The Making of a Marquess Read online

  William sighed. “Truly, I am still confused by the whole business. Who could have done such a thing, and why?”

  “Ah,” Lady Steeping said. “That is the question. We must ask ourselves who has the most to gain?”

  From his seat next to Lady Steeping, Sir James abandoned his food and picked up his tea, leaning back with an attentive expression on his face. “Mr. William Thorpe will inherit his father’s property, of course.”

  So they were to discuss this now.

  “I had not considered the matter,” William said. “But my brother has never denied me the use of Thorpe Park. It is a modest estate, however, and I had not planned to spend much time there. I have my career.” He sighed heavily. “I fear I might have to sell out, or at least request a leave of absence. The War Office had intimated my promotion to colonel was due, but I might have to forgo it.”

  “But why sell out, William?” Ben couldn’t help saying.

  “Because Honoria might need me. And the other matter. The inheritance. I do not at all wish to give up my career, but if Sir James finds for me, then I fear I must.”

  Ben had adored Honoria once, and she had responded with equal fervor, but for the first time in his life he knew what passion was.

  Dorothea.

  In bed, she met his demands with enthusiasm and made her own. Their friendship had deepened, and their connection was becoming too strong to deny. He had given her the opportunity to withdraw. As a man of honor he could do nothing else. But when she’d comprehensively rejected his suggestion they part, relief had filled him to such an extent he’d sagged under the power of it.

  But he might have to force her to take a step away from him. He knew what was coming next, and with the inevitability of a stone cherub plummeting to the terrace, he waited for it.

  “Then there is Mr. Benedict Thorpe.” Lady Steeping, taking the position of the grand inquisitor, turned to him.

  “So there is,” he agreed, not in the least surprised by the supposition or the person saying it.

  “But if he is not—eligible for the marquessate, surely he has nothing to gain?” Dorothea’s brother put in.

  Good old Laurence. Of course that was the obvious point. “I was preparing to return to Boston,” Ben added.

  “I have not completed my study or my recommendations,” Sir James said.

  “But the documents Mr. Thorpe uncovered!” Lady Steeping exclaimed.

  William’s entire attention went to Sir James. Would becoming the Marquess of Belstead compensate for losing a successful army career? He had always loved any form of combat. He would find precious little in the toadies at court. Ben doubted he wanted the poisoned chalice. Without Ben’s wealth, the marquessate was sadly depleted and could well prove more of a burden than anything else.

  Sir James gave her his full attention. “The documents are only one factor in my decision. There are others I must consider.”

  “Surely if the marriage was not valid, Mr. Thorpe is not—eligible.”

  Or legitimate, her ladyship implied. The pause was enough to transmit that. The guests would be writing letters as fast as they could get quill to paper when they returned to their rooms. Ben would have preferred a more discreet transmission of what came as news to him, as well as to everyone else. He’d all but discounted himself from the succession.

  “Not necessarily.” Sir James turned, letting his gaze scan his avid audience. Not a head nodded, nor a jewel flashed. Stillness infected them all. “A marriage is a combination of factors. We may wish things to be different, but marriage is an irregular procedure. Naturally, most people prefer to make their union as regular as possible, but sometimes we have to piece together the various factors to make the whole.”

  Close to Ben, Dorothea’s brother growled. “I have joined Lord Hardwicke’s efforts to pursue an act of Parliament to once and for all clearly define what is marriage and what is not. We are making progress.”

  Ben was grateful for the way he made general something that had been specific.

  “But in this case, the original marriage was suspect,” Lady Steeping persisted, bringing the conversation right back to the particular. Damn the woman. Could she not leave the subject alone? They should be mourning Louis, not pouncing on the identity of the next marquess.

  “Suspect, perhaps, but not necessarily invalid,” Sir James responded smoothly. “My recommendations will be accepted by the Chancellor, and subsequently the King, so I must be exceedingly careful. Even now, when matters have taken such a grave turn.”

  At Dorothea’s discreet signal, the footmen began to clear the table. Nobody would eat any more. “I ordered a simple repast for dinner tonight,” she said. “I didn’t think a feast was appropriate.”

  “Very wise,” a few people agreed.

  The company relaxed a little. More coffee and tea were brought in. A few people helped themselves to the contents of the fruit bowls. The sharp little knives flashed when they caught the light.

  Dorothea accepted a fresh dish of tea. She had remained silent, and was too pale-faced for Ben’s liking. He would put a footman on guard outside her room tonight and insist her maid sleep with her, if she did not wish to come to him. He would take the greatest care of her, especially with a murderer on the loose.

  “So murdering Mr. Louis Thorpe is to Mr. Benedict Thorpe’s advantage,” Lord Marston said thoughtfully. Annoyingly, he had pared an apple keeping the peel in one piece, his thick, strong boxer’s fingers deft and sure. “Where were you last night, Mr. Thorpe?”

  “Sleeping,” he replied.

  “I see,” Lady Steeping said. She pursed her lips. “Then you could have gone to Louis’s room to discuss the inheritance with him and fought. After all, we have ample evidence that this has happened before. Do we not?” She offered a cold, tight smile.

  The trial by houseguests was not going well for Ben. If he wasn’t careful, he could find himself tried and condemned before the magistrate arrived. The man had sent word he would be there as soon as possible this morning. He couldn’t have conducted a better inquisition than Lady Steeping. Marston had only vocalized what everyone was now thinking, thanks to her ladyship.

  Even Sir James avoided meeting his eyes. They would condemn him because of the duel? Of course they would. “It is one thing to fight in an affair of honor. Another to kill someone in a fit of rage.” Plebeian, he’d call it, but since they already regarded him as having one foot in trade, he doubted that attitude would fly.

  “You do have a fearsome temper,” Lord Marston put in. Built like a bruiser, nevertheless his lordship had a keen sense of what was going on all around him. He would appear sleepy, but he was taking everything in.

  Hal opened his mouth. His face was red with fury. “Ben is a man of honor, and he always has been. Do you really think him capable of an act like this?”

  “As matters stand,” Lord Steeping said, examining his fingertips as if his manicure was as important as the trial-by-supposition, “We must consider Mr. Benedict Thorpe the prime suspect in this matter. Nobody has a better motive, or a prior history of animosity with Mr. Louis Thorpe. Indeed, I would say the matter was an easy case. We should consider confining Mr. Thorpe to his rooms until we know more.”

  Ben swallowed. Accused like this, he would be tarred and feathered whether the law agreed with the guests or not. The speed with which they’d sprung to this conclusion left him reeling. They had probably been discussing the topic all night in the room where coffee had been arranged for them. If they chose to waylay him like this, then his future was in their hands—and they knew it. They could destroy his reputation if they gossiped.

  William wouldn’t meet his gaze now. As Ben scanned the company, his mouth compressed into a tight line, gazes flitted away. They would cut him; his credit would be destroyed and everything he’d built would crumble into dust.

  Lord Mar
ston leaned back in his chair and watched, as if at the theater. He had said little, but as a supporter of Miss Childers, who was not present this morning, he would have an opinion.

  Dorothea’s clear, pure voice chimed into the silence as everyone considered who would be the one to lay hands on him. “He could not have done this awful thing. He was with me.”

  She couldn’t have created a greater sensation if she’d stripped naked. Ben groaned and pressed his hand to his head, shock rocking him, while the others perked up considerably, all staring with a mixture of fascination and opprobrium.

  “She doesn’t know what she’s saying—”

  Dorothea broke into Ben’s attempts at ameliorating her claim. “She does and she did.” She pursed her lips. “I dislike having my private business brought into the public arena.” She fixed Lady Steeping with a glare every bit as fulminating as Ben’s own. “Intensely. But I cannot see injustice done.”

  Lady Steeping tittered, her face the picture of shock, eyes wide, jaw dropped. “I see. You were awake all night?”

  “No, but I would have noticed had he left the bed. In fact, when he rose to use the necessary, I woke at once. He went into the powder room. He returned in five minutes, nowhere near enough time to go to the other end of the house, pick a fight with Louis, stab him and return to bed. In any case, I might have noticed the blood, don’t you think? Whoever killed Louis did not come out of his bedroom unmarked.”

  He couldn’t stop her now. Ben watched her, half fascinated, half appalled at the way she was so comprehensively ruining her reputation.

  “It must have been someone else. Must it not?” Challenge sparkled in her eyes. “Though how you thought a man the size of Benedict could walk through the house unnoticed is a mystery to me. Servants are everywhere now. I increased their number when it seemed likely that I would become the marchioness. Lady Belstead sleeps poorly and has people running around after her half the night. And I ordered a footman to spend the night outside her room, since I did not want her disturbed any further. Anyone going from our part of the house to Louis’s must pass her ladyship’s apartments, unless they use the servants’ corridors. In which case, they’d be bound to meet someone else.”

  Piqued and repiqued. Ben wasn’t much of a card player, but that seemed the appropriate term for what she had just done. Cleared his name promptly and emphatically at the cost of her own. Nobody would suspect him now.

  Lady Steeping sniffed. “Well, after all, your marriage was arranged for tomorrow, though I hardly expect that to go ahead now. You should have taken more care, Miss Rowland, and not jumped in too quickly. Did Mr. Thorpe seduce you? I’m sure nobody would blame you for that.”

  Here was a woman desperately hunting for gossip. Her ladyship lived on it, more than the half-eaten breakfast she’d carelessly pushed aside. Ben was gratified to see a spot of sauce on her lace elbow ruffles. Petty, but he wouldn’t deny his enjoyment in retribution coming so quickly.

  Except that they would cast blame, not least her ladyship. Yes, couples did anticipate their wedding night sometimes, but nobody spoke of it so boldly.

  “On the contrary,” he said. “We will go ahead with the ceremony, although it will be a completely private affair.”

  William watched them curiously. “I had no idea,” he said, although he probably had. At least one person hadn’t forgotten his manners.

  “I was with him all night.” Dorothea lifted her chin, daring someone to take up the baton Lady Steeping had run with.

  More stirring. Would they leave the room, give her the cut direct? In that case, he’d stay with her. And ruin himself.

  But nobody did. After a short, stunned, silence, Lord Steeping cleared his throat. “Then, unless we wish to doubt the word of a lady, we need to look elsewhere for the murderer.”

  Ben tried not to show his relief too much. The mob was an effective way of trying and condemning a person before they got anywhere near a jury. Only when the crisis had passed was he aware that he was much more concerned for Dorothea than for himself. He’d have defended her to the death.

  Chapter 23

  The interview with the magistrate and constable was much less of a trial. They arrived at the house, full of themselves and their purpose, viewed the now tidy bedroom where the terrible events had taken place, and asked a few less-than-probing questions. Ben did not correct them when they called him “your lordship.” In fact, the reminder of the courtesy title he had used for most of his life came as somewhat of a relief. “Mr. Thorpe” still gave him the urge to look over his shoulder to see if Louis was there. Unfortunately, he would never be there again.

  Not in this life.

  Afterward, Dorothea suggested he should visit Honoria. “Only if you come with me,” he said, but she declined.

  “Lady Honoria doesn’t like me.” She laid her hand on his arm. “She will get no comfort from seeing you with me.”

  Once she’d recovered from the shock of her husband’s death, would Honoria come back for Ben? Would she make a play for him now?

  Dorothea hated the uncertainty gnawing at her insides, but she would face her fears. She had to learn to trust Ben to do the right thing. He’d asserted it; now he should be given the opportunity to prove it.

  “You trust me to talk with her alone?” He did not want to cause Dorothea any distress.

  She forced a smile. “Of course. She will be mourning Louis. She may need you to talk about the times you were happy together. Please give her my deepest sympathy, if that seems appropriate to you. But give her a chance to speak freely.”

  “Very well.” He kissed her forehead. They were standing in the middle of one of the main passageways, and he relished the freedom to display his affection for her and not worry about anyone discovering them. Tomorrow they would marry. That was the only certainty he could count on at the moment.

  He entered the quiet, nay, hushed apartment belonging to the marchioness. Would it ever belong to Dorothea?

  Her maid, the superior Remington, who had been with Honoria since she left the schoolroom, glided forward. She was dressed richly but somberly, no doubt in one of Honoria’s castoffs, something the lady’s maid was entitled to. The dark shade of green hinted at the mood. The curtains were all closed, and candles burned in the wall sconces, casting a shadowy, eerie light over the room.

  Honoria sat by the fire, watching the flames. She leaned her elbow on one arm of her high-backed chair. As Ben entered, she turned her head and met his gaze with sorrowful eyes that brimmed with tears. She wore unrelieved black, even the lace at her elbows and neck the color of mourning. Her golden hair, coiled in a simple but elegant style under a small black linen cap, showed to advantage against the somber shade. Her face, arms, and hands were the only contrast to the deep mourning. The scene resembled a painting by Rembrandt.

  She lifted a black-trimmed handkerchief to her eyes, touching the inner corners, but keeping her attention on him. “Benedict, so good of you to visit.” She glanced past Ben to the maid and waved her away with an impatient gesture. “Do take a seat.”

  Without much choice, Ben sat in the chair opposite Honoria. Probably the one Louis had used. “I’m so sorry, Honoria. Would you like me to arrange for the vicar to visit?”

  Honoria graciously inclined her head. “I would prefer a bishop or higher to conduct Louis’s funeral service.” Her plump lips quivered, but no tears fell. “I can scarcely believe it. I am a widow.”

  “So you are.”

  “I never imagined I’d be brought so low. Just yesterday, we were—never mind.”

  He thought of the nursery wing. He would go up directly after this sad visit. “You have informed your children?”

  Her eyes widened. “I saw them briefly last night. I had them brought down to me, but I did my duty.”

  “I’m surprised you aren’t with them.”

  At even that
mild comment, she fired up. “I cannot let them see their mother in such distress. I can hardly hold back my tears. They are upstairs with their nurse, and she is comforting them as best she can.”

  In her situation he would have remained with them, but they were not his children, and Honoria must bring them up the way she saw fit. “Of course.” Although the realization of how confused they must feel filled him with sadness. “The magistrate wishes to see you. A pompous ass, but I can ensure his interview is as brief as possible.”

  “I cannot see him. As I recall, he is a vulgar little man. We had him to dinner once. You know the estate entertains all the local gentry close to quarter days.” She gave a delicate shudder. “But we did it, for the sake of peace.”

  Peace? Had Honoria and Louis been at odds with the gentry, then? That would explain the magistrate’s antipathy. Ben had sensed it from the moment the man had entered the room to speak to him. A full twenty minutes had passed before the man had relaxed a little, mostly due to Dorothea’s careful treatment of him, giving him the best chair and ensuring he had generous helpings of brandy.

  “We should have had boys,” Honoria said suddenly. “Then the estate would have a clear heir. As it is...” She shrugged.

  “There is William.”

  “He will never marry.” Honoria flicked her handkerchief in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, he has his women, but he does not wish to marry.”

  Ben thought so, too, but if William had to do his duty, he would. “If he understands what is expected of him, he will oblige.” Even if Ben had to pay him to do it, although William showed no indication of needing money. He would find a way, and he wouldn’t burden Dorothea.

  “You must do it.” Honoria fixed her gaze on him. “I regret that your ceremony tomorrow must be canceled.”

  Ben opened his mouth to tell her his plans, but then thought better of it. She could make a fuss and try to force him to put it off. “Why do you say that?”