Surely, part of the problem was her dress. The dark blue made her skin seem unnaturally sallow and her hair lose its natural brilliance. And, although the dress was cut low enough to show a bit of her bosom, the dark hue effectively concealed the rest of her slender curves.
Her mother, overseeing the dressing of her hair, had insisted upon it being pulled up into a tight knot at the top of her head. A few wisps of hair had been allowed to frame her face, and took away some of the starkness. They curled into lovely ringlets.
Even at this time of the morning, the heavy silk of her dress was a trifle too warm, and Teresa felt herself begin to perspire—though, she admitted ruefully, that was probably also due to the panic rising within her at the prospect of the day ahead.
And the night. She would not have given a thought to the night, if it hadn’t been for her mother’s teasing comments all morning long. She felt like telling her mother the truth just to get her to stop her teasing. But that confession would only bring further humiliation. She could not bear that. Not now.
As her maid finished her hair, her aunt came in bearing a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. She smiled a bit tremulously at Teresa, and raised her hand to touch her face.
“Teresa, I love you as much as if you were my own daughter,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “I wish for you to wear this, as my own daughter would have.”
Teresa gave her aunt a tight hug, barely able to contain her own tears. Indeed, she too loved her aunt with all her heart.
“Thank you, Aunt Catherine.” Teresa sat back down and opened the package. Soft, fine white lace spilled from paper.
“It is my wedding veil. May you be as happy in your marriage as I was in mine.” With tears shining in her eyes, her aunt draped it over Teresa’s head, allowing the scalloped edges to frame her face.
Looking in the mirror, Teresa felt her first real pleasure of the morning. She heard her aunt breathe, “You look beautiful, my dear.”
The white of the veil emphasized her large black eyes and rouged red lips. And, as she stood, it draped beautifully down her back and trailed along the floor behind her. Perhaps, she thought as she walked slowly down the stairs, the veil did manage add a hint of beauty and grace to her otherwise bland appearance.
Her reclusive uncle, the Viscount of Abington, did not seem to notice her attractiveness or lack thereof.
“Pretty little thing,” he muttered, tapping her cheek with a finger. But Teresa noted, without rancor, that there was not much conviction in his quivery voice. He had traveled, with great reluctance, from his country estate to do his duty by his younger brother’s daughter.
Teresa looked down at her tightly clasped hands. It should have been her father who was giving her away. Yet, on second thought, she did not think she could have borne with the guilt of going into a loveless marriage on the arm of her father. No, perhaps it was just as well that it was her stranger of an uncle who would be giving her away.
“Are you ready, my dear?” Her uncle offered her his arm.
Squaring her shoulders, Teresa stepped out the door and into the carriage that would lead her to her future husband.
Not her love, but her husband nonetheless.
The butler shut the door behind Richard as he followed Teresa into his townhouse. The decisive click of the heavy door somehow brought the finality of the events of the day home to Richard. He was a married man again—wed today to this lovely waif, who was still very much a stranger to him.
He sat down in the drawing room facing Teresa, but then immediately got up again.
For God’s sake! He was as awkward as Teresa. He looked over at her sitting uncomfortably at the edge of one the armchairs. She was staring at her tightly clenched hands in her lap, looking so frightened and lost.
He wanted to put her at ease, but oddly enough he did not even know where to begin. Julia would have immediately dispelled the tension with an apt observation and they would have laughed together. But this girl… what little he did know of her confirmed that she would not be the one to break the silence between them.
He looked around the drawing room, trying to hit upon something—anything—to say. For a moment, he was distracted by the thought that, somehow, the room looked different with a woman in it. The furniture did not seem quite so heavy, and the walls did not press in on him as they used to when he was here alone.
He took refuge in playing the host. Walking to the side table where the brandy and a new bottle of ratafia stood waiting, he asked, “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, thank you,” she answered quickly. “I… ah… I’ve already had more wine than I am used to.” She gave him a shaky smile.
“I hope you would not mind if I have some.” Richard poured himself a generous glass of brandy, then stood there, his back to her, cradling the snifter in his hand.
It was done. The wedding and the breakfast were finally over with, but now he was here alone with her. His wife, Teresa.
It still did not sound right. Julia was his wife. Julia, who had been everything to him. God, how he missed her still.
He took a large sip from his drink, reveling in the burning sensation as it slid down his throat.
He turned back to Teresa. She had not moved. There was an odd quality of stillness about her, he reflected, a calm that was very different from the vitality that always came from Julia.
He cleared his throat, knowing that he should say something to break the renewed silence. Dash it, he reflected ruefully, the Merry Marquis had been rendered tongue-tied by a slip of a girl—how, indeed, had the mighty fallen!
As he poured himself a second brandy, he wondered about her thoughts now. Perhaps she was remembering their wedding?
He was not sure he could remember much of it himself. His wedding to Julia flashed through his mind. The images were vivid. It had been a grand affair, with the church bedecked with masses of flowers and sparkling with the so many members of the haute ton. Richard’s cousin Fungy, with whom he had shared all of the most important milestones of his life, had stood up with him. So had Reath, then newly returned from his diplomatic duties in Europe, and recently married himself. Most of all, he remembered Julia at the altar, her beauty made even more brilliant by the joy in her glowing, smiling face.
And this morning? He remembered Teresa coming down the aisle on the arm of her uncle. And he recalled her dress—the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Yet she had held her head up proudly, and in so doing had caused her beautiful white veil to flow behind her. This, combined with her pale white skin and her flashing black eyes, had given her a fleeting loveliness.
He had heard her speak her vows softly but with resolve, and he remembered the salty taste of her tears when he had kissed her. This was all he could recall.
He walked back to a chair near Teresa, and sat back down with his drink. Almost at the same time, Teresa stood up and moved to the window. She stared out at the street, twisting the maroon damask curtain in her hands.
Looking at her back, he realized that there was one other thing he remembered from that morning. The pain. He remembered the sharp jab of pain when someone had called her Lady Merrick. He had had his back turned from her, and had turned instinctively to look for Julia, to drink in her familiar brilliance.
His face must have shown some of the shock and disappointment he had felt on seeing Teresa instead.
She had turned red at his expression, but had recovered and greeted her acquaintance with a degree of grace. But remorse still gnawed at him for letting her see his anguish. It must have hurt even if she did not know its cause.
He supposed he ought to apologize, but he just could not bring the words to his lips.
He felt the silence closing in on him. “Would you…”
At the very same moment, Teresa turned from the window. “It was quite…”
They both stopped speaking abruptly. Teresa gave a shy smile and said, “I’m sorry, my lord, you were saying?”
Richard
quickly took another drink from his glass. “It was nothing. What were you going to say?”
Looking down at the curtain in her hands, she said, “It was not important.” She turned back toward the window.
An idea struck him, and he wondered how he could not have thought of it earlier. “Teresa.”
She turned and faced him. “Yes, my lord.”
He tried to give her his most charming smile. Holding out his hand to her, he said, “Come. Come down to the music room and play the pianoforte for me.”
The relief writ on her face was almost comical. It was as if she had only been waiting all this while for him to suggest this one simple thing.
He preceded her down the stairs and to the music room. The fading sunlight made the parquet floor glow red, lending a warmth to the otherwise spare room. The pianoforte had been pulled more into the center of the room, and some gold-covered upholstered chairs arranged casually in a circle in front of the instrument had replaced the gilt chairs. These were much more comfortable to sit in, but Richard had seen to it that two gilt chairs still stood at the keyboard.
With eager anticipation, Teresa sat down in her usual chair, pulling a large pile of music onto her lap. All of her music had been brought over with her clothing the previous day and Richard had had his sister’s music brought out and added to it as well, so the pile was a considerable one. She pulled out one piece of music after another moving it to the top of the pile.
She looked shyly over at Richard, who was sitting so close to her that their knees almost touched. “Would you like something fast, or slow? Do you sing? There are some folk tunes or a ballad that we could sing along with.”
Richard smiled. There was still so much they both had to learn about each other, but her passion for the music was infectious. He leaned forward, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm, and of her body. For the first time all day, he thought with affectionate amusement, the real Teresa Seton was beginning to emerge.
No, now she was Teresa Angles. Richard felt his smile fade and the muscles in his stomach tighten once again. He was leaning over his wife, whom he had sworn not to touch. Suddenly he felt he was much too close to her. He shifted his chair further away from hers.
Her smile disappeared and her face turned pink. “I… I am sorry. Did I say… is there something wrong?”
Richard cursed himself. He supposed that she had not even realized that they were so close in her excitement at being at the pianoforte—or, of course, she probably was not as aware of the moment as he was.
“No. No, not at all. Something faster would be nice. Something bright. I do enjoy singing, but, if you do not mind, I will save my voice for another day.”
“Yes… yes, of course.”
Teresa busied herself by picking out a few pieces from those that she had selected and arranged them on the pianoforte in front of her. Were her hands trembling?
She played through a few scales to warm up her fingers and then launched into a fast rondo by Haydn.
It was obvious that she was nervous. She hit a couple of false notes and her pacing was off. He noticed that she was keeping a close watch on her fingers and the music in front of her, not allowing herself to lose herself in the music. She must, he thought grimly, be as intimately aware of him as he was of her.
It was not until Teresa was playing her third piece that she finally began to allow herself to be taken up by the music. It was a more flowing piece that she was playing, and he was not certain if she was actually reading the music in front her or playing it by heart.
Her eyes were mostly closed as her body moved with the fluid melody. A small smile rested on her lips and her pale face glowed with the love of the music she was creating. Richard watched, enthralled with her beauty, slowly losing himself as well. Her calm and the beautiful music filled him with peace. The tension of the day melted away and Richard felt that they were both able to relax, finally. Within minutes, Richard almost felt as if the chaotic past few weeks had not happened at all.
He sat forward in his chair, ready to turn the page, when she reached across him for a key at the far end of the keyboard. With the feel of her body’s heat, even momentarily against his, he was forcibly reminded once again that this was their wedding night.
He wondered what she was expecting. He had promised not to touch her, but would he, could he hold himself to that promise? Despite having moved his chair away, her proximity was still almost overwhelming to his senses. Her scent and the warmth that radiated from her body reminded him of a field of lavender in summer.
He had not realized how difficult it was going to be to know that she was his wife and yet he could not touch her. He felt the tension in his body mount. Let him just make it through this evening. Perhaps it would get easier after that.
“Are you finished, my dear?” Richard asked from his end of the table.
This was ridiculous, Teresa thought to herself. There were just the two of them and yet they sat at either end of a long table in the formal dining room.
She was not used to eating in state. She and her aunt had been quite informal when it had been just the two of them. They had been served by just the butler, not the four—or was it five—footmen. And that was in addition to the footmen who stood just behind their chairs in case they should desire anything at any moment.
Was this part of being a marchioness? Her aunt was only a baroness. Perhaps, as one moved up the ranks of the nobility, everyday life got more formal?
She wondered if she could ask that her place be set next to his in the future. She was the mistress of the house now, but perhaps Richard would be hurt if she tried to change things. No, she was still too unsure of her position in his house to suggest it.
Besides, from where she was sitting, there was no way for her to suggest anything to him. The only way for them speak to each other was by shouting across the expanse of the dining table. Although perhaps that was deliberate. She wasn’t sure what she would say to him were she by his side.
Teresa eyed the huge urns next to the oversized fireplace that took up a large portion of the wall to her left. The mantelpiece was covered with carved fruit, vegetables and vines of grapes, which wound their way around the fireplace and up the wall all the way to the high ceiling. There it intermingled with sheaves of wheat and farming implements, which decorated the four corners of the ceiling. An impressive chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling with hundreds of carefully polished pieces of cut glass reflecting the light of the candles. The walls were painted a deep green and covered with paintings of food and farming to complete the theme of the room.
Teresa shook herself from her woolgathering to answer her husband. “Yes, thank you, my lord. Shall I retire and allow you some time with your port?” She rose from the table as she spoke, as the footman behind her jumped to pull her chair back from the table.
Richard stood as well. “No. That is not necessary. We need not stand on formality when it is just the two of us.”
Given her thoughts of a moment ago, Teresa found this very funny. Unwittingly, she let out a laugh.
Richard smiled at her, wanting to share the joke. “What is so amusing?”
“How can you say that we should not be formal when we have had a most formal dinner sitting at either end of a table meant for twenty, being served eight courses, most of which we did not touch? Is that not standing on formality?”
Richard looked back at the table as they left the room and laughed. “You are correct, my dear. Although the table was actually designed to seat thirty,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. But immediately he grew more serious again. “Perhaps tomorrow you can speak to Samuel, and he will be sure to set your place next to mine.”
So, she could make changes. That was good to know. She felt slightly more at ease, until she looked at back at Richard as he followed her up the stairs to the drawing room. He had drawn down his eyebrows over his eyes and he held his back stiff and erect. A moment ago he had laughed with her. Why was h
e now frowning?
Almost as soon as they had entered the drawing room, Samuel came in with a note for Richard. Upon reading the note, he looked up at Teresa with a little smile, or was it a look of relief that had crossed his face?
“I am so sorry, my dear. It seems that I need to go out on an urgent matter. I hope you will excuse me.”
Teresa did not know what to make of this. He had to go out? Now? On their wedding night?
“Yes… yes, of course.” What else could she say?
He gave her a little pat on her shoulder. “There is no need for you to wait up for me. I do not know when I shall return.” He headed out the door with a light step. “Good night, Teresa.”
“Good night,” she said to the closed door, for her husband had already gone.
Teresa looked about the empty room. She was alone in a strange house on her wedding night. She blinked back the tears that burned her eyes and took a deep breath. There was no reason to stay here, she thought, and rang for the housekeeper to show her to her room.
Things were still not quite right. Richard stared at the amber liquid in his glass as he sat back in the worn leather chair in his library. His orphanage still had a few problems that needed to be worked out. It seemed like each time he fixed one problem, immediately another would take its place.
Finally, the staffing problem had been fixed, but now the tutors needed more help. It was their note that had come to him just after dinner. They had written to respectfully request a few minutes of his lordship’s time.
Richard almost laughed out loud at how he had jumped at the request like a drowning man from the water. It had been exactly what he needed—to get away from Teresa. The smile faded from his lips.
Richard began to pace about the room. He stopped and stared out at the empty street through the window.
The moment he had seen the smile on Teresa’s face and heard the laughter in her voice, he knew he would not be able to hold on to his tenuous control if he stayed in her presence much longer. He wanted her, damn him. He wanted to be with her. To hold her, caress her… to taste her lips just once more. To soothe away all of her fears and worries.
The Merry Marquis Page 9