The Marquess's Darling Match: Sweet Regency Romance Read online

  When she deigned to speak. As of yet, she had not spoken. Not to him, at least.

  Not directly.

  But they would share conversation soon enough, of that he was certain.

  Walton’s voice cut into his thoughts. “If you continue to stare like that, you won’t need to declare your intentions at all.”

  Crest’s longtime friend turned to him with narrowed eyes, mock suspicion glinting there. “Be honest. Is that your grand plan to woo the shy lady? Leer at her from across the room until she can’t help but know you intend to marry her?”

  Crest laughed at his friend’s ribbing. “Don’t be daft. Of course that’s not my plan.”

  “So you do have a plan, then,” Walton continued.

  “My, my,” Crest murmured, only half joking. “Marriage certainly seems to have made you nosy.”

  “I can’t help it if I’d like to see my closest friend find the sort of happiness I’ve found with Tabetha,” Walton shot back.

  Crest took a moment to stare at his friend and marvel. He never would have thought he’d see the stern, upright Duke of Walton fall head over heels the way he had. But here he was—grinning like a fool at his new bride as she made a joke that had her hands flailing and Mariah’s small smile spreading, making dimples appear.

  His heart stuttered. Oh, she truly was most beautiful. The way her full lips curved and her brows arched over large hazel eyes made his chest tighten.

  Not to mention well-connected, well-mannered, in possession of a good dowry, and, by all accounts, of the most angelic disposition. His own smile grew as he watched her.

  Oh yes, he’d chosen well.

  And once he’d spoken to her of his plans to court her, he could work out the marriage contract with her brother, and have a wedding planned for the fall.

  He took a deep, satisfied breath, and let it out with a long exhale of relief. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d struggled these past few months since his father passed. Drowning in the mountains of paperwork, fumbling through the learning stages as he attempted to pick up the pieces where his father had dropped them. Learning what the expectations were for a man of his position and then, what was worse, learning how much there was he hadn’t even known he didn’t know.

  There were some matters he hadn’t even thought to ask about, and then other tasks he’d assumed he’d learn in time. His father had clearly shared that view. There’ll be time for all that, they’d said. There’d always be more time.

  But then time ran out.

  Yet, of all the obligations on his plate, finding a wife was one of the utmost importance—he needed someone he could rely on to help run his household, for one. Not to mention, he was keenly aware of his need for an heir.

  After all, his time would run out soon enough, too. And then where would his estates be? What would become of the countless people who relied on him and his family for work and protection?

  Darius’s sudden arrival in the parlor was a much needed distraction, though his newfound friend—and potential brother-in-law—went directly toward the two ladies on the far side of the room. All Crest could make out was the low bass tone of his voice, but he understood the gist of the conversation by Tabetha’s far louder replies.

  “Leaving so soon?” she cried.

  Crest couldn’t hear the response, but he turned to find Walton smirking into his teacup. “He’s not really going to leave today, is he? They’ve only just arrived.”

  Walton shook his head. “No, not today. But I spoke to Darius earlier this morning and he’s in a rush to get back to his wife.”

  “Is she ill?” Crest asked.

  “She’s with child,” Walton said.

  “Ahh. And the baby is expected soon then?” Crest’s voice was filled with understanding. He could imagine the imminent arrival of a son or daughter would indeed be nerve wracking.

  “There’s still a good six months to go,” Walton said, amusement lacing his words. “But don’t try telling that to the fretting nursemaid over there.”

  Crest chuckled as he eyed Darius, whose brow was furrowed in worry as his two sisters attempted to appease him. “I’d like to see you call him that to his face.”

  Walton scoffed. “In his current state? I’d rather pick a fight with a lion.”

  “Wait at least until tomorrow,” Tabetha was saying as she rested a hand on her brother’s arm. “Surely the horses need time to recover.”

  Crest’s smile faded to a scowl as a new thought occurred to him. “Lady Mariah won’t be returning with him when he departs, will she?”

  Walton gave his head a shake. “I should think not. She’ll stay with Tabetha and myself, and we’ll see to it that she returns home safely at the end of our stay.” Walton’s gaze turned devilish. “Unless, of course, a hasty marriage is in the cards, in which case perhaps we’ll just leave her here in your keeping.”

  Crest shifted, a rush of nerves and excitement making it impossible to sit still. That was the goal, after all. His gaze sought her out again. But now… Well, now it seemed as though his time frame might be upended if her brother decided to leave early.

  “I shall have to move forward with my plans sooner than I’d thought,” he said.

  Walton’s brows rose. “Surely not. You have an entire fortnight to become acquainted with the lady—”

  “Truth be told, I’d rather have this all squared away as soon as possible,” he said, not without some regret. He had rather enjoyed the prospect of a leisurely courtship before diving into matters of marriage and weddings. “I won’t be able to get away from my duties here for a while yet, and I’d have the marriage contract settled before her brother leaves.”

  “Marriage contract, hmm?” Walton’s smirk spoke volumes. “You do move quickly when you know what you want.”

  Crest shrugged. That was the truth, so why deny it? He’d been raised to be decisive. To make decisions quickly and stand by them. Besides, he’d always been rather good at knowing his own mind. His father had been of the same temperament. It made them capable leaders, his father used to say.

  And right now…

  Mariah half turned in their direction and when she caught him staring, she ducked her head, but not before he saw her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink.

  Right now he wanted her.

  “Why wait?” he said to Walton. “If Darius is intent on leaving early, I see no reason to dally.”

  “Don’t you?” Walton’s clear amusement was growing tiresome. “What of the lady’s comfort? Surely she’d prefer to be acquainted with the man she is to marry.”

  Crest gave a huff of exasperation. His friend was right, of course. But they’d have the remainder of her stay to become better acquainted. And from the sounds of it, she’d be just as pleased with the match as Crest was.

  “Her brother seemed to believe she’d be amenable to the match when I told him of my intentions,” he told his friend.

  And why wouldn’t she be? He was a wealthy marquess, young enough, some might say handsome, and from what he knew of the girl and her demeanor, she wasn’t likely to have a number of suitors.

  He found her quiet disposition charming, but it did make courting more difficult. That was a fact.

  “Mmm.” Walton made a noise that was noncommittal. “I’ll confess, I don’t know Mariah as well as I know their other sister Clarissa. She’s not easy to get to know. She’s not standoffish, just...reserved.”

  “Which is exactly why she’ll make such a fine marchioness,” Crest said, his chest already swelling with pride at his choice.

  “Indeed,” Walton murmured. He seemed as though he might say more, but Crest didn’t give him the chance. For at that moment, the conversation turned to the weather and the gardens...and Crest saw his chance.

  “I’d be pleased to show you ladies the grounds, if I may,” he said as he stood from his seat and headed toward them.

  Lady Tabetha beamed at him, and if Lady Mariah ducked her head any further, she might be
come invisible by sheer will.

  A surge of tenderness took him by surprise. He wished for nothing more than to take her into his arms and reassure her that she was amongst friends. That this could be her home now, if she liked.

  He cleared his throat. One thing at a time. And first he needed an opportunity to speak with her in relative privacy.

  Quickly, the group agreed that he’d take the ladies on a tour of the grounds as the other gentlemen stayed behind. Darius, it seemed, wished to write a letter to his wife, but when Crest caught his eye, the broad-chested gentleman gave him a nod of understanding.

  It was clear Tabetha understood what was happening here as well, as she immediately fell several paces behind them. She stayed close enough for propriety, but far enough for some measure of privacy.

  He made a mental note to thank the new duchess for her discretion at the first opportunity. He gave her a quick nod of gratitude over his shoulder, and her returning smile winked with amusement.

  When he turned to face Lady Mariah, he caught her glancing back at her sister as well, her eyes wide with alarm.

  Well. That would not do.

  He donned what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Lady Mariah, I am so pleased to have this time with you.”

  Her smile warmed his heart, but he caught a flicker of fear in her eyes.

  Drat. He hardly wished to intimidate the girl. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to her once more. “Shall we start with the stables and the pastures, or perhaps begin with the garden?”

  A silence followed, and when a voice spoke, it came from behind him.

  “The gardens, if you please,” Tabetha called out and startled him.

  “Oh, er...yes. Of course.” He led the way as Mariah kept her head ducked so low beside him, he couldn’t read her expression at all.

  “Oh my!” Tabetha exclaimed when they reached the center of his late mother’s precious rose garden. “How beautiful! Mariah, isn’t it gorgeous?”

  He heard a soft murmur from his right, and it may have included the word ‘beautiful,’ though he couldn’t be certain.

  Poor dear. She must have been intimidated by his rank. Or perhaps...perhaps she experienced it too, this awareness at such close range.

  For his part, he felt her nearness as though she were a blazing fire at his side. The scent of her was more perfectly poignant than the roses, and the creamy glow of her skin was even more breathtaking this close. Her blonde locks were piled high and he itched to touch that coif to see if it was as silky as it looked.

  He’d only seen her from a distance or in a crowd before, but this close he was more certain than ever that she was meant to be his bride.

  She was enchanting. He could hardly wait to hold her slender figure in his arms for their first dance together. And when the moment came when he was finally able to kiss her sweet, soft, lush lips—

  “This would be too perfect for your painting,” Tabetha said, cutting his errant thoughts off as she reached his other side.

  He turned to Lady Mariah in surprise. “Do you paint?”

  Mariah’s tip of her head might have been a nod.

  “Does she paint?” Tabetha echoed his words as though they were horrifically inept. “She’s a phenomenal artist. You should see her landscapes.”

  He turned back to Mariah, and this time he caught her with her head up and her wide-eyed gaze fixed on her sister. He couldn’t quite read the emotion there, but she did not seem pleased that her sister was boasting.

  Of course she wasn’t. There was that warmth in his chest again. His marchioness was humble to top off her many admirable qualities. Truly, she was an angel in the flesh. How fortunate he was that he’d noticed her before all the other eligible gentlemen realized the gem in their midst. A diamond of the first water.

  “There are some excellent places here beyond the hedge where you might set up an easel,” he said. Yet again, he felt a prick of excitement as he spotted and seized another opportunity.

  With a meaningful glance in Tabetha’s direction, he added, “Would it be all right with you if I were to show her the best locations for her painting?”

  Mariah stunned them both by speaking up. “Oh, that is not necessary. I wasn’t planning on painting—”

  “Of course you were,” Tabetha interjected. “I saw the servants bringing in your easel and art supplies.” Her gaze grew gentle as she reached for her younger sister’s hand. “I shall be just here if you need me. But if the kind Lord West—”

  “Crest, please,” he interrupted. The new title disarmed him. It unsettled him and made him feel inept. Now was definitely not the time to lose his composure nor his confidence.

  Tabetha smiled. “Crest, then.” She turned to Mariah, whose cheeks were turning a brilliant crimson. “If he wishes to show you the best locations, what harm is there in that?”

  Mariah’s lips parted, and then she clamped her mouth shut with a nod.

  Crest’s chest swelled as he offered her his arm. This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for. He filled the silence easily as he led her off the path and past the hedges. He told her the history of the garden and the property. He spoke of the weather and the types of flowers. He rambled on, hoping to put her at ease.

  But when there was enough distance between them and his sister, he wasted no time. “Lady Mariah, I must tell you how delighted I am that you’ve joined your brother and sister for this stay.”

  She murmured something polite in turn.

  Impatience got the better of him. At any moment now Darius could leave, she might even go with him, and his chance would be gone. Even if she didn’t, there’d be no opportunity to sign contracts, or take care of the hundreds of details that would accompany a wedding. If nothing else, Crest was eager to remove one item from the long list of things he must accomplish. And since he’d already found the perfect woman... “I do hope that over the course of your stay we might become better acquainted.”

  Oh blast. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

  Her blank stare said she knew it, too.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “That is to say, I’ve spoken to your brother and he has given me permission to court you.”

  She was so still, so quiet—all he could hear was his own heartbeat.

  “If you’d like,” he added awkwardly.

  Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and his gaze was snared. He was utterly entranced by the sight, and for a long moment he couldn’t look away from those lips. To kiss her. That was all he wanted right now.

  Thoughts of weddings and marriage and marchionesses and heirs fled his brain as a far more primal need took over. His heart slammed against his ribcage, his arms ached with the urge to reach for her. His limbs—

  “Why?” The one word was so soft and so sweet and so…

  “Why?” he repeated.

  She licked her lips again, clasping her hands in front of her as the pink in her cheeks spread. “Yes. W-why? Why do you wish to court me?”

  His brain went blank. His mind felt utterly empty.

  He was the veriest fool, and for a moment all he could do was return her stare with a blank one of his own.

  Reason kicked in far too late, and he scrambled to piece together the right words. “Why? Because you are...er, you are a lady and—” He cut himself off abruptly to try again. “What I mean is, as a marquess, I am in need of a wife and I find that you fit all of the requirements.”

  Her eyes widened slightly and he winced.

  Curse it. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. “I find you so very beautiful, Lady Mariah—”

  To his horror, now she was the one who winced.

  “What I mean to say is, I think you would make a fine marchioness and—”

  “Lord Westwood, are you...are you proposing to me?” The shock in her voice was only rivaled by her horror.

  He felt his insides falling as his head spun. How had this gone so wrong? “Er, yes.” He took
a deep breath. “I suppose what I’ve been trying to say is, would you marry me, Lady Mariah?”

  3

  The man was daft.

  Mariah gaped at the man before her in horror. By all accounts, the new Marquess of Westford was of sound mind and body and yet…who proposed after being acquainted for less than a day?

  And to her of all people?

  Perhaps there were some debutantes who’d be thrilled with such a proposal. They’d likely consider themselves a great success for having captured the interest of such a high-ranking peer. One who was wealthy and—she shifted, discomfort racing down her spine—yes, she supposed he was rather handsome.

  But Mariah wasn’t like that at all.

  A fact Crest would likely understand if he’d attempted to get to know her at all.

  She had no interest in marrying a man who found her suitable. Who thought she had reasonable attributes. Isn’t that what he’d been saying? A man who, it would seem had, made a list and decided she had enough checks in the column of pros to make his bride.

  All right, to be fair, she didn’t know for certain that there was a list. But he’d named his reasons for wishing to wed her as though she were a piece of property or a carriage he might be purchasing. She met his requirements.

  What a ridiculous reason to wed.

  He looked at her intently now, his eyes so focused on her face that the heat from her cheeks travelled down her neck. She looked away again, not quite able to meet his gaze.

  How did he manage to fluster her so?

  “My lord,” she murmured pressing her clasped hands together tightly. “I…”

  “Yes?” he asked, stepping closer. His fingertips brushed her elbow as tendrils of heat licked along her skin everywhere he touched. “I know this is sudden but I’m quite certain—”

  “Certain?” she asked, not quite able to keep the incredulity out of her voice. How could he possibly be certain of anything? They hardly knew one another.

  A small voice countered that she hardly knew the artist who’d occupied her thoughts of late. They’d seen each other three times, and in those times, they’d exchanged a handful of sentences.