The Wicked Marquess Read Free Page A

– not to mention marriageable — gentleman.
    Kenrick was, as a result, well acquainted with the Machiavellian nature of the gentler sex. “Your horse got out of her stall last night. She was found wandering loose this morning,” he said.
    Miranda was relieved that the mare had found her way back home. She clasped her hands to her breast. “However could such a thing happen? Did one of the grooms forget to secure the stable gate? I must go and make sure poor Molly is all right.”
    “Did the groom also forget to remove the horse’s gear?” Kenrick snapped. If Miranda wasn’t up to something, he’d dine on his tall top hat. “Not to mention the side door that was found unlocked.”
    “Gracious! We are fortunate that we weren’t all murdered in our beds.” Miranda quivered her lower lip. If she widened her eyes much further, they would pop smack out of her head.
    He had frightened her, Kenrick realized. That had not been his intent. Aggravating as the girl might be, he couldn’t seriously consider her responsible for her horse having got loose.
    At least, he hoped he couldn’t. “It won’t happen again. The staff has been warned to be on their guard.”
    Her uncle’s cheeks had reddened alarmingly. Aggravating as Kenrick sometimes was, Miranda had no desire to see him go off in a fit. She contemplated the imported colored marble that decorated the fireplace and pondered how she might persuade him to chew some masterwort.
    Sir Kenrick, meanwhile, regarded his charge. An enterprising gentleman of many diverse interests who had been knighted for his services to the Crown, he had a great many important matters on his mind, such as what might or might not be taking place on his estates while he was cooling his heels here in Town. Though his steward was capable enough, Kenrick preferred to personally see that swamps were drained, waters cleared, field and parkland enclosed, soil scrutinized and put to its best use, tenants encouraged to improve their leaseholds. He was also anxious to perfect his design for a reaping machine to be propelled by a team of horses, his current perplexity being that the team couldn’t be placed in front of the device, lest they trample the corn before it could be cut down.
    “You will remember that you and Antoinette are engaged to Lady Sylvester this evening,” Kenrick said, as he strode toward the door. “You like Antoinette well enough, do you not?”
    Miranda regarded him suspiciously. “I’d hardly tell you not to rip up at her, otherwise.”
    “Then you will think of her. The world is not kind to females of gentle birth and penurious circumstances. If Antoinette fails to satisfy, she will be reduced to desperate measures, may even have to find a post as housekeeper somewhere. Or worse. You wouldn’t like to be responsible for that, I think.” Content that he had expressed himself with commendable delicacy and restraint, Sir Kenrick set out to visit the Royal Institution of London, a spacious auditorium in Albemarle Street where John Dalton and Sir Humphrey Davy gave lectures in chemistry, and Thomas Young spoke on the nature of light.
     

Chapter Three
     
    A long line of carriages clogged Grosvenor Square, their destination a tall elegant building with a forged iron railing and red brick façade and countless windows ablaze with light. So great was the crush of guests that quite half an hour was required to progress from the front door to the first floor reception rooms. All the Polite World was present, if only in passing; it was customary to attend several such events in one evening.
    Benedict made his way through the fashionable throng. Conversation swirled around him, lamentations over the strange terms of the peace with France, and ruminations about what devilment the Corsican would get up to next, for many people had no real faith in the current cessation of hostilities, while others hastened across the Channel, eager for a glimpse of Paris novelties, most