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

disaster was when a polite and correct butler answered the door. “Where’s Chumley?” asked Mr. Carter, handing his card.
    Humphrey bowed. “If by Chumley you mean his lordship’s valet, then he is no doubt with his lordship in Paris.”
    “Paris?” echoed Mr. Carter weakly.
    Taking a deep breath, he summoned up all his courage. “Her ladyship at home?” he asked as casually as he could, although he noticed to his irritation that his voice trembled.
    “I shall ascertain if her ladyship is at home.”
    He walked away up the stairs, leaving Mr. Carter standing in the hall.
    Mr. Carter looked about him gloomily. The hall, he noticed, was clean and shining. Worse than that, there was a beautiful arrangement of spring flowers on a side table.
    He could hear a murmur of voices coming from abovestairs. After a few moments, Humphrey descended.
    “I regret her ladyship is not available, sir.”
    I must see her, thought Mr. Carter wildly. I must see who has stolen my inheritance.
    “Perhaps,” he said with a little laugh, “her ladyship is not aware that I am Lord Rockingham’s cousin and, perhaps, his closest friend and adviser.”
    “I shall convey that piece of intelligence to her ladyship,” said Humphrey.
    Mr. Carter began to pace up and down, nervously chewing at the tip of one deerskin-gloved finger. This time Humphrey took longer.
    At last he came back. “Follow me, sir,” he said. He led the way up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door of the drawing room. Mr. Carter remembered that the drawing room had barely been used by the marquess. The ground-floor saloon was the one in which the marquess received any callers.
    The drawing room was full of vases of flowers. It smelled fresh and sweet and had lost its old aroma of cheroots, coal smoke, and stale brandy.
    The door opened and Lucinda entered. Mr. Carter’s first emotion was one of surprise. How could Rockingham have married such an undistinguished-looking creature with such a lovely as Maria Deauville around?
    In order to give herself dignity, Lucinda had tucked her hair up under a cap. She was wearing a severe gown of dark brown tabby. She was very thin, Mr. Carter noticed, and her mouth was too large. Fashion decreed that all ladies must have the tiniest of mouths, and Mr. Carter was fashion’s slave.
    “Mr. Carter?” asked Lucinda, holding his calling card between her fingers.
    Mr. Carter made his best bow, flourishing his handkerchief and dragging his right leg along the floor with a tremendous scrape. “I am Mr. Carter, ma’am, Rockingham’s cousin.”
    “I am delighted to meet you,” lied Lucinda, who had taken a dislike to this effeminate fribble on sight.
    “You see before you,” said Mr. Carter, striking his thin chest, “Rockingham’s cousin and boon companion.”
    What a lot of counts I am learning against my husband, thought Lucinda. Selfish, drunken, and, if Mr. Carter is indeed his boon companion, weakling and fool.
    Lucinda decided to bring the visit to a speedy end. “I regret I cannot offer you any refreshment, Mr. Carter,” she said. “I am much engaged in housecleaning.”
    Mr. Carter ignored this. “I was surprised to hear of your marriage,” he said, “and hurt to the quick. I would have thought Rockingham would have seen fit to invite me.”
    “Rest assured, Mr. Carter, he did not invite anyone. If you desire any explanation of our marriage, although I am sure a gentleman such as yourself would not even think to be so impertinent, then I suggest you wait until Rockingham’s return from Paris.”
    Mr. Carter threw her a baffled look. She was undoubtedly a lady. But too haughty and high in the instep. He longed to take her down a peg. Perhaps, he thought suddenly, she might be blissfully ignorant of the rakish character of her husband. “One has only to look at you, ma’am,” he said with another elaborate bow, “to see that your looks, your figure, you face, are explanations in themselves. But I am