The Savage Marquess Read Free

eyes, and moved his lips in prayer.
    Lucinda scanned the contents quickly. It was indeed as her father had said, but there was more detail. The earl wished Lucinda to travel to London almost immediately and was sending his coach, which should arrive a week following the letter. During that week, his servants would move Mr. Westerville to Beechings.
    “A week!” said Lucinda. “What about clothes? I have nothing grand enough for London.”
    Her father stopped praying and opened his eyes. “I have no doubt they will furnish you with a wardrobe as befits your position. I have no more worries now.”
    Lucinda leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “So why do you still pray?” she teased.
    “I gave thanks,” said Mr. Westerville, “and then asked that you should be wed to a man worthy of you.”
    “Prayers are not always answered,” Lucinda said.
    “Yes, they are,” sighed Mr. Westerville. “Always. Although sometimes the answer is no. But I am sure there is a gentleman waiting for you in London, a gentleman of refinement and breeding and infinite kindness.…”
    “Why does no one answer this damned bell,” roared the Marquess of Rockingham. “Oh, a pox on my curst head!”
    “The staff all gave notice this morning, my lord,” said Chumley, his wooden-faced valet.
    “What! Why? I pay them enough.”
    “Your lordship was in your altitudes when you returned from Watier’s last night. You had unhitched one of your carriage horses and ridden it home, my lord.”
    “So what’s the fuss?”
    “Your lordship rode the animal in through the front door and up the staircase. The horse was unnerved and behaved accordingly. The resultant mess on the stairs gave the housekeeper the vapors. The housemaids went into hysterics. You dismounted and slapped two of them. You then collapsed on the landing and fell asleep. When two of the footmen lifted you up to carry you to bed, you awoke and attempted to throw one of them over the banisters. Before you left for Watier’s, you had a wild party here, attended by ladies of cracked reputation. I have this morning engaged two scrubbing women to clean up the worst of the mess, and after I have attended to your lordship, I shall call at an agency and employ more staff.”
    “Oh, the deuce. Since when were servants so nice in their tastes?”
    “It is the changing fashion,” said Chumley, stooping to pick up a soiled cravat. “I believe licentiousness and drunkenness are quite exploded.”
    The marquess, who had picked up a hand mirror to study his ravaged face, threw it furiously at his valet, who fielded it with the dexterity of long practice.
    But as the valet handed the mirror back to his master and turned away, the very stiffness of his back registered disapproval.
    “Oh, the deuce,” said the marquess. “I didn’t try to hit you. But you are too free-spoken, Chumley.”
    “I always have been,” said Chumley. “It is the only way I can cope with your lordship’s humors and stay in your employ.”
    “You would have humors too, you nutcracker-faced martinet, if you drank as much as I. This little gathering I held here—very wild, was it?”
    “The wildest, my lord.”
    “It’s this damned ennui that plagues me. What a pesky, boring frivolity this London Season is.”
    “Then may I suggest, my lord, we resume our travels and adventures? You are not out of sorts when you are not bored.”
    “My adventures are over for the moment. I must find a wife.”
    “My lord!”
    “It is not unusual. I want sons.”
    “Your lordship’s reputation is such that I fear your lordship will have to learn to court the ladies.”
    “Fiddle! When did a rich and titled man have to court any of the creatures? Why, Lady Bessie Dunstable, the belle of two Seasons, has settled for that creaking old duke.”
    “The duke is tranquil and manageable. I fear rumor has it that you frighten the fair sex.”
    “Well, I shall behave prettily for just as long as it is necessary to find me a