Page 19 of Redemption of a Marquess

The marquess’s eyes shifted to Jeanine. “I have an idea why.”

“Do not be angry,” Jeanine said. “You must agree that Miss Stone’s clothes are…oh, what is the word, outdated—yes—that’s it, her clothes are outdated. Whereas, mine are only not as lavish as you would like.”

“I would not have even worn the dress, my lord,” Miss Stone said, “but Miss Matheson threatened to burn my clothes if I didn’t.”

“She is quite capable of carrying out the threat,” he murmured.

Miss Stone clasped her hands at her waist.” Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I believe she is.”

“Perhaps that is the threat I should use against her clothes,” he said.

“I doubt it would work, sir,” Miss Stone said. “She would only devise a way to get even.”

His lordship’s brows shot up. “You surprise me, Miss Stone.”

“I cannot imagine why, my lord.”

“You comprehend Miss Matheson’s character better than I thought you would.”

“It isn’t hard. She does little to hide her actions and motivations.”

He looked at Jeanine and she grinned. “Nae, she does not,” he said.

Miss Stone turned to Jeanine. “We must leave in half an hour, if we are to arrive at Mrs. Morgan’s shop on time.”

“Just as I thought.” The marquess picked up his quill. “I will meet you ladies in the foyer at two-thirty.”

“I won’t see you until then?” Jeanine asked.

“I did say I expected that you would be busy today, Miss Matheson.”

She lifted a finger. “You promised to call me Jeanine in the privacy of our home.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “In the privacy of our home. Aye, Jeanine.”

She smiled. “Very good, Valan.”

His gaze sharpened. “I also said, you would address me as either ‘sir’ or ‘my lord.’”

“Aye, that is what you said,” she replied, then turned, and left with Miss Stone.

* * *

At the luncheon, the marquess allowed Jeanine to have two glasses of wine—well, technically, one glass, for each time he filled the glass only halfway. She now watched as he played commerce with three other gentlemen near the balcony, at a table in a corner of the massive parlor. A servant appeared at the table and filled the men’s glasses with sherry and brandy, then left.

“Ye might bring some scotch, lad,” said the large gentleman to the marquess’s right.

“The French brandy isn’t good enough for you?” Mr. Phillips said.

“Brandy is well and good,” he said in a thick Scottish burr, “but a man needs strong liquor when he’s gambling.”

“This is not a hell, MacLean,” Phillips said.

The man grinned. “Depends on if ye are winning or losing.”

Jeanine glanced at the refreshments table on the far side of the room. Half a dozen people gathered around the table. Perhaps she could nip over and fill her wine glass without being missed.

“Where is Miss Stone, Miss Matheson?” his lordship asked.