The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen

coolly efficient.
    “The engagement ring belonged to my uncle’s wife, the former marchioness. I guessed your size and had it altered. I selected the wedding ring to match it.”
    “How clever of you.” She turned her hand this way and that. The diamond caught the candlelight and flashed like blue flame.
    “Tell me more about your relations.” Charity did so want to know more about her new family. “Those living and dead.”
    “There’s plenty of time for that,” he said, his eyes shadowed. “In a few days when you are properly dressed, I’ll take you about town. There are many waiting to meet you.”
    She swallowed. “There are?”
    He nodded. “After dinner, I have engaged to visit my club with friends. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?”
    “Of course, Robert.” It wasn’t really a question.
    After dinner, Robert excused himself and she wandered the library, another cavernous room filled with an enormous satinwood desk and deep leather chairs. She discovered a portrait of Robert hanging on the wall.
    He stood by a gnarled oak in riding clothes, a crop in his hand looking young and unhappy. She crossed soft Axminster carpet patterned in rich burgundy and browns which reflected the painted ceiling, and climbed the iron stair to roam the many tiers of books. She selected an anthology of Shakespeare’s plays to read and retired early. Settled in bed, she found she couldn’t concentrate on As You Like It, even though it was a favorite, it reminded her too much of her father. She sniffed into her handkerchief and, after reading the same line several times, concluded she was too tired and put the book aside.
    But once the candle was extinguished, she laid awake. Robert’s chamber was down the hall from hers. She heard him return just after the clock in the hall struck twelve. Less lonely now that he was home, she turned over and fell asleep.
    Still caught up in the excitement of the evening’s entertainment, Robert paused outside Charity’s door. The boxing match had been a good one although it became rowdy when punters crowded the ring. After the surgeon had lanced the swelling around Brain’s eye, the heavyweight had gone on and beaten Boone soundly.
    Robert was tempted to go in and set things straight between them. Once done, he could then concentrate on other matters, and need only visit her on occasion, until she was with child.
    The prospect of Charity all sleepy and sweet-smelling with her hair down stirred his loins. He raised his hand to knock, then paused. It was late and waking her would not be politic, and the fact that she was an innocent deterred him. She was not like his mistress, he reminded himself. She would need more wooing than that.
    While he deliberated he saw that no light shone out from the crack beneath the door. His clothes were soiled and no doubt he smelled bad from the dubious company he’d kept. He dropped his hand and continued on to his room.
    Dressing before breakfast the next morning, Charity was informed that the first of her gowns had arrived. The modiste must have had her underlings working all through the night on it. Robert had paid the woman well to finish them quickly. She called the maid and tried it on, parading in front of the mirror. It was so fetching she couldn’t wait to show Robert.
    She was gladdened to see Robert eyeing her approvingly, a smile stretching his mouth, after she appeared at the breakfast room door.
    She swept confidently into the room, her new scooped-neck gown of a heavily quilted sage green silk with its ivory satin petticoat swishing about her elegant buckled shoes.
    His gaze travelled to her hair, which her new French maid, Brigitte, had artfully tumbled into a pile of curls she called à la grecque. “You look quite charming.”
    “Thank you.”
    He returned to his newspaper as if he’d said enough. “I do like that color on you. My aunt has done well.”
    “I chose this color,” Charity said acerbically. She had hoped for a little