She was cursed.
There was no other way to explain what had occurred or all the many other things that had taken place in her life. Her mother had died when she was young and her father, who’d loved her with great abundance, had died a few years ago, leaving her to the care of an uncle she’d never met until recently. And though her uncle was a kind man, he’d sent her away for school. But he’d made it clear to her that she was always in his thoughts. He sent her letters and updates on the hotel and London. Uncle Creed, as he’d asked her to call him, had not inherited her father’s title, since officially he was not blood. Uncle Creed had been her father’s friend and as his friend, he’d ensured her care. Fine clothes and meals had been provided for her in Hanover, and she’d even had a carriage of her own to move around the city when she wished to. Creed had even managed to arrange her meeting with Prince George of Cumberland, who Mena thought highly of.
Uncle Creed was a wonderful man indeed, but when Mena had returned to London, she’d found out that the gossip rags accused her uncle of being a criminal and had been doing so for years.
She didn’t believe any of it.
He was simply too considerate of her feelings to be a villain. London was wrong about him, but that and the party had limited the suitors who’d come for her hand.
She was definitely cursed, though how she’d managed to get an offer from the Marquess of Durham, she still didn’t know.
Since the party, Uncle Creed had allowed her to aid in restoring her family’s hotel to its former glory. Because of his reputation, no one knew that it was actually Creed who owned it, so he allowed Mena to be seen by the public as the owner of the establishment. Once the hotel had been cleaned from top to bottom, she’d held grand dinner parties in the dining hall with ladies of the ton, meals with the lure of over a dozen courses from the best cooks in England. Mena found conversation easy when she remembered the long list of what not to say.
It was at the dinners that she’d met her friends… and the Marchioness of Durham. The Marquess’ mother had come once, and then again, and on her third visit she’d informed Mena that her son wished for them to marry.
She’d barely had time to think before Mrs. Gale, who looked ready to leap into a country dance on the table, cut in and told the Marchioness that Mena accepted. Mena hadn’t fought it at the time because there had been others around, but once it was discussed with her uncle, there had been no other choice.
And that was that.
For the last few months, Mrs. Gale had been enforcing every lady lesson Mena had ever learned in preparation for her coming marriage to the Marquess of Durham. He was a man she’d yet to meet and from all accounts, it seemed the rest of the world didn’t know much about him either, except for Lydia, who’d told her nothing more than she’d met him before at the bank and thought him a very good and kind man. Mena’s young friend hadn’t said more, though there had obviously been more to say. All she knew was that he’d once been a second son before his brother’s disappearance and now he was the heir to a wealthy title.
“Then perhaps a party at the Durham mansion will do,” Grace said. “But do not marry a Marquess and not have a party.”
“That is correct,” Mrs. Gale said from her place by the tree. “But you four need not worry about it. Lady Durham has already arranged the party to be two days after Lord Durham returns.”
Mena frowned. “Two days after he returns? But how am I to get to know him before then? Surely, he’d wish to at least to spend a month or so in my presence before we hosted a party.”
Mrs. Gale smiled. “There’s no need, dear. Once two people are engaged, there’s nothing short of death that can break it.” The words were true. The engagement would have to lead to marriage whether they wished for it or not. “You’ll meet at the party.”
“My marriage was arranged,” Flora said.
“As was mine,” Grace informed her.
Mena nodded in understanding, knowing it was her duty as a lady to marry for the betterment of her house, but still, it didn’t seem right to her. Who met their future husband at their engagement party?
Not Mena. No matter what it took, she planned to meet Durham before the party.
* * *
2
CHAPTER
TWO
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She’d wanted a new life. …
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Morgan walked down the gangway slowly and paused midway at the sight that caught his eyes. Dawn had just broken over the city, and his mother stood at the edge of the dock in front of her carriage. She was dressed in black from head to toe and though he couldn’t see her eyes clearly from this distance, he could recall seeing only one expression on her face: a calm reserve. Never once could he remember her raising her voice at Morgan and Hiram’s antics. Lady Durham had never needed to or cared to. There was always a nanny or tutor far more capable of delivering the message, whether it be by word or hand. How she could stand the smell of the Thames, the docks, or the men who worked it, he didn’t know and could only assume that she’d known that if she wished to see him, she had to corner him.
Another carriage waited a few yards away from his mother’s. His friend Simon stood before it, but when Morgan caught his gaze, he bowed his head before retreating and riding away. Even Simon had no desire to see his mother. They would have to get together later in the day. For now, Morgan would attend to the marchioness.
He adjusted the bag that rested on his shoulder and made his way toward her, taking his time to observe his surroundings before reaching her.
Looking at her made him recall what his brother had confessed about their mother’s nature and it made his skin crawl. In some ways, she was worse than his greatest enemy, and it coiled his blood to know he’d been born from her.
She said nothing before turning toward the carriage, and Morgan took her offered hand before guiding her inside and following after.
“I need to go home,” he said once the carriage moved.
“Home is where I am taking you,” she replied, her face tight without the creases that one would get with years of laughter or frowning. She’d been a woman of duty and grace her entire life. Nothing broke her. Morgan imagined she’d had that same expression on her face while giving birth. He had no illusions that his parents’ marriage had been one full of love. Instead, Morgan had grown up in what seemed like a space where everyone existed together, but apart, like ships that kept to the same waters but never touched.
And now, more than ever, he understood why his own father had avoided her except for when it came time to sire his heirs.