A Suitable Match: Historical Romance (The Marstone Series Book 2) Read online

  A Suitable Match

  Jayne Davis

  Copyright © 2020 by Jayne Davis

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or copied to other people. If you would like to share this book, please buy an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not buy it (or it was not bought for you as a gift), then please buy your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Manuscript Development: Elizabeth Bailey

  Copyediting & proofreading: Sue Davison

  Cover design: P Johnson

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my critique partners on Scribophile for comments and suggestions, particularly Kim, David N, Jim, Daphne and Alex.

  Thanks also to Alpha readers Tina, Lynden, David F, Helen and Mary, and Beta readers Judy, Dawn, Trudy, Cilla, Susan, Wendy, Kristen, Marcia, Doris, Melanie and Leigh.

  Contents

  Map

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Historical notes

  Afterword

  The Marstone Series

  Also by Jayne Davis

  About the Author

  Map

  Some places in southern England mentioned in the text. Fictional locations are underlined.

  Prologue

  Marstone House, London, April 1780

  Nicholas Carterton breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall and the butler closed the dining room door. What had his father been thinking of to suggest an alliance with the Earl of Marstone’s family? Dinner had been tedious in the extreme, with Marstone sitting like a fat toad at the head of the table pontificating about the conduct of the war in the Americas. It hadn’t been a conversation—Marstone had required only agreement. No amount of political influence was worth connecting their family with such a man, even if Nick’s views had matched Marstone’s.

  Marstone’s twin daughters had been too cowed to speak at all—so much so that he wasn’t even sure which of the two young women his father had suggested as a potential bride. He’d claimed a prior arrangement as soon as the ladies left the room. At least the evening wouldn’t be completely wasted—he could get back to his translation of Plutarch. Even checking household accounts would have been more entertaining.

  He examined a portrait while he waited for someone to fetch his coat and hat. A previous earl, he guessed, in a long wig and lace collar of the last century. The features bore some resemblance to Marstone, although this forebear was considerably slimmer.

  “Psst!”

  Nick spun around. A door opposite the portrait was ajar, and a hand poked through the gap, beckoning. A female hand.

  “Hurry!” The word was no less commanding for being spoken in a whisper.

  Intrigued, he obeyed. The parlour into which he stepped was cold and dim, lit only by a pair of candles on a table. He made out only a small figure, clad in a plain gown, moving further into the room. Once close to the light, he could see from her features she must be another Marstone daughter, much younger than the twins.

  “Mr Carterton,” she started in a loud whisper. “You are Mr Carterton, aren’t you?”

  “I am ind—”

  “Shh.” She waved a hand at him. “We must not be discovered here. Papa would—”

  “Who are you?” As instructed, he whispered the words. He had as little wish as she for discovery, but he suspected their reasons were different. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be in the schoolroom?”

  “I’m sixteen in a week,” she hissed. “I cannot help being short!”

  Not so much younger, then. “My apologies, Lady…What is your name?”

  “Isabella. I’m Lizzie’s sister. You mustn’t offer for her—she doesn’t want to marry you.”

  “How flattering.” He tried to keep the amusement from his voice—it was clear that she was serious. “She can always decline.”

  “No, she can’t—you don’t know our father. He would make her accept.”

  Amazing, the force she could put into a mere whisper.

  “You haven’t already offered, have you? Please say you haven’t!”

  “I have not,” he admitted.

  “And will you promise that you will not? Please, sir, you cannot want a wife who does not want you.”

  “I do not, but we hardly know each other yet.”

  “How could you?” she asked. “I expect Papa talked all through dinner.”

  “He did. And attempted give me orders, as you are doing.”

  “I’m doing it for Lizzie’s benefit. And yours!” Her hand flew to her mouth—she must have realised how loudly she had spoken.

  “Is he marrying off your other sister, too?” Nick whispered the question. It had been unfair of him to liken her to her father.

  “He is making arrangements with Lord Drayton for Theresa.”

  Drayton? A drunkard who spent most of his days on a racecourse or at prize fights, and his evenings at cards or dice.

  “Will is trying to stop him,” the little spitfire went on.

  “Who is Will?”

  “Our brother, Lord Wingrave.” Her chin lifted. “He’ll stop you as well.”

  “Is that a threat, Lady Isabella?”

  She glared at him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight, then she looked away, her shoulders slumping. “No, it is not a threat. I just thought that if you were a decent—”

  “Lady Isabella, I will not offer for your sister.” He should not tease her any longer.

  “—man you would…” Her downturned mouth transformed to an uncertain smile. “Oh… thank you. I am—”

  This time the interruption was a shaft of light from the opening doorway. Nick grabbed the candlestick, the flames flickering from his sudden movement.

  “Under the table,” he whispered, moving towards the door as he spoke, hoping his movement would conceal the rustle of her skirts.

  “Sir, what are you doing in here?” The butler stepped through the doorway. “I thought I heard voices?”

  “Merely looking around,” Nick said, walking past him into the hall, blowing out the candles as he went. “I need my coat and hat, if you please.” It was unfair to be brusque, but he didn’t want the man investigating the parlour until Lady Isabella had had time to escape.

  That glimpse of her ducking beneath the table would amuse him for some time.

  Chapter 1

  Marstone Park, Hertfordshire, June 1782

  Lady Isabella Stanlake, the youngest daughter of the Earl of Marstone, stared disconsolately at the fine drops misting the outside of her bedroom window. The park was too familiar, too controlled—like everything to do with her father. Low box hedges made intricate, neatly clipped patterns in the formal garden next to the h
ouse, with few flowers to show the changing seasons. The isolated trees in the parkland and the long curve of the drive were the only irregular features. Her father had made the gardens as tedious as he’d made her life.

  Bella turned at a knock on the door, ready to welcome any distraction from her boredom.

  “How is your mother, Molly?” she asked. “Did you enjoy your afternoon?”

  The maid’s plump face beamed. “She’s much better, thank you, my lady. We had a nice talk. She’s taking in sewing again now the curate got her them spectacles.”

  “That’s good.” She’d never spoken to any of Molly’s family, and likely never would, but she’d learned more of life beyond Marstone Park from her maid than she would ever have done from her governess. And hearing Molly chatter on about her family, their hopes and fears, was almost as good as having a friend to talk to.

  Almost.

  “It’s time to get ready for dinner, my lady. You’re to put a decent gown on to dine with his lordship and Lady Cerney.”

  Bella sighed, meeting the maid’s sympathetic gaze. “Let us choose a gown, then.”

  It didn’t take long, for beyond the plain round gowns she wore daily she had few that still fitted her. The last social events she’d attended were dinners with their nearest neighbours, last year. She’d grown since then, but more outwards than upwards, sadly. At eighteen, she still only came up to the mark on the nursery wall that her sisters had reached at fifteen.

  “This should do nicely, my lady,” Molly said, holding up a robe à l’anglais in yellow and white stripes. “The stomacher’s wide enough to fit without having to lace you too tight. Pity that blue gown’s too small now—that went lovely with your eyes.”

  “Molly, is there any gossip in the servants’ hall about why my aunt has come?” Bella hardly knew Aunt Aurelia. She’d seen none of her family since her twin sisters had been taken to London the previous year to have their seasons under the chaperonage of Aunt Honora. Now they were both married and hadn’t been back to Marstone Park. And her brother—Will, Lord Wingrave—was not allowed on the estate.

  “Not yet, my lady. I’ll be sure to let you know if there is. But Langton says the butler was told a few days ago to send folks to London to open up Marstone House.”

  Bella felt a sudden spark of excitement—had Aunt Aurelia been summoned to supervise her season? After Lizzie and Theresa had made what her father regarded as unsuitable alliances, she had worried that she might not get a season at all. Papa was as likely to arrange a marriage for her with someone she’d never seen.

  Molly broke off from pinning up Bella’s hair. “I got this for you, my lady.” She fished a slim packet from the front of her stays.

  A letter! Bella took it eagerly, forgetting her speculation for the moment. “How long have you had this, Molly?”

  The maid ignored the reproach in her voice. “Langton only just gave it to me, my lady. One of the grooms went over to Nether Minster on his day off yesterday.” She met Bella’s eyes in the mirror with a cheeky grin. “Didn’t want you trying to read it while I was dressing you!”

  Bella returned the smile, thankful that there were enough servants like Molly, Langton and the groom willing to help her.

  The letter was from Lizzie, and was full of the usual domestic news—balls and assemblies on visits to York, dinners with neighbours when they were at home near Harrogate, her pleasure at being out and about now that she was recovered from the birth of little Edward.

  Bella let her hands drop to her lap. Although she was happy for Lizzie, her sister’s happiness only emphasised her own frustrated loneliness. Theresa didn’t have any children yet, but Will had two daughters now. She hadn’t seen either of her nieces or her nephew, or even Lady Wingrave, and wasn’t likely to be allowed to until she married. Even then, if her husband was of her father’s choosing, she might still be kept away from the rest of her family. Anyone Papa approved of was likely to disapprove of Will.

  “There, my lady.”

  Molly had piled her hair high with a few ringlets hanging down the back. “Thank you, Molly. That looks very well.”

  “Dinner’s in half an hour, my lady. But best to hide that soon in case someone comes for you early.”

  Bella folded the letter—Molly was right. She crossed to the bed and knelt on it, pulling up the curtain that fell from the top frame to behind the wooden headboard. The letter went next to all the others in a pocket she’d sewn at the base of the curtain. No-one would think to look there—she hoped.

  “Molly, can Langton listen at the door?”

  “I already suggested that, my lady.”

  “Well, she’s a little dab of a thing, isn’t she?” Lady Cerney ran her gaze from the top of Bella’s head to her feet.

  Bella pressed her lips together as she made her curtsey. Most adults were taller than she was, but she didn’t need reminding of the fact.

  The gold silk of her aunt’s gown was embroidered with large, intricate swirls of flowers in shades of red and pink. She wore her hair well powdered and dressed high, threaded with a string of rubies that matched the larger stones around her neck. Her eyes and mouth displayed the beginnings of wrinkles, despite the powder and paint on her face.

  “Stand up, girl, and let me get a look at you.”

  Bella’s glance slid to her father as Aunt Aurelia walked around her, resisting the impulse to raise her chin. Her aunt sounded far too much like her father, and she’d learned years ago that life was easier if she hid her resentment.

  “She’ll do,” was her aunt’s final verdict.

  Do? For what?

  The earl struggled to his feet. Bella hadn’t seen her father for over a month, despite living in the same house, and he seemed to get rounder and redder in the face at each encounter. He hobbled across the room, leaning on a cane and breathing heavily.

  “Dinner should be ready,” was all he said as he left the room, not even glancing at Bella. Aunt Aurelia’s expression turned to a scowl as they followed him.

  Her aunt talked about her daughters as they ate. She was only a year or two younger than the earl, and her offspring were well into their thirties now, with children of their own. Bella hadn’t met any of them and found it difficult to take an interest. Her father wasn’t even pretending to converse, merely eating his way through the food piled high on his plate, impatiently tapping his glass whenever he emptied it.

  Aunt Aurelia finally steered the conversation to Bella. “How is your education coming along, Isabella?”

  Bella laid her fork down. ‘Tediously’ wouldn’t be acceptable as an answer. “You would have to ask Miss Fothergill about my progress, my lady.”

  “I will.” Her aunt nodded. “What does your governess teach you?”

  Nothing particularly interesting. “French, deportment, embroidery, painting, piano, harp, and singing.”

  “Not the art of conversation, clearly. What about dancing?”

  “There is no-one with whom to practise, my lady.”

  “Hmm.” Aunt Aurelia turned to the earl. “The task may not be as easy as you made out. I cannot introduce her properly if she cannot dance.”

  Introduce? Bella toyed with her food to hide her mounting interest. It sounded as though she might be allowed to go into society—at last, a chance to meet more people. But it was too soon to get excited; Aunt Aurelia might just be here to take her to someone her father had arranged for her to marry.

  “Get a dancing master,” the earl said, his face settling into a scowl. “You and I will continue this discussion in the blue parlour, Aurelia.” He signalled to a footman, who hurried forward to move the chair as he stood. “Come along.” He hobbled out, in spite of the fact that the two women still had food on their plates.

  “Am I dismissed?” Bella’s appetite had gone.

  Aunt Aurelia’s expression softened a little. “If you have finished eating, yes. I will speak to you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Aunt.”

  Bell
a returned to her room and rang the bell for Molly, her feelings in turmoil. Soon, she would get to see places and people beyond Marstone Park, but if her father chose someone like himself as her husband, she would be no better off. Worse, as there would be little hope for the future…

  She must let her brother know about her father’s plans—she would need Will’s help if she wanted to have any say at all in her marriage. But there was a more urgent task.

  “My lady?” Molly slipped into the room as Bella started to remove the pins holding her stomacher in place.

  “Molly, find my disguise—I want to listen at the service door in the blue parlour, but I can’t risk getting seen in the corridors in my normal clothes.”

  “Langton will be serving there, my lady,” Molly said as she unearthed a bundle of dark clothing from the bottom of the clothes press and shook it out.

  “Papa will send him out,” Bella pointed out. “You’ll need to show me the way, though—I’ve only listened at the library door before.”

  “Yes, my lady.” Molly helped her off with her gown and into a drab grey garment such as all the female servants wore. “I’ll come back and make it look like you’ve gone to bed with a headache,” the maid said as she twisted Bella’s hair into a simple knot and covered it with a voluminous cap. “I’ll bring a tisane up and say you’re not to be disturbed.”

  A servants’ stair opened off the corridor. Bella followed Molly down it, taking a couple of turns through narrow, stone-flagged passageways before the maid slowed and held a finger to her lips. The corridor was dim, patches of darkness filling the gaps between the lamps, but a sliver of light ahead showed a door left ajar.