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Marcus considered his next step. Francesca was sure to have the information he needed. He’d seek her out and speak to her right now. But to his further irritation, she was out, and again he had to wait. The first chance he had to broach the subject was in the evening, as they gathered in the drawing room awaiting the call to dinner.
“Why do you want to know about the Ellerslies?” his sister-in-law demanded with a piercing look that reminded him uneasily of her mother.
Marcus shrugged and gave her a lazy smile. “The name cropped up. Come on, Fran, you know everything about everyone. Don’t make me beg.”
She smiled back, amused by him, as she always was. She’d told him often enough that she thought of him as her brother. With a family of two sisters, she had missed out on the male companionship a brother can give, and it pleased her to spend time with Marcus.
“Lord Ellerslie married twice. His first wife was a Gordon, minor Scottish aristocracy. They only managed to produce one child, a daughter, Lara. She married Arnold Gillingham. He comes from a good family, with money, but hasn’t reached the heights that were predicted for him. I don’t know why. Lord Ellerslie’s second wife, now his widow, was much younger than he. Portia Stroud, a little mouse from the country who has blossomed into a…a…”
“A mouse can’t blossom,” Marcus said. “Now if you’d said she was a caterpillar, you could have spoken of butterflies.”
“Stop it,” she laughed. “Whatever she once was, she is a great lady now. Her Majesty the Queen considers her a friend, and she is loved far and wide.”
“Is that all that’s left? Just the daughter and the widow rattling round in that big house?”
“Well, the daughter lives elsewhere, so just the widow. But there are a couple of ancient sisters. One of them married an admiral, and the other a factory owner.” She wrinkled her nose in pretended disgust. “Trade, my dear.”
“Is that it?”
“In a household like the Ellerslies’ there would be plenty of poverty-stricken relatives on extended visits. Cousins, second cousins. Hangers-on with nowhere else to go.”
“How do you remember all this, Fran?”
“I’m interested, I suppose,” she said. “Family means rather a lot to me, even when they’re other people’s.”
He reached to take her hand, lifting it to his lips. “Seb and I are your family now.”
She smiled and shook her head at him, but she was touched. He meant it, too. He was very fond of her and his brother, but he didn’t know if he needed them in the way Fran needed her family. When it came down to it, he wasn’t entirely certain he needed anyone, which was not something he was particularly proud of.
“Are you going to tell me why you wanted to know about the Ellerslie household?” Francesca asked, pinning him with her penetrating look again.
“Curiosity, that’s all.”
She didn’t believe him but couldn’t ask any more questions because just then Sebastian arrived. As they all went in to dinner, Marcus was busy wondering what his next step should be. He had an address and a name, even if it wasn’t hers. Still, it was a start, and he was determined to find her.
It wasn’t often that he set his mind upon something to this extent, but there was a new resolve forming within him. He had taken control and he would have his way. His father, it was said, was a bossy and overbearing man. Marcus barely remembered him, and had never thought himself the slightest bit like him, but perhaps he had inherited the Worthorne strength of character after all.
“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” Sebastian said, with a suspicious glance.
“Am I? I suppose I am pleased. I’m enjoying life in the capital, brother. I’m finding it all very interesting.”
“Do you remember Duval Hall?”
Marcus looked at him as if he was insane. “Of course I remember it. Mother’s brother owned it—Uncle Roger. The place is mine, isn’t it?”
“Have you ever been there?”
“Let me see…no.”
Sebastian sighed. “Our uncle Roger left Duval Hall to you over ten years ago and you haven’t set foot in it. Doesn’t that make you feel even the slightest bit ashamed?”
“But, brother, Duval Hall is in Norfolk.”
Francesca giggled and shook her head at him. “Marcus, you are a terrible man,” she said. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious about it?”
“Not really. At the time, I had things to do and it just s
ort of slipped my mind.”
