Miss Mischief: A Regency Romance

Miss Mischief

Kate Harper

Kate Harper

CopyrightKateHarper@2013

http://www.kate-harper.com

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Chapter One

‘You probably need to marry an heiress. Then you could get Barnstable back.’ Millie Hathaway looked at her brother speculatively. ‘London is full of heiresses, or so Aunt Geraldine says and she should know as she lives there all the time. Clearly, you need to go and find one, don’t you?’

Marcus grinned, enchanted by his youngest sister’s simple solution to their problems. It wasn’t that she was the only person who was thinking such a thing; it was that she was the only one prepared to say it in such an unvarnished, unapologetic way. Find an heiress, restore his sadly depleted coffers and get on with things.

Marvelous.

The truth was, since Isabella had made such an excellent match of it, there was no hurry to do anything of the kind. The oldest of the Hathaway sisters had the good sense to fall in love with a very decent fellow who just happened to be refreshingly rich. It had certainly taken the onus off Marcus having to perform some kind of miraculous resurrection of the family fortunes, for Isabella’s marriage had put a roof over his mother’s head, along with those of his other two sisters. And even his own, if he chose to stay beneath it.

But Isabella’s marriage could not solve all his problems. Only a fortuitous marriage could do that, hence Millie’s reasonable assessment of the situation.

His Aunt Geraldine had summed him up, while running a critical eye over him.

‘You’re certainly personable enough, my dear and Lord knows, you can be charming when you put your mind to it. I daresay there will be plenty of fillies who will be happy to exchange their dowries for such a fine young lad.’

Which was very flattering but not in the least bit helpful, especially as she had not been the only one to suggest such an option. Subtly, of course. Nobody quite had Millie’s forthright courage to say it any more bluntly than that. He was far from convinced. He had no actual expectations to look forward to, after all and he was just one of many such gentlemen, keen to improve their sorry lot with a wealthy bride. Being penniless in Society was hardly unusual; it was just an inconvenience most of the time. If there was one thing a young buck could do, it was to fritter away money and half of London seemed to run on credit. Many of his relatives were sure he could overcome the unfortunate drawbacks he was faced with if he put his mind to it. A young gentleman with Marcus’ good looks and excellent pedigree could surely secure a likely bride in a Season and he knew that his Aunt Geraldine would happily put him up in her townhouse while he went about the business.

But Marcus balked at the very idea. In fact, the more people hinted at it the more he found himself stubbornly determined not to take that course of action.

Now, faced with Millie’s blunt observation, he decided that he might as well be candid. Why not? He was hardly likely to upset her tender sensibilities. Their father’s shocking suicide had stripped away most of those, surely and the cataclysmic fall in their fortunes afterwards had likely finished them off.

‘Who would have me dearest? I’m not worth a bean.’

‘Lots of females,’ Millie responded smartly. ‘Did you not see all the girls that were gawping at you when you accompanied us to that assembly last month? They were all fluttering behind their fans and making eyes at you over the top of them. You know it’s true. It was,’ she added disparagingly, ‘quite sickening.’

He grinned. Millie was not impressed by what she considered ‘mawkish nonsense’ in other females.

‘Flirtation is one thing, marriage quite another.’ He glanced at her, then focused on the other part of the statement, the one that he suspected was really troubling her. ‘And while it is an interesting suggestion, even if I married an heiress tomorrow you must know we can’t get Barnstable back,’ he observed gently. ‘It was sold and I’m very doubtful they’d want to return it to us again.’

Millie snorted. Approaching fourteen and with every chance of becoming an outstanding beauty, she was no more interested in dresses and dances than she was in the health benefits to be found in taking the tisanes of herbal tea her old nurse turned governess tried to thrust upon her on a regular basis. ‘If we gave them enough money, I daresay they would. All we need is to find somebody who is rich enough.’

‘That is a very cynical attitude, my girl.’

‘I can’t see why. All we need is to discover somebody who is rich enough to manage it.’

Oh, is that all, Marcus thought wryly. Now why didn’t I think of that? And in return I can offer this wealthy sacrificial lamb… absolutely nothing at all! How splendid for her.

His return to England four months before had been both a pleasure and a source of considerable pain. Discovering that he was the new Lord Hathaway had been difficult, especially when he learned of how he had come by the title, but to then find out that there was nothing left of the estate that he had assumed would naturally devolve to him in the course of time… now that had been a hell of a shock. It had been a comfort to discover that Isabella had apparently made a love match with Harry Carstairs, an excellent fellow Marcus thoroughly approved of. And it was a love match, of that there was no doubt. One just had to look at the pair to know they were besotted with one another.

It had been explained to him in a frank interview with his new brother-in-law, that funds were not a problem, as he was exceedingly well off thanks to the convenient demise of an uncle who had been rolling in green. There was no question that Marcus would have to support his family and the assortment of servants that accompanied any well organized household, although his inability to do so had been another bitter pill to swallow. Swallow it he had, and with gratitude. Harry Carstairs really was an excellent fellow and Marcus knew better than to hold him accountable for the troubles that beset the Hathaways.

Instead, he had done the only thing he could do by taking the burden of his own upkeep off his brother-in-law. After the death of his father, the family had been reduced to a small cottage not three miles from Barnstable. It was this cottage that had provided shelter to the Hathaway females after they had left their family home behind and it was this place that he was determined to make his own home and, one way or another, fund the running of it himself. Still, his first sight of the building had challenged even his sense of optimism, but at least it was a roof over his head.

As unpleasant as the whole sorry situation was, he had not voiced his disappointment about his family’s sudden reversal of fortunes out loud for his mother already blamed herself, somehow, for her husband’s slide into disgrace. There was nothing to be gained by sharing his bewilderment with his family about how to tackle the future. The only thing he could possibly give his mother – and his sisters as well – was a cheerful outlook and the good sense to know when to remain silent. He only allowed himself to lapse into the occasional fit of misery when he was alone and even then he did not permit himself to wallow for long. Fate dealt a man a hand to play and it did nobody any good to rail against it when trouble hit. He’d survived France, something he had not thought possible when he had been mired in the mud of Flemish fields, witnessing things nobody should ever have to see. Indeed, he had thought on more than one occasion that he was about to cash in his accounts entirely and yet here he was, hale and almost hearty.

There were many friends and comrades who had not been so fortunate.

‘To really make a thorough search for somebody suitable I would need to go up to London. Even you will admit that heiresses congregate in larger amounts in the metropolis. And I don’t believe I’m in any hurry to go to London,’ he said, linking his hands behind his head and stretching his feet out towards the fire. They were in the sitting room of his new – and until ten days previously – unsighted home. They had journeyed there, having left Somerset where his sister Isabella was living in connubial bliss. Everybody had protested when he had announced his intention of returning to Wiltshire to inspect the new family home, unwilling to be separated from him so soon after having reclaimed him again.

‘There is no need to run off!’ eighteen year old Audrey had protested vigorously. ‘Stay awhile longer. You’ve only just got here. It will be Christmas soon. You simply must be here for Christmas.’

‘And so I shall be. I promise to return in time for it,’ he had assured her. ‘How could I not? But I’ve been kicking my heels for five weeks and I admit, I am a little curious as to my legacy. I’ve been gone a long time and I want to discover what I’ve been left with. I don’t even remember visiting this cottage you all ended up in so I have no idea what it’s like.’

‘It isn’t very memorable, I can assure you,’ Audrey had told him with a wan smile. ‘We’re so happy to have you back, Marcus but it’s dreadful that you have nothing to come back to. And your poor leg. You’re still limping a little.’

‘I’m always going to limp, sweetheart but it’s not likely to cause me any long term problems. They had to dig out a pile of metal but I was remarkably lucky. I have healed up very well, I can assure you.’ When she still looked at him, the misery obvious in her wide eyes, he’d given her a quick hug. ‘No, Audie, there’s no point in thinking about all that. I came back and I count myself lucky to have done so. As for father… well we all knew what he was like, did we not? He had the devil’s own luck for a long time but, looking back, it seems inevitable that it would all go horribly wrong in the end. Fate finally caught up with him, I suppose.’

‘I cannot forgive him,’ his sister had said in a low voice, turning away. ‘How hard could it have really been to think of his family? It’s not so much that he lost so much money, Marcus. It’s that he took such a dreadful way out afterwards. Poor Mama!’

Poor Mama, indeed. Gideon Hathaway’s suicide, the culmination of that last, devastating loss was the one thing that festered in the minds of them all. How could the man have forgotten so completely that he had responsibilities, not just to his title but to those that were depending on him, specifically to his loving and devoted wife? To commit that final act of betrayal, taking the honorable way out and leaving them to sort through the financial and emotional rubble he had left behind… To Marcus, the most incomprehensible thing was that his father could have left the women in his care alone, knowing full well that his son might not be coming home again.

He had loved his father – they had all loved him – but he had let them all down in the worst possible way.

It had only been by promising faithfully to return in good time for the Christmas festivities that he had managed to extricate himself from the anxious ministrations of his family and even then, he had not escaped unscathed for Millie had decided to accompany him to ensure that he did not get lonely. At least, she had said as much but they all knew it was because she was reluctant to let him out of her sight. Their mother had initially vetoed the idea but Millicent Hathaway was by no means a sweet, biddable creature and Marcus was not averse to her company. If nothing else, his youngest sister could be counted on to distract him from any pointless speculation about the future. As far as he could tell, he didn’t have one.

Which left him in something of a quandary for, while he might not have to provide for his sisters’ futures – a discussion with Harry had set his mind to rest on that account and he knew that generous dowries would be settled on both Audrey and Millie – he still had to do something about his own situation. He might need to be content to have his brother-in-law provide all the things in life for his family that currently, he could not but he could not take anything for himself. While false pride was a useless quality in a man whose circumstances had been reduced to the status of beggar, taking charity for himself was one step too far.

One way or another, Marcus was determined to manage his own affairs without the help of others, no matter how well meaning their assistance might be. It might not be the life he had been anticipating before he’d headed off to France but he was surely capable of forging some kind of future for himself. If only he could think of what that future might be. Still, as laudable as these sentiments might be, the truth was that he had not been schooled to be anything but what he was; the son and heir of a lord. And while he could probably return to the army as a soldier he found that he had no desire to, having had his fill of such matters. His experiences on the field of battle would take a long time to fade from memory and the prospect of seeing more in the near future was extremely unpalatable. He had done his duty by his country; indeed, he had almost lost his life proving his loyalty. Under the circumstances, surely that was enough?

They had taken their time, wending their way back to Wiltshire. Harry had insisted that they take one of his carriages and, as Marcus had charge of Millie, he had agreed that this was the best arrangement. He did not fancy taking her in the public coach, not so much because she would be subjected to the discomfort of riding with the unwashed masses, but because they would be exposed to her and her particularly brutal style of honesty. His sister’s forthright manner was an acquired taste. Their mother despaired of her youngest child ever blossoming into a young lady but Millie’s siblings were quietly thrilled that their sister refused to be anything but herself.

When they had arrived at Thule Cottage, the last bastion of the once impressive Hathaway estate, it had been two o’clock in the afternoon and he had spent some time after he had climbed down from the coach studying the place. Millie had been unusually silent at his side and, after a time, had slipped her small hand into his.

‘It isn’t very nice after Barnstable,’ she murmured.

Marcus acknowledged this to be true. The little place looked solid enough but it was hardly an extensive Georgian manor built of golden stone. It was, in fact, a white washed two story edifice beneath a sloping thatched roof that hinted of uncomfortable accommodation for somebody who stood well over six feet tall. It must once have belonged to one of his tenants and he wondered how they had come by it. It was a pity Sanderson, his father’s secretary, wasn’t about to ask. Still, the place had a pretty little garden that he had no doubt his mother had tended while she had stayed there, and there was a vegetable garden out back and an acre of land in all. There was a small barn that had seen better days but it would do for the coach and horse for the night. Despite Harry’s assurance that his equipage was at their disposal indefinitely, Marcus had suspected that they would have neither the accommodation nor the means to feed the animals for any length of time and he told the coachman that he should set off for Somerset the next morning.

The house was empty of everybody but Mrs. Turner, who had been their housekeeper at Barnstable. She had come into their employ some thirty years before as a scullery maid and had risen to the exalted position of housekeeper through hard work and excellent household management. It might be expected that she would have stayed on with the new owners – indeed, they had asked her to – but she had refused, preferring instead to stay with the family she had served for so long. More of their people would have stayed too, if they had been able. Audrey had told him that many of the staff had been reluctant to abandon them and that nothing had been able to dislodge Mrs. Turner, who had stoutly claimed that she was too old to find another position. It was quite untrue but they had surrendered gracefully and gratefully, for she was a wonder at keeping any household, be it large or small, running smoothly, even one in such straightened circumstances as their own. They hadn’t enough to employ gardeners but as they possessed only a modest garden now, it hardly mattered. Unsurprisingly, Lady Hathaway’s maid had also remained and together they had muddled along well enough, hoping the situation would be a temporary one. How much they must have been pinning their hopes on Isabella’s all important London Season. Poor girl, she must have felt the weight of her family’s future pressing down on her slender shoulders most cruelly.

Standing outside of what was left of his inheritance, he squeezed his sister’s hand reassuringly.

‘I like it,’ he said quietly. ‘It has a solid air, don’t you think? Do the chimneys smoke?’

This had made Millie grin. ‘They did until Mama had a man come and clean them. The bed chambers are small but the roof slopes. I like that.’

‘You might, but I see any number of bruises and bumps on the top of my head in the immediate future,’ Marcus had observed ruefully. ‘Still, I must concur. Ever since I was a boy I’ve always wanted to sleep under a sloping roof.’

They had gone inside to explore after that. Mrs. Turner had welcomed him with obvious delight, turning away so that he did not see the tears that she hastily blotted with her apron and he had been touched. He’d reached out to squeeze her shoulder.

‘It would take more than France to kill me off, Mrs. Turner. You of all people should have known that.’

She had bit her lip but had gathered herself together, turning deliberately brisk. ‘And so I did. It would take more than France to finish off the boy who used to raid my fruit trees and steal my fresh baked pies off the window sill. Come along then, tell me all about your mother and sisters. Is Miss Isabella happy?’

This had provoked a lively discussion, Millie admitting with cheerful candor that Harry was much better than she expected he would be and hardly minded at all when she had brought home a stray dog that she had seen being tormented in the local village by a group of boys. The dog had been in a sorry state but she had remedied that herself, bathing the creature and anointing its wounds with soothing ointment. Harry Carstairs might have been surprised to see a mangy mutt of no breeding attending the dinner table but he had recovered quickly, just as he had recovered every time Millie had introduced another beast in need into the household.

But then, Marcus had thought with some amusement, Harry Carstairs was extremely enamored with Isabella. He would have probably accepted a veritable zoo of exotic animals if it had made his new family happy.

Having explored his new domain – which took no more than half an hour – he settled in and, over the next few days discovered that there were definitely some benefits to