The Marquess Finds Romance

  The Marquess Finds Romance

  Bess McBride

  The Marquess Finds Romance

  Copyright 2018 Bess McBride

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover art by Tara West

  Contact information: bessmcbride@gmail.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For silver-lashed blue-eyed men.

  And for lovers of Regency stories and fairy tales everywhere.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Foreword

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Books by Bess McBride

  Foreword

  Thank you for purchasing The Marquess Finds Romance. Fourth in a series of fairy-tale time travel romances called Fairy Tales Across Time, The Marquess Finds Romance is set in England’s Regency era.

  Here’s a bit about the story.

  Nineteenth-century Lord James Carswell fancied himself in love when he attempted to rescue time traveling Miss Clara Bell from a forced marriage. But the lady herself thwarted his valiant attempts to save her, and he vowed never to open his heart to love again.

  Twenty-first century housekeeper Janie Ferguson accompanied her best friend, Clara, back through time to visit England’s Regency era—a time and place she had romanticized through books and movies. But Clara has found love and happiness, and all her attentions are on her husband. For all that Janie fantasized about what life might be like in the nineteenth century, she never imagined how lonely and isolated she would feel.

  Fairy godmother Hickstrom did not have Janie on her list of lonely hearts who needed love, but Janie has fallen into her lap, and she will see her happily wed...no matter what Janie wants. Lord Carswell may balk at the notion of giving his heart once again, but Hickstrom cares not a whit for such foolish protestations. She has assigned herself to the task of ensuring these two lonely souls find love...or at least romance.

  Thank you for your support over the years, friends and readers. Because of your favorable comments, I continue to strive to write the best stories I can. More romances are on the way!

  You know I always enjoy hearing from you, so please feel free to contact me at bessmcbride@gmail.com or through my website at http://www.bessmcbride.com.

  Many of you know I also write a series of short cozy mysteries under the pen name of Minnie Crockwell. Feel free to stop by my website and learn more about the series.

  Thanks for reading!

  Bess

  Chapter One

  A very long time ago in a land far, far away there lived a fairy godmother. This isn’t her story.

  Over Two Hundred Years Ago, England

  Janie Ferguson gathered up the hem of her peach-colored muslin dress as she left the drive and stepped onto the grass, moist with early morning dew. Having slipped into a sturdy pair of brown boots with every intention of hiking across the parklands of Alvord Castle, she hadn’t worried about soiling them as she did the lightweight black slippers Mary had ordered for her from London.

  Mary St. John, countess extraordinaire, had in fact ordered clothing for both Janie and Clara—clothing suitable for life in the early nineteenth century, England’s Regency era.

  Janie fingered the soft muslin clutched in her fingers, certain in the knowledge that she would never be able to repay Mary, and ultimately her husband, the Earl of St. John, for their generosity. She knew they didn’t expect repayment, but that didn’t lessen Janie’s sense of indebtedness.

  Roger Phelps, Clara’s new husband of a month, had insisted on paying for Clara’s clothing and had offered to pay for Janie’s garments as well, but Mary had paid the local seamstress and the milliners, shoemakers and clothiers in London. Not that Mary had actually laid claim to her generosity, but Janie had overheard Clara and Roger talking about it.

  Adjusting her bonnet with her free hand, Janie hiked up her skirts even further as she strode off across the parkland, heading toward a stream running through the property that she had come to love in the past six weeks.

  She had never considered herself a particularly outdoorsy person, but something about the lush undeveloped landscape of the nineteenth-century English countryside, an abundance of free time given countless servants at the castle, and the absence of television had turned Janie into an avid walker. And maybe the vague loneliness that nagged at her as well.

  Clara and Roger had gone to Brighton for their honeymoon and were due back in a few weeks. Mary was busy running Alvord Castle and seeing to her baby and husband. Janie had met another time traveler, Rachel Halwell, but poor Rachel had been under the weather with the nausea of her early pregnancy, and she too had her hands full running a household.

  Janie had promised Clara that she would wait to return to the twenty-first century until Clara arrived home from her honeymoon. Of course, Janie’s return was dependent upon when and how the fairy godmother, Hickstrom, would send her back. She assumed that Clara or Janie would call upon her when it was time to go. In the meantime, Janie intended to enjoy Regency England while she could.

  She reached the banks of the stream at the point where an adorable arched stone bridge crossed the water. A favorite stopping place, Janie made her way to the apex of the bridge and climbed up onto the hewn stones to dangle her feet over the edge. She breathed in fresh country air and studied the ripples in the water as it ran under the bridge.

  She had been watching fish coasting along with the current when the sound of horses’ hooves caught her attention. She looked up to see two riders approaching from the direction of the castle, the outline of their top hats identifying them as men. Janie had been in the nineteenth century long enough to know that her position would be considered unladylike, and she scrambled off the edge of the bridge. Her skirts caught on the rough stone as she slid down, revealing her drawers, and she grabbed at them in an attempt to pull them free. Her cheeks burned as she settled the front of her dress around her legs and faced the riders.

  “Miss Ferguson!
” St. John called out from astride a horse.

  Janie had seen the dashing earl riding before, but she never failed to marvel at how handsome he looked on his sturdy steed—a total Mr. Darcy.

  St. John stopped his horse at the foot of the bridge, and Janie understood why. The bridge was sturdy enough but too narrow to accommodate two horses and one pedestrian.

  The second horseman, an older gentleman with a distinguished shock of silver sideburns framing his face below his top hat, stared at her with what Janie could only interpret as disapproval. While St. John had doffed his hat in a civil manner, the man in black failed even to nod a greeting.

  “Miss Janie Ferguson, allow me to introduce an old friend of my family, Lord James Carswell. Lord Carswell, Miss Ferguson has come to us from America. She is a friend of Clara’s—Lady Rowe, that is.”

  St. John, his attention largely on Janie, didn’t seem to notice that Lord Carswell declined once again to acknowledge Janie other than to stare at her.

  Janie narrowed her eyes. She had read enough Jane Austen novels to know that Lord Carswell was slighting her, was treating her with a certain amount of disrespect. She thought about haughtily inclining her head, but at four feet eleven inches, that gesture didn’t seem like it would bother a man on a large horse. She had no idea how to lift an eyebrow, or she would have—just one severe eyebrow.

  She satisfied herself with simply ignoring him and focusing on St. John.

  “I was just on a walk,” she said unnecessarily.

  “Yes, I see that,” St. John said. “You have told us at table that you enjoy walking. I believe you mentioned you enjoyed doing so as much as Miss Elizabeth Bennett, a character in a novel?”

  Janie’s face reddened even further as Lord Carswell did manage to quirk an eyebrow conveying an expression of continuing disapproval.

  “Yes, Elizabeth Bennett,” Janie muttered. Then she remembered where she was in place and time, and she dropped a curtsey. “Yes, I enjoy walking.”

  “Lord Carswell has just come to visit for a few days while en route to London on business.”

  Janie said and did nothing, keeping her eye on St. John. An awkward pause followed.

  “Do not let us keep you, Miss Ferguson,” St. John said. “You looked very peaceful, and I fear we disturbed your solitude.”

  “Janie,” she repeated for the fifth or sixth time, trying to get St. John to relax with the formalities. She walked not toward the riders, but over the bridge to the opposite side of the river, pausing there to wait on the bank for St. John and his guest to cross the bridge.

  “Janie,” St. John repeated, again doffing his cap as he passed her.

  His companion, Lord Carswell, looked over her head as if he couldn’t be bothered.

  Janie seethed, albeit inwardly. She dipped another brief curtsey and strode off down the bank.

  “Janie,” St. John called out.

  She looked over her shoulder. Lord Carswell moved on, but St. John was signaling something with his hand. She supposed he waved, and she waved back before turning around and continuing along the bank.

  Her original plan had been to follow the path upon which St. John and Lord Carswell rode, but she wasn’t about to be caught dead trailing in their wake and horse droppings.

  “What an obnoxious character,” she fumed aloud. “A friend of the family? I can’t believe Mary likes him. Though maybe he doesn’t look down his snooty nose at her. What does he think I am? A milkmaid? Well, I am a maid, as it happens, but he didn’t know that.” At some point in her stride, Janie felt a draft on the back of her legs. She looked over her shoulder to see that the back of her dress had caught in the waistband of her drawers.

  With a shriek, she stopped and jerked at the hem, freeing the skirt to fall to her ankles. Janie’s face flamed as she realized St. John and Lord Carswell must have seen her backside, or at least her drawers, when she turned and walked off the bridge.

  “Is that what St. John was signaling?” she muttered aloud, resuming her walk. “And I waved at him like an idiot! No wonder that Carswell character looked at me the way he did.”

  She peeked over her shoulder once again to ensure that the hem hadn’t crept up for some bizarre reason. The material continued to swish around her ankles as she lengthened her stride. She eyed the woods to her right. On the assumption that St. John and Lord Carswell had long since moved on, she turned into the woods, her destination an open meadow beyond filled with the sheep that she enjoyed.

  The strip of woods bordering the stream was narrow, and she passed through it within five minutes. She emerged onto the meadow with a sense of relief, of freedom. Janie hated to say it, but she found Alvord Castle oppressive. For a girl who had always imagined herself a princess in a castle when she was little, she found the reality a little less enthralling than she had thought.

  But the lush emerald-green meadow dotted with placid white wooly sheep had delighted her when she first saw it, and continued to do so. She strolled out into the field, watching her step for sheep droppings.

  “Good morning, sheepie guys!” Janie called out to the nearest group. “How are you today?”

  She was rewarded with a few bleats. A relaxed group, no one ran from her. They returned to chewing on the fairly delicious-looking grass. She had contemplated petting the sheep in the past, but unused to farm animals, hadn’t known how to approach them.

  She resolved to do so that morning and moved slowly to stand beside the nearest sheep, a fuzzy round thing munching on the grass near its hooves. The sheep startled as she laid a hand on its head but soon settled and returned to eating, forcing her to bend over to pet it.

  “Hey there, buddy...or buddette, whichever you are,” Janie murmured. “How cute are you!”

  The sheep didn’t respond, which was a good thing. Janie moved on to the next one and repeated the experience. Feeling a bit like Little Bo Peep, she wandered through the group, smoothing the coarse fur on each sheep’s head. She didn’t dare try to pat the thick fleece, suspecting the sheep wouldn’t feel her touch.

  “Miss Janie Ferguson,” a female voice said from behind. “Have you lost your sheep and cannot tell where to find them?”

  Janie whirled around to see Hickstrom standing nearby, though far enough from the sheep to indicate she wasn’t a particular fan. Her scrunched up nose verified that suspicion. Dressed in a ruby-red silk gown that seemed more suitable to a presentation to the royal court in the eighteenth century, Hickstrom’s blue hair glowed under the gentle sun.

  “Hickstrom!” Janie said, moving out of her little herd to approach the fairy godmother. “How nice to see you! I’ve been thinking about you and wondering when I would see you.”

  “Oh, my dear! How very kind of you to say! I must admit that I don’t often hear those sentiments expressed when I come to call. I cannot imagine why. I am naught but a harbinger of happiness.”

  Sincere in her joy at seeing Hickstrom, Janie leaned forward to hug the short-statured woman. Hickstrom patted Janie on the shoulders and stepped back to extricate herself.

  “Yes, my dear, that will do. Thank you so much! So exuberant!”

  Janie let go of Hickstrom with reluctance.

  “I’m just so glad to see you!” Janie said with renewed enthusiasm.

  “Indeed, my dear. I gathered. How do you fare?”

  “I’m fine,” Janie said, a vague knot forming in her throat. “Well, a little lonely honestly. Clara has been gone for a month on her honeymoon, and Mary is busy with the baby. I met Rachel, as I’m sure you know, but she’s not feeling well. Pregnancy, I guess.”

  “I am so sorry, Janie. You do sound a bit out of sorts. When does Clara return?”

  “In a couple of weeks, but she’ll be busy with Roger, you know. Newlyweds.”

  “Indeed. And so here you are with your sheep.”

  Janie turned to follow Hickstrom’s eyes.

  “I know. Aren’t they adorable?”

  “That was not the first descripti
on which sprung to my mind.” Hickstrom pressed a delicate hand against her nose and mouth.

  “I’ll admit that they are a bit smelly, but I guess that’s all fertilizer for the field?” Janie surveyed the dense grass.

  “I could not say, my dear.”

  “Me either. I don’t know anything about farm animals,” Janie said with a grin. “But they let me pet them.”

  “Quite,” Hickstrom said faintly.

  “Hickstrom, now that you’re here though, we probably ought to discuss my return. I’m not ready to go just yet,” Janie rushed on to say, “but maybe in a couple weeks after Clara gets back. She’s all set in her new life, and she really doesn’t need me to stay here with her.”

  Hickstrom blinked and turned back to studying the sheep, a motion that surprised Janie given the fairy godmother’s obvious aversion to them—to their smell at least.

  “Hickstrom?” Janie prompted, tilting her head to see the fairy godmother’s expression.

  “Yes, your return. Indeed, my dear. So soon. It seems such a pity.”

  “I know, but I’m not really doing anything here. Don’t get me wrong! I’ve enjoyed my stay, but I’m kind of at loose ends. No job. The ladies are busy. I don’t really know anyone else. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  “But you enjoy walking out! Visiting farm animals! Do you not wish a respite from your arduous employment as a maid?”

  “Hickstrom,” Janie chided. “You know very well that Clara and I own that company. I’m a business owner, not just a maid. I don’t have to clean if I don’t want to. I do like to stay busy, and yes, I do enjoy walking here in the country and visiting with the sheep. But that’s not enough for me.”