The Merry Marquis

by Meredith Bond

  Teresa eyes widened for a moment at the outright lie. But quickly, she caught on to the fact that Byron was practically preening with conceit at the thought of having his work so admired.

  Her voice regained its strength and she smiled sweetly at the poet. “Oh, indeed, my lord. Why, I am sure that I will soon need to replace my copy of Childe Harold, the binding is completely falling apart from being read so many times.”

  “No need, my lady, I will be more than happy to send you another copy, complete with a dedication on the flyleaf,” Lord Byron said, running his hand through his carefully tousled curls and showing them his aristocratic profile.

  “Oh, my lord, you are too good,” Teresa exclaimed. “Please do not go to such trouble for me. I was planning on going to Hatchard’s bookshop tomorrow anyway.”

  “Indeed? And may I ask what were you planning on purchasing there?”

  “Er.” Teresa’s eyes narrowed in thought for a moment. “Why some new music, of course. There is a piece by Mozart which I have been wanting to get.”

  “Mozart! My Lord Merrick, you allow your wife to play the music of Mozart? I have heard that it is quite beyond what is acceptable for a delicately bred girl.” Lord Southerner was aghast.

  Byron, however, found the idea that a proper English lady would play the music of such a well-known philanderer extremely funny. He slapped Richard on the back. “Excellent, Merrick, I applaud your forward thinking.”

  Richard had no choice but to try and appease them both. “Of course, Southerner, my wife may play whatever music she wishes at home. I not certain that it would appropriate for her to play it in public, naturally.”

  Southerner seemed mollified by this and went off to seek some refreshment. Byron found that he was being hailed by Lady Jersey from across the ballroom and went off to seek other entertainment. As the group melted away, Teresa and Richard were left on their own for the first time all evening.

  “Thank you, Richard, for twice saving my skin,” Teresa whispered.

  Richard smiled at his wife, warmed by the knowledge that his little bird was not quite ready to fly on her own yet.

  Without a thought, Richard ran his thumb down her soft white cheek, his mind going back once more to his entirely improper thoughts of taking advantage of the fact that he was her husband. Let their agreement be damned, he wanted her.

  Engrossed in his wife’s charms, and his own increasingly vivid thoughts, he didn’t even notice Doña Isabella’s approach.

  “Ah, the eager lovers,” she chuckled.

  Teresa’s face turned red and even Richard felt his own face heat.

  “M-m-mama, please!” Teresa said.

  “What, you are newly married. It is natural, querida.”

  “What is natural?” Teresa asked.

  “Why, for your husband to…” Doña Isabella stopped speaking and looked closely at her daughter. She then looked to Richard, her eyes wide. Her eyes darted down to his breeches for a moment and then a slow smile crept on to her face.

  Richard felt his face heat even more, but he refused to allow himself to be embarrassed by whatever it was that was going through Doña Isabella’s mind.

  “An experienced woman knows, Merrick,” Teresa mother said, narrowing her eyes suggestively.

  “Mama, what are you saying?” Teresa was completely confused. It was clear that she had no idea what her mother was suggesting.

  Doña Isabella stepped closer to Richard as Lord Stowe and Lord Elybank joined them. Soon, members of Teresa’s court, and not a few of his own, once again surrounded them. For once, the Doña stayed quiet and allowed others to talk, but Richard noticed that her eyes kept slipping over towards him.

  Within a few minutes, he found her immediately next to him.

  “Teresa is completely lost among your friends, is she not?” Doña Isabella said, too quietly for the others to hear her.

  “Actually, Doña, most of them are her admirers, not mine,” Richard replied, enjoying the look of confusion and surprise that greeted this news.

  The moment did not last long. Doña Isabella turned toward her daughter. “Querida, why do you insist on wearing such awful colors?” she asked, loud enough for all to hear.

  Teresa turned a fiery red, which did not detract from the lovely rose-pink of her elegant gown. “Mama,” she said, “I… I like this color. Aunt Catherine picked it out for me.”

  “Clearly, your aunt has exceptional taste,” Lord Stowe said.

  This remark was seconded by quite a few of the other men present.

  Doña Isabella drew her perfectly arched eyebrows down as she looked at Lord Stowe. He, however, was oblivious to her disapproving look.

  She turned back to her daughter, “I will take you shopping, querida, and get you some clothes which flatter you. You are entirely too thin.”

  Richard was about to intervene, when Lord Stowe spoke up again.

  “Is it difficult to have a dress made just right for such a lithe and delicate figure such as yours, Lady Merrick?”

  “Er, no, not really, my lord.” Teresa was clearly very embarrassed. Biting her lip, she looked around, as if searching for something to distract her mother and Lord Stowe from their verbal sparring.

  Once again, Richard was about to step in to her rescue, but she took the initiative herself.

  “My lords, do you all know my mother, Doña Isabella?” Teresa asked, in a desperate attempt to turn her mother’s attention away from herself.

  The ploy worked almost better than Teresa had intended. Seeing the distinguished group of men turning toward her, Doña Isabella smiled and turned on her charm. Within moments, half the men had deserted Teresa in favor of her mother.

  Silently, Richard applauded Teresa on her management of Doña Isabella. She clearly knew just what to do distract the selfish woman.

  He was about to compliment her on her quick thinking when he noticed that she was surrounded by a whole new group of beaux. Where did they all come from all of a sudden? Well, he was certainly not just going to stand by and watch his wife being feted. He stepped in the join the crowd around her and heard Lord Hawksmoor ask, “Lady Merrick, is it true you play the music of Mozart?”

  “Yes, indeed, my lord, a more gifted musician there never was. I have heard that he is brilliant in all that he does,” Teresa said, ingenuously.

  The men around her all laughed and some of the women tittered at Teresa’s unintended double entendre. Poor girl, Richard thought sympathetically, she has no idea what she just said. I’ll just have to teach her, he chuckled to himself.

  The orchestra struck up the beginning chords of the supper waltz. Gentlemen, all requesting the honor of dancing with her and then escorting her in to dine, suddenly surrounded Teresa.

  Blushing slightly, Teresa looked shyly at all of the men. “I am so sorry, gentlemen, but I have promised this dance to my husband.”

  Ignoring the disappointed cries of the other men, Richard bowed low over her hand. He knew that his face was covered with a stupid grin, but he didn’t care. Teresa was his wife. He was very proud of her and oddly thrilled that she had chosen him over anyone else.

  Doña Isabella looked stunning. This fact caused Richard some discomfort since she was not only in his private library, but they were entirely alone.

  After spending most of the morning going over the household budget for his orphanage, he had finally taken a break from the dreary accounts. Leaning back in his chair and massaging his temples, he had soaked in the comforting environs of his sanctum.

  His large mahogany desk dominated one quarter of the room near the front window. Richly bound volumes lined two whole walls, and an ornately carved fireplace, with a painting of Julia hanging over the mantle dominated a third wall. As he looked at the picture, his eyes had strayed, as always, to the white Aubusson carpet, which still showed the faded wine stain from the day that Julia had died.

  “My lord, Doña Isabella is…”

  “Gracias, Samuel, I told you I d
o not need to be announced.” Trailing perfume that was unmistakably French and unmistakably expensive, Doña Isabella slipped into the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Richard raised an eyebrow as he stood up. “Doña, what a pleasant surprise,” he said smoothly. “Unfortunately, Teresa is not here just at the moment.”

  “Yes. We will make the best of it.” Doña Isabella smiled at Richard.

  It was then that he fully noticed her appearance. Her low-cut crimson dress clung softly to her curving figure, showing just enough for Richard’s mind to imagine what was underneath. And as always, he was amazed at how young she looked. There was hardly a hint of wrinkles around her beautiful blue eyes or her full red lips.

  She made a great show of looking around his study. Then she walked slowly up to the desk where he was still standing, giving him plenty of time to admire her.

  Carelessly, she pushed Richard’s papers aside and sat down on the edge of the desk next to him. Ill-at-ease at her proximity, Richard picked up his work and tried to put it into an organized pile away from his mother-in-law.

  “You have a very nice library, Merrick. Very masculine,” Doña Isabella said slowly.

  “Thank you, it is where I feel most comfortable.”

  “Mmmm, yes. I also like that you are very comfortable in society. We are very similar, no?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose. Like you, I have always been a rather social creature.”

  “I like English society and I have always enjoyed English men. English soldiers… they are such charming company. In Spain, I hosted them frequently.”

  “Teresa told me you held drawing rooms for them.”

  “Yes. Poor Teresa. She never enjoyed their company like I did. She was always rather… shy.” She shook her head regretfully, “I would surround my daughter with attractive, eligible men and she would either be tongue-tied or would begin to stammer. She never knew what to say to them.” Doña Isabella lowered her eyes and then looked up at Richard through her long black lashes. “She never appreciated men, like I do.”

  Richard found himself being drawn to her. She was so soft and feminine, so alluring.

  “You can always tell what a man is like by the things he surrounds himself with,” she said, softly. She ran her hand across the desk, leaning forward so that Richard had a very clear view down the neckline of her dress.

  He could not help but admire the unmistakable charms of the voluptuous woman before him. She was quite unique.

  “Your English wood, it is so smooth and hard,” she said, gazing at him with a calculated frankness.

  Smiling at her innuendo, he decided to parry in kind. “Surely Spanish wood has the same qualities, but perhaps not quite the same… durability?”

  Doña Isabella laughed a deep throaty laugh. “Hmmm… perhaps. Have you ever been to Spain, Merrick?”

  “No, I haven’t. It is very warm there, I suppose.”

  “Not only is the weather warm, the people there are hot-blooded as well. Not like many of the English.” Doña Isabella looked at Richard intently, and then edged closer to him across the desk. “You are hot-blooded, Merrick, like me, no? You are not like the typical Englishman, like perhaps my daughter is—cold, frigid.”

  Doña Isabella’s hand had begun to run up Richard’s chest, slipping under his coat.

  Richard’s amusement faded abruptly as he grabbed her hand to stop its progress. Their flirting had been enjoyable, but now she was going beyond the limits of what was acceptable behavior. Enough was enough. Doña Isabella was an extremely enticing, sensuous woman, but he could not forget that he was married, and moreover, married to her daughter!

  “Doña, I think, perhaps you should await Teresa in the drawing room,” he said in his most stern baritone, returning her hand to her.

  He had almost lost control of the situation, but he would make sure that it did not get out of hand. He had never had a woman be so forward who was not one of the demimonde. The fact that it was his own mother-in-law made the situation even more ridiculous.

  Doña Isabella moved her body closer to Richard’s, smiling suggestively up at him.

  “But I would like to get to know you better. We are still such strangers, Merrick, or may I call you Merry?” Her voice was so soft that Richard was forced to move his head closer to hear her.

  “You may, but only because you are like a mother to me.” He smiled as a momentary expression of unease flitted across her face. Her confident look returned, however, as she stood up and took another step nearer to him.

  “Oh, no, I am like no mother you have ever had, Merry. And I want you to have me.”

  With her fingers, she traced the line of Richard’s chin. And at the same time, he felt the unmistakable pressure of her soft hips against him.

  Richard tried to back away, but he was trapped between his chair, which pressed against the window sill, and his desk. His only recourse was to physically move the woman in front of him. He had gently taken her by the shoulders to move her backward when his worst fear came to life.

  Teresa walked in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Teresa, this is not what you think.” Richard’s hands dropped from Doña Isabella’s shoulders as if they were scorched.

  Teresa did not spare him more than a blank stare. “Mother, may I speak to you in the drawing room, please?”

  She turned and left the room, not pausing or even turning around to see if her mother was following her.

  Firmly closing the door to the drawing room after her mother strode in as if the room were her own, Teresa turned to face Doña Isabella. “Mother, you may not play your games with Richard.”

  Teresa did not try to mask her feelings. She could barely believe how angry she was. Luckily, her anger was lending her bravado—and she was going to use every ounce of it to tell her mother exactly how she felt.

  “Games? What games are you speaking of, querida?” her mother asked, innocently.

  Teresa was not fooled, not for one moment. “You know very well, Mother. Do not try to deny it. I saw you. I saw the way you were looking at him. I saw the way you were standing there, touching him.”

  Teresa glared at her mother. It took a great deal of self-control to contain her anger, to keep her voice steady and low. But she was that angry—so angry she could barely speak at all.

  Her mother gave an uncomfortable little laugh. “We were just having a little fun. There was really nothing going on.”

  “Have your fun with someone else,” Teresa said slowly, in a clipped voice.

  “But, querida, Merry is so enjoyable. I take pleasure in speaking with him—”

  “Flirting with him is what you mean to say,” Teresa interrupted.

  Her mother conceded the point. “All right, flirting with him. He is amusing. I do not mean anything by it, you know that.” Her mother reached out to touch her shoulder, but Teresa moved out of her reach.

  “I do not know that. Mother, I will only say this once more. Use your wiles on someone else. Leave Richard alone.”

  “Oh, but he is so… so masculine, so powerful…”

  “And my husband!” Teresa was now beginning to lose her tenuous hold on her self-control.

  Teresa saw her mother’s expression change subtly, from a mixture of mischief and guilt to a rueful sadness. “Querida,” Doña Isabella said, “if he were truly your husband, I would not have touched him, I assure you. The fact of the matter is, he is not your husband.”

  “What do you mean?” Teresa was incredulous.

  “He is not your husband until you consummate your marriage.”

  Teresa felt her face heat with embarrassment. How had her mother found out that she and Richard had a marriage in name only? Had he told her? Had he been the one to encourage her attentions?

  No, she could not believe that of him. He lied, she knew. He disappeared constantly and probably could not be counted upon. But he would not have told anyone—least of all her mother—about their agreement. She
was certain of this.

  “How do you know?” Teresa asked, as much to herself as her mother.

  Her mother had sat down on the sofa. She leaned back and made herself comfortable. “I am a woman of the world, querida. I can tell when a man needs a woman—and I have never seen a man more in need than Merry. Honestly, mi amor, I only want to help you, and Merry. And if you are not going to sleep with him, well… someone must ease his desires.”

  The seriousness in her mother’s voice, as much as her words, stopped Teresa. She thought about this as she slowly walked over to the sofa and sat down next to her mother.

  Teresa supposed she was right. But she wanted it to be herself, not Doña Isabella, who sated her husband’s desires. “Why? And why must it be you?”

  “It need not be me, querida. It should be you. As you say, he is your husband.”

  Teresa swallowed hard. “And I want to be Richard’s wife.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

  “Then you must consummate your marriage.” Her mother said it in such a matter of fact way, as if there was nothing to it. Teresa nearly laughed.

  Her mother sat up and turned toward her. “Teresa, do you love him?”

  Her question caught Teresa off guard. She looked at her mother and thought about Richard and her feelings for him. For so long she had tried not to think about how she felt, perhaps even denying the fact that what she felt for him was growing.

  No one, least of all herself, had asked her that question. Did she love Richard?

  Yes! She could deny it no longer. She did love him.

  Then, all at once, Teresa felt like jumping up and clapping her hands. Her heart felt light and she felt happier than she had ever been in her life. She was in love.

  And yet, she also felt like crying. Yes, she was in love, but with a man who did not love her and probably never would. It was unrequited love—and that hurt more than anything.

  And then there was her mother, who, only a few minutes earlier, had been running her hands up Richard’s chest and flirting with him outrageously. Would Doña Isabella ridicule her or try to steal him away from her if she admitted the truth? Would she tell her that she had no hope of ever securing Richard’s love in return? It was probably true, but it would hurt just the same to hear her mother say it.