The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(10)

Faith took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll get through this. Your forbearance has kept our family safe and sound. You’ve done everything in your power to protect us. Don’t worry.”

Her sister’s face reflected a steadfast and serene peace. March swallowed that strength as if feasting after a weeklong fast. She couldn’t crumble into a mass of doubts, not yet.

“This is a side of you I’ve never seen before. Nothing to be frightened of, my miss,” Hart whispered. “The marquess has most likely summoned you to discuss you and your siblings.”

“Of course.” The words failed to calm the icy fear that slowly twisted and twined inside her chest. A nervous gasp escaped on her next breath of air. The door swept open, revealing a footman dressed in a navy-blue velvet double-breasted coat, matching pantaloons, and a perfectly fitted powdered wig. In silence, March stood with Hart and Faith on either side and waited for the invitation to enter the Marquess of McCalpin’s home.

Almost as if the handsome servant saw through her ruse, a slight grin crossed the man’s face then disappeared. “May I help you?”

“I’m Miss Lawson and this is … is Miss Faith Lawson and Mr. Hart. We’re here on a business matter to see the marquess.” March resisted the urge to turn and run back to the cart. She held out the summons as proof they were invited. She forced her feet to stay planted and waited for what seemed liked hours. “He requested my presence.”

The footman motioned them forward, and March followed him into the vestibule. Her breath caught in her throat at her first glimpse of the home. Tiles of alternating black and white marble lined the floor of the large entry. A massive mahogany table stood in the center with a flower arrangement of more than three-dozen red roses surrounded by other exotic flowers that March didn’t recognize. She inhaled the scent and immediately thought of summer. The marquess must have a greenhouse on the premises. Only the wealthy could afford such extravagances during the cold winter months.

To her right, an expansive circular staircase led to the second floor. Her eyes swept the length of the stairs but stopped at the sight of the most handsome human to have graced the earth with his presence.

On the stairs and dressed in a moss-green riding jacket and buckskin breeches covered in mud, he had turned when they’d entered. March’s gaze collided with his, and her heart stumbled as if missing a dance step. From the distance, there was no doubt his blue eyes matched the brightest feathers of a kingfisher. His chestnut hair sported wet curls, most likely from the exertion of an afternoon ride. Time stood still as she studied his face. Radiant sunshine from a window next to him caressed his check and surrounded him in a ring of light. He could have been the model for Michelangelo’s David. She’d never seen such perfection in a real man before.

Obviously, this vision was not as impressed with her as she was with him. Without acknowledgment, he continued his way upstairs, leaving her and his halo behind. March’s breathing relaxed, but regret gathered like a gray haze over her.

How fitting that a luminous light courted him while nimbus clouds seemed to be her bosom companion. She could have stared at David for hours and still not grown tired of the vision. He couldn’t be the marquess, since her banker, Lady Somerton, bore little resemblance to this man. Whoever he was, his bearing exuded strength and a graceful confidence that demanded attention.

The footman gave a slight nod to another servant, presumably the butler, who came forward.

“Miss?” The butler tilted his head slightly and waited for her response.

“Miss March Lawson, Miss Faith Lawson, and Mr. Victor Hart. Lord McCalpin requested I call upon him … on a matter of importance.” March delivered a slight smile and clenched the missive demanding her visit.

“Please accompany me. You may wait in the salon while I inform his lordship you’ve arrived.” Without waiting for a response, the butler executed a precise turn and walked away. March followed with Hart and Faith close behind.

After they took their seats, the butler left the three of them alone. Hart was the first to break the silence. “Would you like for me to speak on your behalf?”

“No, thank you. Our family’s happiness and security are my responsibility.” March straightened her back as she adjusted her well-worn gloves. They were her Sunday best.

The butler reappeared with an army of maids and a footman with a formal tea service. Cakes, tarts, and candied nuts towered over a triple-plated serving dish. Bennett would have been enthralled with such treats.

“Miss Lawson, I had refreshments prepared in case you might be famished after your travel from Leyton.” The butler smiled reassuringly. “Shall I serve?”

March jumped to her feet. “That’s very kind, but I’ll pour. I’m sure you have better things to do than wait on us.”

The butler’s mouth tilted down as he considered her comment. “Of course. A lady such as you would want to do the honors. We don’t have many guests—” As if he misspoke, he changed the subject. “Lord McCalpin is regrettably detained. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”

“Not at all.” God, she sounded desperate. No, she was desperate. The summons had to change her family’s fortune. “Thank you, Mr.…?”

“I’m Buxton, his lordship’s butler. Is there anything else I can get for you?”