The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(21)
Marcus did not reply, merely smiled. Nicci’s early letters had shown all the frustration to be expected from a lively young woman suddenly placed with strangers in a cold, new world of formality, but his sister had soon stopped bemoaning her life and gradually a picture of a happy trio of ladies had emerged. It had intrigued him to see Marissa through his sister’s innocent eyes. Nicci had written a few months ago:
I love her very much. She is kind and funny, but there is a great sadness at the heart of her which I do not understand. She never speaks of his late lordship, but it cannot be that she is missing him, surely, for he was very old…
Marcus had smiled wryly at the thought that a man of forty-five could be considered very old and could only assume his sister saw him, seventeen years younger than the Earl, as middle-aged.
‘There’s Lady Nicole now, ma’am,’ the groom said, pointing to the coast road where a small carriage had just turned out of the Vicarage drive.
‘My lord, please ride to meet your sister. I will join you at the Hall.’
Marcus urged the horse into a brisk canter and intercepted the carriage. Nicci’s shrieks of delight as she came tumbling out of the gig in a flurry of petticoats and flung herself at his horse were probably audible in the next parish, he thought.
He had dismounted by the time Marissa’s gig came up with them, and he was laughingly attempting to disentangle Nicci’s arms from around his neck before she throttled him.
They formed quite a procession on the way back to the Hall, Nicci leaning over the side of the gig bombarding her brother with questions as he rode alongside. Marissa shook her head in despair at the her behaviour but there was no hope of curbing it in her present state of excitement.
The baggage coach and the travelling carriage were pulling away from the front of the Hall as they drew up but the great doors stood open and the scene glimpsed through them resembled nothing so much as a disturbed anthill.
Jane, flanked by Matthews, stood in the centre of activity directing footmen and maidservants as they scurried to disperse the piles of baggage which stood heaped around. Marissa, following Marcus and Nicci up the steps, became aware of Whiting who was regarding two male strangers with an expression as near to horror on his well-schooled countenance as she had ever seen.
A dapper individual guarding a dressing case was doubtless his lordship’s valet but it was his companion who seemed to be causing Whiting’s discomfiture.
Marissa was not surprised. Judging by his immaculate clothing the man was an upper servant of some sort but the correctness of his dress was in shocking contrast to his appearance. Built like a prize-fighter, he was standing with folded arms, the upper muscles straining the cloth. His face, tanned like leather, was crossed by a wicked scar which bisected his eyebrow from temple to cheekbone leaving a slash as white in his cropped hair. Standing in the hallway surrounded by Classical perfection and the scurrying English servants he appeared foreign, dangerous and utterly out of place. In fact the only place where Marissa could envisage him looking at home was on the deck of a pirate ship.
Nicci, saw him, released her brother’s arm and with a shriek of ‘Jackson!’ threw herself into his arms to be enveloped in a bear-like hug. Jane’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline at this behaviour, but before she could intervene Nicci was set firmly back on her feet and the man was admonishing her in a surprisingly cultured voice. ‘Lady Nicci, please conduct yourself with decorum. What will Miss Venables be thinking of you?’
To almost universal amazement Nicci lowered her eyes and said meekly, ‘Yes, Jackson, but I am so very pleased to see you, you know.’
‘Well, you can best show that by helping Miss Venables,’ the man said repressively, but there was a twinkle in his grey eyes.
Jane crossed the chequerboard tiles to Marcus. ‘My lord, welcome home to Southwood. It is a great pleasure to have you back amongst us.’
‘Thank you, Miss Venables.’ He smiled down at her over their clasped hands. ‘I must apologise for my lack of forethought in advising you of my arrival, but I see that the usual high standards here have not slipped.’ He nodded pleasantly at Matthews and Mr and Mrs Whiting. ‘Matthews, I would like a word with you this evening after dinner about the future domestic arrangements, meanwhile Jackson and Laurent will accompany me to my suite.’
‘Very good, my lord.’ Matthews bowed. ‘A cold collation is set out in the small dining room if you and the ladies would care to partake.’
‘Lady Longminster, if you would excuse me for half an hour to remove the dust of the road, I will join you shortly.’ Marcus was gone, his two servants at his heels.
Alone in the dining room, with the hubbub of the hall shut out, Nicci burst out, ‘Oh, I am so pleased that Marcus brought Jackson with him. I was so afraid he would leave him to look after the Jamaica estates.’
Jane fixed her with a gimlet stare from her position in one of the window seats. ‘And just who is this Jackson, if I might enquire?’
‘Why, our butler, of course. But he is much more than that. He has been with us for years, originally as captain of one of my father’s schooners. But no one is quite sure where he came from – he will never speak of it. And then when Marcus was seventeen he saved his life when the schooner was attacked by privateers. Jackson was terribly injured, almost given up for dead, but Marcus brought him back home and he has been our butler ever since old Peters had his heart attack. Why,’ she added disingenuously, ‘Jackson has almost brought me up. He is terribly strict, you know.’