The Merry Marquis

Chapter Four

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.