Chapter Eight A Marquess Returns to London

The next day

Jerked awake when the Fenwick traveling coach hit a hole in the cobbles, Michael, Marquess of Fenwick, sat up straight and pushed aside the curtains covering the window to his right.

He had no idea of how long it had been since his departure from the coaching inn near Basingstoke that morning. As he had the day before when they departed Fenwick Park, he had succumbed to the rolling motion of the coach and the rhythmic sound of the hoofbeats of the four horses pulling the coach and had fallen fast asleep.

A quick glance out the window showed they had made it to a city. When he knocked on the trap door above, it was a moment before the groom's pimply face appeared.

"Where are we?"

"Almost to Park Lane, my lord." He disappeared a moment before returning to add, "We're in Kensington."

"Very good," Michael said, waving a hand to indicate the groom could close the trap door. He used the same hand to scrub the side of his face, wincing at feeling the stubble of a late afternoon beard.

"There should be time for a shave before dinner, my lord."

Michael directed his attention on his valet. Thaddeus had been with him for over a decade, and although he usually rode in a separate coach with the luggage, Michael had decided they need only take one vehicle to London.

He wasn't yet sure how long he would stay in the capital. He wasn't even sure what had possessed him to make the trip in the first place.

Well, he had an inkling. Two, really. The most recent letter from his daughter, Violet, contained a nugget of information he found most intriguing.

She had made friends with Lady Amelia, a young lady whose father, a duke, had died a year ago.

Surely the girl's father was the Duke of Weston, for no other duke was reported to have died at the time. And if he was indeed the Duke of Weston, then that meant the Duchess of Weston was a widow recently out of mourning.

Helena.

Michael couldn't help the curiosity he had felt when he had finished reading Violet's missive.

Was his one and only true love free of a commitment not of her making?

He had experienced a moment of guilt when Barbara's face came to mind. She had been a good friend, a saving grace, really, especially when she agreed to marry him knowing he might never feel for her what she felt for him.

Barbara had loved him. She had been free with her words of adoration. Free with her kisses on his cheek and forehead in the mornings and at night. Free with her body when he was in need of her.

Their friendship had bloomed into something more after the birth of Philip. Perhaps even a loving relationship when Violet was placed into his hands, her tiny body squirming despite the swaddling cloth in which she was wrapped.

He had grown to love Barbara. Even if he had never experienced the thrill and excitement he had felt for his first love, he did love her.

As for the second reason he had decided to make the trip to London, there had been the letter from his son lamenting something that had happened several years ago, an unfortunate incident that was now putting his possible future happiness at risk.

Philip, heir to the Fenwick marquessate, wanted to marry, and Michael was fairly sure the victim of the unfortunate incident was related to Philip's choice for a bride.

He knew one thing for certain. He was not going to allow his son to suffer as he did because of a stubborn father or brother or whoever it was who needed to grant permission for the girl to marry.

If permission wasn't forthcoming, he would see to it the couple made it to Scotland—even if he had to drive the coach himself.

"My lord?"

Pulled from his reverie, Michael directed his gaze on Thaddeus before realizing the valet held out a handkerchief.

"What is it?" he asked, gingerly taking the square of linen.

"You… you have tears on your face, I think," Thaddeus said. He glanced toward the window. "Perhaps you have something in your eye?"

Michael blinked several times, then wiped his face with the handkerchief. "I hadn't noticed," he replied at the same moment the coach came to a halt. "Ah, we're here," he announced, barely recognizing the townhouse he had called home three decades earlier. "The trees are certainly taller than I remember."

The coach door opened, and he was quick to step out. Late afternoon sunshine had him squinting before he turned around to stare at Fenwick House. His assessing gaze went from the bright blue painted front door to the row of windows framed by black shutters at the top, and he soon realized it looked as if it had been built only the year before.

"Appears as if Fenwick House has been well maintained, my lord," Thaddeus offered.

"Philip is a stickler for that sort of thing," Michael acknowledged. "Better about it than I am."

If anyone at Fenwick Park had questioned his decision to send Philip to London to run most of the marquessate from there, they didn't now. Ever since Barbara had died, Michael hadn't been as driven to do his duty. Hadn't been as interested in the business of running the marquessate, choosing instead to concentrate on the tenant farms and those who worked his lands.

He supposed some thought him mad for choosing the country over the capital. For choosing the company of farmers over aristocrats. For choosing to socialize with landed gentry rather than royalty.

Perhaps he was.

If Violet hadn't taken on her late mother's duties as a hostess, he might never have hosted another social event at Fenwick Park. Might never have met the new families who had moved into the nearby village of Ludgershall or enjoyed a sour ale with the new parson whose living he provided.

"Father!"

His gaze darted to Violet, who was smiling broadly as she ran in his direction. He was nearly bowled over when she collided with him, wrapping her arms around his neck before kissing him on the cheek.

"Your timing is perfection," she gushed. "Dinner is to be served in an hour, so you have plenty of time for a shave," she teased as she rubbed a forefinger over his blonde stubble.

"You haven't yet adapted to a later dinner time?" he asked, offering his arm. "Now that you're in London?"

"Not now," she replied, placing a hand on his arm. "There are entertainments nearly every night of the week. In fact, Aunt Katherine is due here at eight o'clock to take me to a card party."

"Is she now?" He hadn't considered he would be seeing his aunt so soon.

"She has me scheduled for two balls this week and three next week," Violet went on. "As well as a soirée, and we've been invited to tea at several houses."

He was about to respond when Philip appeared framed in the open doorway, his right hand held out in anticipation of shaking his father's. Michael pushed it aside and pulled his son into a quick embrace. "Town seems to agree with you," he said with a huge grin.

"It does. Well, except for all the soot that seems to rain down all the time, I rather like London."

Michael gestured to the house. "You'd never know the soot fell around here."

"That's because I arranged to have it cleaned off the house and pavement last week," Violet stated, stepping into the house.

Michael and Philip exchanged knowing glances. "You realize when she marries, you're going to have to find a wife," Michael warned with a grin.

Philip's happy expression faltered for a moment. "I am well aware," he replied.

The butler bowed. "The master suite has been made ready for you, my lord."

Michael aimed a curious glance in his son's direction.

"Oh, I never moved into it," Philip explained. "I took the one I stayed in when I last visited London. Before university."

"The mistress suite is empty as well," Violet remarked, leading them to the stairs once Thaddeus and a pair of footmen had passed them carrying trunks.

"I don't know how long I'm staying," Michael warned.

"Aunt Katherine is already seeing to it you'll receive invitations, probably as soon as tomorrow night's ball," Violet said, grinning when she saw him wince. "Oh, don't be like that," she scolded. "Everyone will be curious about you, so you can play at being as mysterious as you'd like."

Michael scoffed at hearing her assessment, but he knew she was right.

He would be the curiosity, at least for a fortnight. Beyond that, he wasn't sure what to expect. By then, he would at least know if he had a future with a certain duchess.

And hopefully his son would have his future marchioness.