The Disdainful Marquis

by Edith Layton

  He knew she would not fly to the duchess’s side, for that was where the brothers would look for her first. Nor would she have gone to Violet or Rose. For both were deep in the process of securing business for themselves at this hour. Thus, the marquis reasoned, if she had disappeared into this section of the house, she must have sought a room where she could be alone to weigh the offers of the two brothers.

  The marquis eased open two doors off the main hall before he found her, standing alone, holding her hands together tightly, staring into a fire in Count D’Arcy’s unused library.

  “What a problem,” he sighed softly, entering the room and closing the door securely behind him. “Two such eligible suitors. And no one to give you advice as to which one to select. Hervé is, one admits, a trifle more comely, but after all he has four years on poor Pierre. But then, Pierre has the ear of Louis, and the purse and privilege as well. Yet again, as you surely must have heard, there are all sorts of rumors flying. And it is altogether possible that after one month of bliss with Pierre, you might find that Hervé was the one in power after all. His emperor is away just at the moment, but one never knows, does one?”

  She turned and stared at him as he came up slowly behind her. Her eyes, he noted with amazement, were filled with tears and she wore an expression of grave despair. Had Hervé threatened her then? he wondered.

  “I want nothing to do with either one of them,” she whispered. “Nothing at all. I just want to be let alone and stay with the duchess just for a little while longer, just till I can get home.”

  As he watched, amazed, tears began to run down her cheeks. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at them.

  “Ah no,” he said in his gentlest voice, “for how can you face the company again if you go on so? You shall ruin the work of art you have created upon your face. See? Although I can repair the damage, I will not be able to recreate the effect, for I’ve left all my cosmetics home again, alas.”

  At his words, she looked up in despair, and began to sob. He gathered her close in his arms and stroked her smooth bare shoulders. When she tried weakly to pull away, he only held her closer and whispered soft words of comfort to her.

  “No, no,” he said tenderly, pushing back some tendrils of hair from her face. “What can be dreadful enough to make you weep? It cannot be so terrible, can it? For here you are in the heart of society and you are so greatly sought after. Why, you are a stunning success tonight. So lovely that the world of Paris is at your feet. And you are so wretched? Come, come, tell me what is the matter. It may be that I can help you. For I have come to help you, you know.”

  He felt her warm and vital, close against him, and he held her close, whispering all the while, and then he laughed and planted a brief passionless kiss against her hair, which, he noted irrelevantly, had the scent of the rose she wore there.

  “No, now you are turning my jacket to ruin. What will Jenkins say? For it is not raining tonight. You will quite turn my reputation with him, you know, for I am not used to reducing females to tears. He will wonder what dreadful things I have been up to, to transmute lovely laughing girls into fountains.”

  She drew away, looking ashamed. And after taking his handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes, she looked at him, he thought, with something very much like wonder.

  “It’s all such a mull,” she said, controlling her voice with effort. “And I’m sorry to have wept all over you. But it has been so dreadful. I did not want to be a social success. No, I did not. I only wanted to fulfill my duties and stay in the background. But then that great fat Frenchman took my hand, above all my protests, and made me dance with him. I didn’t want to create a scene, for I thought he could not understand English and my French is so poor. But once we were dancing, I found he spoke English as well as I. And he…he made me the most dreadful offer. That is to say, he supposed me to be something I am not. And no sooner had I gotten away from him when the other took me up. For a moment”—she smiled weakly—“I thought it was him again, but it turned out to be his brother, saying almost the selfsame things.”

  “What sort of things?” the marquis asked with a glow of interest in his eyes.

  “Promising me all sorts of things,” she said, closing her eyes and waving her hand in dismissal. “Carriages and gowns and jewels. And no matter what I said to both of them, they seemed deaf to my every word and only assured me that they were in earnest.”

  “They both promised great riches?” the marquis asked abruptly, an alert look upon his face.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. And seeing his abstraction, she said shamefacedly, “I am sorry to have gotten so familiar with you, Your Lordship, and I thank you for trying to set me right again. I shall be leaving now, for even though the duchess is at the tables, I shall ask her to give me leave to return to the hotel. I feel a headache coming on,” she explained hurriedly.

  “No, no,” the marquis objected, capturing her hands and smiling down at her. “Let’s have none of that. You owe me no thanks, for I have not done anything for you as yet. And let us have no ‘Your Lordships’ please; my friends call me Sinjun, and you are my friend. For we have known each other a long time, haven’t we? Only we have let a lot of silly misunderstandings get in the way of our friendship. Tell me, Catherine, what is it you want of this journey that neither Pierre nor Hervé can give you? For I am here to help you. We are fellow Englishmen, in a matter of speaking, here in a strange land,” he added, seeing her hesitate.

  “I want to go home,” she blurted, looking up at him, an incipient sob in her voice. “That is all. It was wrong of me to come. It is wrong of me to stay.”

  “Then why do you stay?” he asked in a low voice.

  She hesitated again as he drew her a little closer and said, “Say it, Catherine. For have I not said I am your friend?”

  “I must wait until mid March at least,” she said gravely, not looking at him, “for the duchess pays me quarterly. And only then will I have the fare to go home.”

  The marquis stiffened imperceptibly, and then he laughed low in his throat. Ah, the little fox, he thought maliciously, it is true. A bird in the hand is worth all of a Frenchman’s promises. So be it, he thought, we begin. Yet still he was aware of a strange surge of bitter disappointment. It is only, he thought rapidly, that it was, after all, so simple. Once they begin to speak of money, it always becomes so simple.

  “Well then,” he said, the lines of cynicism deep in his smiling face, “that is easy enough to remedy. No need to shed one more wasteful tear. For I have enough in my pocket at this moment to see you home. And more than that in my other coat at home. I shall see that you are able to travel home in style, little one, with even a companion of your own to see you safely arrived. I am only sorry that I cannot be that companion. For I must stay on here awhile longer and cannot now make any plans to leave.”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head. They were standing so close to each other that he could feel the ends of her curls tickle his cheek. “I could not borrow from you, Your Lordship….”

  “Sinjun,” he whispered, pulling her closer.

  She resisted his embrace and went on in a small voice, “For I don’t know when I could pay you back. Even though you are being so charitable, it would not be right of me to take your money. No, it would not be fitting. I can wait until March, truly I can. It is just that it is good to have someone I can talk to. Someone who understands.”

  “Why, there is no need for paying me back, little Catherine,” he said gruffly, again wishing she would drop this game, and wondering if their whole relationship would be filled with this tedious denial of the truth. Would he have to ease her to bed above little halfhearted protests? Remove her garments, all the while quieting her sham of maidenly terrors? Would he have to put up with this mockery of innocence even as he bedded her? It would grow boring. He knew there were men who enjoyed simulated force in their amorous adventures, but he was not one of them. He wanted wholehearted cooperation. And so he sought to disabuse her
of the notion and put an end to the charade.

  “Little Catherine,” he said, raising her chin with his hand and looking straight into her enormous eyes, “you would earn the lot.” And seeing her eyes grow wider, he said quickly, “But I would, I promise, try not to make it a hardship. And I am generous. Although I usually prefer relationships that are open at both ends and can grow into long-standing ones, I am pressed for time. So I shall settle as much upon you for a few days of pleasure as I usually do for a few months. For it will not be your fault that we cannot continue. And though I do not pride myself upon being the answer to every maiden’s prayers, I know I can be far more congenial than either of the Richards. You will find it more than pleasant, little one, I assure you. I have wanted you for a long time, and I know that you have not been unaware of me. So let’s have an end to dickering. I will pay you—” He paused and then named a sum which he knew was more than generous, more in fact, than he had wanted to pay, but he was unsettled by the strange quietness in the room. “And I promise you will not have to exert yourself to earn it. Now, it grows late. Come, we’ll go back to my rooms, and you will see for yourself how delicious it will be.”

  He drew her closer, bent his head, and kissed her lightly, and then, as he lost himself in the deepening kiss, he became aware of pain. For she was tugging sharply at his hair.

  He released her abruptly. She was staring at him in horror.

  “How could you?” she shrilled.

  His thoughts reeled. Had she expected more? But that would be impossible—no man would pay more. Not even Louis himself.

  “You are as bad as those others.” She wept freely now, the cosmetics running across her cheeks, making her seem, not ridiculous, he thought, but somehow even more childlike.

  “No, worse,” she cried, pulling free of him and rushing to the door, “for you said you understood. And I trusted you.”

  “But what is it that you want?” he asked, standing alone and confused.

  “I want to go home,” she sobbed, and ran out the door.

  The marquis did not go after her. He simply stood and stared after her, and then aimed a fierce kick at a chair, sending it flying.

  What was her game, he wondered, savagely angry at her and at himself. Why should she come to this party painted like a doll and gowned like merchandise in a window if she were not looking for trade? Why should she be in the trail of the Dirty Duchess at all? Or thick as thieves with two other low tarts, if she were not what she appeared to be? And why should she maneuver so shamelessly to charm the coins out of his pockets? Somewhere, deep in his fury, the marquis felt the dim remembered pain of his past. He had been wrong before. Devastatingly wrong. And had sworn never to be so shortsighted with women again. But this time, how could he have been wrong? For it was not his perception alone.

  How could he have been wrong when all the signs, all the world, and even she herself, in her request for money, had told him, unerringly, that he was right?

  Chapter X

  The duchess sulked for a day. She went on at tea about ungrateful little wretches, she complained at dinner about green little pieces, and went to bed grumbling about wicked, deceiving, brass-faced little hussies. But by the next day, when ever more invitations poured in, she had forgotten her anger at Catherine. For the chit was the talk of the town, and everyone had gotten a look at her, and wanted more, and then she had just disappeared.

  The duchess was mollified when the spate of invitations flowed in. She had been a success, she knew it. What was it the Frenchies called her? Ah yes, “The Duchess of Crewe, le succés fou.” A crazy success, that was it. That was one thing with these foreigners, she thought, pleased beyond her expectations at the evident splash she had made, there was no prudishness about them. No whispered condemnations. No sly little jibes. They took her to be a woman of the world. And a great many gentlemen had bent over her hand and looked at her with frank admiration. That was just as it ought to be, she sighed, holding the invitations as though they were a winning hand at cards. For though she had no interest in gentlemen any longer, nor indeed ever had for that matter, it was delightful to be so famous. When she at last returned home, there would be no more snickering. She would be such a success on the Continent that she would have to be admired not only in her own set, but in the highest circles in the land.

  When Catherine crept in the next day, pale and shaken, the duchess only smiled at her benignly, all rancor forgotten. “Get some rest, gel,” she said pleasantly, “for we’re going to a levee tomorrow night and I want my gels looking their best.” And she waved Catherine a royal dismissal.

  Catherine walked slowly back to her room, where she had hidden herself since the D’Arcy ball. She was in desperate case, she knew, but she could not see her way clear yet.

  How was she to get out of this coil? she mourned. She would not beg Violet and Rose for funds, she swore; she must not. For that would make her, in her own eyes at least, as culpable as they were. She must find a way to tolerate this life at least for a few more weeks, at least till mid March, when her quarterly salary came due. For she knew the duchess would not advance her a penny to go home, but surely, when the time came, her employer would be honor bound to pay her justly earned wages.

  She tried not to think of the marquis. For when he had followed her to that empty room where she had sought refuge, she had looked into his eyes and honestly thought she had found honesty there. And so she had, but not in the way she wanted. He had said he understood; he had neither said nor done anything untoward. And had asked for her confidence. He was the only safe refuge, she had thought. And so, like a fool, she had told him her true situation. And discovered that he still thought her no more than a conniving light-skirts. And, she thought, in sorrow, how could she blame him? Her cheeks still reddened when she imagined the construction he had put upon her telling him of her need for money.

  But he had seemed so genuinely friendly and caring. She had looked into the depths of those softened gray eyes and had wanted him to take all her problems on his own broad shoulders. Worse, she remembered, when he had kissed her, for one tiny moment of time, she had wondered what it would be like to stay in his arms, to stay close to him, and go on further with him to taste the “delicious” experiences he promised her. It was as the Vicar had cautioned her—that if she stayed with her companions, she would become as one with them. And so, she told herself sharply, she had.

  She had worn cosmetics and a gown that would have sent Arthur and Jane to the top of the boughs. She had danced with every lecherous gentleman who had leered at her, and capped the whole thing by complaining to the marquis that she had no funds, almost forcing his offer to her. She must, she knew, get away before she actually became as Rose and Violet were. For if she had doubted that such an impossible thing could ever come to pass, she had only to remember the moment she had stayed, drowned in pleasure, in the marquis’ embrace. How long before staying with him would seem like the only sane thing to do? She must go.

  And if, she told herself strictly, staring at herself in the glass, she had to put up with insults, with sly appraisals, with comments about her condition, then she had merited it. She had brought it upon herself, and if, as a consequence, she suffered for it, that was all to the good. It would be a fit punishment for her. It would have been far better to have taken the ship on its turnabout journey home, once she had known about the duchess’s companions and the life they led, than to have stayed and exposed herself to such an existence. Better, she thought, to have begged and scraped her way home alone than to go on in luxury under a false flag.

  By the time that Rose and Violet came to her room for their usual afternoon tea, Catherine felt herself to be under control. And when Violet said, with a sneer, that Catherine had gotten herself quite a following, Catherine stood, and said firmly, “There has to be an understanding between us. I did not want this. I do not want this. If I could, I would leave now. But,” she added, raising her hand in denial, “I want to make it
clear that I want no charity, Rose. Nor any sympathy, for I’ve gotten myself into this coil. But, if you would be so kind, could you try to bear with me till a few more weeks go by? Then I shall take my quarterly earnings and go home, straightaway, as I should have weeks ago. Till then, please just try to accept me as I am, as I promised to accept you. And if you would, try, as you promised, to discourage any gentlemen that ask after me. Now let’s forget about it. I have only to wait and let time pass, and it will all go right.”

  At first, it did. The next night, at the levee the duchess had promised them to, Catherine had to use all her resources to stay afloat. The gentlemen ogled her as before, and the ladies stole speculative glances at her. When the duchess went to the card room and Rose and Violet vanished with their own quarries, Catherine found herself pursued by the gentlemen again. She refused to dance, telling all who asked her that she had turned her ankle. But that only netted her a circle of admiring men, all vying to procure her a drink or tidbits or to keep her company. It was, she thought, better than having to dance, and the number of men who surrounded her ensured her safety from unwelcome suggestions as to her future.

  She had worn a very conservative, almost demure gown and had refused Rose and Violet’s offers of cosmetics, and so when she recognized the marquis as he strolled by her complement of admiring suitors, she raised her chin and met his eyes, unblinking and unmoved. He smiled at her and shrugged and then turned to his companion, a lovely Frenchwoman, and walked on. She felt a hollow glow of pride in herself and went on chatting with a very young, very charming Frenchman.