Deb Marlowe - Unbuttoning Miss Hardwick

‘Gladly, Braedon. I’ve much to share with you as well.’ She smiled at Chloe. ‘It was lovely to meet you at last, Miss Hardwick. I can scarcely wait to get to know you better.’

‘Thank you, my lady. I look forward to that as well.’

Refusing to glance at the marquess, Chloe turned back to her desk. But as the pair made to leave she was struck by a sudden thought.

‘Wait!’ She felt the flush climb over her face. ‘My lord, that first blade, the one that you found in the rocks—it would make a poignant addition to our displays. But I don’t believe that I’ve seen it. Do you know where it is?’

Lord Marland’s expression closed and his shoulders tightened. ‘Lost, I’m afraid,’ he replied.

‘Sold, you mean.’ Chloe was startled to hear the bitterness in Lady Ashton’s voice. ‘Thanks due to Connor.’

The marquess merely shook his head.

‘Sold to cover the licentious—and expensive—habits of our departed brother, Miss Hardwick.’ It was pain that put the twist in the lady’s lovely mouth, Chloe thought, along with an unexpected dose of resentment. ‘He, you understand, was the perfect embodiment of every loathsome male quality.’

‘Hardwick,’ Lord Marland broke in, his tone distant and dismissive once more, ‘put your ear to the ground and see what you find out about that spear.’ Turning away, he tugged his sister along with him. ‘Come, Mairi. Let’s get you settled in. On the way, you can tell me what you think of my marble inlay. And later, I plan to bore you with a description of each and every display that will occupy all of my wonderful nooks and crannies.’

‘I don’t know why you’ve gone to such incredible—and incredibly expensive—detail, Braedon, when you don’t intend on allowing anyone to actually see all of your hard work.’ Lady Ashton glanced back one last time as they moved towards the door. ‘Or has your Hardwick convinced you to open your weapons wing for public display?’

‘Never,’ he responded firmly.

‘Why so much bother, then, if no one will see it?’

‘I will see it, dear Mairi. I will frequently walk in here and gaze with utter satisfaction on my private contribution to the Marland legacy.’

‘Ah, you intend to gloat then, do you?’

‘Each and every day.’

Their voices faded. Chloe stared after them for a long minute while her pulse settled and the sharp stab of yearning in her breast shrunk to a dull ache. Clearly her own altered feelings didn’t matter. The elaborate mask she’d been so comfortable hiding behind worked too well. Lord Marland looked at her and could see nothing but quiet, stark and efficient Hardwick.

Surely that was as it should be? The marquess had looked at her— touched her—with warmth and admiration for that narrow side of her. She wrapped her arms tight about her middle, as if to hold in all the formally dormant aspects of her nature that were clamouring to be let out—and clamouring to show Lord Marland an altogether different side of Chloe Hardwick.

With a sigh, she turned back to her work. But nothing was accomplished for a good while. She was caught up, instead, contemplating a project of another nature.

True to his word, Braedon dragged his sister all over the new wing, filling her ears with his ideas, describing all that they’d already accomplished and much that he still had planned. Poor Mairi bore it well, but as the afternoon wore on, her eyes began to glaze.

He took pity on her—and on himself, too, for his mind wandered repeatedly back to Hardwick. There had been something different about her these last weeks, had there not? Or perhaps he was transferring his own uneasiness on to her, for he had to admit, the idea of her searching for a new position had shaken him.

It was one reason he’d been so excited to hear the news about Skanda’s Spear. Not the main reason, but he had to admit that he’d considered that the challenge of finding that elusive artefact would leave Hardwick with no time to think of leaving.

With a smile for his sister, he held out his arm. Escorting her back to the library, he poured her a good, stiff drink and set about discovering what crisis lay behind her unexpected trip home.

‘You’ve utterly transformed this room,’ she marvelled, looking about her while she trailed a hand over the back of the new sofa.

‘This is where I work.’ He nodded to the behemoth desk he’d brought in and grinned at her. ‘I had to do something. This is the only room I can spend any amount of time in.’

‘You’ll have no argument from me.’ Mairi gave a theatrical shudder. ‘They always make me nervous, all of those dead animals glaring at me with their glassy, accusing eyes.’ She crossed over to the high bank of windows he’d had installed. ‘All of this lovely light.’ She sighed. ‘If it were me, I’d go right through the place. Rip out all of that dark panelling and lay all of those poor creatures to rest in some high, sunny meadow.’ She shuddered again. ‘Far away.’

‘I don’t know.’ Braedon shrugged. ‘I feel a certain, perverse satisfaction, walking through those rooms every day.’

‘Because you are here to enjoy them and they are not?’ Mairi asked with her usual terrible clarity. ‘Or because they provide such a marked contrast with your tasteful, new and modern wing?’

‘A bit of both, I’d say.’ And because all of those gloomy rooms served as an inescapable warning. Those dark walls might echo with memories of his desperate unhappiness, but they were also a reminder of the invaluable lessons he’d learned. ‘In any case, I don’t plan on redoing the rest of the old pile.’

‘You surprise me,’ she said with brows raised. ‘I would have thought that you would grab at the chance—if only to thumb your metaphorical nose at Father.’

‘Ah, but I think leaving it the way that it is accomplishes the same purpose. You know how the old man loved Denning. The only thing that ruined his pleasure was the disparity of the place—his beloved Jacobin manor shoved up against the old North Tower like a malformed appendage.’ He allowed his mouth to twist into a grin. ‘Well, now I’ve thrown the new wing into the mix, and we’ve three different styles shoved cheek by jowl together.’

His sister didn’t even try to hide her snort of delight. ‘You are right,’ she said fervently. ‘He’s likely spinning in his grave.’ She trailed a hand along the thick curtains and her expression grew devilish, her smile crafty as she glanced his way. ‘It’s likely a good idea to wait before you redecorate, in any case. What better gift could you give to your bride, after all, than an entire castle to do with as she pleases?’

Braedon’s amusement burst like a bubble. ‘Leave off, Mairi. All the fun and privilege—and expense—of modernising the place will go to your cousin Franklin, as eventual heir.’ He waved a hand. ‘And much joy may he have of it.’

Her face fell. ‘Don’t tell me that you are holding on to that old saw?’

‘Old saw?’ he repeated sardonically. ‘Which one? I dare say I have a death grip on several.’

‘It’s no joking matter, Braedon.’ Mairi’s voice tightened, taking on the shrill edge it had nearly always held in the past, when she was forced to live each day with unending tension and constant vigilance. ‘They are gone now,’ she said with intensity. ‘You cannot let them shape your life. You cannot hide away up here.’

‘I’m not hiding,’ he retorted, stung. ‘I’ve come home and I am fulfilling my duties. I am working!’