The Merry Marquis Read online

  “Have you ever spoken with Lady Cowper?” he asked, thrilled that he’d remembered the political soirees the lady was so well known for hosting.

  “No. Does she believe the same as I do concerning the plight of these soldiers?” she asked wide-eyed.

  “Yes, I believe that she does. I am not certain, of course,” he added hastily remembering his supposed position, “but it would seem to be a cause that she and her set of politically-minded ladies would be interested in.” Richard paused wondering why Teresa had to deal with this on her own. Why didn’t her aunt help her out? Say something? Even take her to one of Lady Cowper’s soirees herself if she knew that her niece was politically minded.

  Just the thought that this poor girl was left out to dry, so to speak, made him furious. He took a moment to calm himself down. This wasn’t his problem. “What did your aunt do while you were shooting this fellow down?”

  But then he thought of the lady in question. Yes, she should have either stopped her niece or supported her, unfortunately, he wasn't sure Lady Swinborne had a strong enough character to do either one.

  “Nothing, I am afraid, but I could tell that she was extremely embarrassed. In fact, she has not said a word to me at all other than what was strictly necessary since then.”

  Just as he feared. “That is not encouraging, is it?”

  “No. I am afraid it is not.” Miss Seton seated herself, once again, at the pianoforte and seemed determined to put the whole episode from her mind.

  Richard silently applauded her as he sat back down.

  As he listened to her music, he could not help but admire Miss Seton for her bravery in speaking up in support of the soldiers. He briefly wondered how she knew so much about this issue and why she felt as strongly as she did. Perhaps she had had a brother killed in the war, as he had?

  Chapter Four

  The following Tuesday, with Richard sitting in his usual slightly undersized gilt chair next to her. Teresa was once again playing Beethoven’s lovely fourteenth sonata.

  Towards the end of the piece, she glanced over at Richard. He was sitting back in his chair with his eyes closed, his hands loosely resting on his lap. A single tear was slowly making its way unheeded down his cheek.

  Overcome, she stopped playing and lightly put her hand on his. His eyes flew open and he quickly blinked away the tears that had pooled there.

  “Why do you cry?” she asked quietly.

  He shook off his emotion with a swipe of his hand over his face. “You must forgive me. That sonata is my wife’s favorite piece.”

  “Oh! I did not know you were married.” Teresa pulled her hand away, her stomach roiling slightly. She had, unknowingly, been meeting a married man.

  Richard looked down at his hand and then back up at her. “She… she died a year ago. That is the reason for my show of emotion. I beg your forgiveness.”

  Relief surged through her. “It is no matter. I do not mind you showing your emotions. Not at all. It is the beautiful thing about music, is it not? It bares your emotions in a way that is very difficult to avoid.”

  She paused for a moment. The soldiers she’d spoken with in her mother’s drawing room always felt better for sharing their grief and fears. Perhaps Richard would as well and she desperately wanted to make him feel better. “How did your wife die?”

  He drew a shuddering breath. “She was thrown from her horse. She died instantly.”

  “I am so sorry.” She reached out and placed her hand back on his.

  His eyes fixated on them for a moment before he shook his head. “It is all right. I have just never spoken of it, until now.”

  “Sometimes it is better to speak of such things, difficult though it may be.” She wished she had the words to comfort him.

  Richard smiled wryly. “What would you know of death and other such terrible things?"

  Teresa sat up taller. “I know much more than you would think. My mother always hosted the English soldiers who fought in the Peninsular War. Some of them spoke to me of death and the horrors of the battlefield.“ She looked him directly in the eye. “I have often thought that you looked as if you knew death much more closely than you would admit. I wondered if you were not a soldier yourself.”

  “No. I have never been a soldier, but I do know death.” Richard’s eyebrows drew down. “Within the past year, I've lost everyone I ever held dear.”

  Tears stung Teresa’s eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. “Oh!“ She fought for the right words to say, but could find none.

  Richard took a deep breath and looked down at their hands once again. Rendered awkward by the silence, Teresa turned back to her music. She quickly selected another piece, deliberately choosing a folk tune which was a little more upbeat.

  She played through the piece rather quickly, enjoying the bright melody. However, when she chanced to look at Richard, next to her, he did not seem to be either listening or enjoying the music. He sat, lost in his own thoughts, his brow lowered over his eyes and a slight frown marring his handsome features.

  When she finished, he resumed their conversation as if he had not been interrupted. “If your mother hosted so many soldiers in her drawing room, how is it that you do not enjoy society?” he asked, giving Teresa a glimpse into the direction his thoughts had taken him.

  “I, well, that is, my mother, she…” Teresa stopped, not knowing quite what to say. Just thinking about her mother caused her to be as tongue-tied as if they were actually in the same room. She took a deep breath and started again. “My mother is very beautiful and witty. The men who wanted conversation would stay by her.”

  “What about you? Did you not speak with these soldiers?” Richard said, clearly confused.

  “Well, no. I usually sat with those who simply wanted to talk. They did not expect me to say anything,” Teresa said quietly, looking past Richard, toward the window.

  “I am sorry, but how could they not expect you to talk to them?”

  “My mother told them not to expect much conversation from me, as I was awkward and had very little to say anyway.“ She raised her eyes to his and was surprised to find him looking quite angry. She did not understand if he was angry with her for being so inept, or with her mother for saying so.

  She felt the familiar tight feeling of inadequacy in her chest, but ignored it. She refused to be baited into feeling sorry for herself. “It is true. I really do not have much conversation. I have come to accept my short-comings and work around them, like becoming a good listener and playing the pianoforte.”

  Richard scowled. Finally, he shifted in his chair so that he faced her and put his hands on both of her shoulders. Looking directly into her eyes, he said firmly, “Miss Seton, there is nothing wrong with your conversation, nor with you no matter what your mother may have told you.”

  Tears stung Teresa’s eyes. No gentleman had ever said anything so kind to her. It did not matter whether it was true or not—and she rather believed not. But the gentle yet insistent honesty with which he said it somehow tore at her heart.

  Then, as if to prove his words, he leaned closer, moving his hands from her shoulders to gently cradle either side of her face. Teresa knew he was going to kiss her. She knew she should stop him, but she didn’t want to. She startled herself with the realization that she wanted very much for him to kiss her.

  Her expectations and hopes were fulfilled—and then some. His lips were firm but soft, gentle but probing—and they made her insides turn to pudding. He tasted slightly salty from the tears he had shed earlier and she breathed in the clean scent of his shaving soap. His tongue ran along her lips and she parted them for him, reveling in the taste and feel of him. She slid her arms under his coat and around his back. He made her feel so wonderful, so… she tried to form her feelings into words but her brain would not cooperate, she was so lost in the sensations of his kiss, the feel of his muscular body under her hands…

  “Teresa Seton!”

  The stern, shocked voice of her
aunt rang out in the silent room. Another voice gasped, as well.

  Teresa and Richard flew apart, stumbling to their feet as they turned shocked faces in the direction of the voices.

  Lady Swinborne stood just inside the doorway with Lady Jersey at her side. Both looked scandalized at the scene that had been playing out for them.

  “Aunt Catherine! What, what are you doing here?”

  Richard bowed stiffly to the two ladies.

  “What am I doing here? What is he doing here? And I thought all this time that you only came to practice the pianoforte.“ She turned to her friend. “Sally, I assure you, I had no knowledge that my niece was secretly meeting his lordship here.”

  “No, indeed, how could you? My lord, would you care to explain your presence here when everyone believes you to be at your estate in the country?” Lady Jersey’s lips curled in a smile, while her eyes glittered with nasty glee.

  Teresa turned wide eyes upon Richard. “My lord? Richard?”

  Lady Swinborne gasped. “Richard, is it? Oh my, this is much worse than I could possibly have thought!”

  Richard stood looking like a deer surrounded by hunters, his eyes darting from one lady to the next. Finally, he said, “It is not at all what you think, Lady Swinborne. We have not been meeting here secretly. That is to say, not intentionally.” He then turned to Teresa, “I, ah, perhaps I neglected to mention, Miss Seton…”

  A laugh burst out from Lady Jersey. “Is it possible, Miss Seton, that you do not know whom you have been kissing?”

  Teresa felt her stomach begin to tie itself up into a knot as turned to face Richard.

  “May I have the honor of making the introduction?” Lady Jersey said with a broad smile. “Miss Seton, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Marquis of Merrick, known to most as the Merry Marquis.”

  Teresa automatically sank into a curtsey, tears stung her eyes as she struggled to hide the anger and hurt she felt. He had lied to her. Why? Why had he not told her that he was the Marquis?

  Still giggling, Lady Jersey continued, “Now that you have been properly introduced, I do believe that the Marquis might have something ask of you, Miss Seton?”

  Richard looked at Lady Jersey blankly.

  Lady Swinborne’s voice still shuddered with shock, “Indeed, to be caught in so compromising a position.”

  Teresa was still confused. She watched in surprise as Richard—no, the Marquis—turned to her.

  With a face that looked as if it was carved out of granite, he said stiffly, “Miss Seton, I would be honored if you would consent to be my wife.”

  Teresa took a step backwards. This was entirely her aunt and Lady Jersey’s doing. Richard had no desire to be married again just yet. Why, it had only been a year since his wife had died, and he was clearly not over her loss. Not only that, but he did not love her. It was just an accident that they had happened to kiss, and an even worse circumstance that her aunt and Lady Jersey just so happened to have walked in just at that moment.

  “No, my lord, I will not consent to be your wife.” Before she could do anything else stupid—like scream out her anger at Lady Jersey, her aunt, or even Richard—she fled from the room.

  Chapter Five

  Richard made a move to go after Miss Seton, but Lady Swinborne put up her hand. “No, my lord, I will go and talk some sense into her. Sally, you will excuse me, I am sure.”

  Lady Jersey nodded, and then, as her friend left, turned back to Richard who still stood in shock in the corner of the room. “Well, well, Merry, it has been a much more exciting afternoon than either one of us had expected, has it not?”

  Richard dropped down into the chair that stood next to him. “You might say that.” He paused for a moment before making one more attempt at getting out of this awkward situation. “Lady Jersey, this was completely innocent. Surely you must see that?” He looked up at her intently, as if willing her to forget the whole situation.

  “Oh, I am entirely certain that it was unintentional, but whenever is compromising a young lady intentional? No, I am afraid, my lord, that this is too good a story to be kept quiet.” Lady Jersey pulled her gloves up higher over her wrists.

  Richard scowled, but nodded. It had been too much to hope that the greatest gossip in London would forget an indiscretion like this.

  “If you will excuse me then, I must spread the word, before it is too late to pay any more calls.“ Lady Jersey swept from the room, giggling with delight at having been present at the conception of the most wonderful piece of gossip.

  Richard was shaken. He knew society’s rules. Not too long ago, he himself had been one its enforcers, delighting, along with everyone else, in the discomfort of those forced to marry after having been caught in a compromising situation. Well, now he was the one who was caught.

  He thought back to his time with Miss Seton this past week. He had felt more alive when he was with her than he had for a very long time—since Julia had died. It had felt so good to make her laugh and to laugh himself. He had nearly forgotten what it was to be happy, but Miss Seton had reminded him. And now he had ruined her.

  He stood up again, needing to do something, anything, to make her see that she could not reject him. She would be shunned by society! He could not allow that to happen. He shook off the thought that she had somehow become indispensable to his own happiness. No, it was for her own good that she marry him.

  Richard paused for a moment on his way out the door, wryly looking down at his shabby clothing. He quickly turned and headed up the stairs to his bedroom, calling for the housekeeper to bring him some shaving water. Now, more than ever, he cursed himself for having given his valet an extended holiday. If he was going to try to convince Miss Seton to marry him, he needed to be dressed properly.

  He had, he thought wryly, deliberately deceived her with his clothes. Oh, not the first time he had met her. Then he had just come in from one of his nearly daily walks through the slums of London, trying to find homeless boys to fill his new orphanage. He knew better than to walk through neighborhoods like St. Giles or Seven Dials dressed in his good clothes. No, it was best that he blended in, and looked as inconspicuous as possible when out on his forays.

  Richard strode to his wardrobe and rifled through his coats, looking for one that was presentable—no, one that was flattering. As he settled on a coat of blue superfine that he had had made for him by Weston two years ago, he realized with some amusement that he wanted to look his best for this meeting. He hadn’t even thought of his clothes in… goodness, months!

  And yet, since he had met Miss Seton, he had made sure he was dressed in his oldest clothes each afternoon when she came to practice—once he had deceived her, there was no easy way to turn back. Moreover, it had felt good that someone liked him for himself, and not because he was the Merry Marquis.

  And now they were going to be married, whether she liked it or not.

  Richard nearly nicked himself as he stood shaving. A terrible thought had crossed his mind. He had kissed Miss Seton. Not only that, but it had felt good, sending a familiar warmth through his veins. Julia immediately came to his mind. He had loved her passionately—he still did. So how could he have similar sensations when he kissed Miss Seton? It did not make sense. Richard pushed these disturbing thoughts from his mind and concentrated on not cutting his face.

  His neckcloth would not be as spectacular as his valet could make it, but it was good enough. But his coat was so close fitting that he could not get on by himself. He swallowed his pride and called for his housekeeper to help him into his coat.

  As Teresa ran headlong through her aunt’s house and up the stairs to her room, she could not contain her tears. She had nearly soaked her pillow by the time her anger came to the fore.

  Tears still streaming down her face, she paced back and forth within the confines of her room. How could he? He had lied to her about who he was. What else had he lied to her about?

  He had been so nice. Was that a lie too? Did he
go each night to his club and joke with the other gentlemen about the ugly little girl who said the most outrageous things? She had liked him, trusted him and believed him when he had said kind things to her. But it was all a lie.

  Well, she did not want his friendship, nor his forced offer of marriage. She stopped her pacing to stare blankly out of the window for a moment. It had been clear that he felt nothing for her, except perhaps anger at having been forced to offer for her. And why shouldn’t he feel that way? She was no catch—not for an incredibly handsome marquis.

  She resumed her pacing. Well, she wanted none of it. None of his pity, his friendship or his marriage proposal. He could just take it and…

  Her thought was interrupted by a knock at her bedroom door.

  “Teresa, may I come in?” her aunt called from the other side. Without waiting for an answer, Lady Swinborne entered the room.

  “Well, what have you to say for yourself, Teresa? I hope you are satisfied with your day’s work.” Lady Swinborne frowned at her niece.

  Teresa knew that she was furious with her, but grasped at the touch of sympathy she detected in her voice. “You have every right to angry with me,” she admitted.

  “I most certainly do. I have been working hard these past weeks trying to push you forward. I have introduced you to most of the eligible men of the ton, and you have done nothing but make things difficult. Hiding behind plants, making inappropriate comments at times and saying nothing at all the rest of the time. I have been at my wits’ end. And then I had to put up with all of this homeless soldier nonsense. Honestly, Teresa!”

  Teresa stood quietly, accepting her aunt’s scolding, knowing full well that it was deserved.

  Lady Swinborne settled herself in the chair directly in front of the fire. “I had little hope for making a brilliant match for you, I admit. But I had thought that at least a respectable one was possible. But now… now you have completely ruined yourself.”