The Black Marques

By Louisa Hart

People aren't always what they seem, as Melinda learns when her paths cross those of the elusive Marques of Ellingsworth.
Bored with the season she befriends the lonely little girl next door. And that friendship leads to meeting Ellingsworth, the girl’s father, a meeting which seems only to confirm his black reputation. But when his daughter is seriously ill, Melinda agrees to look after her. Over the following weeks Melinda comes question her earlier view of him. But can she trust him with her heart or is this just a simple summer interlude?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291891782

Book preview

The Black Marques

The Black Marques

Louisa Hart

But love, first learned in a lady's eyes,

Lives not alone immured in the brain;

But, with the motion of all elements,

Courses as swift as thought in every power,

And gives to every power a double power,

Above their functions and their offices.

William Shakespeare, Love’s Labours Lost

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 Louisa Hart

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-291-89178-2

This work is licensed under the Creative

Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

To view a copy of this license, visit

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5/

or send a letter to:

Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300

San Francisco, California 94105

Chapter 1

You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you, as you are to them

Desmond Tutu

The early morning sun was streaking through a gap in the curtains.  Like most mornings Lady Melinda Downham was woken by the happy noise of child playing in the neighbouring garden.  But today she got up to investigate who was up so early.   She opened the curtains and looked out at the extensive gardens next door.  Their neighbour, the Marques of Ellingsworth, was one of the few members of the ton she hadn’t met during the season, and by all accounts she should be grateful for this omission.

Down below a solitary little girl was playing with her doll, a ragged looking thing but much loved.  She was simply but well dressed.  Melinda delved into her memory, trying to dredge up what she had heard about Ellingsworth.  Everybody agreed that he was extremely rich and everybody was of the view that he was a rake and beyond the pale.  What had led to that reputation she didn’t know.  People got very reticent when she tried to find out more, as if the truth was too shocking for her innocent ears.  She vaguely remembered that he was a widower and she had heard mention of a child.  In all likelihood the little girl was Ellingsworth’s daughter. 

Just as she reached that conclusion, a woman appeared in the garden.  A nurse, Melinda guessed.  But this was not the sort of kindly nurse she remembered from her own childhood.  This was a harsh woman, who berated the little girl as she approached.  The happy chatter ceased immediately, but from what Melinda could see, the girl wasn’t cowed.  When the nurse reached her, she yanked the little girl’s arm, pulling her away.  Melinda winced, that must have hurt.  What an unpleasant woman, she thought.  Yet another black mark against Ellingsworth, and this time she had first-hand evidence of his bad deeds. 

Slowly she returned to bed; it was far too early to rise.  But she could not go back to sleep; the little scene had disturbed her more than she would admit. 

Melinda had led a fairly protected life.  Of course there had been money worries after her father died.  But the previous year her older brother Oliver, Viscount Radbourne, had married a beautiful heiress and she was convinced that her sister-in-law Julianne’s dowry was financing her debut. 

While she had enjoyed her season, she had not formed any strong friendships with the other debutantes, let alone an attachment to one of the many eligible men she met.  Last summer she had been so excited about her debut, filled with dreams of romance and the prospect of a different life.  And now that the season was almost over, she mainly felt exhausted.  For somebody who generally rose early, the late evenings had soon become a chore.  Even having a whole new wardrobe eventually lost its allure.  Since Easter her days had been filled with visits, drives in the park and a plethora of evening entertainments.  And if they were at home, there was a seemingly never ending stream of visitors.  Only the early mornings were her own, and as time passed she was often too tired to enjoy them.  Fortunately in a couple of weeks it would be all over for the summer. 

A little while later her maid came in with her morning tea and then it was time to begin another busy day.  Obediently Melinda selected a suitable walking dress.  As her maid helped her dress, she considered her reflection in the mirror.  A young woman of medium height with dark blond hair looked back at her.  She had to admit that she was nowhere as beautiful as her sister-in-law; her face was narrow and she thought that her blue eyes were unexceptional.  But unexceptional was still better than prominent, and her nose could at best be described as aristocratic.  At least in that she resembled her mother and brother, who were blessed with equally prominent features.  Between the nose and her wide generous mouth, there was little about her face that she really liked. 

Perhaps her looks were the reason for the lack of success during the season.  While her maid set her hair, Melinda pondered that thorny question yet again.  If she were honest with herself; the reason for her still unmarried state wasn’t her looks but the calibre of the eligible men she had met. 

Eventually it was time to go down for breakfast.  Only Oliver greeted her; her mother usually had a tray in her room and more often than not Julianne now didn’t come down either, citing her condition as a reason.  Melinda wondered again whether her sister-in-law was really unwell or just indolent.  After all, she had always been told that the sickness would eventually pass, but what did she really know about the whole process...

Her brother politely asked her about her plans for the day and Melinda expressed a desire to go for a stroll before it got too crowded.  For once Oliver offered to accompany her and a little later they set off. Oliver was silent at first; too many things were going around his mind to concentrate on his little sister.  But as they walked through the gates into Hyde Park, he remembered his manners:  So how are you enjoying the season? 

She poked him in the side: Oliver, you live in the same house, I would have thought that by now you had picked up that it’s all a bit... she paused, looking for the right word.

Predictable? he offered.  She nodded; Predictable is good.  It’s also just a tad repetitive.  I am sorry it’s costing you so much money... will you be very disappointed, if I don’t make a match this year? 

That question quite literally stopped him in his tracks: Of course not, Melinda.  Whatever gave you that idea? 

She shrugged: I don’t know... it’s just that you and Julianne are so wrapped up in each other and the baby; and I feel bad that her father’s money is paying for all this... and I keep wondering if you mind me being around all the time... 

Oliver suddenly realised that he hadn’t properly spoken to his sister since the beginning of the season.  Of course they had numerous conversations but he had no idea what was going on in her head.  All I can say is that I am sorry that you have been concerned.  If you are worrying about the cost of it all, let me assure you that Julie thoroughly enjoyed the season and even if it hadn’t been for you, she would probably have spent almost the same on entertaining, so you can be easy on that account. As to the other; Radbourne House is your home!  I know it’s different to how it was before Julie and I married...

Before you got married you would stay at your club when you were in London... she reminded him.

You are right, I didn’t live at Radbourne House before... he paused, trying to find the right words.  A lot of things have changed since the autumn, for all of us.  And change is never that easy.  Now it was Melinda’s turn to choose her words with care: What do you mean?  You are happy, aren’t you?

He winced; this conversation wasn’t getting any easier: Yes, I am happy.  What I was trying to say is that it is actually not that easy to get used to living with somebody; however much you love them.  So, please don’t rush into a marriage that you aren’t completely sure about.  And before you ask, I love Julie.

Thank you for telling me.  Nobody tells you anything useful if you are a debutante. He smiled: I expect Julie would agree with you on that one.  And please don’t worry about the season, I really don’t mind if you don’t make a match this year.  I’d probably feel faintly ridiculous if somebody were to ask me for your hand in marriage anyway.

Melinda had never thought about it from his perspective: Would you really?  Why? 

Very simple, I myself went through that whole palaver a year ago.  It was fairly excruciating, and I wonder whether being on the other side might not be even more excruciating...  She smiled at that: It’s always good to know that I am still in a position to inflict pain on my big brother.

I trust that won’t be your main consideration for any major decisions you make about your future.  She poked him again: Don’t be ridiculous, I am not such a fool as that.

The rest of their walk was spent talking about what Melinda and their mother were planning to do for the next few evenings.  As they strolled back along Piccadilly towards Radbourne House, Melinda suddenly remembered the little girl she had observed that morning: Oliver; do you know anything about Ellingsworth’s daughter? He looked up, slightly puzzled: Why do you ask?

Nothing, it’s just that I have seen a little girl playing in next door’s garden and I wondered if she is Ellingsworth’s little girl.  He does have a daughter, doesn’t he? 

Oliver tried to remember: I seem to recall there was a daughter; and he was most put out that his wife hadn’t produced a son.  If I remember rightly he was almost vicious in his comments.  Let me think... that was about five years ago.  I can’t imagine why he has brought the child to London; if anything he resented her.

How sad... I think it must be his daughter then.  And if what I observed this morning is anything to go by, he really doesn’t care about her; she has the most unpleasant nurse.

Later that morning Melinda sat in the garden, reading a book and enjoying one of the rare moments away from the busy social whirl.  For a while she was complete oblivious to her surroundings but suddenly something touched her feet.  It took her a moment to get her bearings, and then she saw a battered old ball.  The girl next door; went through her head, as she picked up the ball and ambled towards the fence.  And sure enough, the little girl stood at the other side of the fence.  As Melinda approached, she looked increasingly more anxious.  Melinda briefly wondered what had her so worried; moments later she reached the cast iron railings and held out the ball: Hello... she handed over the ball and waited.  The little girl relaxed somewhat, took the ball and curtsied.  Thank you, Miss... she whispered but she didn’t move away. 

What is your name?  Melinda asked gently.  Margaret... and yours? 

I am Melinda she replied.  Don’t you have anybody to play with? she continued.  Margaret didn’t reply but carefully looked around as if frightened of somebody.  Where is your nurse? She tried again.  Margaret shrugged her shoulders. 

Melinda didn’t quite know what to do; she had always thought making polite conversation at balls and dinners was challenging, but that was nothing compared to talking to a small child.  Suddenly an idea struck her:  If I lift you over the fence, would you like some lemonade and cake?  Margaret looked longingly at her: Yes please.  And so Melinda leant over and gripped the little girl under her outstretched arms and moments later she was securely on the other side. 

She looked around her, now more curious than frightened.  Melinda took her to where she had been sitting earlier.  A jug of lemonade and some biscuits were still on the side table next to her chair.  She poured them both a glass and watched as Margaret drank it down quickly.  Would you like a biscuit?  she offered.  Yes please.  When Melinda held out the plate, Margaret gingerly took a biscuit. 

Have another one!  Big innocent eyes looked up at Miranda: May I really? Miranda held the plate a bit lower, so that Margaret could choose another biscuit.  Then she didn’t know what else to do.  This little girl was so painfully polite that Miranda again worried what her life at home must be like.  While she still cast about for something to say, Margaret spotted the book.  Is this a story book? she asked.  Melinda nodded; it was a novel, so in some way it was indeed a story book.  Margaret sat down on the lawn: Can you read me a story? she asked. 

Now that was more tricky; the novel was not exactly aimed at children.  I don’t think you would like it.  The little girl’s face fell.  How about I tell you a story instead?  she offered.  Will you?  Oh yes please.  From one moment to the next her little face lit up.  Expectantly she looked up at Melinda, who launched into the story of Cinderella. 

Enthralled Margaret watched her as the story of Cinderella and her unpleasant step-sisters unfolded.  Melinda took care to play down the cruelness of the story where she could.  Eventually she finished and the spell was broken. 

Margaret jumped up and hugged her:  Nobody has ever told me a story before.  Are you my friend now?  Melinda nodded, a lump in her throat.  Being the daughter of a rich man obviously didn’t guarantee a carefree childhood. 

I think I better get you back across the fence.  Your nurse will be worrying.  Margaret looked surprised.  No she won’t.  She’ll be glad if I don’t bother her.  Trustingly she took Melinda’s hand as they walked across the lawn.  Will you tell me another story tomorrow?

Perhaps; I may be out tomorrow though, so I won’t promise.  As sweet as the little girl was, she didn’t want to get involved in her life; it could lead to all sorts of complications.

Once she was back in their garden, Margaret looked up at her one last time:  Good bye Melinda.  And thank you for being my friend. Then she ran off towards the house. 

Chapter 2

Women upset everything. When you let them into your life, you find that the woman is driving at one thing and you're driving at another

George Bernard Shaw

Rufus Northcott, Marques of Ellingsworth, spent the morning working in his study.  The windows to the garden were wide open and once in a while he heard the sounds of his daughter Margaret playing outside.  She was a quiet little thing and avoided her father whenever she could.  Rufus had to admit that the feeling was mutual.  Why couldn’t she have been a boy?  His life would have been so much easier if he had an heir.  But no, his late wife Sonia produced a useless girl and then compounded the insult by dying, leaving him with Margaret to bring up on his own.  Not that he did much for his daughter other than paying a nurse to look after her and putting money aside for her dowry.

But the upshot of all this was that he would have to get married again; not a thought that particularly appealed to him.  His first marriage had not been a great success and he didn’t relish having to court another woman.  But sooner or later he would have to take the plunge.

In fact, he had procrastinated long enough and decided that he would take the necessary steps now. He was seeing his man of business later that day; he would get the process rolling and ask him to draw up a list of suitable candidates.  Women of good family of course; with passable looks and still young enough to provide him with sons.  Not too young though, one girl in his household was more than enough. 

His glance was drawn to the window and the garden beyond.  Margaret was playing a solitary game.  He wondered where the nurse was; the nurse who had insisted that coming to London would be so beneficial for his daughter.  He couldn’t see why spending time in town would be good for a five year old girl, but he paid a nurse to know these things.  Every time he saw her, Margaret had been quietly playing in the garden or the nursery; she could have done that just as well back in Dorset.  As he watched he noticed that her clothes looked rather shabby and worn.  She didn’t strike him as a boisterous child, prone to get dirty or come home with torn clothes.  So why did his daughter look more like a servant than a young lady?  Something else he would have to investigate.

To be honest he found it difficult to care about the little girl.  Children in general were an anathema to him and while he thought he might have had some sort of connection with a son, his daughter mystified him.

As he contemplated his relationship with his daughter, he watched Margaret playing with her ball.  As far as he could see there was no rhyme nor reason to her game; but she seemed completely absorbed in throwing the ball and running after it.  Suddenly the ball went across the fence and ended up in next door’s garden.  Now what?  He hoped that their neighbours were not the complaining sort.  He tried to remember who lived next door.  If memory served his neighbour was Lord Radbourne who had recently married.  Hopefully they would have better things to do than worry about a child’s toy ending up in their garden.

Surely the nurse would now appear and retrieve the ball or scold her charge for being so careless.  But instead a young woman approached the fence from the neighbouring garden.  He watched as she returned the ball and exchanged a few words with Margaret.  Idly he wondered if that was the new Viscountess.  But she was rumoured to be a great beauty and the girl standing by the railings was hardly that.  Suddenly she turned and when he saw her profile recognition dawned.  With that profile she must be a Downham.  She was still trying to engage Margaret in conversation, but his daughter seemed very tongue tied.

Eventually they must have reached some sort of agreement; Margaret nodded vehemently and then the girl bent over and lifted her across the fence.  Moments later both had disappeared from sight.  Again he wondered where that nurse was; she should have been there, that was what he was paying her for.  He wasn’t worried for Margaret’s safety; it was unlikely that Lord Radbourne’s sister had kidnapped her.

He returned to his books; he would deal with the nurse later.  And if Margaret really had disappeared and the alarm was raised, he knew where to find her. 

Rufus worked solidly for the rest of the day, putting his daughter firmly out of his mind.  Only when his man of business, Josiah Green, was announced, did he remember his earlier decision.  Briskly he instructed him about the routine matters that had arisen.  Just as Mr Green was about to leave, Rufus raised another matter:  Oh, Green, before you leave, I have one further commission for you.  I have decided that I ought to marry again, so could you draw up a list of suitable candidates? 

Mr Green paled and sank back into his chair.  Of course, my lord... he finally managed to say.  Could you possibly give me some idea of your requirements? Rufus cast his mind back to his earlier thoughts: Well, let me see... of good family, decent breeding stock, not too young though, passable looks, undemanding... what else?

What about money?

Rufus shrugged his shoulders: Don’t worry about that, it’s really not a consideration.  Mr Green nodded; what else could he do.  If I can have a shortlist by next week...  that’ll be all for now. 

As he made his way back to his office, he tried to formulate a plan about how to meet these latest demands.  He tried to push any thought about the potential bride’s fate from his mind.  If he had a daughter, he would not have wished for her name to be on that list.

By the time his man of business had left, Rufus had forgotten all about Margaret and her absent nurse.  His mind was focussed on the conversation he just had with Mr Green; to all intents and purposes he had just ordered a selection of potential wives to be presented for his perusal and selection.  And all of a sudden he wasn’t completely convinced that this was the