Fungy turned to him, “Well, everyone is fair to you, my noble nabob.”
Teresa’s eyes widened, but Lord Huntley just laughed at the teasing remark.
“Yes, so where is he?” Lord Reath said again, redirecting everyone back to the problem at hand.
“Richard was unable to join us this evening,” Teresa said quickly.
“Richard?” Lord Huntley asked.
“Who is Richard?” Lord Reath asked simultaneously as if completing Huntley’s thought.
“Richard? Why, that is Merry’s Christian name, isn’t it? Haven’t heard anyone call him that since… well, egads, don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call him that,” said Fungy, rather perplexed.
“That… that is what he asked me to call him,” Teresa said, smiling at Fungy’s bewilderment.
“Did he?” the three said in unison.
Teresa covered her mouth to hide her giggle. She was glad to see that even Lady Swinborne’s lips twitched at the antics of the three gentlemen.
Teresa became serious once again, and said, “Rich … ah, Lord Merrick, had a small problem and was not able to come.”
“What sort of problem?” asked Fungy.
“What sort of problem could a man, who has been living in seclusion for a year, have?” Lord Reath asked, raising one devilish eyebrow.
“Yes, one who has not even seen his very closest friends for that time, I might add,” Lord Huntley agreed.
The three turned to look at her rather accusingly.
Teresa turned pink with their scrutiny. Now that she was the focus of the combined attention of all three, she felt overwhelmed and a little panicked. “It … it is precisely because he has not been out in so long that he had this, ah, problem.“ Teresa was having a hard time trying not to stammer and to order her words coherently.
She took a deep breath to try and control her rapidly beating heart. These men, she told herself, were Richard’s friends and meant well. “You see, it is his lack of proper clothing. He needs to see his tailor.” She looked imploringly at Fungy. “I am sure you understand, Cousin?”
“Humph!” Lord Huntley and Lord Reath said together.
“Oh! Indeed, yes. Very important.” Fungy, at least, showed some sympathy. The other two were clearly unimpressed.
The three men bowed to the two ladies, took their leave, and went off to discuss this turn of events in private.
“Well, of all the chicken-hearted…” she heard Reath’s drawl as they moved away from her and her aunt.
Teresa looked at her aunt, feeling slightly dazed as if she had just been an unwitting partner in a farce. Her aunt looked very much the same way, and could only give her niece a weak smile.
The evening went rapidly downhill. For the next two hours, they endured set-downs, nasty looks and downright rude curiosity from those they had called friends and acquaintances. Even Lady Swinborne could not stand any more after some time, and called for their carriage, ending their evening at a much earlier hour than usual.
Richard stepped into the back hallway of his house and was amazed at the difference a few maids could make on a house. No longer was there a solitary candle burning to greet him, but a lamp, which brightened the entrance considerably. The table was dusted, the floor swept clean and the fresh smell of recently polished wood filled the air. Richard was also rather surprised to see his housekeeper advancing on him in a very determined way.
“M’lord, there are three men here who dinna want to leave ‘til they’ve had a word with ye,” she said. The straight line of her mouth bespoke her disapproval. “I told them that ye were out, but they scoffed and said they would wait ‘til ye returned.”
Richard drew his eyebrows down, trying to think of who might be calling on him. Then he noticed the small tray in the housekeeper’s hand, and took up the three cards there. Unable to repress the smile that split his face, he started up the back stairs to his room.
“Tell them I’ll be with them shortly,” he called out as he took the stairs two at a time.
He changed into his buff-colored riding breeches. The leather was in poor condition, but it was the best he could do. At least his coat of pale yellow superfine was still in fashion, although the buttons were rather large and showy compared to the more understated ones currently worn by the dandies. A quick, simple knot in his neckcloth finished his toilette.
He paused for a moment to take a deep breath before entering the drawing room a mere fifteen minutes later. He had not seen his closest friends for nearly a year, when he had taken his knocker off the door and left town to bury his beloved Julia.
Julia was the fourth and last person to be buried in his family plot at Merrick. The three others, his mother, sister and brother, had come in quick succession just months before. He had returned to town a mere two weeks later, unable to bear the silence of his ancestral home, but had preferred for the world to think him still in the country mourning his family. The knocker had stayed off the door and he had contacted no one since then. But now he knew he had no choice but to re-enter the world from which he had turned away. With his proposal to Teresa, he had committed himself to this. Now was the time to start.
His friends looked very comfortable, lounging negligently around his drawing room as they waited for him. They had made themselves comfortable, as they had always done before. Richard noticed, with a wry smile, that they had helped themselves to his finest brandy.
Huntley pushed himself away from the intricately carved marble mantelpiece against which he had been leaning. “Well, Merry, it’s about time you showed up.”
“Kept us waiting long enough!” Reath complained from his seat on the maroon and white striped sofa.
“Damn, but Cousin Teresa was right about your clothes!” Fungy said, coming over from the window where he had been staring out at the passersby in the square.
“It is good to see you too,” Richard said, shaking each of his friends by the hand. “Cousin Teresa?” he added, giving Fungy a rather piercing stare.
Completely ignoring the look, Fungy easily replied, “Yes, Cousin Teresa. That is what I should be calling your intended is it not, er … Richard?”
Reath barked out a laugh, while Huntley immediately fell into a coughing fit.
Richard gave the two men his fiercest glare. “Would you gentlemen care to share the joke? And why are you calling me by my given name? Never have before.”
“It is what Miss Seton called you,” Reath said, not even trying to hide his broad grin.
“When did you three meet Miss Seton?” Richard asked, pouring himself a much-needed drink from the side table. Without asking, he refilled his friends glasses.
“Last night at Lady Anson’s soiree. Said you couldn’t be there due to your lack of wardrobe,” Reath said, after taking a sip from his drink.
“And absolutely bang on the mark, if what you are wearing is any indication of what the rest of your clothes look like,” Huntley added.
“Yes, well … unfortunately, it does bear a rather close similarity to your wardrobe when you first arrived from the wilds of India,” Richard confessed, with a teasing grin thrown at Huntley.
“Got to get your tailor here. Can’t be seen in public like that,” Fungy said, the shock palpable in his voice.
“I’d planned on calling on him today,” Richard admitted.
“You mean, you were actually thinking of venturing out like that?” Huntley asked, incredulous. “Couldn’t you get the fellow here?”
“Yes. Emergency, you know,” Fungy added.
“Tell him to bring some half-finished coats with him so you’ve got something to wear today,” Reath agreed.
“And don’t forget a few pairs of breeches and pantaloons,” Huntley said, nodding.
“Then you can pay a visit to Toby for a new pair of boots,” Reath put in, admiring his own gleaming Hessians.
Richard frowned into his drink. His friends were right. He could not go out the way he was dressed. Not the famous Me
rry Marquis, who had never left the house without being impeccably turned out. He had been out of circulation for so long that he had almost forgotten what was expected of him and his reputation.
Richard sighed and dropped down onto the sofa.
“I am sorry, my good friends. I am afraid it has been a long time since I’ve even thought about any of this.”
“Not to worry, Cuz. We’ll take care of everything,” Fungy said quickly.
“That’s right, Merry. You’ll get back into the swing of things in no time,” Reath said, giving Richard a friendly pat on his shoulder.
“I thank you, all of you, most sincerely for…” Richard began.
“No need, no need.” “Indeed not! Friends do such things, don’t they?” “Really, Merry, don’t even think on it.” All three cried out in unison.
Richard smiled at them. “Haven’t changed a bit.”
“No. But you have, haven’t you, Merry?” Huntley asked quietly.
Richard nodded sadly. “Yes, I suppose I have.”
“Well, not to worry. As we said, we’ll get you back to your old merry self in no time,” Reath said with authority.
Richard felt a twinge of anxiety. “Must I?” he asked softly, almost to himself.
“Yes, you must,” was the definitive answer from all three.
“Owe it to Cousin Teresa,” Fungy added.
“Teresa? Oh dear, I almost forgot about her. You say you saw her at Lady Anson’s soiree last night?” Richard drew his brows down again, this time worried not for himself, but for Teresa.
“Yes. Had a dreadful time of it too, I’m afraid.”
“Cut left and right,” Huntley said, nodding.
“I’ve heard she is rather shy in public,” Richard said.
“Shy? You might say she was shy. Trying to hide at every opportunity,” Reath said, shaking his head sadly.
Richard nodded. “I do owe it to her to become my old self again. I’m afraid I did something rather despicable, but I’m going to make up for it.” He had a new determination in his voice.
There was an awkward silence. Then Fungy said, “Know all about it. ‘Silence’ let everyone know.”
“Then just marrying her may not be enough.” Richard moved to the edge of the sofa, looking intently at his friends.
“A year ago, it would have,” Huntley pointed out in his gentle voice.
“But not now.” Reath was blunt.
They were all quiet for a moment, before Reath slowly stood up, his devilish face lightening up into a smile. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time for the Merry Marquis to be the darling of the ton once again.”
“Hear, hear!” Huntley agreed enthusiastically.
“That’ll do the trick,” Fungy exclaimed.
Richard stood up with determination. “All right, gentlemen. For Teresa’s sake, let’s get started.” He turned toward his cousin. “Fungy, you go to Weston and implore him to be here this afternoon at the latest. He’ll listen to you, you’ve got more credit with him than anyone. Reath, you go to Toby, tell him to get started on a new pair of boots for me, as well as three pairs of pumps. I’ll need at least that for all of the dancing parties to which I’ll be escorting Teresa. Huntley,” he said, turning to his last friend, “I need you to go with Fungy and help him pick out material for my coats and waistcoats. You now have the most refined taste of us all.”
He looked around at his friends. “Gentlemen, I am counting on you. You will be the re-making of the Merry Marquis.”
Chapter Nine
Ready to face the wolves, my dear?”
Richard smiled his most reassuring smile at Teresa. He thought ruefully that he could have done with some reassurance himself. It had been too long since he had ventured into a society event. And though Lady Cowper’s political soiree was not exactly the sort of gathering that he had normally attended, he was very conscious that it was a crucial first step towards his ambitious goal to restore his own social standing as the Merry Marquis, and, through that, the reputation of his betrothed.
“As ready as I will ever be, my … my lord,” Teresa said, while twisting her reticule strings around her long fingers. This familiar mannerism made Richard realize that she was close to panic, and he took a firm hold of her elbow as they walked in to the lovely Georgian townhouse.
“Miss Seton, Lord Merrick! How wonderful to see you both. I am so glad that you could join us this evening.” Lady Cowpe took Teresa’s arm, her smile of welcome dazzling. Then, inclining her raven-curled head at Richard, she added, “My lord, I know that you can manage for yourself. Miss Seton, please come this way. There are some people I would like to introduce to you.”
Neither Richard nor Teresa had a chance to say anything before Teresa was gaily whisked away by their most efficient hostess. Richard nearly went running after them at the look of terror Teresa shot him, just before she was swallowed up by the crowd. Only Lady Cowper’s calming look at her guest kept him where he stood. She was obviously aware of Teresa’s fears and would do her best to help. He trusted Lady Cowper. He needed to.
For himself, Richard looked around for a familiar face. There were a few men with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, but most were unknown to him.
His hostess was known to invite a motley group of people to her soirees. They could be from any class of society, as long as they possessed keen minds and an interest in the affairs of the day. There were sallow-faced dons, a cabinet secretary or two with their regal wives, soldiers both retired and in service, and a group of young bluestockings who were deep in conversation amongst themselves.
Richard sighed, and made his way slowly to the nearest knot of people. Political drawing rooms had never been a fascination of his, nor of Julia’s.
Julia. This was the first time he had been out in society since Julia had died. He had never really thought about how much he had depended upon her. She had been the beautiful complement to his own dashing looks, the charm to his wit.
And now, she was gone.
Mentally, he shook himself. He could do this. He could go on without Julia. He had to. For Teresa’s sake. She was counting on him to help her find a husband.
His mood lightened slightly at the absurdity of the thought and of his situation. He was going to be Teresa’s husband. Yet, he had promised to help her find a man she could love and who returned her affection. He, Richard, certainly did not fit the bill.
Well, he had to do his part. As he joined the nearest group, he forced his mind to focus on the topic being discussed.
“No, it won’t last. The French rabble had no great love for the poor king,” the man to Richard’s left said with great authority.
“You think not? I heard they cheered him like mad,” said the man on his right.
“Oh, yes, they will cheer anyone who comes through the gates. But just you wait, the people won’t let things just return to the way they were.”
Richard assumed the two were discussing the return of King Louis to Paris. Since Napoleon had abdicated less than a month ago, he was sure it had been the most common topic for discussion. There was nothing new that anyone would have to say, and Richard certainly did not have anything novel to add. He moved on.
He passed by three other gentlemen who were arguing loudly about the American situation. Next was a woman holding forth on the horrors of climbing boys. Her rather bemused audience was an ancient in a wig and diamond-buckled shoes. Amused by the tableau, Richard stopped to listen to her diatribe.
“And so, my lord, I say to you once again, the horrors of mistreatment that is endured by the climbing boys must be stopped and stopped immediately,” she finished, as if concluding a major oration to Parliament, rather than a discourse to an audience of one.
“Indeed, but then what will happen to the boys? Will you just leave them on the street to starve?” Richard asked, mildly.
The woman turned, and then looked down her nose at him. “That, sir, is impertinent.”
“Not at all. It is a
valid concern,” Richard said, trying not to take offense at her self-important manner, “And one that must be addressed before any legislation is passed. It would be fine if we establish schools to equip the boys to make a decent life for themselves. But if, madam, you are simply advocating abandoning them to the squalor from whence they come, then you are doing them no service at all.”
The woman was held speechless for a moment, but then waded back into the argument. “Indeed, but do you not think that it would be better to fight one problem at a time?”
“If you are going to fight for the one, perhaps it would be best to fight for the other as a complete solution,” the elderly gentleman took up Richard’s line of reasoning.
Richard lapsed into a comfortable silence. Listening to the two debate back and forth, he caught pieces of conversation others around him as well.
He was amazed at the level of sophistication of the discussions. This was at a much higher intellectual level than anything he had ever imagined would take place at a political salon.
He suddenly thought of Teresa, and how upset she had been the last time she had gotten into a political discussion with someone. Poor girl! She must beside herself with worry about making a faux pas. His own uneasiness at being in a social situation vanished as he thought of his betrothed.
Richard excused himself from the argument still raging on in front of him. He had to find Teresa.
The room he was in was not very large, but there were quite a lot of people in it. He moved quickly from group to group looking for her. Growing a bit anxious, he strained to remember the direction Lady Cowper had taken when she had whisked Teresa away.
He walked into another drawing room, even larger than the first. Once again, he moved as fast as possible through the crowd, both looking for her and listening for her voice. She was not anywhere to be found.
Richard truly began to worry. He wondered if she had said something tactless, or had simply been too overwhelmed and had sought refuge in the lady’s withdrawing room. A picture came to his mind of her sitting all alone in a room somewhere, crying into her handkerchief.
The Merry Marquis Page 6