Married to the Marquess Read online

  She needed her mother to tell her what to do.

  They had never been particularly close, that was simply not in Lady Penelope’s nature. She could not have even said if she loved her mother, or vice versa. Oh, they certainly cared for and about each other enough, but the relationship had never been friendly. It had mostly consisted of pupil and teacher, with the odd smattering of “darling” and “Mother says”. It had been a very strict upbringing for her, but one could not deny that Lady Penelope was well versed in decorum, propriety, and duty.

  And now Katherine was as well.

  And it had served her well.

  She was well respected by all, she was invited to absolutely everything, her tenants and servants knew her well and always seemed pleased to see her. She had never had any sort of scandal or gossip surround her, and there had never been any fault in her behavior for anyone to see. Katherine, Marchioness of Whitlock, was a woman that commanded respect and attention, and that was something she was remarkably proud of.

  But on days like today, she felt as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, and even her lifelong training to be the perfect marchioness and duchess had not prepared her for this. Funeral arrangements, meeting with the solicitor concerning her mother’s will, seeing that the proper mourning garb was donned by staff and family, not to mention overseeing her own household from all the way across town, and dealing with her sister and her infuriating need to have her own way regardless of the sense of it.

  And then there was the little matter of her husband, and the fact that she had sent for him.

  But he would not come. He did not respond to her summons, and she had received no word to prepare for his arrival, not that she had expected him to reply. He rarely did when it concerned vital matters of their estate; he would never send a response about something as trivial as a death.

  At least that was one matter she would not have to deal with at present.

  Even so, a raging headache that reminded her of him was forming behind her eyes, and she did not have the time to have a lie-down and let it pass.

  The maid came in with a tea spread, and the tray and cups rattled horribly as she set it down.

  “For heaven’s sake, Sally,” Katherine snapped, leaning back to upright and adjusting her sheer black gloves. “If you cannot bring in the tea silently…”

  “I beg your pardon, milady,” the maid said with a bob. “It were only due to the state we’re all in, what with my Lady Penelope…”

  “Yes, yes, all right,” she interrupted waving her off. “I do not need to hear your excuses, just your word that it will not happen again.”

  “It will not happen again, milady,” Sally replied dutifully, bobbing a curtsey again.

  Katherine took a calming breath. A duchess is firm, but respectful with the help. It keeps them loyal. “I can appreciate the struggle the staff is having with the death of my mother,” she said in a controlled voice. “We must all adapt as best as we can.” She tried for a smile, and saw the maid relax ever so slightly. “But even so, we must not lose composure or fail to do our duties.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  Katherine nodded. “Thank you, Sally, that will be all.”

  Sally bobbed yet again and exited, leaving Katherine blessedly alone.

  Katherine poured out tea for herself, and absently put in one sugar and a touch of cream, which was exactly the way her mother took her tea. Which meant it was the way everybody took their tea. Too much sugar was a sign of frivolity and too much cream was missish, but to take tea without either showed a deplorable want of sophistication. And, above all else, a duchess is the height of sophistication.

  She sipped her tea slowly, letting the warmth course through her and feeling the tension leave her little by little. Gradually, calm and sense returned to her mind and her strength returned to her.

  Yes, her mother was still gone. Yes, now she would have much greater responsibility to bear. Yes, she would have to adjust most aspects of her life around the change.

  But she could do it.

  She was Katherine Mary Alexandra Bishop Chambers, Marchioness of Whitlock. She could do anything.

  With a satisfied smile, she set her tea back down and allowed herself one of the tarts that had come with the service. Generally, she never took tarts, despite her affinity for them. There was not a rule for that, but Katherine rather liked her figure, if she allowed herself a small moment of vanity. Even in the horrid black gown she was wearing, she looked quite fetching. One tart would be quite enough for today.

  A scarce few moments after Sally had cleared away the tea service, she was back, and looked far more anxious than she had been previously.

  “B-begging your p-pardon, milady,” she managed, bobbing so shakily Katherine wondered what was wrong with the poor girl.

  “What is it, Sally? Do not stammer, it is frightfully unbecoming.”

  Sally nodded and took a deep breath. “If you please, milady, there is a gentleman that is here to see you.”

  Gentleman? The very idea took Katherine by surprise. If she had said the undertaker or that dreaded florist again or the solicitor, that was one thing, but a gentleman? Who would come calling on her here at her father’s house while she was mourning?

  “A gentleman?” she asked, rising from her seat and brushing off her skirt. “What gentleman?”

  “Well, milady, he says he… that is to say, he claims he is your…”

  “Husband,” finished a low, sardonic voice that Katherine knew all too well.

  “Whitlock?” she gasped, her body going cold.

  He stepped into the room, his brown-blonde hair the tiniest bit tousled, his green eyes dancing, and grinned rather brashly at her. “Hello, wife of mine.”

  Perhaps a second tart would have been wise after all.

  Chapter Three

  “What are you doing here, Whitlock?”

  He had the effrontery to look astonished. “Why, you sent for me, dear Katherine. I thought, surely if my wife needs me in London, I must obey!”

  “That is highly unlikely. You don’t know how to obey.”

  He snorted. “I do, too. Whether or not I choose to do so is another matter entirely.”

  Katherine gritted her teeth and took in a would-be calming breath through her nose. “Do not be impertinent, Whitlock. Why are you here?”

  He still smiled. “Ah, but impertinence is my natural state of being, dear wife, and I don’t know how to be anything else.”

  “That much is obvious.”

  “I do so love it when you fight back,” Derek said with a sigh as he moved further into the room and sat rather inelegantly in a chair near her.

  “I did not ask you to sit down,” she forced through her clenched teeth, her hands fisting at her sides.

  “No, you didn’t, and it was terribly rude of you,” he scolded, propping his feet up on her mother’s tea table.

  Breathe, Katherine. Breathe. “Remove your feet from that table, sir.”

  “Why?” He looked down at his feet, then back up at her. “They seem quite at home here.”

  Keep breathing. Keep breathing. “This is not your home.”

  “No, thank heavens. My home, our home, I should say, as you live there too, is much nicer than this. And I can put my feet wherever I please without comment over there.”

  Katherine had to literally restrain herself from reaching out to strangle him. She doubted there was a rule that went a duchess does not strangle her husband, but she felt quite certain that the sentiment was implied in one or two of the others.

  “I say, Kate, are you quite well? You look ready to burst into flame.” He looked around, then back at her. “Do I need to scoot this uncomfortable chair back a bit? I’d rather not get ash on this ensemble. Duncan chose it for me with such care…”

  “Why,” Katherine said loudly, overriding him as her nails bit into the palms of her hands rather painfully, “are you here, Whitlock?

  He paused mome
ntarily and gave her an amused grin. “You are repeating yourself, Kate.”

  “My name is Katherine.”

  He shrugged. “Katherine, Kate, it makes no difference. After all, what’s in a name? A chamber pot by any other name would still smell…”

  “Whitlock!” she screeched, her cheeks flaming further.

  “At any rate,” he continued, as if she had not said anything, “as I said before, I came because you asked me to come.” He cocked his head and looked at her with interest. “Although, now that I think of it, you didn’t ask at all, did you? You insisted upon my presence. That is a rather different matter. The tone of your writing was rather severe, Kate.”

  “I do not think my manner of writing has anything…” she started.

  “Oh, of course, it does,” he interrupted with a slice of his hand, as if he were actually cutting something of hers off. “If you insist upon something, it would seem as though I have no choice in the matter at all, which is quite silly as I always have a choice, seeing as how you married into the title that I was born to.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. She had done more for the title he was born to than he had ever done for it. “How dare you…”

  “But if you were to ask me to come, very nicely, very politely,” he continued, his eyes seeming to hold a certain flame of impudence to them that she very much would like to scratch out, “I might consider acquiescing. But as you have never asked me politely or nicely in the ten years we’ve been married…”

  “Five,” she bit out, inordinately pleased to be both interrupting him and correct in doing so.

  “What was that, Kate?” he asked, cupping his ear slightly.

  “It has been five years that we have been married, Whitlock, as you well know.”

  He shook his head. “Only five? Goodness me, it feels more like ten. Regardless, in all of the five years, you have never asked me. Only orders, only demands.” He shook his head. “It was quite remarkable that I accepted at all.”

  “Surely you knew I never meant for you to accept it.”

  He put a shocked hand to his chest and coughed in mock surprise. “What? My own wife does not want me to come down to London to see her? But she summoned me!” He stood and paced about as if he were confused. “And she didn’t mean it. Oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do?”

  “Leave now before anyone knows you have come?” She did not even try to hide the note of hope that rang through her words.

  He winced and shook his head. “Alas, my dear, the Earl of Beverton and his wife have already come down, and Mr. Gerrard, Mr. Bray, and Mr. Harris as well. I am afraid that they all know I’m here, and as it was I who invited them, I cannot very well abandon them. Unless you wish me to un-invite them, which I suppose I could do, although I doubt the new countess would appreciate the slight as the men might, knowing you as they do.”

  “I do not have time for this,” Katherine said as she threw her hands up and went to the door of the room. “If you would care to notice, I have a funeral to arrange.” She could have cursed herself for the way her voice broke on the word funeral.

  Instantly, Derek’s expression turned somber, and though she would never admit it, Katherine was grateful. Her husband might have been a cad, a louse, irritating beyond all reason, and suspected of actually causing the pox, but he did have some sense of decorum, however infrequently he chose to employ it. And someone, probably his mother, had trained him in manners. With other people, at least.

  He waited a moment, and then he came over and bowed slightly before her. “I apologize, Kate. My sincere condolences on the loss of your mother.”

  She snorted once. “Sincere? You did not even like Mother.”

  “No, nor did she like me. But I am genuinely sorry that you have suffered a loss. I even forced myself into mourning.” He showed her his sleeve, where a black band was indeed tied.

  Knowing she could not argue that, and feeling strangely touched by a simple mourning band, she nodded. “Thank you.”

  He nodded as well, then shrugged slightly. “I came because, like it or not, we are married, and my wife has lost someone close to her. I am here to be the dutiful husband and support her.”

  Kate blinked in confusion. She did not know that he had a serious expression that was not mocking.

  “I… I don’t know what to say,” she admitted bluntly, which was highly unlike her.

  Something that was almost a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone so fast, she thought she must have imagined it. “What can I do for you?”

  His request very nearly stole her breath away. No one had asked her that in so long she could not have said when. The burning in her eyes intensified and she wanted nothing more than to get out of his sight. “Leave me alone?” she whispered, looking up at him.

  He nodded once and took a step back. “If that’s what you wish. I assume you want to remain here until the services are completed?”

  She nodded quickly. “Father needs me. He…” She trailed off and did not finish. He did not need to know the details.

  “Of course. If I can be of any service to him, please send for me. And I mean it, Kate. I’m here to be of use. Use me.”

  She swallowed, more than a touch unnerved by his sincerity. It had to be a ruse. He wanted her to use him? “As what?” she asked with a small snort, attempting to return to the safety of bickering. “A stable shovel? Or perhaps a pin cushion?”

  Now he grinned. “Ah, there’s my wife. I almost forgot with whom I was speaking. If you will kindly remove your fangs from my person, I will go back to our house, which comfort I left to come and see you.”

  Not seeing any need to reply, Katherine inclined her head and gestured for him to lead the way out.

  “Services will be held when?” Derek asked as he took his hat from the butler.

  “Day after tomorrow. At eleven.”

  He nodded. “I will come here at ten.”

  “You do not have to, Whitlock.”

  He leveled a rather impressive glare at her. “I did not come all this way to not attend the funeral services of the mother of my wife, no matter how heinous her taste in hats was in life.”

  Katherine opened her mouth in outrage, but Derek only tapped his own hat and showed himself out.

  “Goodbye, Kate. See you in two days!” he called as he departed, then began whistling cheerfully.

  She watched him go with narrowed eyes, her hands still balled. “Katherine,” she muttered at his retreating back. “My name is Katherine.”

  With a small noise of irritation, she whirled and went to find something useful to do, her feelings of kindness towards him gone as suddenly as they had come, and just as fleeting.

  The next few days were going to be a very, very long indeed.

  It was not as though Derek meant to be so averse to London, for it truly was a city of much amusement and entertainment, he considered as he tipped his hat to a mother and her two daughters that passed. Their shared giggles and whispers at his actions brought a small smirk to his face as he jauntily continued on.

  Yes, London had much to offer those who chose to visit or inhabit it. But there were two reasons that Derek ever ventured into London apart from his own amusement and responsibilities.

  His wife was the first, and he had already dealt with her and had come out less scarred than he had predicted, which was always a pleasant surprise. The second was his father, the Duke of Ashcombe. That was his task at hand.

  His father was a good man, and a rather well-respected one. His opinion was sought after in the highest circles, his fortune was rather extensive, and his heritage impeccable. For these reasons, the duke was unnaturally focused and driven on maintaining all appearances of respectability and accomplishing one’s duty.

  This was not an issue for Derek, as he had a great deal of pride in his family. It did mean, however, that he came under rather close scrutiny from his father and much of the pressure in his life, what didn’t come from Katherin
e anyway, came from him.

  It could not be completely construed as being the duke’s fault, as he had not come from the direct line, and due to the lack of heirs there, his grandfather had inherited upon the previous duke’s death. Many had believed that this particular branch of the family would never amount to anything more than a gentleman’s status, and not very wealthy ones at that. The doubts of Society had only fueled Derek’s great-grandfather, and ever since then, it seemed that the one task that was paramount for the family was to prove them all wrong.

  It didn’t matter that it had been so many years ago that very few people even knew about it. The insistence on maintaining bloodlines and power, and garnering respect and admiration from all, was ingrained in every future duke’s mind from the time they were small.

  Marriages were arranged to ensure that future heirs would have the highest breeding that England had to offer, because the very idea of a future duke marrying someone of their own choosing was enough to terrify the existing ones. And Derek had not been old enough to know what all of that had meant until he had already been well acquainted with Katherine, and had learned the importance of his duty.

  And it was not until much, much later that he thought enough about it to resent anything.

  With a sigh, Derek approached the grand London home of his parents, and faintly he wished that they were only his parents and nothing else, but wishing was fruitless at this point.

  He knocked firmly, waited only briefly, and was then let in by the family butler, Wooster, instantly.

  “Hello, Wooster, how are you?” he asked, handing over his hat and gloves.

  “Very well, my lord, thank you.”

  “How is your knee?”

  The old man grinned. “Still there, I think.”

  Derek laughed and clapped him on the back. “That’s a relief. You keep up with all of Mrs. Tabbit’s remedies and you may be challenging me to a footrace soon enough.”