All's Fair in Love and Debauchery Page 2

  The house was one of the finest in the country—a place even kings had commented upon.

  And he damn well loathed the place.

  Ignoring the road that led toward the house, Theo followed a barely-there path that cut through the oak trees surrounding the house. Once upon a time, the track would have been more visible, but it had been many years since he and his siblings had run along it and played hide and seek in the woods. It would still eventually lead him to the house, but it would give him some time.

  He smirked to himself. Time. Something of which he never had enough. And, yet, now that he had to stay here, he would have far too much of it. Yes, it would allow him to manage estate business and take a good look at their finances. With this promised inheritance—so long as they received it—he would be able clear some of the debt hanging over the estate and take another look at their investments. With any luck, before the estate passed on to his younger brother Seth, his inheritance would be entirely safe.

  He should go directly to the house, really. It would be better to get this over and done with. He had not set foot in the rooms in that house since the death of Julia. Though he tried to think as little as possible of that woman, there was no escaping the legacy she left behind. Once he stepped foot in Eastbrook Manor, there would be no escaping her at all. Her touches would still be upon the house, and memories of their early courtship lingered. It was much easier to escape it in London.

  Theo took the time to enjoy the sunlight on his face, feeling as though he was taking his last breaths as a free man. It glinted through the canopy of the trees, touching his skin before vanishing again. He allowed himself a smile as he recalled running through these woods with his sisters and brother. There were certainly times when he wished he could go back to that time—a time when he had little idea what the responsibilities of the marquis would be. A time before Julia.

  He emerged out of the woods to come upon the slightly more formal gardens. There were planted gardens to the right of the house, and though this area looked wilder, he knew that this part of the garden had been very carefully planned by the famous Capability Brown.

  A folly sat upon the mount up ahead whilst the lawns curved down toward the house. A path weaved its way toward a long pond. The fountain was not running today, but when it did, it reached heights that almost no other fountain in the country could. His father had spared no expense on the gardens, but it was not something Theo could ever hope to improve upon. They were lucky he had not been forced to sell off any land or antiquities yet, but it was only because of his time and dedication to ensuring every investment they made performed to its fullest.

  Sunlight glinted off the pond, obscuring his vision of the house slightly for a moment. For a moment, he thought they had swans living on the water, but when he put a hand to his face and squinted, he realized it was no swan, but a woman in white. She emerged from the water, oblivious to his approaching presence. If this were how things were run while he was away, he should be grateful to his grandfather for sending him back. Apparently, the servants were using the pond as a bath.

  The woman turned and froze, he was not close enough to see whether the color had drained from her face, but she certainly seemed shocked to be caught. She remained frozen in place, both hands clasped to her cheeks. He regretted that he had not pretended he had not seen her.

  Especially when he realized who she was.

  Most especially when he noticed that the white was a slip of fabric that was now curved and wet, molding to a slightly rounded belly and breasts that would make even the most pious of men distracted.

  Miss Lucy Jameson remained frozen. She had still yet to remove her hands from her face. There was indeed no color in her cheeks, and her lips were parted. With the water darkening her red hair, he had almost not recognized her. Of course, it had been over five years since he had last seen his ward. She would be nineteen now—an adult. When he had last stepped foot in this place, she had been a mere child.

  The years had been kind to her. Too kind. With water trickling down a petite nose that was scattered with freckles, and wide eyes framed with thick dark lashes, she looked as though she belonged in a painting that should be hung on one of the walls in the house.

  This was no child anymore.

  And this was most inappropriate.

  “I did not think you were arriving until tomorrow,” she said breathlessly.

  Theo had to force his gaze not to drop to the enticing picture below her neckline. “I finished my business early. There seemed no point in delaying.”

  “I wish I had known. That is… Well, we would be more ready for you. Not that the house is not ready. Of course, it is always ready for guests. I make sure of that.” She drew a breath. “I always like to have things ready, you see. We have meals planned every day, and the bedrooms are always made up. You’ll see.” She beamed at him, finally dropping her hands from her face. “But of course, I would not be…um…taking a swim had I known you would be arriving.”

  He could not help but allow himself a slightly tilted smile. Miss Jameson had always been one for talking, and apparently, the years had not changed that. “Do you always swim in the pond?”

  “It is important for one to exercise, do you not think? I am not much of a rider, so I choose to swim.”

  “And this is something you do every day?”

  Why he wanted to know that, he did not know. Perhaps it was so he could avoid running into her like this again. A little, dangerous voice at the back of his mind told him it was because he hoped to catch her like this again.

  He tried to shake away the thoughts. This was a woman under his protection—his ward. He and his wife had taken her into their care when she was only thirteen. He had not much thought about what it would be like to have a ward, but her parents had been close friends with his wife’s family, and it seemed the done thing.

  For the most part, Miss Jameson asked for little. He sent money to keep the house running.

  Well, he hoped all was well. From his letters from the estate manager, things seemed to be running smoothly. How much he could expect from a nineteen-year-old girl, he did not know, but he trusted his estate manager and housekeeper to guarantee the house ran as it should.

  The trouble was, he had half-forgotten she was going to be here. Or, at least, that she would not be more than a child running around, ignoring him. This was no child. He allowed himself a quick glance down, before forcing his gaze immediately back up. The image would haunt him for far too long, he was certain.

  If she noticed his attention, she did not reveal it. That wide, guileless smile was far too trusting, far too innocent. She would know that to be caught like this was inappropriate, but he doubted she had any idea the impact she might have on him—on any man. Out here in the country, Miss Jameson was protected and isolated.

  That was his fault, he knew that much. He should have brought her to London and had her introduced to society. But he had been too busy to even think about such matters, let alone how he was going to fund her debut.

  “I was just walking to the house. It has been awhile since I have seen the gardens,” he explained.

  She nodded eagerly. “We have been taking care of them well. As you can see, everything is very much as it was before you left.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Indeed, it was as though five years had not even passed. If it were not for this sudden flourish into womanhood from Miss Jameson, he would think it had been mere months. Everything looked just as it was.

  “You have had a long journey. No doubt you are tired. Let us get back to the house and I shall change, and I can appraise you of all that has been happening.”

  “All that has been happening,” he echoed.

  “Well, nothing drastic. But I have had to make a few changes. The wallpaper in the drawing room was peeling, for example. We had it decorated beautifully with silk. And, of course, a few of the furnishings needed to be changed due to age. Oh, you might recall we also had that little leak in the roof. That was repaired a few months ago. Mr. Stanton no doubt detailed all this in his letters to you.”

  “Yes…” he said vaguely.

  If he was honest, he had hardly paid attention to the letters from Mr. Stanton. If the house crumbled, he could not bring himself to care. Though he should. Eastbrook had been in the family for hundreds of years, and it was his duty to ensure that it remained standing for another hundred more. He peered at Miss Jameson as they walked back to the house, who was apparently oblivious as to her sodden and far too revealing state and rather too excited to have him back. He could not fathom why.

  Theo followed her into the house, averting his gaze from her rear as they made their way up the steps. He curled his fists and blew out a heated breath. This was going to be a long two months.

  Chapter Three

  The butler would kill her, but Lucy could not resist tweaking the cutlery ever so slightly. Everything had to be perfect. Of course, Mr. Barnes would say that everything was perfect. But everything had to be better than perfect.

  Now that the marquis was home, she had to show what a fine job she had been doing. Over the past five years she had been living alone here, she had gradually taken on more and more duties until she was practically the mistress of the house. It had been no easy task to take on a household as big as this, but she had loved the challenge. Every day there was something new with this grand old house.

  The housekeeper would tell her that the experience would be good for her—that her future husband would be grateful that she could manage things so efficiently. Lucy tried not to think about that. She never wanted to leave this house. Even if it meant marrying and gaining a house of her own.

  As far as she was concerned, this was her house. She knew every inch of it, every fleck of missing paint, every gilded mirror, every face that looked down upon her from the paintings and portraits. It might not be her family home, but it was all she had known since she was thirteen. This had been the house that she had become a woman in.

  So, it was so important that Lord Eastbrook knew she had been taking care of it.

  Lucy paced back and forth a few times in front of the window, pausing to peer out of the gardens to check that the gardeners were trimming the hedges just so. There were no footmen in the room, but the butler would return to serve them as soon as the marquis made an appearance. With just her, and occasionally her friends at this house, there had been no need for a large amount of staff to look after her. Eastbrook housed around forty servants. Still a generous amount, but the building was big and needed every hand.

  The time alone in the breakfast room was too much time to think. Too much time to worry. What if he felt she had not done a good enough job? What if he thought her a fool? If only she had noticed him sooner, she could have escaped the pond and dashed back in the house and made herself entirely presentable. As it was, he probably thought her some silly girl for swimming in the pond. Oh Lord, she really needed him to see her as something else.

  Pressing hands to her stomach, she took a deep breath and willed away the butterflies that set about in her stomach. She was not a girl anymore. And that meant no more childish infatuations. When she had arrived at Eastbrook, she had been overawed by the golden-haired marquis. He always had a ready smile and a kind word for the marchioness. Though it had been Lady Eastbrook who offered to take her in when her parents died, it had been the marquis who really had an impact on her—even if she had only been with him for a year.

  Anyway, those thoughts belonged in the past. They belonged with her youth. Yes, she still wanted to impress him, but all she wanted was for him to know that she had been looking after his house with diligence and care.

  And if he realized that, she had to hope he would not think to remove her from here. Everyone knew she was of an age to make a debut. Her lady’s maid would not cease speaking of it. The marquis’s sudden return home had everyone gossiping, and most assumed his arrival here was for her.

  That perhaps, just perhaps, he had a husband in mind for her.

  Lord, she hoped not.

  She glanced at the mantelpiece clock. She expected the marquis to arrive early and thus had been up since the early hours. An important man like him would surely attack the day early. She herself tended to rise as early as she could to get on with the day’s tasks. And yet, he had still not had breakfast.

  Another thirty minutes passed and still no sign of the marquis. Lucy huffed, eyed the perfectly set table and the food awaiting them on the side, and huffed again. She should be hungry, but her stomach was still a bunch of knots.

  She stepped out of the room and looked up and down the corridor. The butler would know where he was. Or if he was still abed. But Mr. Barnes was nowhere to be seen. One of the maids came down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and Lucy hastened over. “Have you seen the marquis? Is he still abed?”

  “Oh no, miss.” She gestured with her free hand down near the corridor. “I believe he’s in the study.”

  Lucy scowled. She knew this was his house, and he could do whatever he pleased, but she would have thought he would know to have breakfast before he started doing anything else. Striding along the corridor, she did not think to knock on the door prior to barreling into the study.

  She stilled in the doorway. His hair looked as though it had not yet been combed, and he wore only a shirt and presumably breeches beneath the desk. There was no cravat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. She forgot how to breathe. Five years had deepened the creases on his face, bringing about little lines around his eyes and one between his brows. There were slight flecks of white at his temples that could only be spotted in certain lights. She could see them now with the daylight streaming in through the window behind him.

  “Lucy?”

  “Yes?” The word came out slightly raspy. Though she was his ward, he rarely called her by her first name. She did not know if he noticed the slip, but she certainly had. So had her heart. It suddenly went to racing at the speed of galloping horses.

  “Did you want something?”

  “Oh yes.” Lucy pressed a hand briefly to her pounding heart. “It is just…well…have you eaten yet? You see, we have breakfast all ready for you. I assumed you would be hungry after yesterday’s journey. And you hardly ate a thing last night.”

  After dinner, the marquis had escaped directly to the study, and she had not seen him again until now. For all she knew, he had been in the study all night, but she certainly hoped not. Creases appeared between his brows, and she noted he looked slightly tired. Perhaps he really had spent all night here. But what was he expecting to find?

  It seemed he did not trust her to keep things running smoothly with the help of the estate manager and housekeeper. Surely, the communications over the past five years had been enough to reassure him? In fact, she hardly knew why he was here at all. He had shown no intention of ever returning home until she received a letter a few days ago announcing his intentions to stay. She had been excited initially, but now, having seen him holed up in the study surrounded by papers, she was beginning to wonder if he was not coming to check up on her as though she might have been doing something wrong.

  Lord Eastbrook kept his attention on the papers in front of him. His fingers were stained with ink. He waved a dismissive hand, which made Lucy scowl. “I’m not hungry.”

  Lucy folded her arms in front of her. “You may not think you are hungry, but one must eat. Especially if one is planning to work the whole day through.”

  His gaze lifted back to hers. The tiniest curve of his lips seemed to make her more annoyed somehow. Here she was trying her best to ensure that he was well looked after, and he did not seem to care one jot.

  “I shall come and eat as soon as I have finished these letters.” He put the quill back into the pot and peered around the study. “Just as soon as I figure out where the latest account statements are.”

  “You will find them all…” She moved around the desk and pulled open the drawer where everything was neatly organized and, she had thought, easily found. “Just here.” She motioned to the contents of the drawer with a flourish.

  The marquis peered at her for a few moments then shook his head slightly. “Good. Excellent.”

  Silence hung over them for a few moments. Lucy twined her hands together, whilst her heart pounded heavily in her ears.

  Lord Eastbrook lifted the quill from the pot and motioned to his letter. “Well, I had better…”

  She untwined her hands. “Oh, yes, of course. I shall leave you in peace. Though, if you should need anything, do let me know.” She moved to the doorway and paused, her hand to the door frame. “Do make sure you come and eat.”

  He gave a vague grunt. Which made Lucy’s frown deepen. She understood that being a marquis and all the responsibilities that came with it cut into much of one’s time, but did that also mean one lost their manners? What she remembered of the marquis from when she was first here, he always had excellent manners. It seemed the years—and she supposed the death of his wife—had changed that.

  She sighed and shut the study door, heading back to the breakfast room. Somehow, she doubted he would come and join her, so she would have someone plate up some food and take it in to him. It seemed having the marquis home would not make life any more enjoyable as she had hoped. It was not that she did not enjoy life here—after all, she had lots of good friends who visited frequently and relished living in the countryside—but she was always aware that she was a guest here, no matter how much she partook in them maintenance of the house. If she could just prove to him that she had done an excellent job, and he would acknowledge that, she would feel vastly happier.

  Pulling out a chair, she sat at the breakfast table, aware of the empty seats around her. She had asked her friends to remain away, uncertain as to whether the marquis would want any of them around the house. It had left the place quiet and empty.

  Apparently, Lord Eastbrook would not be making it feel any less lonely. She pursed her lips and took a sip of lukewarm coffee. This visit was not going as planned. And all those funny little feelings that she had had as a girl were fading rapidly. That was likely a good thing, but she could not help feel saddened. It might have been a girlish infatuation, but it had been a worthy one. She was not so certain the marquis was the same man she had admired once. The idea made her heart hurt. For her. And for him.