A Marchioness Below Stairs Read online

  A Marchioness Below Stairs

  Alissa Baxter

  To my three boys - John, Miles and Hugo. I love you very much.

  Chapter One

  Late autumn, 1813, Bath, England

  Isabel looked at Lord Fenmore, and her mouth trembled. The expression on his face was forbidding, but at least he had listened to her explanation.

  “I wanted to let you know what really happened, my lord,” she said quietly. “I owe you that much, at least. I thought of writing you a letter, but I discovered you had enlisted in the Army – and then it seemed too late. Besides, I had already taken the cowardly action of writing you a letter in the past to inform you of something unpalatable and knew I could not do so again.”

  She glanced away, and let out a shaky sigh. “There is no excuse for my cowardice, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for it. I should have stood firm, and defied Papa, but we left London shortly afterwards, and without your support, I felt so alone.” She raised her eyes to his again. “I wanted you to know how truly sorry I am for the pain I must have caused you.”

  The earl frowned before he took her gloved hands in his. Relief and gratitude overwhelmed Isabel, and she swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat. For years she had dreamed of this. Perhaps, if Julian could find it in his heart to truly forgive her, he might be open to a reconciliation… She returned the slight pressure of his hands on hers.

  His severe features softened as he regarded her intently. “Thank you for your explanation, my dear. I have found it difficult to believe, over the years, that you were truly as heartless as that note you wrote me led me to believe.”

  He released her hands. “Please accept my sincere condolences on the death of your husband.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Thank you, my lord. I – I should go now – my mama is expecting me to join her in a shopping expedition, shortly, but I do so enjoy walking in the Gardens. I come here every morning.”

  She nodded to her maid, who immediately came up beside her, before turning back to the earl once again and studying him. The boy she had loved had become a man. His handsome features had hardened, although the faint laughter lines fanning out from the corners of his blue eyes indicated that he still had a lighter side to his personality. “Good morning, my lord – and thank you, once again.”

  She hurried away, with Simmonds following a few steps behind. Isabel could sense her maid’s disapproval, but she ignored it. The burden she had carried for a decade was finally lifted from her shoulders and it was as if she walked on air now, after having trudged through mud for so many years.

  Julian had never married, and now that he knew she had been forced to break their betrothal, perhaps he would be open to renewing his acquaintanceship with her? To have another chance at love… it would be beyond anything.

  She entered her home in the Royal Crescent and made her way up the creaking wooden stairs to her charming bedchamber on the second floor. She sat down on the pale blue silk counterpane covering her bed, and crossed her arms around her middle. It was perhaps best not to say anything to her mama as yet about her encounter with Fenmore. It was her private dream, to hug to herself until such a time as Julian might seek her out. There were numerous opportunities for him to do so in Bath, due to the public nature of so many of the entertainments on offer. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  * * *

  Isabel stared out the drawing room window, and watched Georgiana Harrington climb into her coach on the cobbled street below. Her friend had paid them a morning visit, bringing with her news of such a shattering nature that Isabel couldn’t quite take it in.

  “Were you and Lord Fenmore observed together in the Gardens, my dear?” her mother asked, an urgent note in her voice.

  “We may have been.” Isabel turned away from the sash window. “I wasn’t aware of my surroundings and who may have been walking past at the time, as I was explaining to Fenmore how I came to marry Axbridge. He – he was most kind and sympathetic. So much so that I thought – well, never mind that now. He is betrothed now to Miss Hamilton.”

  “My dear, I hate to see you so unhappy! I know the news must have come as something of a blow to you, but it was to be expected. You must see that Fenmore was bound to marry sometime.”

  “I know, Mama.” Isabel walked across the elegantly appointed room, and sat on a rosewood chair beside her mother, who was seated on a sofa upholstered in cream-and-rose striped satin. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Isabel stared into the flames, stretching her hands out to its warmth, in an attempt to dispel the icy feeling deep inside her. She shivered. “I had resigned myself to his eventual marriage. And if I had learnt of his betrothal a few months ago, I would have accepted it with equanimity. But to hear about it so soon after seeing him again...” She rubbed her arms absently.

  Her mother frowned. “I am concerned there will be gossip, my love. It set the cat amongst the pigeons when you broke your engagement to Fenmore in order to marry Axbridge. Netting even a marquis of Axbridge’s advanced years was perceived to be a remarkable accomplishment for a dowerless girl from the countryside. I do not wish for the gossips to put it about that you have been setting your cap at the earl you once threw over.”

  Isabel grimaced. “He wasn’t an earl then, Mama.”

  “Indeed.” Her mother pursed her lips. “But perceptions are everything. I do hope you weren’t observed together. I have such high hopes for your upcoming Season in London, now that your year of mourning is over. It would not do to have rumours circulating about you before we even arrive.”

  “I detest being the subject of idle gossip,” Isabel said fiercely.

  Her mother nodded, before looking down at a letter she held in her hand.

  “My dear, this is the very thing to distract you! Cousin George has invited me to act as his hostess for a house party at Chernock Hall.” She scanned the sheet of paper with a crease between her brows. “He and Cousin Maria have just arrived at the Hall, as the renovations to the property have recently been completed, but Cousin Maria has fallen ill, and he begs me to manage all the domestic arrangements as she is overwhelmed at the thought of a houseful of guests when she is feeling so poorly. He says –”

  Her mother broke off as the door to the drawing room opened, and Isabel glanced up to see Jennings enter the room. “Lady Kildaren and Mr Bateman,” he announced in lofty accents, before ushering in the two morning callers.

  Isabel forced a smile to her lips as she greeted their guests. She had been introduced to Lady Kildaren at a party a few weeks ago, but had not as yet made the acquaintance of her grandson, although she had seen him at that same party. She had been looking around the room when her gaze had collided with his, and the expression of admiration on his face had been unmistakable.

  Now, however, as the introductions were effected, Mr Bateman’s features were inscrutable, and he barely glanced at her as he assisted his grandmother into her chair. He turned back to Isabel and she noticed the frown in his eyes as he sat opposite her. He was an extraordinarily handsome gentleman. Tall and lean, with his fair hair fashionably cropped, he was dressed in the height of fashion. His well-cut coat outlined his broad shoulders admirably, and biscuit-coloured pantaloons showed off his tightly muscled legs, sheathed in gleaming Hessian boots.

  While her mother exchanged pleasantries with Lady Kildaren, Isabel listened to his polite conversation. But something in the lazy-lidded manner in which he was viewing her gave her pause. There was a watchfulness in his eyes which confused her. She looked away and frowned at her hands, which were clasped in her lap.

  Isabel was accustomed to gentlemen regarding her with admiration, and the attentions o
f her numerous followers rarely flustered her. However, there was something besides admiration in Mr. Bateman's regard – something which Isabel couldn’t quite put her finger on. It made her vaguely uneasy.

  “Forgive me for boring you, your ladyship,” he said in a dry voice.

  She blinked, and her head jerked up. She had been so lost in her contemplations that she hadn’t heard what he had said. “You – you’re not boring me, Mr Bateman.”

  “Indeed? I asked you if you found my company dull, and you nodded.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Oh – I…” She stopped abruptly. “Sir, I am guilty of the grossest incivility. Pray accept my sincere apology. I was distracted.”

  Mr Bateman inclined his head, but he made no reply, and Isabel bit her lip as the silence between them lengthened. She cudgelled her brains to think of something to say to ease the tension. Mr Bateman raised one mobile eyebrow before turning his gaze to the window where she had been standing earlier. Entirely at his ease, he lounged elegantly beside her in his chair. She frowned. Her manners had been at fault, but Mr Bateman was failing to ease the constraint between them by ignoring her so completely now.

  As she continued to regard him she realised, with sudden annoyance, that she was the only one feeling ill at ease. Clearly, he had no intention of initiating any further attempts at conversation with her.

  He gave the appearance of a sophisticated Man About Town. But why had he chosen Bath, of all places, to be that town? He certainly did not look like the kind of gentleman who would contrive to find the amusements the spa town had on offer entertaining.

  She cleared her throat. “Are you a resident of Bath, Mr Bateman, or have you come here to drink the waters? They are beneficial, indeed, to the infirm and the weak.”

  Mr Bateman’s golden brown gaze swung from his contemplation of the window back to her. “My dear Lady Axbridge – do I look infirm and weak?”

  “Oh no – no, indeed! But, appearances can so often be deceptive and I do not wish to be backward in any attentions I might render you. Ever since Mrs Drummond paid us a visit a few weeks ago, and suffered an attack of heart palpitations in this very room, Mama has insisted on keeping smelling salts on hand should any of our guests be unfortunate enough to succumb to ill health on a morning call.”

  “Your solicitous concern is noted and appreciated, your ladyship.” He settled further back in his chair, and viewed her through half-closed eyes. “On balance, though, I would say that you are more in need of revival from an attack of heart palpitations than my humble self.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. He must have heard about her meeting with Fenmore. “I have no idea what you mean, Mr Bateman.” She opened her eyes wide. “I enjoy excellent health, and have no need to drink the Bath waters.”

  He studied his well-kept fingernails. “Lord Fenmore announced his engagement yesterday.”

  “So you set off hot-foot to see my reaction to the news?” she asked, in a cold voice.

  He shrugged. “My grandmother wished to warn you of the likelihood of an influx of curious visitors.”

  “Such as yourself.”

  He bowed his head in mock politeness, and Isabel was tempted to abandon any vestige of civility and give him a sharp set down. But before she could speak again, Lady Kildaren turned to her and said: “The old tabbies will be in alt about Lord Fenmore’s engagement to Miss Hamilton, as it has come as something of a surprise. It didn’t surprise me, of course. I saw the signs. But there has been gossip in certain quarters regarding you and Fenmore making a match of it the second time around. Wouldn’t be surprised if the worst Quizzes converge on you shortly. My grandson thought it would be a good idea to warn you.”

  Isabel’s gaze flew to Mr Bateman, and for the first time since she had encountered him, he looked discomfited. She returned her attention to his grandmother. “I – I cannot understand why anyone would even think of linking Lord Fenmore and me together. Our engagement ended all of ten years ago…”

  “That may well be, but you and Fenmore were observed together in Sydney Gardens – in close conversation, by all accounts, and the speculation has been rife. When you married Axbridge all those years ago, you were compared widely to the Gunning sisters, you know. Rumours have been flying about that you may well follow in Elizabeth Gunning’s footsteps and marry not just one, but two members of the nobility, particularly as you – like the Gunnings – rose to the heights of Society from a relatively humble position in life. The parallels are obvious.”

  Isabel inhaled sharply, and then released her breath on a sigh of dismay as the door to the drawing room opened and Jennings ushered in two middle-aged ladies. Her ladyship’s prediction had indeed been accurate. Mrs Atkinson and Mrs Fletcher were two of the worst gossips in Bath.

  Lady Kildaren stood, and her grandson rose with her. The old lady threw a fierce glance at the two visitors, before bidding Isabel and her mother farewell.

  Mr Bateman, in turn, bowed politely and murmured, “Mrs Beresford, Lady Axbridge…” before taking his leave of them. Isabel refused to meet his gaze, however. How mortifying that he – and apparently the whole of Bath – had determined that news of the Earl of Fenmore’s betrothal would be unwelcome to her. True as it may be, she had no intention of letting the Society gossips see it.

  Somehow, she managed to keep her composure for the rest of the morning, but when the last inquisitive busybody eventually left, she winced at the impassive facade she had been forced to present to those merciless women.

  “My dear – you did very well.” When the door closed on their last visitor, her mother sank back down onto the sofa. “I cannot believe how persistent some of those ladies were!”

  Isabel drew in a trembling breath. “I should never have spoken to Lord Fenmore in such a public place.”

  “It was a chance encounter, my dear, and you were not to know that the Quizzes would make so much of it.”

  “No, indeed.”

  Her mother glanced at her quickly and then looked away. “I am grateful to Lady Kildaren and her grandson for warning us, although the warning did not prevent the inevitable. Her ladyship seems rather alarming, but she has a kind heart.” She paused for a moment. “Did you enjoy speaking to Mr Bateman, my dear? He and Lady Kildaren will be attending Cousin George’s house party, but only for a few nights. He is escorting his grandmother to London, and they intend to break their journey there.”

  “I believe he dislikes me.” Isabel picked up her embroidery.

  “Dislikes you? Good heavens! Why do you think that? It was his idea, after all, to warn us that we may receive an invasion of morning callers.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention to him when he was speaking to me and – well – he noticed.”

  Her mother laughed. “Well, it should do him the world of good, my dear! He is an incorrigible flirt.”

  “He did not seem so to me.” Isabel’s brow creased. “How is he acquainted with Cousin George?”

  “They were business partners in a shipping venture in America.”

  “Was Mr Bateman also there to recoup his family’s fortunes, as Cousin George was?”

  “Oh no!” Her mother leaned forward, her voice dropping low in that way she always used when sharing a particularly salacious piece of gossip. “There was some scandal – oh, years ago, in Mr Bateman’s youth! – when he attempted to abduct a young heiress, in order to fly with her to Gretna Green. You probably did not hear of it, as you were living retired in the country with Axbridge by then.”

  Shocked, Isabel leaned forward too. “No! Did he succeed? And what happened to the girl?”

  Her mother shook her head. “The plot was discovered, and the girl rescued in time. Mr Bateman was banished from England by his family, and sent to America until all the fuss died down. That’s where he met Cousin George. They returned to England together, both as rich as Croesus.”

  An image of Mr Bateman’s sardonic eyes flashed into Isabel’s mind, and she blinked hard in an attempt to b
anish it. “I am surprised he is received everywhere when he is purportedly such a scoundrel.”

  “Perhaps if he had returned from America a poor man, he may have found it more difficult to regain entry into Society,” her mother said. “But, a wealthy reprobate, my dear, is always far more acceptable than a poverty-stricken one. He also has aristocratic connections, which means that his youthful transgressions are overlooked. You, on the other hand, my love, do not have that same advantage.”

  “Indeed. Marrying an aristocrat is not quite the same as having been born into an aristocratic family. Axbridge’s friends and family have never fully accepted me.” She looked away, and frowned. “I wonder why Mr Bateman frequents Bath, of all places?”

  “Well, he is merely visiting his grandmama for a few weeks. He comes from a very good family, of course, and Lady Kildaren has a great deal of influence in Society and is his staunch supporter. Very few members of Society would dare offend her by ignoring her grandson. Besides, I doubt he is as black as he has been painted. Cousin George is a man of integrity and principle, you know, and he would not befriend a cad.”

  Isabel nodded. “The last time I spoke to Cousin George, he was most interested in my anti-slavery writings. I hope to discuss this further with him when we travel to Chernock Hall.”

  “What an excellent idea, my love. Focusing on your writing should take your mind off this – this disappointment. Cousin George informs me that William is doing very well at Cambridge, and has joined an Abolitionist Society.”

  Isabel placed her embroidery to one side and stood up. “Have you heard from William recently?”

  “Indeed, I have! His father would ring a peal over his head if he forgot to write to me.”

  Isabel nodded. William had spent most of his school holidays with their family when his father had left for America all those years ago after his wife died, and he consequently was more of a younger brother to Isabel than a cousin.