The Making of a Marquess Read online

  “Why, when he has cared for her since you left?”

  Ben’s eyes sparked in fury, but Dorothea refused to retreat. That anger wasn’t for her. “Because once both parties are dead, a marriage cannot be questioned. The legality or otherwise dies with them. Louis knew this was a possibility. He’s always known. Otherwise he wouldn’t have thought to look for the records. He may have always had them in reserve. I don’t know and I’m damned if I’m going to ask him.” He pulled the document out of his pocket and thrust it at her. “This was his insurance. If I returned, he had this. That was what he meant when he left. But once Sir James has verified his claim to the title, he’ll have no more use for Mama.”

  He was right. Louis would cast the marchioness off like a broken shoe. “You will care for her.” She knew that for a certainty.

  A stream of thin sunlight shone through the window onto a spot on the floor. The rain had stopped.

  “Yes, of course, but once people call her Miss Bassington, and she understands that she is no longer the marchioness, she will lose what is left of her mind. I cannot bear that. I’ve brought enough sorrow to her; I can’t give her any more.”

  She nodded. “Then we will speak to her.”

  “We? Dorothea, you can’t want me now.”

  Dorothea bridled. That was the outside of enough. “Do you think I would abandon you because of this?”

  “Your family will suffer, not just you.”

  “Do you think they will care for that?” She knew her brother, once he heard the story, wouldn’t advise her to abandon him. What a cowardly thing to do!

  When she took a step forward, he retreated. “Dorothea, I have done enough damage to you. I have taken your innocence—”

  Dorothea laughed, shocked by the suggestion. “No, you gave me great pleasure. Why would I regret that? And never, ever call it damage. You did no such thing. You completed me, you showed me what I had missed, what I would miss without you.”

  Before meeting Ben she’d been happy with her lot, or at least content. She’d planned her future. After thirty, as she always thought of it, she’d have become a true spinster. She’d even ordered spinsterish garments. They hadn’t left her clothespress since Ben had first taken her to his bed, and she’d rid herself of them as soon as she could.

  “Sweetheart, you’re not expecting. If you were, we would have to marry.”

  “We still do.” She put up her chin. “Not because I’m no longer a virgin, but because I...we...we work together. We are a team, you and I. You even said so yourself, yesterday, just after we...”

  She wasn’t ashamed of what they’d done, but to articulate it would be to say the word she must not utter. Love. The prospect of losing this man terrified her far more than losing the title, or even bearing his child out of wedlock, come to that. She loved him. But if she told him now, she would only add to his burdens. He’d feel obliged, and if—when—they married, it would not be from an obligation. God forbid that should happen.

  “Yes, I remember.” He gazed at her. “But Dorothea, you deserve better.”

  This time her laugh was bitter, mocking. “You mean a comfortable little house in Bath, with a modest group of servants and a companion for respectability? That kind of better?”

  He reached out, touched her SSL pin on her bodice. She always wore it now, but nobody had asked her about it. Nevertheless, she was still proud of it. “What about this?”

  “I can work for the SSL much better as a marchioness. Or the wife of a wealthy ship owner, whichever you turn out to be.” She would not give him up. Absolutely refused to do it. “I would not be a single lady, but I could act as their friend.”

  “My fierce Dorothea,” he murmured. He slid his hand to her shoulder. “I have no right to drag you into this mess. You have no idea...”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He let his gaze roam over her, murmuring to himself. “Yes, we could do that. I’m someone else in the colonies, and nobody cares if I am a bastard or not. Only how rich I am.”

  Oh, thank God, he was beginning to reason again. She’d thought that despair would last, that he might give up the fight. “Yes.”

  “Would you really come with me? Boston is a civilized city, with many similarities to life here, but not as...” He sought for a word but gave up. “I cannot ask you to leave everything.”

  “There’s only my brother and sister-in-law. I wouldn’t miss anything else.”

  Naturally she would, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. Her friends, the comfort of life with people she knew, the countryside, her family home...any number of things, but with Ben she could do something new.

  And she’d be with the man she loved.

  Oh Lord, yes. She loved him. She’d never stopped. Her youthful passion had returned threefold when he’d returned, as if it was only dormant. Then, with the added attention and the unwanted spike of danger, her emotions had become deeply involved. She couldn’t untangle herself from him now. It would kill her to try.

  Although he didn’t love her. She suspected he’d fallen deeply for Mary, and her loss had killed the desire in him to get as close to anyone ever again. She couldn’t compete with a dead woman. But he was fond of her, and he respected her. That would have to be enough.

  Ben’s regard was worth so much more than another man’s adoration.

  “So you’d leave,” she said dully.

  “For good,” he confirmed. “After I’ve ensured my mother is comfortable and cared for. I might have to move her out of this place, the home she’s known all her life, but I’ll do my best to help her.”

  For good. Yes, although the notion filled her with fear and regret, Dorothea would go with him.

  If he saw any hesitation in her, he’d leave her behind. That didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip through her fingers. “I’ll come with you. Let the marriage arrangements stand.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Very well. For now.”

  She’d won the first battle, but there would be more ahead. Dorothea braced herself and prepared her mental armor. “I think,” she said, “that you should go and see your mother, before Louis scares her half to death.”

  Chapter 19

  Ben’s visits to his mother were the best and the worst parts of his day. Sometimes she knew him; other times she mistook him for his father, and increasingly, she didn’t recognize him at all. There was no way of knowing, no pattern, and that made entering her room fraught. But he persevered because of love and guilt. He had not understood how ill she was, or how rapid her deterioration would be.

  He would visit her every day until he died, or she did, and that made the fight with Louis more important, not less.

  Despite his forbidding her to do so, Dorothea followed him when he left for her rooms, and refused to stay behind. “I will listen, I promise,” she told him. “Nothing else.”

  Sighing, he stopped and waited for her to catch up with him, then when she reached for his hand, he let her take it. He would not deny she comforted him and bolstered him in this time. But it was not fair to her. She had already allowed him far more than he should have taken. Now she wanted to give more.

  After a soft tap on the door, he opened it and went in. As usual, the drapes were pulled halfway across the windows, but now the rain had stopped, bright sunlight streamed in.

  Today his mother was sitting by the lit fire, her maid in close attendance. She turned her head and as always, instinctively, Ben expected her to welcome him. The constant disappointments crushed him, but he could not direct himself to stop expecting anything from her, other than the vague, “Who are you?”

  But the light of recognition warmed him today. “Ah, Benedict. Do come in. Who is this lady?”

  Shock reverberated through him. Today of all days, she knew him. As Dorothea made her curtsy, he introduced her again.
r />   “It is right that you marry. It is time.”

  He’d never told her about Mary and his son. The nurse had informed him that the boy’s chest moved once at birth, and that was enough to have him buried as a living being. Ben had found that a comfort in the pit of his despair after their loss. Now he merely said, “Yes, Mama. Dorothea is the daughter of Viscount Sandigate.”

  “A good, solid choice.” The marchioness gestured to the chairs her companion had set ready in a way he remembered from his youth. The memory was so vivid, the tears rose in his throat. He’d sat in a chair very much like the one he used now, but back then his feet hadn’t touched the floor. She’d read to him or have him read to her. She was not the kind of mother who had her child brought to her once a day and never visited the nursery or schoolroom.

  He missed those days. If he was fortunate enough to have more children, he would treat them the same way, and talk about his mother as she was then. As she was for a brief time today.

  Next to him, Dorothea sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. But he felt her presence as if she had her arms around him, supporting him.

  Today he could not afford to bask in the past. At any minute she could lose her concentration and fade into a hazy version of the woman who had run the estate so well for so long. “Mama, do you remember marrying my father?”

  Her tinkling laugh filled the room. “Well, what a question to ask! Of course I do! My dear, we ran away together. Caused quite the scandal at the time.” She frowned. “I feel sure I’ve told you this before.”

  When he paused, Dorothea said, “He wanted to tell me, your ladyship, but he could not remember all the details.”

  The gentle prompt did the trick. “Of course, you would not know everything. We married in a little church in the East End of London, the day after my father ordered me to marry old Lord Norris. He was a terrible roué, riddled with all kinds of unmentionable diseases, but he was a friend of my father’s and a political ally, so Papa wanted to unite the families. And Norris needed a healthy woman to bear him sons. He had two already, both older than me.”

  She shuddered, but before her maid could reach her, she continued. “Thomas said we should elope, and I accepted. We went to the Fleet and found a cleric. A dirty individual, but he had been there a long time. Not at all the kind of person we should encourage, reeked of brandy. We paid his debts, which didn’t amount to much, and went to the church we’d found. But he married us, and we set out for this house, to wait out the scandal.” She bit her lip. “But the vicar, old Mr. Scarsdale, would not accept us as married. An irregular marriage, he said, was worse than none at all. He said he would repeat it.”

  “Did you do so, Mama?”

  She looked around and found her maid. “I’m thirsty.”

  “You have your barley water, ma’am, and your tea will arrive soon.”

  As if by demand, the clock on the mantelpiece struck the half hour.

  Lord, they were so close! “Did Mr. Scarsdale perform another ceremony, Mama?”

  “Scarsdale?” Although his mother appeared the same as she was five minutes ago, her blue eyes had lost focus. She licked her lips. “Thirsty.”

  Her companion picked up a glass filled with cloudy liquid and held it to her lips. As she drank, she blinked, and looked around. A thread of liquid trickled out of the corner of her mouth and the maid gently dabbed it away.

  Her ladyship gave her son a broad smile. “Tom, what are you doing here? I thought you were in London. Where is my maid? The girl can’t keep still for five minutes. I need to discuss something with Mrs. Catchpole, would you find her for me?”

  The rambling heralded the end of her lucidity. She carried on for a while, dodging from one subject to another and back again, slowly losing her senses and the thread of her discussion.

  “Her ladyship will have her tea, and then she will nap,” Miss Sullivan said. She got to her feet. “I will see if the tea is here. It does not always arrive when it should.”

  “I will make sure it gets here on time in future,” Dorothea said firmly, getting to her feet, which meant Ben had to stand, too. But she was right. His mother was tired, and she was losing what concentration she had. They would discover no more from her today.

  After leaving the room, he leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe my mother has come to this.”

  “People do,” Dorothea said softly.

  He expected her to launch into a story about her aunt, or cousin or some such, but she did not, although most people did that. Then he would be forced to sympathize with her, as if two tragedies made the first one better. But she did not. He was grateful to her for that. “She was sharp, bright, always interested in what went on around her. And yet she only leaves her room to walk in the gardens with Miss Sullivan when the weather is good. She was feted as one of London’s greatest hostesses. She fought her way back from their scandalous marriage by sheer power of her personality. If she can suffer this, what does it say for the rest of us?”

  “How old is your mother?”

  He sighed and forced himself to concentrate. “Sixty-five. The same age as my father would be if he’d lived. From what I can gather from Schultz, her deterioration worsened after his death.”

  Turning away, he strode along the passageway, heading for the stairs, his heart heavy with grief and helplessness. He could do nothing. Nobody had an answer for senility. She should not suffer this at her age, surely, but she was, and nobody could halt it.

  “I will take a walk around the gardens, if it’s not too muddy. Taking tea in the drawing room does not appeal to me at the moment.”

  She even read his mind about that. “I will accompany you. We both need some fresh air.”

  Instead of them separating to find outer clothing, Schultz had cloaks, hats, and gloves ready for them, as if he’d read their minds. The staff helped them into their outerwear. Dorothea was already wearing a sensible day gown, the dark blue skirt ankle-length. She donned her sturdy black leather shoes in the hall, allowing a maid to fasten her buckles for her.

  It struck Ben that he preferred Dorothea in a sensible, practical outfit than any fashionable lady in powder and delicate silk. She was far better suited to being a wife of a Boston merchant than she was a marchioness, where she would face many situations that would bore her silly. Not to mention the clothes. Dorothea dressed simply but with elegance.

  But because of the change in circumstances, he had to give her the choice, and that was killing him. She might not want to leave the country, a big step by anybody’s reckoning, and with events as they were, Ben doubted he would ever want to come back.

  * * * *

  Dorothea did not have to be a mind reader to know how agitated Ben was. He would not meet her eyes and he shut himself off, but at least he had offered to walk with her. If she pushed him too far, he would not talk to her, but the matter was growing more urgent. She would see if Sir James would speak to her.

  With her arm resting on his sleeve, they strolled along the paths, which were distinctly less overgrown than they’d been when they arrived. The new gardeners were making their mark. The gravel was raked properly and the roses were neatly pruned, except the few late bloomers. Their scent wafted in the air, a faint reminder of the glory that had passed.

  Ben drew a deep breath. He always did that when he was about to broach an uncomfortable subject. “So, Louis will be the next marquess after all. In that case, I will leave the country. I doubt I would ever return. My mother’s memory is fading day by day, getting worse. Soon, she will not recognize me at all, but I will take advice and see if it is advisable to take her with me. Nobody needs me here, or even wants me. Society would prefer to forget me. I have a good life in Boston. I’m a respected member of society, and wealthy. Nobody there will care if I am illegitimate or not, because my reputation and standing is entirely different
.”

  She turned her head. “I said I would go with you.”

  He nodded. “I remember. But the colonies are a long way away, and I doubt I would ever want to come back. You have people here who love you. Please think about what you’re doing. I won’t hold it against you if you decide to remain. Without me here you would be safe. Nobody would be trying to kill me anymore. They have what they want.” He met her eyes frankly. She loved that about him, that Ben did not hesitate to tell the truth, however painful.

  He was asking her if she wanted to leave her family for good, to travel halfway across the world with him and start an entirely new life.

  Why would he even ask? She had pledged herself to him; she loved him. And as much as she loved her family and her country, the prospect of traveling with him gave her a new impetus: excitement.

  She turned to face him, holding out her hands. Ben took them in his. She drew a deep breath, gathering her courage.

  “Ben, I have fallen in love with you. I know you did not ask for it, and I don’t expect anything in return, but I have. But I need some indication of your feelings for me.”

  He stared at her, his expression going flat. “Is love so important?”

  Her heart plummeted down to her stomach. He didn’t love her, then. “To me it is.” Now she had found it, she didn’t want to lose it, but if he merely tolerated her, she couldn’t consider what he was asking. “I know you loved your wife. I understand, but is there any prospect that you might come to...?”

  Unwilling to beg, she stopped.

  He frowned. “Yes, I told you I loved Mary, didn’t I?”

  “You always speak of her with such reverence. I know she is in a place in your heart that I can never touch, but I would like to think that someday there might be another place, for me.”

  Her stomach churned. If he said no, what would she do?