C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 19

Greys attempted to catch an hour or two of sleep but, plagued by a sense of urgency, gave up in favor of tending to business. And if he was going to have to deal with unpleasant affairs, he might as well do so in style.

With that in mind, after bathing, Greys dressed in his favorite waistcoat—a royal blue silk, matched with a navy-blue jacket, pristine linen shirt, and elaborately tied cravat.

With his valet’s assistance, of course.

The ensemble almost had him feeling like himself.

As Lord Huntly was not known for being an early riser, Greys considered it best to delay meeting with the earl until one that afternoon. Waking the man before he was ready to face the day, would only add insult to injury.

Forced to wait, Greys spent what remained of the morning in his observatory, distracting himself by using the Stellar Parallax method on his recently collected data. Unfortunately, even the beauty of that magnificent equation wasn’t enough to make the morning pass faster than a snail’s pace.

What was Diana doing? The Ravensdale’s were hosting their annual ball that evening. Was she bathing and preening and resting, preparing to dance the night away?

He ought to have reserved a set with her—two sets: a waltz and the supper dance.

That sense of urgency where she was concerned rose again, and when, at only quarter past noon, he realized his computations weren’t making any sense, he decided to take his chances early with Huntly.

And as luck would have it, the earl had had an early appointment that morning. So as Huntly’s butler escorted Greys into the man’s study, Lady Isabella’s father crossed the room, hand outstretched, looking excessively pleased with the visit.

“An unexpected pleasure, Greystone.” The man gripped Grey’s hand firmly, with a good deal of enthusiasm. “Have a seat, my good man.”

Greys ignored the invitation and instead planted his feet wide, clasping his hands behind his back. “You may not think so after I tell you why I’ve come.” He had no wish to draw out this meeting.

“I’m sure there’s nothing we can’t work out.” Even Grey’s sobering words failed to subdue the earl’s enthusiasm. “What can I do for you, Greys?” Lord Huntly propped his backside against his desk, a slight narrowing of his eyes being the only indication that he might be braced for bad news.

“I will not be marrying your daughter.” Greys wouldn’t beat around the bush. He had not signed any contracts, he’d not made any promises, but even so, he’d sought permission to court the girl, giving her father every reason to believe those promises would come.

Huntly’s knuckles, Greys noticed, had turned white where he gripped the edge of his desk. “We had an agreement.” The man said.

Greys shook his head. “It was preliminary.” Which was true, but… “I apologize if this causes your family any embarrassment.”

Greys had not, however, given his word, and he resented the implication that he had.

“A match between you and Lady Isabella will eclipse every other marriage this year. But, surely, this is merely a case of cold feet?” The earl laughed uncomfortably.

“I’m afraid this goes well beyond cold feet.” Greys exhaled. This would have been so much easier if only the earl’s wife and daughter hadn’t prematurely announced the tentative agreement to all the Ton.

Even easier if Greys hadn’t gone to Huntly in the first place.

“People are going to believe my daughter has done something to give you cause to cry off.” Huntly was scowling now, giving up any pretense of amicability. “Your failure to uphold your word will make her the laughingstock of the season.”

Something of an exaggeration, although there was a hint of truth there. “I’ll ensure it is known far and wide that the fault lies with me.”

Huntly stared at Greys suspiciously. “Might I enquire as to your reason, my lord? Surely I deserve to know why you would take such unprecedented steps as to break your word.”

It wasn’t any of Huntly’s business, but the earl would find out eventually—once Greys announced his engagement to Diana.

“I’ve decided on another bride.”

At the slamming of Huntly’s fist on his desk, Greys merely flicked his wrist, staring at the lace reaching out of the sleeve of his jacket.

“Surely not one of Chaswick’s bastard sisters?” A bitterness Greys hadn’t expected vibrated from the gentleman whom Greys had imagined he’d establish a permanent alliance. “My countess said you were sniffing around the younger one.”

In response, Greys merely plucked his fingertips at the lace on his sleeve. “You will watch what you say about the Baron’s sisters.” Even if Greys didn’t intend to marry Diana, he’d not have allowed anyone to speak like this about the family of one of his oldest friends.

“You’re making a mistake, Greystone. Marry well and then keep Chaswick’s sister on the side. To imagine the Ton will accept her as your marchioness is the height of foolishness. Your grandfather would have disowned you for this.”

“With all due respect, Huntly. It’s not up to you to presume to speak for my grandfather.” Greys straightened. The man was wrong, anyhow. Disowning an heir to a title was not even legal. “This meeting is over.”

“I’ll sue you for this.” Huntly threatened.

“Feel free to contact my solicitors at the offices of Stuart and Lords on Bond Street.” Greys executed an exaggerated bow. “And please extend my sincere apologies to Lady Isabella.”

And with that, he let himself out, not even stopping to allow the anxious manservant to hold the door.

That meeting had been uglier than he’d imagined. And with it behind him, that uncomfortable sense of urgency ought to have disappeared.

It had not, however. A glance at his fob watch revealed that it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. Greys pivoted, and not taking even a moment to reconsider his decision, set himself in the direction of South Audley and Mount Street.

“Good day, my lord.”Mr. Ingles held the door for Greystone and then led him directly to Chaswick’s study.

“You’re looking unusually magnificent today.” Chaswick glanced up from his desk; a towel draped around his neck as though he’d just completed one of his constitutional jogs around Mayfair. “Didn’t expect to see you until the Ball tonight.”

Greys nodded and rolled his lips together, contemplating his choice of words. By all rights, Chaswick ought to be perfectly understanding considering he’d ruined Lady Bethany. Ironic, somewhat, that it had been Chaswick who’d compromised Westerley’s sister.

Greys reached into his pocket and extended one of the finest cigars to be bought in all of London. Chaswick and Westerley were no longer on the outs with one another, but their truce hadn’t come until after meeting in the park at dawn.

The baron raised his brows but accepted the gift without question.

“I have a serious matter to discuss with you.” Greys began.

“Nothing grim, I hope?” Chaswick’s easy manner in the face of adversity was one of the characteristics Greys had always appreciated about him. He hoped such good humor extended to where his sisters were concerned.

“Has Blackheart’s charade been discovered?” Chase asked.

“Nothing like that.”

Chaswick glanced around and then gestured for Greys to take a seat. “I hope you don’t mind if I light up now. How about you? Cigar? Scotch?”

“I don’t mind, actually.” Greys chose a cheroot from the humidor while Chaswick removed a decanter from his liquor shelf.

The next few moments were spent stoking perfect orange and red embers and also comparing Chaswick’s stash of scotch with the blends introduced to them by Lady Westerley’s father—both of which were immensely satisfying.

“Very well, Greys.” Chase placed his half-empty tumbler back onto his desk, leaned back, and inhaled a puff. “What’s on your mind?”

Uncomfortable for the first time since he’d arrived, Greys tugged at his sleeve and swallowed around a lump that had not been in his throat a moment before. “I find myself in an unexpected situation.”

Was that what one called this? Chaswick waited quietly.

“Nothing that isn’t easily remedied,” Greys added.

Wasn’t that what Huntly had just told him?

Greys ought to be able to resolve all of this without difficulty. Or he hoped so, anyway. All he needed was Chaswick’s permission to propose and then Diana’s acceptance of that proposal. Greys hunched his shoulders forward and nearly gave in to the urge to crack his neck.

Something Westerley did that Greys normally abhorred.

“How can I be of help?” Chase leaned forward.

“Grant me permission to offer for your sister.” No point in delaying the inevitable.

“I’m going to assume you are referring to Diana?” Chaswick leveled his gaze on Greys. “Seeing as you’ve disappeared alone with her more than once this past week.”

Greys hadn’t realized Chaswick had noticed.

“And considering that my manservant followed her to your house, where she spent most of the early hours of the morning last night.” Chase lifted his fob watch and frowned. “I was expecting you to put in an appearance hours ago.”

Damn and blast. On the one hand, Greys was mildly disturbed that his friend fully comprehended the nature of his request; on the other, he was relieved to know she hadn’t made her way alone to Knight House unguarded.

The notion had been a horrific one.

Greys dropped his gaze to the glow on his cigar, ignoring the instinct to deny that anything untoward had happened. He and Chase had known one another too long for him to put forth such a blatant falsehood.

Although best not to share any details.

“She’ll not want for anything,” Greys began making his case. “You know that. And I’ll consider it my greatest privilege to see to her happiness. She’ll have free rein decorating, shopping—all of it.”

“Good Lord, man, are you trying to sell me a horse, or do you genuinely care for my sister?” Cigar forgotten, Chaswick rose from his desk to walk to the window. “I won’t bother asking if you love her. You’ve been honest enough on that count. Unless you’ve since seen the error of your ways?”

Greys had spoken of his disdain for the romantic emotion on several occasions. But staring at Chaswick’s back, Greys nearly recanted his former opinion.

Had he? Changed his mind about love, that was?

Chase turned around and propped his backside against the windowsill. “Diana wanted first to be a dancer. She insisted it was her dream.” The baron shook his head. “She required rather a lot of convincing from Bethany but was eventually persuaded that when two people are right for one another, neither need worry about giving up their interests or their passions. Because it would be part of what drew them together in the first place.”

Greys stiffened. “I’ll ensure she has every opportunity to advance her interests,” he said. “Within reason.”

“That’s the tricky part, Greys.” Chase removed the towel from around his neck. “Diana and Collette aren’t like other debutantes. They’ve seen the world from a different paradigm; therefore, they don’t think the same as you and I”

“I realize this.” Greys held his stoic demeanor even as something inside surged unexpectedly. “That’s…part of her charm,” he admitted.

Diana’s perspective on life excited him, dash it all. More than it ought to have. With a bit of training and a guiding hand, she would make a suitable marchioness.

“So long as you aren’t of a mind to change her.” Chaswick scowled.

“Not change, her—improve her.”

“Then my answer is no.”

“Damn your eyes, Chaswick,” Greys' demeanor broke. “I’ve ruined her. I’m here to do the proper thing. Even now, it’s possible…” He tugged at the lace on his wrist and was chagrined when it ripped right off the end of his sleeve. Bunching it into his fist, he shook his head and got to the point. “We don’t have a choice here.” This meeting was urgent because he’d made it so.

He sent Chase an exasperated look, but his friend ignored it.

“As long as I have breath in my body, my sisters will always have a choice.” Gone was the even-tempered gentleman who’d offered him the cigar. “Diana doesn’t need improvement. She’s perfect just as she is, and if that’s not good enough for you, I’m withholding my permission for you to offer for her.”

“I know she’s perfect.” Greys erupted again. “She’s a god damn goddess.” The words might as well have strangled him. “But that’s not the sort of woman one makes into his marchioness.” Wasn’t it? When had his thinking become so muddied?

“Then why are you here?”

Greys was no longer sitting but pacing back and forth across the study. “Because it’s the right thing to do. I’m not about to leave her unprotected. You more than anyone ought to understand that.”

Anyone else and this meeting would have been over ten minutes ago. Greys would have followed her brother into the drawing-room, dropped onto one knee, and the lady would have accepted his formal proposal most graciously.

Greys inhaled and summoned one of the last rational thoughts he could find in his befuddled brain.

“I don’t want to change her.” He tossed the damn lace across the room. “I want to protect her.”

Chaswick narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

“I doubt I could change her even if I wanted to. What I mean by improving her is—that I want to arm her. I want to provide her with the tools she’ll need to not only manage the responsibilities as my wife but to… excel in every aspect.” And by God, as Greys spoke, he could picture her reigning over the Ton. With her beauty, charisma, and the right amount of polish, no one would dare question her place in society.

And Grey’s life wouldn’t be the anemic existence he’d anticipated if he had gone ahead with his plans to marry Lady Isabella.

Which was unnerving, but more importantly, exciting as hell.

“Much better.” Chase reached for his forgotten cigar as though Greys hadn’t just expressed a most profound epiphany. “I’ll have Bethany send for her. Shall we discuss contracts then?”