Page 5 of Stealing a Scoundrel's Heart
“I shall inform them immediately. However, I can’t guarantee when or if they will decide to claim the letters—that shall be at their discretion.”
Lord Weathersbee grinned and shrugged. “No rush. Maxwell’s wishes won’t change. The correspondence shall remain with me, safely guarded until the gentlemen are ready to retrieve them.”
Damn solicitors and their riddle-filled words. Alister marched directly out of Weatherbee’s office and into the street.
His footman opened the door to his awaiting coach. Alister paused as he stepped up into the empty vehicle. It was a rare occasion for him to be without the company of at least one of his close friends. He sank down on the forward-facing seat and sighed. The parchment in his jacket acted like a burr in his chest. Fists clenched, he pounded the butt of his hand against the ceiling twice to set the coach into motion.
Why hadn’t Foxton and the others escorted Lady Marjorie home in his coach? A hack would have been way too cramped with his three burly mates. Bah—what was the matter with him? He had placed his own life in the trust of his closest friends many a time, but his palms began to sweat in his gloves and his pulse raced at the knowledge the woman was in the care of others. His anxiety over the safety of a woman he barely knew made absolutely no sense. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the letter that he hoped contained information that would set his mind more at ease.
Alister - my boy,
If you are reading this, it means I’ve departed this world.
I have many regrets, but assisting your mother was never one of them. While you share my blood and the thirst for adventure, thank the heavens you also share your mother’s good sense and ability to forgive.
Pray forgive me, but I’m counting on you to see to it that Marjorie is comfortably situated in Brighton. She will need your assistance in my absence, for the lady is too proud to seek help, and way too innocent to navigate the seaside town that I firmly believe shall allow her the freedom to flourish.
A word of warning: Never underestimate the strength of a woman of few words.
I shall rest in peace knowing that I’ve left Marjorie in your care.
Forever your champion,
Maxwell North - Marquess of Whalen
Parchment clasped tightlyin his hand, Alister read over the letter once more. His father had failed to provide him answers as to what prompted the old man’s recent behavior. Why had Maxwell decided to marry knowing it wouldn't be long before he met his maker… no. Alister’s real question was, why had Maxwell married Marjorie? The lady was nothing like the women his father had chosen as companions in the past. Marjorie was younger than he, a complete innocent in every way possible, and the chit lacked a strong desire for adventure that he’d thought Maxwell found the most alluring in a woman. Or mayhap he’d simply not been privy to that side her.
The image of Marjorie’s pinkened, soft cheeks flashed before him. He’d been in her company briefly for a mere two days and Marjorie was already hard to banish from his thoughts. He loved how the lady’s complexion heightened every time he caught her looking at him. His heart leapt when she unknowingly inched away from the others and closer to him. His lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile when her gaze sought him out when she was uncertain. It made him feel twelve feet tall.
The coach rolled to a stop, and he took a fortifying breath. If after their short acquaintance, Marjorie could make him experience an array of emotions that he’d only read about but never truly experienced, what would happen if he spent an entire fortnight in her presence?
Marjorie paced in her bed chamber that had taken all of an hour to empty and pack into a traveling trunk. She'd had little when leaving her parents’ home six months ago, and despite Maxwell’s generous monthly pin allowance, Marjorie hadn’t the opportunity to spend any of it, preferring to spend her days reading in Maxwell’s well-stocked library or sketching her late husband’s profile in his study while he settled estate matters. Maxwell was a willing subject, and the man’s features, weathered by age and experience, were fascinating. Not nearly as fascinating as Lord Dartman’s handsome face. Marjorie closed her eyes and pictured the two men. Gah. Why had she not seen the similarities between the two earlier? Lord Dartman was a younger version of Maxwell based purely on the skeletal structure.
“Where is the lady of the house?” The bark of the familiar male voice below reminded Marjorie she wasn’t alone in the large house that was entailed and would soon be inhabited by the new Marquess of Whalen. She pressed her hands to her cheeks that had heated at the sound of Lord Dartman’s deep baritone. Of course, Lord Dartman would barge his way into her home… just as the others had. His friends had inquired as to her plans for the rest of the day, and when she had shared she intended to spend the rest of the day packing for her journey, the trio unilaterally declared that they would accompany her to Brighton. Completely caught off guard by their concern and charm, Marjorie kept silent, proceeded home, and escaped up to her rooms.
With her trunks packed, there was no reason for her to remain hidden up here. Egad. Lord Dartman wasn’t the patient sort, unlike the other gentlemen who would remain below stairs. Marjorie rushed to the door to join her guests. Just as she reached for the latch and flung the door open, an agitated Lord Dartman appeared.
“Lord Dartman.”
“Marjorie.”
She frowned up at the man that sent her heart aflutter. “I don’t remember giving you leave to address me by my given name.”
“My apologies, Lady Whalen. Maxwell wasn’t one to favor formalities.” Lord Dartman nodded and then entered her private rooms as if it was the most natural thing for him to do.
Regardless of how Maxwell had run his household in the past, it was extremely unorthodox for a bachelor to enter the chambers of a lady regardless of whether he’d been invited or not. Marjorie remained by the door. She could turn and flee or stay and spar with the man that put her on edge with a mere look.
Lord Dartman stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, legs shoulder width apart, and stared at her with a cocky smirk upon his face. She wanted to stomp her foot and declare she was still the mistress of the house and demand he leave. Instead, she whirled out the door and flew down the staircase to seek refuge in the drawing room.
Marjorie took two steps into the warm dark mahogany room that had been reduced in size due to the three large gentlemen occupying the space. Lord Foxton lounged by the window, while Lord Hurlington and Lord Whistlestop were engaged in a card game by the fire with their coats and jackets haphazardly discarded about the room and sleeves rolled up until mid-forearm. All of them were at ease as if they were frequent guests. It reminded her she knew little of Maxwell and his life prior to their marriage. From the looks of it, her late husband had entertained these men regularly, for they had discarded all sense of decorum.
“Ah, Lady Whalen, everything ready for our departure in the morn?” Lord Foxton stepped away from the window and approached her.
“After considering the matter, there’s no need for you or the others to accompany me to Brighton. I shall hire a post-chaise in the morn.”
Lord Foxton stopped and loomed over her. “Never. Maxwell would turn over in his grave. We already have it all arranged. Hurlington and Whistlestop will ride in my coach and four, while Dartman and I will accompany you in Dartman’s new traveling coach.”
“Surelyallof you need not accompany me.”
