Free The Savage Marquess by M.C. Beaton Page A

be pleased to explain his reasons for marrying me.”
    The duchess stood up, quivering with rage. “You are a nobody, my pert miss. A nobody. And if you had any hopes of cutting a dash with the
ton
, you had best forget it. No one will receive you without my approval. No one.”
    “Good,” said Lucinda. “For Rockingham’s idea of a pigsty for a home is not mine, and he has left me much work to do. Humphrey, the door. Her grace is just leaving.”
    When the door closed behind the duchess, Lucinda said ruefully to Kennedy, “I dealt with that visit very badly. How did she learn so quickly? Oh, Rockingham must have called on her before he left for Paris.”
    “Perhaps it was because an announcement of your marriage appeared in the newspapers this morning,” put in Humphrey.
    Lucinda’s lips tightened. How thoughtless of Rockingham to do such a thing and then leave town. Surely he would know he was leaving her to face angry family and curious callers alone.
    “I had better change,” she said. “I wonder who will be next?”
    * * *
    Mrs. Deauville was just descending the stairs of her elegant mansion in Montague Street when Mr. Zeus Carter arrived, flushed and breathless.
    Maria’s heart sank when she saw him. A distressed Mr. Carter surely meant the announcement was not a joke.
    “It is terrible! Terrible!” cried Mr. Carter.
    “Rockingham’s marriage?” said Maria. “A jest, surely.”
    Mr. Carter took out a handkerchief the size of a lace bedspread and mopped his brow. “I fear it is the truth,” he said. “Rockingham told me he intended to wed.”
    An ugly flush spread over Maria’s white neck. “Come into the drawing room,” she said. “I would hear more of this.”
    Mr. Carter tittuped in after her on the high heels of his boots. He waited until she was seated and then leaned romantically against the mantel, one finger pointing to his brow.
    Despite his distress, he did hope Mrs. Deauville admired his latest Attitude, which was that of Noble Poet in the Grip of the Muse. But Maria was too distressed. He gave up his pose and looked at her. She was an enchanting creature, small and dainty, with a cascade of blond curls bound with a blue filet, large childlike blue eyes, and a perfect figure. She must be nearly thirty, marveled Mr. Carter, and yet she looked barely twenty-one. He had met her before on several occasions.
    “He said nothing to me about wanting to get married,” said Maria. “Nothing.”
    “Perhaps he was in his cups and sent off the advertisement to tease everyone,” said Mr. Carter. “That is what he would do, you know.”
    Maria’s face cleared. “There is still hope,” she said. “I was on my way to call. He will be furious with me, for I have never called at his home before. But he will understand.”
    “If he is married, it ruins all my hopes of being his heir,” said Mr. Carter. He thought of the money the marquess had given him. He should have used some of it to settle his more pressing debts, but instead, he had bought himself a new carriage lined with blue silk and a team of matching white horses to pull it. There was plenty left over, even after this extravagance, but it went against the grain to pay a lot of vulgar duns. Mr. Carter blanched as he realized they would now be even more pressing. And no one would give him any credit if it were believed he had no longer any hopes of inheriting any money.
    “Perhaps it would be as well if I did not call,” said Maria thoughtfully. “It will not look at all odd if you go to pay your respects, and then you can return here and tell me whether it is true or not.”
    “What shall we do if it
is
true?” asked Mr. Carter.
    There was an edge to Maria’s silvery tones as she said, “Marriages can be broken, you know. Go, and return as soon as possible.”
    Mr. Carter went on his way. He had quite convinced himself that it was one of Rockingham’s jokes by the time he reached Berkeley Square.
    The first sign of impending