The Reluctant Marquess by Maggi Andersen Read Free Book Online Page A

separated it from the buildings next door, and it had a wide front garden. Two liveried footmen rushed to open the door.
    Charity stood on the pavement feeling her cramped limbs unbend. She gazed up at the house wide-eyed. Four elongated statues of Greek Goddesses adorned giant Doric columns, which appeared to hold up the upper-story.
    Smiling, Robert offered her his arm. “Shall we go inside?”
    The St Malin residence was as different from the castle in Cornwall as the sun to the moon. Inside was just as impressive as its exterior. Robert led her into the vestibule with its soaring ceiling. A gracious staircase rose to the upper floors from the black and white checkerboard floor. The formidable butler, Hove, welcomed her formally without a smile, and took her cloak and bonnet. She thanked him and followed Robert up the stairs to the first floor. Everywhere she looked stood superior-looking servants in their gold and blue livery.
    Robert bowed to her at the door to her chamber. She peered in at the lofty, elaborately furnished room, hung with rose damask. A four-poster bed large enough for an entire family barely filled a corner.
    “Charity?”
    “Yes?” She turned back, hoping he’d decided to come in with her. Even if just to keep her company a while, for the grand chamber was distinctly unwelcoming for all its grandeur. It made her feel rather small and insignificant.
    His brows lowered. “Don’t keep thanking the servants. You’re a marchioness now, remember.”
    Disappointed, she tilted her chin. “I like to thank people; they don’t seem to mind it.”
    “They are not your friends, Charity,” he said in an exasperated tone. “They are here to serve you.”
    “I’ll try, Robert. But I must do what comes naturally to me.” She watched as he continued down the passage and sighed. He shrugged his shoulders as though his coat was too tight. Everything she did and said seemed to annoy him.
    He had explained that there was no time to waste. A wardrobe must be made for her immediately and a proper ladies maid to be found. He’d arranged for an aunt to call and take her shopping for clothes. And after an elaborate luncheon she was too nervous to do justice to, Robert left her in the care of his aunt and departed for his club. Charity understood that he would not wish to take part in such a venture, but she couldn’t help feeling he’d deserted her on their first day in London. Might he not have taken her around and shown her the sights?
    Lady Susan was an elderly widow whose aquiline nose made her appear most disapproving. Displaying the exquisite manners of the ton, she asked no questions of their sudden marriage, and whisked Charity off to be fitted for a wardrobe of stunning gowns and accessories. The modiste’s rooms were like an Aladdin’s cave filled with lustrous materials, furs, beads and feathers. Charity wandered about captivated. She picked up a garment that lay half-completed on a table. It was a nightgown of black lace. She could see her hand through the fabric, and the thought of wearing it made her blush. She had never countenanced such a thing. Her nightgowns were always high-necked and made of white lawn.
    Arriving in Vauxhall, Robert drove along the flat barren lands past Lambeth Marshe. Squatting on a rise in the distance, its spires stark against the grey sky, sat the gloomy Jacobean mansion, Osborne Hall in a small park. It had been his Great Aunt Agatha’s family home. It was leased to a wealthy nabob, although why anyone would want to live in the drafty place was beyond him. As a child he’d been convinced it was haunted.
    A few miles down the road he came to the clay pits near the river and pulled up his horses. He climbed down from the curricle, throwing the reins to a young lad in the yard. “Walk them and you’ll earn a shilling.”
    The pottery factory was little more than a shed. And what was being produced was not up to Sir Josiah Wedgwood’s work, unfortunately. The