Free The Savage Marquess by M.C. Beaton

his marriage.
    The marquess’s mistress, Mrs. Maria Deauville, could not believe her eyes. Her plump little hands holding the newspaper began to shake. But she convinced herself it was all a hum. One of Rockingham’s little jokes. No one who was anyone had heard of a Miss Westerville. Still, she could not be easy until she had seen him.
    The Honorable Zeus Carter felt all hope go out of his life when he saw the
Morning Post
with that terrible announcement. He thought miserably of his bills. He knew he was able to command vast credit due to his expectations. He was not the only person who expected the marquess to meet an early death. His only hope was that the marquess had been abysmally drunk when he had proposed and had fixed his interest on a female beyond the years of childbearing. Misery loves company and Mr. Carter craved the company of someone who was likely to feel as miserable as he did himself. He crawled from bed, determined to call on Maria Deauville at the first opportunity.
    The marquess’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Barnshire, had just taken up residence in their own town house in Grosvenor Square. They had not bothered themselves much about their eldest son since the day he was born, except to see that he was firmly disciplined on all occasions. But the fact that their son had upped and married a nobody made the duchess quite apoplectic with rage. She called for her maid and began a lengthy toilette, as if putting on armor before going into battle.
    * * *
    Lucinda was flushed and busy and beginning to enjoy herself. The new butler was quiet and competent and had arrived with two housemaids, and wonder upon wonders, a cook. Footmen and more maids and kitchen staff were hired from an agency, the agency confident that things must have taken a turn for the better now that the wicked and unruly marquess was married.
    She had just ordered the footmen to take down the picture of the lady with the sinister smile which hung over the fireplace in the saloon and put it in the attic when she received her first caller. It was the Duchess of Barnshire. Humphrey, knowing his mistress was wearing an old gown and apron, tried to keep the duchess in the hall while he warned Lucinda of her arrival, but the angry duchess pushed past him and strode into the saloon.
    “Where is my son?” she shouted. “What have you done with my son? And where, may I ask, is this new wife of his?”
    Taking off her apron and handing it to Kennedy, Lucinda said quietly, “I was married to your son yesterday, your grace.”
    “
You
,” said the duchess in accents of loathing. She looked Lucinda up and down, from her worn shoes to her hair, which was tied up with a ribbon.
    “Furthermore,” said Lucinda, “Rockingham has gone to Paris.”
    “
Paris!
”
    “Yes, Paris,” Lucinda said patiently.
    The duchess moved forward and sat down on the sofa, her back ramrod straight. She was a tall woman with a grim face and a mouth that seemed to be perpetually curved in a nasty smile. Seeing that smile, Lucinda involuntarily glanced at the empty area over the fireplace where the portrait had hung.
    “And where is my portrait?” asked the duchess.
    “In the attics, your grace.”
    “Why, pray?”
    “I did not like it,” said Lucinda, too rattled to do other than tell the stark truth.
    “
You… did… not… like… it?
” said the duchess awfully.
    “Well, er, no, as a matter of fact.”
    The duchess took a deep breath. “There is something havey-cavey about this marriage and I am going to get to the bottom of it. Are you with child?”
    “Don’t be impertinent,” Lucinda said crossly.
    “If you are not with child, then why did he marry you?”
    “Because I asked him to,” said Lucinda. “Your grace, your son went off directly after our wedding, leaving me along in a house without either food or servants. I have much to do. I suggest you take your leave and I shall inform my husband on his return of your call. He will no doubt