The Reluctant Marquess

by Maggi Andersen

  He stared at her, tamping down the rush of passion that found its way to his loins. “I don’t think that’s funny.”

  She picked up her skirts. “That’s not surprising. You have little sense of humor.”

  “I believe I have an excellent sense of humor,” he said hotly. “You’ve lost it somewhere, Robert,”

  They stood in the street glaring at each other.

  Charity shook her head. “Oh for goodness sake, Robert. Let’s go home.” She crossed to the carriage and held out her hand for his assistance.

  Robert eyed her derrière as he helped her into the carriage.

  His fingers curled into his palm as he suffered an overwhelming desire to smack it. Her derrière, like a perfect peach was hidden by so many folds of material he doubted she’d feel it. Better that he do it when she was naked and stretched over his lap. He swallowed and almost cursed out loud. “I believe I remember the very morning I lost it,” he said, settling on the seat beside her.

  Her eyes widened. “Lost what?”

  “My sense of humor.”

  “Oh.” Charity turned to stare out of the window.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Charity climbed out of the carriage her legs leaden. She’d had to hold a pose for hours, standing with a hand resting on a table, the shawl draped over her arms. Sir Thomas had not wished her to wear jewels, just a black ribbon tied around her throat. He barely stopped to rest. She wondered how a man of his advanced years could find such energy.

  He seemed pleased with how the painting was developing, although he wouldn’t allow her see it until it was finished.

  Hove stood waiting at the door. “Good afternoon, Hove,” she said wearily.

  “My lady.” He took her redingote and bonnet. “There’s a young lady waiting to see you. I put her in the salon.”

  “Oh? Who is it?”

  “A Miss Hargrove. Say’s she’s one of the Charlesworths, my lady.”

  “Really? I don’t believe I know her.”

  “No, my lady.” Hove’s face took on an uncertain expression.

  “I felt I couldn’t turn her away, being a relative of his lordship’s.”

  “You acted quite rightly, Hove.”

  Curious as to what this person would want with her, Charity drew in a tired breath and climbed the stairs to the salon. Walking through the door, she found a young woman barely out of the schoolroom. She bounced up off the sofa and rushed towards her. She gave a graceful curtsey, her lips curled into a fetching smile.

  “I’m Merry Hargrove, Lady St Malin. I have heard such nice things about you from my cousins.”

  “Your cousins?”

  “My Uncle Henry is Lord Charlesworth. He’s married to Robert’s mother, Lady St Malin.”

  “I see. Please call me Charity, my dear. I’m sorely in need of a cup of tea. Would you join me?”

  Merry sat close to Charity on the sofa. Her face took on a stricken expression, as if she’d suddenly remembered why she came. “I travelled on the stage all the way from Bath,” she announced in a dramatic fashion, her gleam of triumph tempered by a quivering lip. “It was horrid. I sat next to a man who smelled of cabbage.”

  “You came by yourself?”

  “Indeed!”

  “But why?”

  Merry clasped her hands together. “To ask for your help.” Charity blinked. “My help?”

  “Yours and Robert’s.”

  Charity felt a headache beginning to thrum at her temples. “But what has happened?”

  Tears flooded Merry’s pansy-brown eyes spilling onto her smooth cheeks. “My father plans to marry me to a man I hate, as soon as I turn eighteen.”

  “Really? And when is that?”

  “Next November.”

  To Charity’s relief, a servant entered with the tea tray. “Here’s the tea.

  A cup will make you feel much more the thing, and then you can tell me all about it.” Charity was determined to maintain a calm attitude although she felt sympathy for the young woman. Arranged marriages could be cruel in her opinion.

  Merry gave a watery smile and sniffed. “I knew I would like you.” Charity felt Merry could have heard very little about her, beyond her brief visit to Robert’s mother. She was a sweet-faced, pretty girl in her simple cream linen gown, her brown hair curling over her forehead. So young and distressed that Charity’s compassionate heart went out to her. She gave Merry an encouraging smile and bent over the tea things. “Cream or lemon?”

  “Cream, and lots, please. And I might try one of those sandwiches. I’m most dreadfully hungry.”

  “Have a cake too.” Charity handed her a plate and napkin.

  Merry bit into a gooseberry tart and sipped her tea. Color flooded back into her face. “I can’t wait to see Robert, again.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Oh, years ago.” She wrinkled her nose. “Before the family rift.” She took another bite. “I doubt he’ll recognize me, I’ve changed a bit. Is he still terribly good looking? I must confess I was a little enamored of him when I was young.”

  “But that’s not why you’re here?” Charity asked stifling a smile.

  “Oh no.” Merry laughed. “I’m in love with someone else now.”

  The girl ate another tiny sandwich. The food seemed to settle her, and she drooped against the sofa cushions. “Tell me about him,” Charity prompted.

  A dreamy expression filled Merry’s eyes. “Armand is wonderful.”

  “Armand?”

  “He’s my dancing master. Well, he was.” She frowned. “Father dismissed him without a reference. Armand De Ville. Isn’t that a heavenly name? He’s French.”

  “I see.”

  Merry’s eyes widened and she sat up. “You think I’m foolish to love someone like Armand?”

  “I don’t know, Merry. You must be guided by your parent’s wisdom in these matters.”

  Merry gave a sob. “But they want me to marry Mr Foster.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve met Mr Foster. What is he like?”

  Merry pouted. “I hate him.”

  “As you said. But can you tell me why?”

  “He accused me of being spoiled and childish.” She swallowed the wrong way and coughed. “He said I would have to grow up or he wouldn’t marry me.”

  “But you don’t want to marry him. You wish to marry Armand, is that right?” Charity struggled to keep up as her head swum.

  “Yes. I think so.” Merry put down her cup with a clatter.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I had to get away … to think.”

  “And what does Monsieur De Ville have to say on this?”

  “He told me he cared for me. I think he might ask me to run away with him.”

  Charity’s lips firmed and she patted the girl’s hand. “You were right to give yourself time to think, and you’re most welcome to stay with us while you make your decision.” She would remove Merry from under this Frenchman’s nose for a while. She rose to pull the bell. “I shall enjoy your company.” She was sure she would. She’d been very lonely of late. “But we must send a note to your father and let him know where you are and that you are safe. He will be terribly worried.”

  Merry’s eyes grew huge. “He’ll come straight here and take me away.”

  Charity shook her head. “I shall assure him that you are closely chaperoned, and ask his permission for you to stay for a sennight. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  Merry looked hopeful. “Do you think so?”

  “It’s an entirely reasonable request.” A servant answered the bell. “Please bring some note paper, pen and ink.” She turned back to Merry as an awful thought struck her. What if Merry’s father refused because of the family rift? And what if Robert felt the same way? It might stir up the unspoken grievances between them again. She shook her head. As things stood they couldn’t get any worse. Could they?

  Robert strolled through the door, looking large and very male in his riding clothes in the dai
ntily furnished room. He came to where Merry perched on the sofa, and bowed over her hand.

  “Well, how’d you do, Merry? You’ve grown since I saw you last. You were a skinny young thing with your hair in braids. You are now a beguiling young lady.”

  Merry giggled and her cheeks flushed becomingly. “Hello, Cousin Robert, I’ve just been telling Charity how I came here all the way from Bath by stage and sat next to a horrid fat man,” she said all in one breath, fluttering her long dark eyelashes at him.

  Charity smiled, suspecting this was a common practice when any attractive man was near.

  “By stage?” Robert turned to kiss Charity’s hand, a dark brow raised.

  “I’ve invited Merry to stay with us for a sennight, Robert,” Charity said enjoying the brief touch of his cool lips on her skin, impersonal as it was. “We are in the process of composing a letter to her father.” It would prove a challenge to take Merry about town, but it might remove the Frenchman from her thoughts.

  What this Armand needed was a little competition.

  Robert picked up a sandwich and settled in a chair opposite. “I’m not certain he’ll agree to it, Merry.”

  “Oh, but he will. I’m sure of it,” she said in a breathy voice. “He often said he wished someone would take me in.”

  “Why didn’t you go to your Uncle Henry?”

  She screwed up her nose. “He’s so stuffy.”

  “You mustn’t speak so of your uncle,” Robert said sternly.

  But Charity caught the smile which quirked at the corner of his mouth. He had discovered a like-minded soul. No doubt the task would fall on her to rein in this lively girl, for clearly she could wrap Robert around her little finger. As she would most men.

  Charity felt a little envious.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Robert insisted on writing the letters, and attended to it straight away. One was sent off to Bath with a servant and one to Lord and Lady Charlesworth in London to alert them to Merry’s whereabouts.

  As Merry had brought very few clothes with her, Charity took her to her chamber to find her something suitable until her clothes arrived, as requested in the letter.

  Merry immediately pounced on a gold brocade with a plunging neckline. She held it up in the mirror. “I love this.”

  “When you are a young matron I shall give it to you,” Charity said. “But for now, your gowns must be modest as befitting your age.”

  Merry fingered a skirt of bright coral silk damask. “Pooh!”

  “My dear,” Charity said, feeling every minute of her two and twenty years, “I hope you will put your trust in me.”

  Merry rushed over to throw her arms around Charity. “Of course I will. I believe you to be very, very wise.”

  “Not very wise, but a little more so now than at your age,” Charity said with a rueful smile. She tidied her hair after the fierce onslaught. “We go to a supper party tonight at Lord Gloucester’s home in Richmond.” She held up a gown of India muslin with a modest neckline.

  “It’s as well that we are similar in build. This is perfect. You can wear my pearls.”

  Merry looked doubtful. She turned it and gave a crow of delight at the fetching black bow which perched above the derrière.

  “Just the right touch of sophistication,” Charity said with a grin.

  Robert scanned the letter from his step-father. The scratchy writing looked like a bird had stalked across the page, and perhaps reflected the awkward position Lord Charlesworth found himself in, forced to converse with Robert again. The note was brief and to the point. He would expect Merry to be closely chaperoned while in London, and if Robert did not feel up to the task she was to be sent to Portman Square to stay with her cousins. Lady Charlesworth was more than keen to have her.

  That this might be the best course of action had occurred to Robert. But he still smarted at Charity’s treacherous visit to his mother behind his back. Her visit no doubt delighted Lord Charlesworth and made him feel even more righteous. His dictatorial prose angered Robert and he decided against such an action. He set pen to paper and replied in equally frigid tones, that Lady St Malin was also more than keen to have Merry.

  It appeared to be true. Charity and Merry were fast becoming bosom-bows. It became Charity to have company, she was looking very well these days, he noticed, as she departed for the final sitting for the portrait. He glanced up at the one of him hanging on the wall of the library. He looked remarkably boyish and he didn’t much like it. He would commission another when he reached forty. By then, age would have written some interesting lines on his face.

  The door opened and Merry peeked in.

  Robert put down his whisky glass.

  “Come in, Merry.”

  Merry wandered the book shelves while curling a lock of her hair around her finger. Tired of waiting for her to offer a reason for being there, Robert continued with his correspondence. The clunk of the grandfather clock and the scratch of his pen broke the silence.

  She came to stand in front of him, hands clasped together. “Robert?”

  “Mm?”

  “Have you heard from Father?”

  “A letter just arrived with your trunk. He’s agreed to your stay with us.” A note had returned with his footman. Merry’s father appeared to be of a more conciliatory nature than his brother, Lord Charlesworth. He expressed the opinion that his contrary daughter could only gain a level of maturity from a short stay in London. He had heard much that was good from his sister-in-law about Lady St Malin, and looked forward to meeting her at a later date. He hoped Merry would not cause them too much concern. But please do not believe everything she tells you, he warned. It was not that Merry deliberately told falsehoods, but rather that she was of a fanciful nature.

  Robert felt slightly unnerved that her father sounded relieved to be free of her for a time. He was glad that Charity seemed to cope so well. Women understood one another in a way fellows couldn’t fathom. He frowned as the thought occurred to him that having Merry here removed some of the strain between him and Charity, and lightened the atmosphere. He rather enjoyed watching the two laughing with their heads together.

  Robert was suddenly aware that Merry had spoken. “Sorry?”

  “Would it be all right if I walked in the park? I’ll take a servant with me.”

  He looked up from the piles of papers on his desk, and was struck by a heavy weight of responsibility. He tapped his chin.

  “Can’t you wait for Charity to return?”

  Merry pouted. “She won’t be back for hours and I’m feeling quite confined.”

  He moved a pile of papers aside and prepared to rise. “I’ll accompany you.”

  “Oh no. Please don’t. I’ll feel guilty taking you away from all your work.”

  He glanced regrettably at the demanding correspondence. “Take a footman.”

  “Must I? Couldn’t I take a maid?”

  “Very well, a maid. But don’t be long, mind.”

  Merry clapped her hands, and rushed over and kissed his cheek. “You are a splendid cousin.”

  Robert stared at the shut door. He couldn’t imagine Charity ever being quite that silly.

  “It’s finished!”

  Sir Thomas turned the easel in Charity’s direction. She was rubbing her neck trying to ease the stiffness and looked up at the canvas.

  A lady with an elegant countenance stared off into the distance. Behind her, a river wound its way through classical ruins beneath rose-tinged clouds in an azure sky. The lady, who was surely not her, was beautiful. Her green eyes lit with amber lights smiled enigmatically from beneath the shallow-crowned black hat with curling ostrich feathers. Did her eyes really tilt at the corners like that? And surely the golden highlights woven through the lock of hair resting on her shoulder were a figment of the artist’s imagination? The cleverly wrought muslin gown clung to her creamy-skinned bosom and slender body in graceful folds. A fringed shawl graced her arms, catching the highlights in her eyes and ha
ir.

  “It’s wonderful. I can’t believe that’s me,” she said faintly.

  “I believe I’ve captured your essence well,” Sir Thomas said with an air of satisfaction.

  “You have created a beautiful painting, Sir Thomas. Thank you.” He bowed.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Charity arrived home and was peeling off her gloves when informed by Hove that Merry had gone to walk in the park taking Brigitte with her.

  A stab of unease took hold. “How long has she been gone, Hove?”

  “Several hours, my lady.”

  “Is his lordship at home?”

  “Yes. In the library, my lady.”

  Charity was of the opinion that Brigitte was not the best companion for Merry and felt suspicious of Merry’s sudden desire to walk through Hyde Park. She entered the library. The sight of Robert’s dark head bent over the desk caught at her heart.

  “Robert?”

  He looked up, pen poised in his hand. “Hello. Have you finished with Sir Thomas?”

  She’d forgotten all about the portrait. She crossed the carpet to his desk, thinking he looked tired. He planned to employ more staff but had yet to do it. “All finished. It’s very nice, but I doubt it looks like me.”

  He smiled. “I look forward to seeing it.”

  “It will be delivered in a few days.”

  She glanced up at the painting of him hanging over the fireplace. “You look very solemn.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I was at that time.”

  “And you’re not now?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he said challengingly.

  She didn’t have the energy to dispute him. “Merry has gone to the park with my maid. I’m a little uneasy about it.”

  “Is that so dreadful? You went there on your own once, remember?” It wasn’t meant to wound, she was sure, and in fact she thought she caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

  “I know. It seems so long ago. So much has happened since.”

  At her words, the humor disappeared and he dropped his gaze. “She’ll be back directly.” He shuffled papers.

  “I’d like to take the town carriage and fetch her.”