Page 33 of When the Marquess Needed Me (The Rake Chronicles #4)

Chapter Thirty-One

B eatrice woke the next morning with a start.

For once, it was not the handsome man intertwined with her that startled her, but the realization that she was in her bedchamber at Parkhorne Hall.

She had been so convinced that she wouldn’t see Parkhorne for years . And thus it was startling to be back less than two weeks after she had departed in tears and with such certainty of a long estrangement in her heart.

Leith still slept and she saw no need to wake him. Truthfully, if she was able to deal with Mr. Gordstone in the manner that she expected would sate him, Leith would have little to do. And Parkhorne offered very little by way of amusement, especially to a man used to the delights of London. Best, she concluded, to let him sleep.

She dressed quickly and set out to find her mother. She knew not to seek her downstairs, where Mr. Gordstone would no doubt be prowling. On his last visit to Parkhorne, when he had announced the debt, he had never seemed to leave the communal family areas, as if bent on destroying their ability to congregate together.

Instead, she went to her mother’s chamber, which had been her own room in childhood. She knocked on the door.

“Come in,” her mother called.

Beatrice frowned. She should not just be letting anyone in, not when Mr. Gordstone was in the house.

She opened the door and shut it quickly behind her.

The chamber smelled like her mother—a faint trace of rose—and it comforted her. And the woman herself was seated in a chair by her fire, holding the latest issue of The Lady’s Magazine . Her mother had been a life-long devotee and she particularly enjoyed the direction of the new editors. Her morning toilette and her readership of this magazine were her only remaining cosmopolitan habits. She had spent her youth in London, one of six daughters to a wealthy merchant, but she had not been back since her marriage more than twenty-five years ago. Despite her father’s wealth and the decent dowries he had been capable of giving them, none of the girls had made particularly advantageous marriages. None of her aunts, the ones remaining living, could be expected to help her family in the matter of this debt. It was a deuced piece of bad luck, but her mother’s lot had always seemed to be thus.

And yet her mother appeared to have, as usual, an air of great contentment. Since her husband’s death, in fact, her happiness had seemed to increase with each passing year.

“I met the new editors. Of The Lady’s Magazine . Or one of them, anyway.”

“No! You didn’t!” Her mother’s mouth formed a perfect o . “Which one?”

“Lady Tremberley. She is married to one of Lord Leith’s best friends.”

“How wonderful. London is like that. Impossible things can happen there. Although I wish you’d met Mrs. Burnbridge, too. Her essays on politics are my absolute favorites.”

“I will tell her, if we ever do meet.”

“Please do.”

“And, Mother, you should have asked who it was before letting me in. Or better yet, you should have come to the door.”

“But I knew it was you.”

“You couldn’t have. And you need to be careful. With Mr. Gordstone around.”

She shook her head. “I am safe here. He would not come to my bedchamber. He would not be as bold as that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She moved towards her mother and sat on the chair opposite. “What does he want? Why is he back so soon?”

Her mother sighed. “To marry me, I expect.”

Beatrice let out a little huff of alarm. “Has he made any declaration?”

“No. But I expect he is only working up the courage. Poor Sebastian. I would marry him if I could. But I simply cannot see him in such a light. Nor do I want another husband.”

“Has he mentioned the debt?”

“He hasn’t. But he has mentioned another matter. Which I hope won’t upset you.”

Beatrice’s stomach dipped.

“What is that?”

“Lord Holcombe. Apparently, they were acquaintances at Cambridge years ago and he has told the man he can call on him here.”

“That is presumptuous.”

Her mother only gave her a mild smile. “Yes, it is, rather. But I saw no reason to bar Lord Holcombe from the premises. His own misfortunes, I would say, have punished him enough for his transgressions against us. Although perhaps it is not my place to say.”

Beatrice shook her head. Her mother was, as usual in matters such as these, correct. And if a visit from Lord Holcombe kept Mr. Gordstone happy, she saw no reason why they should object.

“Very well. I suppose I see no harm in it.”

“I thought you would agree.”

“But we must make Mr. Gordstone leave. The only solution is to offer him more money towards the debt. Luckily, I have been able to raise a little. About one thousand pounds.”

Beatrice knew she would have to get the money from Leith. But she was fairly certain he would give it, even though their two weeks together were not quite concluded.

“That is very good,” her mother said. “You were able to raise that sum very quickly.”

“Yes, father’s old friends have been very sympathetic,” Beatrice said, hating herself for lying. “And time has luckily put them in easy circumstances.”

“I am sure poor Sebastian will have to accept that. You are paying the debt down rather fast. Soon you will have it all back and with his interest. I just hope the work isn’t too hard for you, Beatrice. It is no small task, I know. We are all very grateful to you.”

Beatrice blinked back tears that, for some absurd reason, threatened. She wished more than anything that the reality her mother believed was true; that she had nothing more strenuous to do than knock on aristocrats’ doors and demand payments for old debts. Instead, the reality was so much more complicated. In reality, she worried she was losing her heart.

“I would do anything for you and Sally and the boys.”

“I know you would, dear. Now, you must go away, and I must dress. I am going over to Mrs. Westmore’s this morning. We have just about completed our canning.”

Mrs. Westmore was their neighbor, a widow who lived in comfort on her deceased husband’s pension, and who was, incidentally, the mother of her brother Severn. Beatrice had always thought it odd that her mother had befriended the woman, knowing that she had once had an affair with her husband.

But the women had been bosom friends for years now and had practically raised Severn and George as brothers, especially since the death of Beatrice’s father had cleared any obstacle. Severn was her only sibling who did not live at Parkhorne Hall, as he lived with his mother, but it never felt that way, given the proximity of their dwellings and how much time the two women and their sons spent together. When Beatrice had asked her mother about the friendship in the past, her mother had explained that Mrs. Westmore had been seduced, as many women had been, by her father’s pretty words and handsome visage, and that she shouldn’t be blamed for his faults. It was strange, but as the friendship made her mother happy, she did not question it.

“I encourage you to spend as much time as you can at Mrs. Westmore’s and out of this house. At least while Gordstone is present.”

Her mother smiled. “That should be no problem at all. I am at Mrs. Westmore’s most days.”

“Very well. I must find his lordship, then, and have a quick word about my plan.”

“He is very handsome, Bea,” her mother said, with a small smile. “I am not suggesting anything, I promise. I am only observing it is a very long way for a man to come to do a good deed alone.”

Beatrice tried to keep her countenance. It pained her that her mother thought that a nobleman and a marquess no less would consent to marry her.

“Mother, you forget that I am ruined in the eyes of society. He is a generous man and I may be worthy of a favor. But anything more is impossible.”

“I do not think a real man would care over that trifle with Gilchrist, all of those years ago.”

Beatrice couldn’t bear it any longer. Not when she had shown herself to all of London as a courtesan. Not when she had slept with men since Lord Gilchrist and was, at present, the mistress of another.

“Men of the world have other considerations than their own feelings. And, at present, I am not thinking of men at all. Only how to free the estate from debt. I will see you this evening, Mama.”

Her mother smiled at her, only a little sadly, and then bid her adieu.

Beatrice left her bedchamber and went back to her own but found it empty. So she went in search of Lord Leith.

She went down the stairs, surprised that he should have left without her, and headed towards the voices coming from the breakfast room. When she arrived, she pushed open its door.

“—and so we were headed through the gloom, intent on getting back to Bath, on the borrowed steads,” Leith narrated from the table. George, Severn, and Philip were both gazing at him, their eyes wide. “We finally thought we had done so. But, then, just as we were riding out of the forest, John was walloped by a gigantic tree branch, which he didn’t see on account of his overlarge hat. So, of course, the chicken went flying, John landed on his arse, and Monty was knocked over in the process, and my horse was sent into hysterics over all of the chaos. And Trem nearly fell off his horse laughing at us.”

The boys followed suit, bursting into screams of delight.

“I seem to have missed the beginning of the story,” Beatrice said, completely perplexed by the scenario before her.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Salisbury,” Leith said, his voice pure, worldly confidence, the type that boys such as Severn and George had no idea yet how to emulate. “I was just telling your brothers of my last trip to Somerset—to Bath. It was taken some years ago.”

“With your friends, I presume?”

Leith smiled. Clearly, the memory was a happy one. “Yes, exactly.”

“Are you done breakfasting?” she asked him.

He nodded.

“Would you join me in the garden?”

“Certainly. I will see you later, boys,” he said to his new passel of admirers.

“Oh, not now, Bea,” said Philip. “Lord Leith was to tell us next of his last trip to Cornwall.”

“You will have time enough to harass Lord Leith later,” Beatrice said, genuinely baffled by how Leith had managed to win her brothers to him in such a short period.

“You mustn’t ever keep a lady waiting,” Leith added. “That is lesson number one, if you want to know anything in this life.”

“Beatrice isn’t a lady!” exclaimed Philip.

“Of course, she is, Philip. Just because she is our sister doesn’t mean she isn’t a lady to other men,” corrected George, who eyed Leith with as much admiration as his younger brother, but who appeared more determined to keep his dignity.

“I will be sure to tell you the story later, gentlemen,” Leith said, holding out his arm for her. “Come, Miss Salisbury.”

Beatrice took his arm and led him out of the breakfast room and towards the gardens at the back of the house. Parkhorne did not have much by way of pleasure grounds, but it did have a garden, tended by her mother and Mrs. Westmore, that was pretty and—most importantly—private.

“You seem to have made quite an impression on my brothers,” she said to him, as they crossed the threshold to the outdoors. It was a little colder than was strictly pleasant and so she bent herself closer to him. His body warmed her physically—and provided an emotional balm, as well.

“They are very good young men,” he said. “They are a credit to you.”

“I know.” She nodded. “They and Malcolm are everything my father was not. It is a miracle.”

They had gained the footpath. Beatrice craned her neck to make sure that, somehow, Mr. Gordstone had not followed them out of the house.

“We are alone,” Leith said. “I do not believe the man has emerged from his chamber today.”

“Good,” she said. “I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything.”

“The only way that I can get Mr. Gordstone to leave, I wager, is by giving him more money towards the debt. If I give him the one thousand pounds—” she stuttered here, it felt so vulgar to ask him for money “—from you—then I think we would earn a momentary reprieve. I know that our two weeks are not yet complete—”

“Obviously, I will give you the money, whenever you want it. We never stipulated terms of that kind. Pray, do not worry of it further.”

She got the distinct impression that speaking of such terms pained him. She understood that, in many cases, when it came to courtesans and their keepers, the man dispatched friends to negotiate terms. It was, after all, not a particularly romantic thing to discuss.

“Thank you.”

“But I would ask you to wait to give him the money.”

“Why? Every day that he is here, he is a risk to my mother.”

“Yes, but we are here now to protect her. And I have sent a few letters asking about Mr. Gordstone—to Trem, and John, and Monty, but also to my own solicitor. I want to make sure that everything is in order before you give him any more money.”

Beatrice shook her head at this exasperating request. He did not think her competent enough to make sure the debt was legitimate.

“He showed me the papers. They had my father’s signature upon them. The debt is real.”

“Papers can be forged. By a man of enough skill.”

“I am not such a babe-in-the-woods that I would be tricked.”

“I am not questioning your abilities,” he said, a bite returning to his voice. “But I see no harm in confirming the truth. Particularly since, as of now, he has not asked for anything. There is no urgency.”

She supposed that she couldn’t disagree with this characterization. And yet it irked her all the same.

“He will. And when he does, I will offer him money to leave. My mother thinks that he wants to marry her. I think that he will try to coerce her using any means necessary.”

“I will not allow that to happen.”

“You do not control all the world,” she ground out in frustration.

“I will pay the debt myself before I see you or your mother harmed by anyone.”

She whirred around to face him at that. “You will do no such thing. In that case, I would be merely trading one debt for another.”

“Beatrice, it would not be a debt. It would be a gift.”

“I could not accept such a gift from you!”

“Why not?”

She was not sure. She only knew that she wanted Parkhorne Hall to be free. She wanted to be free.

“It would not be a debt. I would give it you without a thought,” he said. “But would being indebted to me really be so horrible, Beatrice? Do you really think I would abuse such power over you, if I had it?”

She knew he was sensitive to being thought depraved. And his hand had crept up to her face. In an instant, that fire between them, the one that was always there, had flared.

Then she heard a branch snap behind her.

She turned, suddenly, bracing for Mr. Gordstone.

But it was only Malcolm.

He stood there in his work clothes, tall and commanding, as usual.

“Ah,” he said, “I see the Good Samaritan at work.”