How to Manage a Marquess by Sally Mackenzie Read Free Book Online

frowned. “And you didn’t tell me?”
    â€œI didn’t think you’d be interested.”
    His mouth flattened. For a moment, she thought she’d managed to provoke him again, but then the door opened and James, the footman, brought in her supper.
    â€œThank you, James,” Papa said. “That will be all.”
    She braced herself when the door closed again. She’d been avoiding Papa, so they hadn’t talked about Miss Franklin and Mr. Wattles’s marriage five days ago and the discovery that they’d been living in the village under assumed identities—Miss Franklin for twenty years. Nor had they discussed what the empty Spinster House meant.
    I won’t tell Papa I’m hoping to win the house. There’s no point in talking about it until it’s decided.
    â€œI knew the duke’s father.” Papa shrugged. “Well, I knew of him. He was older than I. But I remember when he married the current duke’s mother. It was quite the village scandal.”
    â€œOh?” She was intrigued in spite of herself.
    Papa nodded. “Clara O’Reilly was the village dressmaker’s poor Irish niece and new to Loves Bridge. A nice girl—everyone said she must have loved the duke—but she should never have married him. It was like a—a puppy going off to live with a wolf.”
    â€œBut if he loved her—”
    Papa snorted. “He wanted her, and marriage was the only way he could have her. But love—” He shook his head. “No. No one needed the curse to play out to know it wasn’t his heart that had urged him to the altar.”
    She leaned forward. “Do you really believe in the curse, Papa? This is the nineteenth century, after all.” The Marquess of Hellwood appeared to think the curse real, but then the marquess was an annoying, infuriating blockhead.
    Papa shrugged. “I don’t know. I grant you it seems superstitious nonsense that belongs in the dark ages rather than our enlightened scientific times, but the fact remains that not one duke since Isabelle Dorring’s time has lived to see his heir.”
    He frowned. “The London wags call the present titleholder ‘the Heartless Duke,’ Anne. He doesn’t have as black a reputation as his father, but he’s not a man I’d consider a good match for you, even with his exalted title.”
    Anne’s jaw dropped. Where had that come from? “I am not interested in marrying the duke, Papa.”
    Papa went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “The rumor is he lured a young woman into the bushes, ruined her reputation, and then refused to marry her.”
    â€œI know. The Boltwoods mentioned it at the fair-planning meeting the other day.” And then there was Cat’s recent tour of the vegetation, though it hadn’t appeared the duke had done any luring there. And surely that trip to the foliage would result in a wedding—and one less candidate for the Spinster House.
    Papa sat back, frowning. “The vicar said he thought this duke an honorable man, but I can’t like you—”
    Oh, for heaven’s sake! “Papa! I said I am not interested in the duke!”
    He scowled at her. “You don’t have to shout, Anne.” Then he drummed his fingers on his leg. “His friends, though . . . The Earl of Evans was recently jilted, but the Marquess of Haywood might be a possibility.”
    Papa could not mean what she thought he meant. “A possibility for what?”
    Papa heard the fury in her voice. His eyes widened and he sat all the way back in his chair. “Just, er, ah . . .” His chin hardened. “A possible husband for you, Anne. You’re twenty-six, you know—”
    She leapt to her feet. “I bloody well know how old I am.” How dare Papa consider Lord Hellwood as a—an anything for her?
    He stood, too. “You are putting yourself firmly on the shelf.