My Favorite Marquess. Alexandra Bassett

yourself, I gleaned from your missive that perhaps your reluctance could more likely be ascribed to a desire for me to raise my offering price? If so, consider it done. I hereby raise the selling price to 10 percent over my original offer.

      I am confident that this will soothe any widow’s qualms you may still entertain and you will see that selling is the best choice for yourself.

      Yours sincerely,

      Sebastian Cavenaugh

      The Marquess of St. Just

      Cavenaugh House

      London

      January 15, 1815

      The Most Hon. the Marquess of St. Just

      Cavenaugh House

      London

      Dear Lord St. Just,

      I am all gratefulness at the kindness you have shown me in trying to take my estate off my hands. I only wonder why, if Trembledown is crumbling, you would want it at any price. You must have a remarkable desire to see the St. Just empire restored to its former glory.

      Although I must again decline your offer, still not having seen the property with my own eyes, perhaps in the near future we may come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement regarding the estate? I notice that you are currently residing in London. I, too, shall be in town directly in order to assist in the presentation of my youngest sister. She is a very promising girl of lively temperament, and my family is naturally anxious to see her succeed. I, of course, know many esteemed personages in London, but I always believe that widening a young lady’s circle of society, especially among the aristocracy, cannot but help but benefit a young lady.

      Perhaps we could meet in person and discuss these matters?

      Yours sincerely,

      Mrs. Perceval Treacher

      January 24, 1815

      Mrs. Perceval Treacher

      Peacock Hall

      Yorkshire

      Ma’am,

      While I do not see the need for a personal meeting, I will agree to one if I must. However, let me assure you that I will not be manipulated by any feminine wiles into offering you another penny more for such a dilapidated piece of property. Nor have I any intention of becoming involved in any activities regarding your sister’s come-out, which doubtless would benefit from the patronage of one of my station.

      When you wish to proceed with the sale of Trembledown, please sign the enclosed sales agreement (that includes the very generous 10 percent mentioned in my previous epistle) and bring it with you to London. Upon your arrival, you may schedule an appointment with my secretary and we will finalize the sale at that time.

      St. Just

      January 28, 1815

      The Most Hon. the Marquess of St. Just

      Cavenaugh House

      London

      My Lord,

      Enclosed find your unsigned contract. You may herewith consider your offer rejected.

      I also regret to inform you that I no longer anticipate being in London in the near future. Your assurances of Trembledown’s state of neglect, although belied by your eagerness to purchase this same shambles of an estate, lead me to believe that the house is in need of my attention. It is now my intent to travel into Cornwall immediately to view the buildings and grounds and personally see to any restoration work that might be necessary. Once any improvements have been accomplished, I will then evaluate whether I wish to sell the property or not, and to whom I wish to sell it.

      Regards,

      Mrs. Perceval Treacher

      Peacock Hall

      Yorkshire

      Prologue

      February 1815

      John Cuthbert’s lips turned down grimly as he stared at Violet Treacher’s latest letter, a communication which put certain plans in a bit of a coil. He picked up the missive, sending a shower of confetti spilling down on his desk blotter. “What is the mess in this last envelope? There are tiny bits of paper spilling everywhere.”

      Sebastian’s lips flattened into a rueful expression. “I believe that is the ‘enclosed contract’—she failed to mention that she had shredded it into a thousand bits before including it.”

      “You certainly have a shrewd way with the ladies, St. Just.”

      Sebastian, warming himself before the fire of Cuthbert’s office, smiled in spite of this unfortunate turn of events. “That is quite a compliment, coming from you!”

      Cuthbert shook his head. His stooped shoulders and perpetually funereal expression gave the impression of a man who had received a mortal blow from which he had never recovered. Happily, no such event had ever occurred. Cuthbert was merely a sober man dedicated to his work…and nothing else. “It is true I give the ladies a wide berth, but that is because I have no business with them. I am fortunate in that regard.”

      “Life cannot be all toil.”

      “It can if one has the temperament for it, which I fortunately have. And because of this, and because I am a bachelor and likely to remain in the single condition for all my days, I am a happy man.”

      Sebastian laughed as he considered his companion’s morose countenance. “A happy man? I would never have thought of you as that!”

      Cuthbert lifted a long finger crooked from years of service maneuvering a pen for the Crown. “Ah, but that is where you are wrong. We eternal bachelors exist in perfect contentment because we know our lives shall never become disordered by the presence of a woman. We shall never be reduced to that state of fevered agitation known as love. Not for us the restless nights, the consuming distractions, or the clownish antics of the male in pursuit of a female. Our vocabularies will remain free of insipid words of endearment. We rest easily in the assurance that the words ‘My little partridge’ shall never issue from our lips.”

      “I, too, am a bachelor,” Sebastian said, “yet I can enjoy the company of women. Some of them can be quite amusing.” He cleared his throat. “In all sorts of ways.”

      Cuthbert regarded him sadly. “Then you are putting yourself at great risk, my friend. A man may dedicate his life to whatever he chooses—service, his family, work, God—but all women are designed to seek out husbands. It is their natural avocation, and some of them pursue it with the cunning and gusto of a Wellington.”

      “Ah, but they are not all successful,” Sebastian rejoined. “That is the sport of it.”

      “But look at the ones who are.” Cuthbert tapped the letter on the desk blotter before him. “Even this Treacher termagant charmed a poor fellow to taking up the harness.”

      Sebastian scoffed. “Percy Treacher was a fool whose only requirement for finding a wife was that she be rich, and Mrs. Treacher’s father is Sir Harlan Wingate, who made a fortune in trade.”

      Cuthbert drummed his fingers in thought; his musings on marriage were at an end and he was back to business again. “It would seem that Montraffer and Trembledown are doomed to remain un-reunited, then. And now not only do we not have unfettered access to the Trembledown property, we shall soon have to maneuver around Mrs. Treacher’s troublesome presence there.”

      Sebastian shook his head. “I told you that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie, John. No doubt if I had not instigated negotiations—upon your urgent request, I remind you—Mrs. Treacher would be snugly ensconced in London for the Season instead of now winging her way to Cornwall.”

      Cuthbert sighed. “Well, it can’t be helped now.”

      “Do not feel too bad, John. If Mrs. Treacher does take possession of Trembledown, she