Marchioness Divine | A Regency Romance

Chapter One: Dowager

Judy and Paul were more than enough company. The three of them had proven capable of running a household when the marquess fell ill: they could continue their lives as normal. Amelia was determined not to change a thing.

*

Amelia was just pondering what to have for dinner that evening as she broke through the hedgerow lining the front garden of Denmead Hall and she saw it. The small, black box crawled down the stone path, starkly contrasting the cream house with emerald-green ivy devouring it.

Amelia had to force herself not to run. She picked up her skirt and hastened herself to the door of the house – her house – to greet the tall visitor.

He was definitely a Warstone. Any man of that height, with thick brown hair and a Grecian nose had to be a Warstone. His eyes were a much lighter brown than Thomas', his hair longer and his shoulders slimmer, but he was unmistakeably a Warstone.

But there was something different about this stranger still – his tall frame didn't know how to hold itself up and drooped to the side, afflicted by some kind of nervous flinching.

"I trust you have a good reason for calling on me the day of my husband's funeral," Amelia snapped defensively. She was just as anxious of this man as he was of her, but she wouldn't let it tell.

"I-I-I-" The man stuttered in a high-pitched voice before taking a deep breath. "I am so sorry, your ladyship. Truly. I had meant to attend the funeral but by the time I arrived, the church was deserted so I came to meet you here."

Amelia stared hard at the gentleman while he humbly removed his new, polished hat, only to start fanning himself with it as he took some more deep breaths. He had just about calmed down when Judy and Paul flung open the door, tripping over one another as they tumbled outside.

"Your ladyship," Judy whispered, "is there anything I might do?"

"My apologies!" the man accidentally bellowed, not having quite mastered his own voice yet. "I should have said. I am Frederick Warstone."

Amelia kept herself from rolling her eyes. It had not taken long for the heirs to begin moving in on what little had been left to them. Was Lord Thomas even cold in his grave?

"Judy, would you please fix myself and Lord Warstone a light lunch and some tea? Paul, please see to it that the horses are rested and watered and Lord Warstone's driver is well fed before they make their return journey."

They still had a delicious bit of cold ham in the kitchen. From the Dowager Marchioness' clipped tone, Judy knew that it was to go to the driver, or even the horse, before the new Lord Warstone got his hands on it.

Amelia showed Lord Warstone into the small sitting room. For the past few years, they had only used one wing of the house, the rest being used for storage and space for the couple to exercise. It made the rooms they used feel warm – the small sitting room was the perfect size for two people to sit on the green chaises by the warm fire and read any of the two hundred and sixteen books on the bookshelf or paint on the easel in the corner behind the blue vase holding an array of fresh flowers. Lilies today.

Frederick Warstone struggled more than expected to navigate himself through the room without knocking anything over and came close to destroying one of the cloches before settling next to the fire. Judy brought in a small spread. Amelia could hear that Paul had returned from the stables and was removing the old paintings from the hall – one of Lord Thomas Warstone would remain in his study, with all the other Marquesses, and a painting of Lord Frederick Warstone would have to join them too, but all the other family portraits were to be placed in storage.