door to the carriage and handed her down.

Leith followed her, feeling unaccountably nervous, not an experience that he had often as a marquess.

He was used to others wanting to make his acquaintance. In social situations, he was usually the one who could do no wrong. And, technically, in meeting Beatrice’s family, this usual state of affairs should remain unchanged.

However, he did feel the difference. He wanted her family to like him. And he suspected that they wouldn’t be without their suspicions as to his real relationship with their daughter and sister.

Beatrice led him through the entrance.

“We have a very limited staff,” she said to him in a low voice. “We have to prioritize hiring men to work the fields. We only have two manservants and a few maids. Just enough to run the house and see to my mother’s comfort.”

He nodded.

“This way. They’ll be waiting for us.”

He wagered that it was around midnight, so he was surprised by these words. He had imagined he would meet her family in the morning.

But she led him through a door and he saw that she was right.

The room, a drawing room, was full of people.

“Beatrice!”

A boy with bright red hair and freckles sprang up from his seat and hugged Beatrice.

“Phil.” She smiled, as she embraced him. He realized that this young fellow must be her youngest brother.

He looked around the room, trying to place its other inhabitants.

A very pretty, very genteel-looking woman of about forty-five sat on the sofa. Leith understood immediately upon seeing her why Beatrice had been so alarmed since she received word about Mr. Gordstone’s arrival. Mrs. Salisbury had very evidentially given Beatrice her beauty. But, more than that, she had a quality that her daughter had, too. She was not merely a beauty but had a singularity in her air and demeanor. In short, she had a countenance that a man wouldn’t soon forget.

She rose and glided towards him.

“My lord,” she said, “I only received word this evening that you would be traveling with my daughter. I am so grateful for your attention towards our family. I am not sure how we will ever be able to repay you.”

His throat constricted uncomfortably at her kind words.

“No thanks is necessary. Lord Montaigne asked for my help in this matter and I was happy to oblige. I am delighted to be of service.”

Mrs. Salisbury’s smile in response to this mistruth was kindness itself.

But Leith quickly saw that another inhabitant of the room appeared far less convinced—and far less welcoming.

A young man standing near the entryway had a scowl on his face. He was dressed not as a gentleman would be, but in the clothing of a laborer. He was tall and powerfully built, as if he spent long days doing strenuous work. Nevertheless, he appeared to have the natural bearing of a man of importance and substance. Some men, Leith knew, had that bearing due to the advantages of their birth—and others had it despite their station in life. This man appeared to be the latter.

Leith had a suspicion of who this brother must be. But he realized that he could not address the man, because he did not know his surname. It was unlikely, he realized, to be Salisbury.

Luckily, Beatrice seemed to notice her brother’s glower.

“Lord Leith, this is my brother, Mr. Malcolm Brown,” she said, her manner very matter-of-fact, and only the very slightest strain in her voice suggested that she expected resistance from this corner.

This brother had hair much longer than acceptable in London, Leith realized, and tied into a queue. He was doubtlessly what women would call handsome, although he was much too rough for fashion.

Malcolm nodded. “My lord. I am pleased to meet you. It is not often I meet such a Good Samaritan. A man who is willing to travel one hundred and fifty miles of indifferent road to merely do a favor for a friend is rare indeed.”

Her brother’s gaze slid to Beatrice and then back to him. His implication could not be clearer, as far as Leith was concerned.

“Lord Leith is exceptionally kind,” Beatrice said, warning in her voice.

“Yes, do not mind Malcolm,” said a voice from a settee on the other side of the room. “We are all of us unused to strangers, but Malcolm is the least sociable of us all.”

Leith turned and realized that two youths were seated on the settee. With their sharp facial features, dark hair, and mischievous brown eyes, they were very clearly brothers and around the same age.

“I am George,” said the boy who had spoken. “And I would rise to meet you. But my leg does not allow it.”

“Given the hour that I am arriving in your house, with so little warning, I expect no one to rise to meet me,” Leith answered, his eyes sliding to the second boy on the settee.

“And I am Severn,” he said. “George and I are the same age, but he is the owner of Parkhorne Hall and I am just one of the bastards.”

“Aye, it is true,” George said. “But he does have two good legs.”

Severn laughed. “So I have no excuse for my own rudeness.”

But the boy did rise and bow to him, then, and Leith nodded at both youths in return.

When he did so, the boys shared a mirthful look. He recognized it from his own youth. Leith had the distinct impression that they were the very best of friends.

“Now I believe you have met everyone,” Beatrice said with a laugh.

“Not quite,” said a voice from the entryway opposite Malcolm.

Leith turned and saw a man of about fifty standing there. For a bizarre moment, he had the intuition that the man was Beatrice’s father, risen from the dead.

But, of course, that was impossible. And despite being tall and thin like Beatrice, the man looked nothing like her.

His nose was round, his eyes blue—and when they landed on Mrs. Salisbury, they turned hungry.

When he caught that look, Leith saw that Beatrice had not overreacted in the least by flying here.

“I am Mr. Gordstone, my lord,” he said, advancing and bowing. “An old friend of the family.”

The easy conviviality of the room had evaporated. Only tension was left in its wake.

“A pleasure, Mr. Gordstone,” he muttered, trying to keep his expression even. He wanted to throw the man into the avenue outside and then pummel him himself—for threatening Beatrice and her family and making them and her feel fear. But he knew Beatrice would want him to be restrained in his reaction.

“I am flattered,” Mr. Gordstone said, “that Miss Salisbury saw it necessary to fly home just because I saw fit to make a visit. I feel the compliment, I assure you.”

The man did not look, in fact, like he was delighted by their appearance at all. Indeed, he wore a hangman’s expression indicating that their arrival had wrecked his plans.

“We have traveled a long way,” Beatrice said. “We must rest.”

“We must,” Sally echoed. “We thank you all for greeting us.”

“It was unnecessary. But very appreciated.”

Mrs. Salisbury nodded. She did not look fearful, Leith observed, merely watchful. Leith now understood why Beatrice and Sally had stressed her gentleness. She had a sphinx-like air to her, an air of quiet mystery, which seemed free of any self-defensive impulse. The effect was charming but must be unnerving for anyone who loved her.

“I have had Father’s old room turned out for Lord Leith,” Mrs. Salisbury said. “I am sure it would be regarded as improper in London, but with our numerous family, and our guest—” she nodded to Mr. Gordstone “—we scarcely had another bedchamber. And none other at all sufficient for you, my lord.”

Leith nodded, although he could appreciate the awkwardness of the situation. It appeared that his chamber would be adjoining Mrs. Salisbury’s. At least he could protect her in the event Mr. Gordstone stepped over the line—but it would make any private convening with Beatrice more difficult.

“No need to wake Betsy, Mother. I will take Lord Leith to his chamber.”

“Very well then, my dear. I will see you on the morrow.”

“Good evening,” he said to everyone, nodding even to Mr. Gordstone in the corner.

He followed Beatrice into the hall and then up a large staircase.

“Thank you for being so kind to my family,” she said in a whisper, as they went up the stairs. “They are very flattered by your appearance here, I assure you.”

“I am not sure about your oldest brother. Malcolm.”

Beatrice let out of a huff. “Precious little satisfies Malcolm.”

“Except for in this case, he is correct,” he whispered. “I am not just a Good Samaritan.”

“No,” she answered. “But you are doing a good deal more than many men would for their mistresses.”

“For the woman I love,” he corrected, wanting the matter to be clear between them.

She smiled at him. “Is that so?”

“You know it is true.”

She had stopped outside of a door.

“Here is your chamber.”

She led him inside to a very handsome chamber.

“It adjoins your mother’s?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Mine.”

“ Yours? ”

“I took it over years ago. She didn’t want it anymore. The memories, I think.”

He nodded, paralyzed between contradictory emotions. He was chilled by Beatrice’s explanation of her mother’s motivations, but also very glad to hear that her doorway was only on the other side of his.

“You needn’t sleep in this chamber.”

“Won’t the servants notice?”

She shrugged, as she gestured for him to follow her through to her chamber.

“They would never tell my mother such a thing. And if they did, she would assume there was an innocent explanation. The only person who would seize upon such a thing as evidence is already the one person who cannot be convinced to the contrary.”

“Malcolm, you mean?”

She nodded. “At this point, nothing could persuade him that our attachment is not illicit. But we cannot all live up to Malcolm’s high principles.”

They had now entered her chamber, which had a warmth her father’s handsome but barren room lacked.

It had more of the gimcracks and trinkets that he associated with feminine chambers than he would have accepted, but also, he saw, more books, pen nibs, and papers than he was accustomed to seeing, even though they were neatly organized.

“We can sleep here,” she said, beginning to ready herself for bed.

“Your brother, Malcolm, what does he do on the estate?”

“He manages the stables. And oversees the farm.”

“Under your direction?”

“Yes. Which he never resents. He is a very good brother. Especially given my father’s conduct to him.”

“Who was his mother?”

Beatrice sighed. “It is not a nice story.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that she need not relay it, but then she kept speaking. “She was the local solicitor’s daughter. From a very respectable family. And he ruined her, as he did all the others. She was ostracized before she died giving birth to Malcolm, when the village realized that she was with child. Her parents never turned her out, however, and raised Malcolm, even though it affected his grandfather’s business.”

“Are they still in the town?”

“Yes. They are very good people. My father never recognized Malcolm, even though everyone knew he was the one responsible for ruining his mother. And he left him nought in the will.”

They had settled into bed now and she had her head on his chest. The contentment he felt, after hours in the carriage, was leagues deep.

That made Leith remember what Severn had said. “Your brother, George, owns Parkhorne?”

Beatrice stiffened next to him. “Yes. But that is only a legality. My mother, Malcolm, and I, we manage everything. He is too young.”

“Nevertheless,” Leith said, “one day, it will be his.”

“In a very long time,” Beatrice said. “He is only fifteen.”

Leith said nothing, not wishing to upset her. But he was aware, as a man who had grown up familiar with all sorts of aristocratic arrangements, that George Salisbury would not remain an untried youth forever. And what would Beatrice do, when he was finally old enough to run Parkhorne Hall himself? Malcolm even could stay on as steward, and her mother would always have that position, but Beatrice right now was playing the role that her brother would one day assume.

Instead, he asked the other question in his mind. “How did Malcolm come to Parkhorne?”

“I hired him. After my father died. He was overseeing a smaller farm—and I thought it right. Given everything.”

“Did you bring them all here?”

But he already knew the answer. He knew she had brought Sally, and now Malcolm.

“Yes,” she said, her voice small. “I always wanted a big family. George is nine years younger than me. I never had any siblings and when I realized that I did, in fact, have them—I had to know them.”

“And you wanted to help them.”

Parkhorne Hall was one of the biggest estates for miles around. It had the power, as estates did, to make the lives of the surrounding inhabitants easier. Beatrice had tried to correct her father’s mistakes. She had tried to give to her siblings the birthright that had been otherwise denied them.

He had always respected her. From that first day in Monty’s drawing room, it had been impossible not to. The way she held herself, the way she knew what she wanted and said it out loud—he had been drawn to that quality in her from the start, even when it had disturbed him.

Then, after they had begun together, he had seen her heart—the kindness with which she approached all the things about himself that shamed him, that he felt made him unworthy.

But now he saw how deep her kindness ran—and her principles.

“That was very noble of you.”

She shook her head. Of course she did.

“It was the least I could do.”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t. But I will not quarrel with you about it.”

“Good,” she said, her eyelids fluttering. She was already falling asleep.

“And it is very tolerant of your mother. Not many women would happily live with their husband’s by-blows.”

“She loves them,” Beatrice said, sleepily. “If my father weren’t such a beast—” she yawned “—I am sure she would have wanted more children.”

“Do you want them?” he asked. “Children?”

For a moment, he thought that she had fallen asleep and would not answer.

Then, she said, clearly only half-conscious. “Perhaps.”

He wasn’t sure why he had asked. Or, rather, he knew, but he didn’t even want to admit the reason to himself.

Instead, he pulled her nearer and closed his own eyes.

They had done nothing erotic.

And yet Leith felt closer to her than he ever had.