Amanda McCabe by The Errant Earl Read Free Book Online Page B

certain warmth, and even a sparkle that was gone as soon as she left.
    Very peculiar, indeed.
    Marcus sighed and sat back wearily in his chair. It was the fatigue causing such fanciful thoughts. Or perhaps that old wag Shakespeare popping up so often in one day, when Marcus hadn’t so much as thought about a play or sonnet since Oxford. Yes, it was just the Bard calling up such thoughts of fairies and enchantments, when there was absolutely no room for such things in his life.
    Ever since he was a small child, Marcus had a plan for his life. These plans were born and nourished on his mother’s tales of how he was the product of two great, ancient families. She exhorted him from the cradle to do fine things to honor that legacy, and so he always had. He excelled in his studies, was enthusiastic at cricket and the hunt, and was well liked by his peers. He had seen his life as following that path forever after—a respectable wife, a nursery full of sons and heirs, perhaps even a career in politics. His mother was proud of him, and, so he assumed, was his father.
    And if something elusive was missing in his life, in his heart, well—this was the existence he was born to have, and he could only make the best of it.
    So he did. After all, he always did what was expected of him.
    Then his mother had died. His approving audience vanished forever, and his father did what was assuredly
not
expected of him.
    He married an actress.
    Marcus ran his hand through his close-cropped curls, still shaken by the memory of all those emotions that had pummeled him then, even all these years later. His father’s actions had seemed a stark betrayal of all Marcus’s mother had stood for, all he had thought their entire family stood for.
    All that Marcus himself tried so hard to uphold, for them.
    The knowledge that his father valued other things above family history and honor had shown Marcus that perhaps he had never known his father at all. Not really.
    His whole life, up until then so secure and unshaken, had crumbled into confusion. He had no longer been sure of himself at all. So he, being young and heedless, fled rather than face his troubles.
    Marcus reached for the brandy the butler had left on the table and tipped the last of it into his empty teacup. Facing demons was thirsty work.
    Well, he had learned a great deal in his wanderings. One of them was that regrets over the past were utterly useless. Yes, he had hoped to make things up to his father. It was too late for him to tell his father how sorry he was, but there was one thing he could do. He could look after the daughter of his father’s wife. Not the way he had vaguely thought to look after a child, with governesses and schools. But with a Season, and with finding her a respectable match with a worthy young man.
    He felt a rather sour pang at the thought of marching the pretty young woman down the aisle to some respectable baron or younger son. But he quickly shrugged that off.
    He would do his duty. Even if her hazel eyes did linger in his mind.
    “My lord,” the butler said, for once not booming.
    Marcus looked up, startled. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had not even heard the man come into the room. “Yes?”
    “Shall I clear away the tray now?”
    “What? Oh, yes. I was just preparing to retire.” Marcus watched as the butler stacked the tea things onto a tray and prepared to heft it like a caber. “You said you are a Scot, Douglas?”
    Douglas set the tray back down, obviously surprised that Marcus would ask him a question about himself. “Aye, that I am. My lord,” he added hastily. “From Aberdeen.”
    “Were you a butler in Aberdeen?”
    Douglas frowned. “I’ve not been back to Aberdeen in many a year. Not since I was a lad. My lord.”
    “Miss Barclay tells me that you have been a butler here for a long while.”
    “Did she, now?” There was a hint of sparkle in Douglas’s eyes. “It must be so, then. My lord.” Before Marcus