Page 25 of Maid for the Marquess

She laid the fabric on the bed, and I gasped when I saw what it was.

A pretty gown. Not only one. Four of them that she spread out on the mattress, then stepped back with a satisfied smile and a nod. From the bundle, she produced a smart pair of nankeen walking boots, a night rail, and some underpinnings. A proper hairbrush and a set of lovely combs.

“I believe these will fit well enough for now,” she informed me.

“I don’t understand.”

She patted the closest gown. “Lord Wheaton asked me to get you some proper-fitting clothing. The dressmaker in the village had a lady come through and order some pieces for her daughter but never returned for them. They looked to me as if they would suit for the time being.”

I blinked, running my hand over the fabric. The gloves covering my skin prevented me from feeling the soft material, but I could see they were lovely pieces. Simple but well made, with beautiful stitching and lace. I caught sight of a soft pink walking gown trimmed with passementerie at the hem, complete with a matching spencer, and a pale-jonquil muslin day gown that was spare of trimmings and perfect for the country. There was even a riding habit in Pomona green. The last one was an evening gown of deep celestial blue, stunning in the vividness of the color. It was more elegant, yet still refined, the bodice ornamented with embroidered rosebuds. I loved every single one.

“I added these as well, child,” she murmured, handing me a pair of the softest kid gloves I had ever beheld in an ivory color trimmed in a rich brown. “The master said you always wear gloves. These are lighter than what I think you have and would be more comfortable.”

I stared down at the gifts laid out before me. I had been still a child the last time I was given a new dress to wear. My own boots. Fresh underpinnings.

I looked around the room, the rose-covered walls feminine and elegant. The comfortable bed and the large armchair where I could soak up the heat of the fire that was banked low at the moment. The long and beautifully scented bath I had been allowed to relax in at my leisure earlier. I could scarcely believe all this was happening.

“Am I dreaming?” I whispered.

Mrs. Dougall smiled. “I think perhaps, my dear, you are finally waking up from a long, bad dream.”

I caught my lip in my teeth, worrying the flesh. I met her eyes, and she nodded slightly, seeing my question.

“Ask me,” she instructed.

“Have you known Lord Wheaton a long time?”

“Yes. I came here as a maid in my young years. He was a lad. Eventually, he became the marquess and made me his housekeeper. My husband is the head gardener and keeps a small cottage on the property, and I join him there when I’m able. We are fortunate Lord Wheaton has made an exception for us.”

I knew how rare it was for a housekeeper to marry, let alone live at the same estate as her husband. It was another example of the marquess’s generosity of spirit, and I was heartened by Mrs. Dougall’s revelations.

“Is he—is he a good man?” I asked, my heart thumping in my chest so loudly, I was certain she could hear it.

“He is. He is a kind and generous employer. Strict but fair.” She smiled as she shook out a gown, holding it up to me with a satisfied look. “He has a reputation for being cold and aloof, but to those closest to him, he is not.”

I recalled seeing him for the first time. The fear I felt at his regard. His stern expression and the way his lips turned down as he studied me.

“He has had a difficult life, but he has risen above it. He had to work very hard to bring this estate back to life, but he has never complained. He is honorable, and I am proud to work for him. But he is private and keeps his emotions private as well.”

“I understand.”

“He does not suffer fools easily and dislikes society as a whole. He trusts few and allows even fewer to be part of his life, but once you are within his world, he is a benevolent and compassionate gentleman.”

I nodded at her words.

“Now, dinner is at seven. I shall return in a while to help you dress. You will join the master.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, and her tone told me not to argue.

“Yes.”

ALEXANDER

I paced the library, not understanding the anxiety that pulled on my nerves. I had no doubt that Madeleine would appear momentarily. We would dine together, and I would lay out my plans. The more I thought on my idea, the more I liked it. Marrying her was a good thing. She would make a fine wife and companion. And, I had no doubt, a good mother. I was certain she would agree. Surely marriage to me was a more pleasing situation than working as a servant elsewhere?

I was thought to be handsome. I was wealthy and could provide a good life for her. Children. Unfettered with worries and away from the dreary life she had been living, my offer had to be tempting at the very least.

I rubbed my temples, feeling doubt. She had admitted to wanting a husband and a happy life. Was she hoping for love? I was not known as an emotional man. In fact, I was certain my father had beaten that idea out of me. But I could care. Feel fondness. Desire.