The Marquis Takes a Bride Read Online Free Page A

relinquish her dramatic pose.
    At last he said mildly, “I shall expect you to produce an heir at some time or another, you know. But you are very young and I am prepared to wait. At the beginning of our marriage, at least, you may lead your own life and follow your own amusements.”
    Jennie thought quickly. Oh, that she could marry Guy! But since she could not, surely it would be better to have a complaisant husband.
    “Very well,” she said sulkily, staring at the Marquis’ waistcoat button.
    He drew her gently to him and kissed her on the forehead.
    “Why did you never marry before?” asked Jennie, suddenly shy.
    “I must have been waiting for you,” he answered lightly, “although my friends tell me I am married to my tailor.”
    If he cares only for clothes as Guy said
, thought Jennie, beginning to relax,
he will have little time to think of his wife
.
    Lord Charles and Lady Priscilla came into the room. They showed no surprise at the news that the couple were to go ahead with the wedding.
    “Jennie has been trained to come to heel,” said Lord Charles. “You should have no trouble with her.”
    “I hope, my lord,” said Jennie sweetly, “that you will put a ring on my finger and not a collar around my neck.”
    “I shall supply you with whatever is necessary, I assure you,” remarked the Marquis. “I think we should be married in three weeks’ time.”
    “So soon,” said Jennie faintly.
    “Capital!” said Lord Charles.
    “I see no sense in waiting,” remarked the large Marquis. “After all, my dear, we have been betrothed for such a long time!”
    The announcement of the Marquis’ engagement to Miss Jennie Bemyss caused a certain flutter in London society, which had considered him a hardened bachelor.
    One of the most astounded was his friend, Peregrine Deighton.
    Peregrine was waiting impatiently for the Marquis on that gentleman’s return from Runbury Manor. He was a small, dapper man with a small, military moustache and thick, pepper-and-salt hair. He had a broad forehead and large, slightly protruding brown eyes, a thin, straight nose and a small, severe mouth.
    It had long been a source of wonder why the elegant and indolent Marquis should choose such an old-maid for a friend. For Mr. Deighton was inclined to be very prissy and had an embarrassing habit of speaking exactly what was on his mind at the time. But Peregrine had fought in the Marquis’ regiment during the earlier years of the Peninsular Wars and the Marquis knew him to be gallant and brave, and sensitive to a fault, and repaid his little friend’s loyalty with the same regard.
    The Marquis entered the drawing room of his town house in Albemarle Street and looked with lazy amusement at the small, trim figure of Mr. Deighton, who was perched on the edge of a chair with the knob of his cane in his mouth.
    He unplugged himself at the sight of the Marquis and immediately burst into speech. “Tell me it’s not true!” he cried. “I could scarce believe my eyes when I read the
Morning Post
. You set out to tell the Bemyss family that you had no intention of getting married. What happened?”
    “I must have fallen in love,” remarked the Marquis languidly, stripping off his York tan driving gloves.
    “You? Love? Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Deighton, who then, in his usual embarrassing way, plunged straight on into the reason for his distress over the forthcoming nuptials. “What will happen to all the fun we have?” he said. “What will happen to all the races and prize fights? The clubs and the opera? The days in the park? A wife will put a stop to all that!” He bounced up and down on the edge of the chair, his dapper little figure fairly quivering with distress.
    “Down, boy! Down!” said the Marquis good-humoredly, and indeed his small friend did look rather like an agitated puppy who had just been refused a walk. “My affianced bride assures me that ours shall be a marriage of convenience. We shall go our