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

  But she’d had a great deal of time to imagine what a romance with Mr. Peyton might be like. Her frown deepened. That didn’t sound quite right either.

  “Yes. Certain,” he repeated. As though she were the daft one here that she couldn’t understand a simple sentence.

  She looked at him for a moment. Long enough to see his smile of encouragement before her gaze flitted away again.

  “You’ve many of the attributes I require,” he said.

  There it was again. His list or requirements.

  “Beauty?” She repeated one of the reasons he’d articulated. The one that bothered her a great deal.

  She supposed everyone used physical attraction in their search for a spouse. Her eyes met his again, her pulse jumping before she looked away. But Mariah had been called pretty her entire life. It was often the only thing people managed to note about her.

  It was her fault, of course. She didn’t share herself freely the way Tabetha or Clarissa did. But when she married, she wished for a man who saw beyond her looks to something deeper.

  That’s what she believed Mr. Peyton saw. Her ability to paint, for example. He seemed to admire that greatly.

  “Not just your beauty.” His fingers gave a light squeeze where they still rested on her skin. Another heart-racing thrill coursed through her, and she carefully pulled the arm from his grasp.

  He winced as he dropped his hand. “I admire…” He paused, drawing in a long breath.

  His hesitation had her heart pounding again, but this time in a fit of pique.

  “My station?” she asked, knowing that she was setting him up with the wrong answers now. But something in this entire interaction irritated her in the way very little did.

  Perhaps she should be flattered that a marquess wished for her hand.

  But his reasoning was so...clinical.

  She thought of her sisters’ matches. Of the men who’d fallen in love despite themselves and now seemed endlessly devoted to their wives.

  That was what she wanted. Be it from an artist or a marquess.

  Not this.

  His brows drew together. “Your temperament. Your…” He paused again.

  She let out a breath of air. The lack of a response hurt more than his words had. Could he not think of one more thing he might like about her?

  Why did that hurt her feelings?

  “It’s all right. You need not answer.” Her palms pressed down her skirts. “Perhaps it’s best that we just forget this entire thing happened.”

  “Forget?” he said, his voice dropping low. “Oh no. That won’t do.”

  She nibbled her lip as she finally met and held his gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that we’re of the same mind.” She appreciated his offer, truly, but even this brief conversation proved they were not looking for the same things.

  His brows drew down in clear confusion. “But your brother made it clear that you were amenable to this.”

  “My brother?” she cried with a start. She thought back to Darius’s guilty looks the day before. Had he known about this proposal? Helped to plan it even?

  What on earth was wrong with him?

  “Yes,” he said. “I expressed my interest and—”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I still am not clear on what you have based your interest and I have even less idea of how my brother could discern mine.”

  Mariah was never this forceful. Ever. His shocked expression had her stomach churning, but her heart was pounding furiously.

  The roar of blood rushing to her head nearly drowned out Tabetha’s squeak from her position several feet away. Clearly, she’d overheard Mariah’s comment.

  Mariah’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she attempted to collect her thoughts. She didn’t mean to offend. But somehow, his very cold proposal had left her feeling terribly heated.

  She wasn’t quite certain why. She ought to be flattered. Or perhaps mildly annoyed.

  But anger swelled inside her in a display of emotion that she rarely experienced. She wasn’t certain with whom she was more irritated. The man before her who seemed so certain he knew her mind that he hadn’t even attempted to court her, or her brother who’d gone behind her back to form a match.

  Between the two of them, she felt like an old, forgotten rag doll. No mind of her own, no emotions to consider...and no spine.

  Lord Westford spluttered. That’s the only word she could think to describe his attempts at communication. “I...we...that is to say…I apologize if—”

  But she didn’t allow him to finish. “It’s not your fault. You’ve been misled.”

  And with that, she turned away from him. Lifting her skirts, she started back toward the house.

  Her slippers practically flew over the cobblestone as she headed for the double doors, picking up speed. She heard Crest behind her and Tabetha behind him, but she didn’t stop or even slow her pace.

  As she reached the door, she wrenched it open, not bothering to slow her breathing or her feet.

  Darius was exactly where she left him, chuckling softly with Walton. “We’ve started to discuss names but haven’t landed on any ones in particular.”

  Her feet skidded to a halt then. To see her brother so relaxed when she was anything but... Flames of anger scorched her belly and made her hands tremble at her sides.

  Mariah could never, in her entire life, remember having a row with her brother. But she was on the precipice of one now, and she didn’t bother to check her irritation as words tumbled from her lips. “How could you?”

  “What?” he asked, blinking at her like a big dumb lumbering ox. The words weren’t fair or kind and even thinking them made her cringe. She was vaguely aware of Walton murmuring something about leaving them to speak in peace. Tabetha and Crest were likely right behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care who heard.

  “How could you bring me here without even whispering a word about your intent or his?” She let out a long breath. That had been amazingly articulate considering how upset she felt inside. Her brain was still buzzing with her anger.

  “My intent?” Darius rose to his feet. “What was my intent precisely?”

  Her hands came to her hips, her lips pressing into a firm line. “I should be asking you that.”

  He grumbled out a series of unintelligible noises before he managed real words. “My intent was to see you happily settled.”

  She blinked. “Happy? That is what you’re going with? Happy?” She heard footsteps behind her, but Mariah didn’t turn to look, her gaze trained on her brother.

  “Yes. Happy. Quite frankly, it’s amazing that you’ve received an offer from a marquess considering how much of your time in London you’ve spent hiding behind plants.”

  Hurt stole her breath. He didn’t mean her time painting in the parks of London. Instead, he referred to her propensity for hiding amongst the potted plants at balls and dinner parties. But the fact that her brother understood her so little, that he’d even say such a thing—it hurt deeply. “How could you?”

  He crossed his arms. “You’re hurt because what I say is true.”

  This was why she didn’t fight. In the moment, she focused on the feelings of others rather than the words that might help her win. Her hands came to cover her mouth to hold back the tide of emotion rising inside her. But as her brother’s fists clenched, his face hardening with his fit of temper, she found the right repartee. “It’s equally amazing that a woman as gracious and socially ept as Evelyn married you—”

  “Exactly,” her brother pointed, jabbing his finger in her direction. “And when the opportunity arose, I didn’t squander it.”

  She stepped closer, her voice rising. “Because you had the opportunity to fall in love. Did it occur to you to ask me if I had any opportunities already?”

  Tabetha’s gasp punctuated the air behind her.

  Her brother opened his mouth then closed it again. “What?”

  Her arms crossed over her chest. “Did it occu
r to you to include me in any part of this? After all, this is my future you’re planning.”

  His jaw hardened his face taut with tension. “You usually just follow along.”

  Those words hurt a great deal, and she couldn’t fight the tears that stung the back of her eyes. It was one thing to think that strangers only saw her beauty, but for her brother to assume she wouldn’t have an opinion on her husband. It was too much. “You thought I’d just happily consent to being the wife of a man I’d never even met?”

  Crest cleared his throat behind her. “That’s what this visit was for. For us to get to know one another.”

  Did she dare to look at him? The man who’d proposed within minutes of their first conversation? The man who seemed to throw her off balance every time his gaze met hers. She turned slowly, coming to face him. “Then why did you propose within the first five minutes of our one and only conversation?”

  Darius choked behind her as Tabetha went pale.

  “Crest,” Walton said from where he stood near Darius. She could hear the wince in his voice. “You didn’t.”

  But Crest didn’t answer as he looked at her, his blue eyes stormy and unreadable. “I misunderstood you, Lady Mariah. I thought—”

  “You thought that my brother spoke on my behalf, but he does not.” She swallowed down another flare of pain that wasn’t this man’s doing. It was her brother’s. “That is exactly why we ought to have gotten to know one another first,” she continued, trying to keep her shoulders from drooping. Because, it turned out that what was even worse than a proposal based solely on her appearance was his disappointment when he’d learned a bit about her.

  Granted, it was better this way. What if she’d said yes? Then where would he be? Stuck with a lady who knows her own mind and would like a say in her own future. Heaven forbid.

  Wait. She gave her head a little shake. Why would she ever say yes? She was interested in another man. One who shared her interests. Her traits, even.

  But it was regret that twisted her stomach into knots.

  He gave a quick nod, his features unreadable. “My apologies.”

  “I’d like to apologize as well,” she murmured. “I was caught by surprise and—”

  “The mistake was mine,” he said before she’d even finished.

  She gave a quick nod as her brother came to stand next to her. “You’ll still have the next few weeks to get to know one another. See if you match.”

  She looked quickly at Darius, blinking in surprise. “You still intend to leave me here?”

  “I see no reason not to.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that she had any number of reasons. Not the least of which was Mr. Peyton. But somehow, those words rang hollow. She didn’t want to mention the other man in front of Crest. So instead, she tilted her chin to glare up at Darius. “Walton will not want his visit with his friend cut short, and since the marquess and I have already proven incompatible, I see no reason why I can’t return to London with you.”

  Darius’s gaze grew dark. “We did not travel all this way to turn around and go straight home.”

  “Fine,” she crossed her arms. “But if I’m staying, then so are you.”

  4

  Crest was well in his cups by the time Walton walked into his study that evening.

  “Thought I might find you here,” his friend said as he helped himself to a glass of brandy.

  “Yes, well, after the way this day has gone, I thought it might be best if I sat out from the evening’s entertainment,” he said.

  Walton laughed. “If by entertainment you mean a great deal of tense silences and glares, then indeed—you missed a highly entertaining evening.”

  Crest arched a brow. “Have they retired?”

  “Mmm.” Walton sank into the armchair across from him with a sigh. “Stubborn as he is, Darius refused to do the right thing and just apologize to the girl for his heavy-handed ways, and instead he made some excuse about needing his sleep and went to bed before the sun was even down.”

  Crest winced. “And Lady Mariah?” He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear how she fared this evening. Watching her carefully avoid his gaze all throughout dinner had been bad enough. “She seems to have recovered her even-keeled nature for the most part.”

  “Even-keeled.” He repeated the phrase under his breath as he swirled the brandy at the bottom of his glass. He supposed that was how he would have described her personality as well...up until a few hours ago when he’d seen her temper with his own eyes.

  Walton leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I assure you, for as long as I’ve known the Rutlands, I’ve never known Mariah to be so...emotional.”

  Crest let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know why you feel you ought to assure me. It’s not as though I still have a chance of making her my wife, now do I?”

  Walton’s brows arched. “Well, well. This is new.” He took a sip of his drink as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ve never known you to wallow.”

  “I’m not wallowing, just stating the truth.” Even as he said it, he felt the lie on his tongue. Perhaps he was wallowing just a bit. But truth be told… “I liked her temper.”

  Walton let out a short laugh. “Pardon?”

  Crest shrugged. The brandy was working its way through his veins, making him pleasantly tired, and far more honest. “I’ve been drawn to Lady Mariah since the very first time I saw her. Did you know that?”

  Walton shook his head.

  “It was their first ball, and everyone was talking about Tabetha…” He smirked as he met his friend’s gaze. “And you.”

  Walton chuckled. “I remember.”

  “But all I saw was her. All night long. I kept getting these tantalizing glimpses of an angel as she tried to hide from the rest of the world.” His smile faltered. “I’d had this ridiculous thought that she’d been sent by heaven just for me.”

  “Ah, sounds like true love to me,” Walton said.

  Crest ignored his friend. “And then, just when I thought I couldn’t like her any more than I already did, she…” He shook his head as he searched for the words. “She came to life. Even when she was clearly furious with me and aghast at my proposal, all I could see was this spark in her eyes. A flare of passion that made her more than beautiful, it made her... It made her perfect.”

  Crest couldn’t even look at his friend after uttering such drivel, so he took a long sip from his glass instead. He might regret this in the morning, but for right now he didn’t want to face himself or the mess that he’d made.

  Walton’s voice was filled with amusement when he finally spoke. “Like I said. It sounds like true love.”

  Crest scoffed. “You don’t believe in such things.”

  “I didn’t,” Walton corrected. “But love can do funny things to a man’s beliefs.”

  Crest sighed. “Clearly I was mistaken. Lady Mariah wasn’t just horrified by my proposal, she’s only continuing to stay here under duress.”

  Walton grimaced. “That’s...not entirely false.”

  Crest heaved an exasperated exhale. “We all heard her, Walton. She’s only staying here because she has to. Another shining example of her brother’s heavy-handed tendencies.”

  Walton was silent for a long moment. He couldn’t deny it. He and Crest both knew that Crest may have ruined his one chance with the woman of his dreams.

  For a long while the ticking of the clock on the mantel was the only sound in the room. Eventually Walton broke that silence with a sigh. “When you’re ready to stop sulking and start fixing this mess, you will let me know, won’t you?”

  Crest’s head snapped up. “I’m not—” He stopped. Yes, he was. He was absolutely sulking. He focused on the second part instead. “Start fixing? Have you gone mad? How am I supposed to fix this?”

  Walton’s face split with a wide grin. “I’m glad you asked.”

  Wariness crept over Crest. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “Mariah i
s not an unreasonable sort,” Walton said. “She clearly shares her sisters’ passion and intensity of emotions, though she doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve like Tabetha and Clarissa.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is that Mariah feels deeply. And she was clearly hurt by the way you proposed. That doesn’t necessarily mean she dislikes you or wouldn’t come to care for you if given half a chance.”

  Crest opened his mouth to protest, but Walton cut him off by pointing a finger in his face. “The key words there being if given half a chance. You didn’t give the girl a fighting chance to get to know you. But that doesn’t mean she won’t give you a second opportunity.”

  Crest started to speak and then stopped. A flicker of hope was starting to form in his gut. “What exactly do you suggest?”

  Walton’s smirk was undeniably smug. “I thought you’d never ask. Mariah is a lady. A Rutland lady, to be precise. Luckily for you, this is my area of expertise.”

  Crest rolled his eyes.

  “Ladies require romance. They need to be wooed and courted,” Walton said in an irritatingly didactic tone.

  Crest was torn between hope and disbelief. “You honestly think that some romance will fix the mess I’ve created?”

  Walton opened his mouth and shut it as he deliberated. “I’m not going to lie. It’s still a gamble, of course. But it’s better than not doing anything, isn’t it?”

  Crest nodded. He had a point.

  “And besides,” Walton continued. “You said it yourself. The lady is forced to be here until Darius returns to London, so the two of you can either get to know each other and try this again...or you can spend the remainder of her visit hiding out here in your study.”

  Crest winced. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Walton leaned over and slapped his knee. “I knew you’d come around.”

  Crest snickered at his friend’s triumphant tone. There was a newfound lightness in his chest that he couldn’t deny. It was hope, plain and simple.

  Yes, he’d gone about that proposal all wrong, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try again. He could confess that the pressure to move forward in one area of the marquessate may have spurred him to move too quickly. Why couldn’t he manage to gain a handle on one part of his new life?