Page 24 of Maid for the Marquess

“She knows nothing of me. The person I am. She will undoubtedly need some of her worries laid to rest. You would be the person she might ask. I give you leave to tell her your thoughts on my, ah, character,” I said with a small smirk.

“I shall indeed,” she replied with a lift of her eyebrow. “I shall tell her how you muck in the fields and track dirt across my freshly washed floors. That you roam around without a proper cravat.” Her tone softened. “That you treat your servants and tenants with a respect and kindness that very few men of your station would ever think to do. I will tell her how respected and well thought of you are—despite these minor unconventional behaviors you have.”

I chuckled at her speech. I was rather eccentric, but I believed life was short and should be enjoyed. And if one could not do so in their own home, where could they? Besides, she knew I was fond of her, and she felt the same of me. I had no qualms in letting her speak to Madeleine.

“Thank you, Mrs. Dougall.”

She departed, and I leaned back in my chair. Once I convinced Madeleine to join me for dinner, I would have a greater task to convince her to marry me. I was only hoping that she, too, would be happy with my decision.

CHAPTER 9

MADELEINE

Istared at the note, reading and rereading the dark, masculine scrawl. The written words both thrilled me and filled me with dread.

Madeleine—

I request your presence in the library this evening for dinner.

Please know it matters not to me what you wear—a potato sack borrowed from the kitchen would be lovely if you donned it. But I believe a solution is at hand.

We shall eat later, as you may rest. Please join me at seven. We have much to discuss.

Yours,

Alexander

Much to discuss.

Yours, Alexander.

He believed himself to be mine? That I was his, then?

His announcement before his footman opened the door of the carriage drifted through my mind continuously. I could not stop thinking of it.

When he had simply informed me he wished to marry me, I was speechless. Certain it was but a cruel jest on his part.

Except the way he looked at me—his dark gaze all at once sincere and intense—I knew he was not jesting. I had never had a man stare at me the way he did. Bold. Decisive. In command.

Making me breathless and want things I did not comprehend nor was able to understand.

But I knew this. Lord Wheaton was not a cruel man. After the time we had spent in the carriage, I knew that with an absolute certainty. The way he had spoken of his estate, his regard for the land and his farmers. His worry over his horse. He never complained about how much pain he had to be in, only accepting my attempts to ease it with a warm, genuine smile of gratitude. He was polite and honest with his emotion when he thanked me for the small repast I had thought to bring him. Praised my talent for drawing. Asked me question after question about my life. His open disdain for my father made me want to laugh. He was amusing, and his unfiltered words were as accurate as they were scandalous.

Yet, they made me feel better on some level I could not identify. And he seemed to regard me with respect and perhaps a little admiration.

I knew I admired him. He was rakishly handsome. I loved the way he wore his hair—far too long to be fashionable, yet I sensed he cared not a whit for others’ opinions. It suited him, and I wondered how he would look with it loose. I could see the waves in the thick brown strands, and I felt the urge to touch them and ascertain if they were as soft as they appeared to be. He smelled of fresh air and cut grass—rich and lush in the sun. I couldn’t stop staring at his broad shoulders, the sheer size of him dwarfing me.

Yet I was not afraid to be alone with him.

But…marriage? To me?

Why would he desire such a thing? I was certain he could have any woman he set his eyes on.

I was nothing. A nobody. A discarded daughter of a baron who was cruel and unjust. Disliked and unrespected by many. I had heard the other servants talk. Caught whispers of the many rumors of his debts and dishonor. Deep in my own heart, I was embarrassed to be associated with him and grateful I was only thought of as a servant by most people.

Why would Lord Wheaton want me?

A knock brought me from my confused thoughts, and I crossed the room, opening the door. Mrs. Dougall bustled in, fabric draped over her arm, a small bundle clutched in the other.