After suffering through the uncomfortable task of being presented to the staff, John wanted nothing more than to escape. He’d thought himself prepared, but being presented to Hastings, the butler, and the rest of the staff hadn’t seemed real.
It seemed that Markham referring to him by his title and his friends subjecting him to many warnings about the changes in store for him now that he was part of the aristocracy hadn’t been enough to prepare him for that moment. To his sisters, he’d still been their brother John, and that was how he still thought of himself. He was older and he’d seen much death in the years since leaving England, but he still thought of himself as the same person he’d always been. His brothers-in-law had tried to call him Lowenbrock, but John had insisted they use his given name. They’d complied because they were family.
But to the alarmingly large number of servants arrayed neatly in two long rows in the spacious entrance to his new manor, he would only be known as the Marquess of Lowenbrock and addressed as “my lord.”
All those eyes on him, deferential yet curious, served to underscore just how different his life was from the genteel poverty of his youth. Life as the son of an impoverished, untitled gentleman was no preparation for the future he now faced, the lives of the tenants for whom he was responsible.
And he still had to get through the documents Markham had kept him from studying during their two days of travel together. Then he’d have to meet with the estate’s steward.
With the ruthless efficiency born of many years at war, he forced his thoughts away from everything he needed to do and concentrated, instead, on trying to remember as many names as possible. He noticed that the head housekeeper was Mrs. Hastings, leading him to the assumption she and the butler were married.
He’d never been comfortable speaking before large groups, so when the introductions were over and it became apparent they were all waiting for him to say something, he shot an exasperated look at his solicitor. After spending the past two days talking off John’s ear, surely the man could have warned him. He managed a few words, thankful when Markham gave him an approving nod when he was finished.
He jumped at Markham’s suggestion they partake of some refreshments before being taken on a tour of the house and followed the man into the drawing room.
John collapsed into a blue wing chair that was clearly meant more for entertaining than for comfort. For a moment after dropping into it, he feared it would collapse. But the piece was sturdier than he’d expected and held his weight.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, not caring that he could feel the solicitor’s eyes on him.
“You can just command everyone to leave you alone for the rest of the day. Even me.”
John opened one eye before closing it again. “I didn’t think anything could get you to stop talking.”
Markham gave an amused harrumph. “I suppose I deserve that.”
John opened his eyes and watched the old man settle into the chair opposite. A fire had been lit, and the warm tendrils of air reached out to comfort him. “I know I’ll adapt in time, but deuced if this isn’t uncomfortable for me. It feels like my first days after enlisting all over again. I fast learned just how soft and sheltered I’d been up to then.”
“One step at a time, my lord. This estate has been running without your guidance for several years now. It will continue to do so while you become acquainted with your position.”
John let out a breath of air. “I suppose there’s some comfort in that. But for now I plan to enjoy a proper cup of tea and whatever small sandwiches the cook has prepared. I only hope she made a fair amount, because I’m famished.”
Markham examined him intently for a moment, leaving him to wonder what he’d said that would elicit such scrutiny.
Finally the man gave his head a small shake. “You can just ask for more if there isn’t enough. The staff is unfamiliar with you, but they will adapt if you let them know what you like.”
John tried to ignore the small twinge of awkwardness at the reminder that everyone under the manor roof existed to serve him. How long would it take for him to stop feeling like a guest in his own home?
Markham continued to scrutinize him, and John had the uncomfortable feeling that he was about to impart unwelcome news.
“Out with it, Markham. There’s no point in keeping secrets now.”
“Of course, my lord.” He seemed to consider his words for a moment, and John waited, his alarm growing with each passing second. “There might be one matter I neglected to mention.”
Here it was. John was going to learn that the surprisingly large amount of money he’d been told he now possessed was spoken for and that the former marquess owed a rather large fortune as a result. Debts John would be required to pay.
He braced himself for the bad news. It was what he’d expected, after all, when he’d learned he’d inherited a marquisate.
“The former marquess, may he rest in peace, had a niece. One with whom he was quite close.”
Those were not the words he’d been expecting. “You already mentioned that his wife died in childbirth and that he didn’t have any children. I’m glad to hear he wasn’t entirely without family.”
“I’m happy you feel that way, because I need to inform you she is in residence here.”
For a moment he didn’t know what to say. Why would Markham keep this from him? He must have worried John would cast the woman out. It occurred to him she might be a child. “How old is his niece?”
“Five and twenty. In the years since the marquess’s death, she has been running the estate with the advice of the steward.”
Markham didn’t mention the fact he’d first reached out to John’s family three years ago and that it had taken him so long to return to England. He also did an admirable job of concealing any censure he might have felt about John’s absence.
“Was she told about me?”
Markham nodded. “Yes. She knows you’re expected and is no doubt waiting to meet you.”
“She’s not married?”
“Alas, no. Her uncle arranged for her to have a season but then he fell ill. He lingered for several years, and she wouldn’t hear of leaving his side.”
John couldn’t help but think about his eldest sister, who was the same age when she wed. “And now she is past the age when society would deem her acceptable.” He wasn’t able to keep the note of rebuke from his tone.
Markham sighed, and the way his mouth turned down told John he wasn’t pleased. “Just so.”
John shrugged. “Then we shouldn’t keep her waiting. She can join us for refreshments, and we’ll become acquainted.”
A footman entered then, and John smiled as he examined the trolley that was wheeled into the room. Tea and sandwiches instead of sweets. Good. The sandwiches were small but there were a great deal of them.
He waited as the man removed the trays from the trolley and placed them on the low table before the settee.
“Williams is it?” John asked the young man when he was finished. When he nodded, John thanked him. It wasn’t strictly required, but he hoped never to become one of those people who took the serving classes for granted. “Could you also ask if Miss—” He looked at Markham when he realized the solicitor hadn’t given him the young woman’s name.
“Amelia Weston.”
John nodded. “Could you ask if Miss Weston is available to join us?”
The footman replied with an “Of course, my lord” and turned to fulfill his request.
John shook his head after he’d left the room. “I’m not sure I’ll ever become accustomed to that.”
Markham gave him a piercing look that had John feeling as though his insides were exposed. He couldn’t help but wonder if the solicitor found him lacking. After all, why else would Markham have altered his plans and decided to accompany him to Yorkshire? Either he didn’t think John was up to the task ahead or… It only just occurred to him that he might be concerned for Miss Weston. That must be the reason for Markham’s last-minute change of plans.
John allowed his thoughts to drift to his friends as he and Markham waited. He couldn’t help but imagine what Ashford and Cranston would say when they learned he was now responsible for a woman only two years younger than him. They’d tease him mercilessly about how it was a fitting duty for him. Which of course led him to thoughts of the woman he’d helped in the tavern that last night he’d seen them.
It took a great deal of effort to wrench his thoughts away from her.
Markham was quiet, which was out of character for the man.
The sound of soft footsteps approaching had them rising to stand.
When she stepped into the room, it was almost impossible to tell what she looked like. She wore spectacles, and her hair was covered with a lace cap. Her figure, of course, was hidden by a loose gown, yellow in color, that only showed she was slim. He couldn’t help but notice the generous swell of her breasts, but aside from that, the fabric flowed straight down from the bodice. Overall, her appearance was that of a woman who didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
She stepped farther into the room, her gaze averted, and waited for Markham to make the introductions. John could see she had a pale oval of a face. Not one strand of hair was visible, but from the dark sweep of her brows over the spectacles she wore, he knew her hair would be dark.
Markham smiled at the woman, genuine warmth in his expression. “Miss Weston, may I present to you the Marquess of Lowenbrock?” He turned to John. “My lord, I have the great pleasure of introducing Miss Amelia Weston.”
The woman in question still hadn’t met his gaze. John bowed his head in greeting while Amelia gave him a deep curtsy. When she straightened, her eyes finally met his, and he experienced a sharp jolt of recognition. Which left him unsettled because he couldn’t place how he knew her. He wouldn’t have run into her on the continent, not if she’d been living here and helping to run the estate. So why did he feel as though they’d met before?
“It is an unexpected pleasure to meet you, Miss Weston.”
Her smile was restrained, but still it caused a strange sense of warmth to go through him. Her glasses had slipped down her nose and their eyes met again before she glanced away and pushed them back up. But in that moment he’d seen they were the same bright blue as the barmaid he’d met several nights ago. Molly.
But this woman was nothing like the barmaid. Molly had worn a dress that had accentuated her lush curves. She’d been free in her speech and had seemed comfortable in his presence. Miss Weston, however, was modest in both dress and demeanor. And the way she held herself, every muscle almost tense aside from the nervous fiddling of her fingers, which she clasped together at her waist, told him a great deal about her feelings. She was either frightened of him or nervous about her future in this household.
Well, he wasn’t about to cast her out. That fate had befallen his own family, and his sister had found it necessary to marry a stranger to save them all. It had turned out well in the end for Louisa and Catherine, but everything in him balked at the idea of behaving in such a villainous manner.
An awkward silence had settled over the room, and John found himself wondering why Markham wasn’t trying to break it. Heaven knew the man was capable of prattling on incessantly.
A streak of gray fur caught his attention, and he watched as a slim cat approached Amelia and rubbed against her legs.
“And who is this?” he asked.