A Marquess and a Secret Read online

  The reply from his cousin was swift, assuring him that he would not be made a great fuss over and happily accepting Lord Michael to his ball as well. With that in place, all that was left to do was for Jonathan to ensure his townhouse was ready and waiting for both himself and Lord Michael.

  “I am not quite sure about all this.”

  Jonathan chuckled and slapped his friend on the back. “Don’t lose courage now, man. We are almost at the house!”

  “Your cousin does live a little farther out of town, does he?”

  “Just a little,” Jonathan replied, glancing out of the window. “Inherited a great deal of property from his father, I believe. Has quite the fortune, even if he does not hold a particular title.”

  “And he is related to you,” Michael reminded him, with a wry look. “Just being associated with a marquess lifts up one’s status within society, I think.”

  Jonathan could not help but agree, his shoulders slumping just a little. “And yet, we are not close in the least. I have only met him on a very few occasions—and only once since I left for the army. I doubt he will remember what I look like!”

  “Do you remember him?”

  Shrugging, Jonathan tried to remember all he could. “I know he has dark hair and is rather pale of face, but I cannot recall much more than that. I doubt he will remember much about me in return, so you need not worry, Michael. I shall slip in past him whilst you talk, for I am quite sure he will not even notice me.”

  “It is not as though I can change my mind now,” Michael muttered, as the carriage rolled through the gates of the rather large house. “We are here.”

  Jonathan smiled and hoped that all would go well, his stomach tightening with anticipation as the carriage rolled to a stop just outside the stone steps. He saw Lord Michael’s hand tighten on the cane he held, evidently worried about climbing the steps without pain. The week spent at Jonathan’s estate had been a good one, where Michael had been able to rest and relax, but still his leg pained him. It had eased a little, Jonathan had been assured, but he could still see Michael struggle at times. How he wished he was able to do more to assist him!

  Knowing better than to offer his friend his arm, Jonathan waited until Michael had descended from the carriage before walking together up the stone steps, going at Michael’s pace.

  “Here we go,” Michael muttered, his breathing a little ragged as he reached the top. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, giving Jonathan a rueful smile. “Damned leg.”

  “Are you quite sure you will be all right?” Jonathan asked, a flurry of nerves filling him. “I will sneak inside, out of sight of the receiving line. I shall see you inside.”

  Michael paused for a moment only to nod, his gaze steady. “Yes, of course. I won’t be long.”

  Jonathan hesitated, only to nod and turn away, peering through the door to see a rather long line of guests to his left. His cousin and his wife would be greeting guests for some time, so it did not take too much effort to move past them all and make his way into the house. It helped that there were footmen going here and there too. Jonathon set to disguising his movements so that within a few minutes, he was inside and waiting impatiently for Lord Michael.

  The ballroom was below him, a grand staircase leading down into it. Jonathan could hear the buzz of conversation and the orchestra beginning to play their next dance, but all he could focus on was Lord Michael.

  Craning his neck, he saw Lord Michael move forward slowly, his limp a little more pronounced since climbing the stairs. Glancing all about him, Jonathan moved to lean against the wall, able to see Lord Michael clearly. His stomach churned, as Michael shook his cousin’s hand before greeting his wife, who looked startled to see Lord Michael’s cane. It was a wonderful cover—for there seemed to be no questioning looks as to whether or not Lord Michael truly was who he was pretending to be. Instead, there were a lot of sympathetic looks and a compassionate nod of understanding before—finally—Lord Michael took his leave.

  “It all went wonderfully well,” he muttered, as Jonathan came to greet him. “Apparently, my cane was something of a surprise, for they had not heard I had been injured.”

  Shivering a little with relief, Jonathan began to smile broadly, glad that all had gone so well. “Wonderful,” he breathed, patting Michael on the shoulder. “Now, are you ready to continue being the marquess?”

  Lord Michael chuckled, his expression brightening. “If I can fool your cousin, then I think I can fool anyone,” he replied quietly. “My goodness, this ball is already busy.”

  Jonathan paused and looked out across the ballroom, leaning on the balcony rail for a moment. “Indeed, it is,” he murmured, feeling his spirit quell a little. “I do not particularly enjoy such a crush, I will confess.”

  Lord Michael laughed and tapped his cane on the ground. “I used to, but not now, I don’t believe. Dancing will not be without significant pain.” His expression grew rather sorrowful, only for him to give himself a shake and stand tall, shrugging his shoulders as he did so. “But then again, I am the Marquess of Rivenhall and I shall receive plenty of attention regardless of my twisted leg.”

  “Precisely,” Jonathan agreed, glad that his friend appeared to be so enamoured with the prospect. “Now, shall we go? I am sure there will be some people here glad to make your acquaintance, Marquess.”

  Michael grinned and held out his hand, shaking Jonathan’s firmly. “Thank you, old boy,” he said, with a touch of seriousness. “I thought it a foolish game at first, but now I see that it may yet come to fruition. May we both find what it is we are searching for.”

  Jonathan watched him go with a small smile on his face, aware that the moment the news that the Marquess of Rivenhall arrived, Michael would be, in all likelihood, surrounded by guests. It was a relief to know that, since he himself had been out of society for a good number of years, there would be no one there to declare that Lord Michael was not the Marquess of Rivenhall.

  “A blessing, in a way, to have so few friends amongst the beau monde,” he muttered to himself, taking a glass from a footman and settling himself into a darker corner of the room.

  The ballroom itself was large and beautifully decorated. His cousin’s wife had clearly not restrained herself when it had come to throwing her ball, for it was obvious that no expense had been spared. Jonathan rolled his eyes to himself, glad that he had no urge to behave in a similar manner. He might be the new Marquess and have a great deal of wealth to his name, but that did not mean that he would simply throw his fortune to the wind and spend whatever he liked on himself. No, he fully intended to be careful with what he had, putting the money to good use instead of spending it on frivolities.

  Which meant that any young lady he might consider as a potential wife would have to be aware of his careful spending habits. He was not about to let a lady drape herself in expensive jewels—just so that she could show the rest of the ton just how wealthy she was.

  “Getting ahead of yourself, old man,” he muttered aloud, shaking his head at himself. “You haven’t even seen anyone of potential yet.”

  Lifting his gaze, he looked past the wallflowers adoring the sides of the ballroom and out towards the sea of guests. Lord Michael, as he had expected, was surrounded by both gentlemen and ladies, all eager to make his acquaintance. Chuckling to himself, Jonathan continued to consider all those who surrounded him, finding that not one caught his attention. The orchestra began its next dance, and within minutes, twirling couples were spinning around the dance floor.

  Jonathan grimaced, not pleased by the sight in the least. He did not want to have to do any kind of entertaining, or any kind of dancing, but he could not exactly cling to the walls all evening. When it came to it, Jonathan knew he would have to meet a great many eligible young ladies, although most of them would not be particularly interested in him, he was sure. After all, as Lord Michael had said, he was the second son. Whilst there was a decent fortune and small home to his name, that was n
othing to those who sought to place themselves high up within society.

  “And yet, it must be done,” he muttered to himself, pushing himself away from the wall and making his way through the crowd of guests, catching Lord Michael’s eye for a moment, who—with a slight nod of his head—told Jonathan that all was going well.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”

  Jonathan stumbled back, aware that a lady in front of him was now staring down at a rather large stain in the middle of her dress with a somewhat horrified expression on her face. He could do nothing but apologize profusely, putting his now empty glass down on the table to his right. In catching Lord Michael’s eye, he had not looked where he was going and had clearly caused something of a mishap.

  “You foolish man!” the lady exclaimed, clearly furious. “Do you not have eyes in your head?”

  Jonathan opened his mouth, a little taken aback by her vehemence but discovered that his mouth had gone rather dry.

  The lady was beautiful, and unfortunately, he found that her anger only added to her loveliness. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her blue eyes vivid and bright. Her blonde curls fell around her cheeks whilst the rest of her hair was tied up in an intricate fashion, making her the picture of loveliness—even with the watery mess on her dress.

  “I shall be sending you the bill,” she continued, brushing ineffectually at the stain with her fingers. “What is your name, may I ask?” Her hands planted firmly on her hips as she glared at him, her lips tightening.

  “Lord R…Lord Michael Astor,” he corrected, growing uncomfortably aware that she was making something of a scene. “I must ask for your forgiveness; I was not watching where I was going.”

  “That is more than apparent,” she said, her voice still loud and filled with frustration. “May I suggest that you do not dance this evening, Lord Michael, if you are going to do such a thing as this. I fear for the ladies’ toes.” She swept past him, her chin held high, as he garbled something incomprehensible, struggling to know what to say.

  “I am staying with Lord Rivenhall,” he called after her, suddenly desperate to right his wrong. “Please do send me the bill, Miss….?”

  She turned back to him, her eyes glittering. “Be sure you pay it on time,” she replied, giving him one last long look before turning away for him and making her way through the crowd towards the retiring rooms.

  “That was not a particularly good first impression,” Jonathan muttered to himself, only just realizing that his fingers had curled into fists and were now cutting into the soft flesh of his palms. Loosening them, he let out a long breath, closing his eyes for just a moment so as to regain a sense of composure.

  “Foolish man,” he muttered to himself, before continuing to walk through the ballroom, hoping to make a better first impression on some other young ladies of the ton.

  3

  Thankfully, Jonathan did not spill any more drinks on any of the other guests, and much to his delight, he managed to acquaint himself with a few gentlemen and plenty of unattached ladies. He even managed to secure himself a few dances, finding that he rather enjoyed the freedom that came from having no particular title to speak of.

  “Lord Michael Astor, is it?”

  Turning to see a rather tall gentleman peering down at him, Jonathan cleared his throat and nodded, putting a wide smile on his face. “Yes.”

  “The second son of the Marquess of Barrington?”

  “Yes, that is right,” Jonathan replied easily. “I joined the army, so it has been a rather long time since I was last in London.”

  The man nodded, a slight frown on his face. “Viscount Richards,” he said, tilting his head as he stuck out his hand. “We were acquainted a great many years ago, but I confess that I did not recognize you.”

  Wondering if Lord Richards would have a sudden jolt of recognition when he saw the true Lord Michael Astor, Jonathan simply shook the man’s hand and tried to keep his smile in place.

  “Have you returned to London for the Season?”

  “Indeed,” Jonathan replied, with a slight smile. “I am actually thinking about the future, you see.”

  “And a man needs a wife,” Lord Richards replied, with a chuckle. “I quite understand.”

  Relieved that Lord Richards now appeared to be quite at ease with the idea that he was Michael, Jonathan laughed quietly. “Unfortunately so,” he laughed, shaking his head. “One must settle down eventually, I suppose. And, are you wed since last I saw you?”

  Lord Richards shook his head. “No, and although my mother has been constantly suggesting various young ladies that might suit, I find none of them to be particularly interesting, I confess. I have not taken much notice of them.”

  “Much to your mother’s delight, I am sure!” Jonathan replied, making Lord Richards shoot him a rueful grin. “But at some point, we must give serious consideration to it, I suppose.”

  Shrugging, Lord Richards gave a small snort. “Not unless one chooses to remain a bachelor.”

  A little surprised, Jonathan lifted his eyebrows as he regarded Lord Richards. “No heir, then?”

  Lord Richards shrugged again. “My sister and mother are all the females I need worry about for the present. Mayhap in time I shall marry in order to produce the required heir, but as yet, I have no inclinations in that direction. And, if I choose to remain a bachelor, I have a very admirable younger brother who already has found himself a wife.”

  “Oh?”

  Lord Richards chuckled. “I know, it is surprising that I should give such responsibilities to my younger brother, but in short, he would be much better suited to be a viscount than me.”

  Choosing not to pursue such a strange conversation, Jonathan cleared his throat. “Did I hear you say you have a sister?”

  “Oh yes, but you need not go near her or consider her any kind of suitable bride, I must say,” Lord Richards replied, cheerfully. “Rather a fiery temper on her, if you ask me.”

  Jonathan laughed. “And a protective elder brother, it seems.”

  “Oh no!” Lord Richards exclaimed at once, holding up his hands in mock protest. “The sooner she is off my hands the better, but she simply will not choose any particular suitor, which I find rather frustrating.”

  “And why is that?” Jonathan asked, a swirl of curiosity running through him. “Are we all not of a suitable standard? If that is not too probing of a question?”

  Lord Richards did not seem affronted in the least. “I am not altogether sure, I confess. I am not the best at paying attention, given that I have a lot of responsibilities. My estate is undergoing a few renovations whilst we are in London, so I am constantly busy.”

  Jonathan nodded, drawing in a long breath. “I can well understand that.”

  Frowning, Lord Richards tilted his head just a little. “You have an estate of your own?”

  Recalling that he was meant to be Lord Michael, Jonathan cleared his throat a little gruffly, desperately trying to remember what the name of Lord Michael’s estate was.

  “Yes, a small one,” he muttered, his eyes roving over the twirling couples on the dance floor. “Renovations can be rather expensive, can they not?”

  Lord Richards chuckled. “Indeed, they can be.” He gestured towards one of the couples on the floor, a slightly wry smile on his face. “There is my sister, you see? The one in the yellow gown dancing with that rather rotund gentleman.”

  Jonathan frowned as he gazed into the crowd, trying to pick out which woman Lord Richards was talking about.

  “Why she is dancing with him, I have very little idea,” Lord Richards continued, shaking his head. “He will not do! Not in the least!”

  Jonathan, finally spotting the girl Lord Richards was pointing at, drew in a rather sharp breath.

  “Something wrong?” Lord Richards enquired, hearing him. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a bone to pick with that old rogue!”

  Giving a slightly wane smile, Jonathan shook his head. “No, not the gentleman but ra
ther the lady—your sister.”

  The smile slowly faded from Lord Richard’s face. “What of her?” he asked, his voice a little lower than before. “Tell me she has not been up to anything untoward!”

  “No, of course not,” Jonathan replied at once, as Lord Richards let out a breath of relief. “It is just that I have had the pleasure of your sister’s company once already, although I did not know her name.”

  “Oh?” Lord Richard murmured, as the dance came to an end. He beckoned his sister over, who—after glancing at Jonathan—frowned heavily, as she walked towards them both.

  “I’m afraid I spilled my drink over her gown,” Jonathan murmured, his neck burning with heat, as the rather obvious stain caught his eye. “She was not exactly pleased.”

  Lord Richards rumbled with laughter, seeing the way his sister was practically spitting fire as she approached. “I see,” he grinned, slapping Jonathan on the back. “Well, nothing to stop you from being properly acquainted now. I am quite sure it was an accident, no?”

  “You!”

  She glared at him, steam almost pouring from her ears as her blue eyes blazed with cold fire.

  “I do apologize, Miss Richards,” Jonathan said at once, bowing deeply. “I can only hope that this evening has not been ruined by my clumsiness.”

  “You seem to have found yourself a partner regardless,” her brother said, calmly. “And what was the poor, unfortunate chap’s name?”

  Miss Richards glared at her brother. “Lord Winchester and I found ourselves in rather good company,” she replied, with a slight lift of her chin. “And he is a rather graceful dancer, despite his size.”

  “He is much too old for you, Mary!”

  Jonathan, feeling as though he was intruding in a private conversation, began to back away, only for Lord Richards to turn his attention back towards him.

  “I think Lord Michael Astor has made a rather pretty apology, Mary, and you ought to forgive him. Now, what do you say?”

  Recalling that Lord Richards had stated his sister had a somewhat fiery temper, Jonathan held his breath, as the lady turned her eyes back to his, her mouth settling into a rather thin line.