The Reluctant Marquess

by Maggi Andersen

  “Very well, if you must. But I suspect you’re overreacting. Take a footman.”

  She turned to the door. “Charity?”

  She swung around. “Yes?”

  “I thought we’d hang the portrait in the salon.”

  “Really?”

  He smiled. “You are pleased with it?”

  “Yes, very much. I’d like that. I must go.” Charity hurried down the stairs. Robert constantly surprised her. His generosity was without question, but when that warm expression entered his eyes he drew her like a cat to a warm stove, and she had to retreat to get her breath.

  Holding her parasol over her head, she walked through the park with the footman following behind. It was filled with people strolling about, enjoying the fine weather. She searched for Merry along the paths but couldn’t see her anywhere. She walked as far as the Serpentine but there was no sign of her among the people along the bank. When she passed a copse of elms, there on a seat sat Merry, with a young man leaning over her. There was no sign of Brigitte.

  The young man, modestly dressed in brown, was very dark of hair and eye. Charity walked quickly up to them. They were so engrossed in conversation they didn’t see her until she stood right in front of them.

  Merry gasped and put a gloved hand to her cheek. “Charity!” She turned to the man next to her who had risen from the seat. “Armand, this is Lady St Malin.”

  Armand bowed low. “De Ville, my lady.”

  Charity nodded coolly at him. “Where is Brigitte, Merry?”

  Merry cast her eye around. “She was here a minute ago,” she said vaguely. “I believe she met someone she knew.”

  “Never mind. Please come, I have a carriage waiting.”

  Armand found his voice. “My lady, I beg that you will forgive my impertinence, but…”

  Charity arched a brow. “I don’t believe your conduct has been above board, monsieur.”

  He gave a Gallic shrug. “It would not help my cause to follow society’s rules. I would be cast out into the darkness forever.”

  “Is it your cause to turn a young woman against her family, monsieur? If the Marquess of St Malin was here, I believe you would be most painfully cast out.” Charity took Merry’s arm and dragged her away.

  “I am here at Miss Hargrove’s invitation, my lady,” Armand called following behind.

  Charity looked at Merry, her steps faltering beside her. “Did you, Merry?”

  Tears filled Merry’s eyes. “Well yes…I did, I—”

  “We’ll discuss this at home.” Charity nodded at Armand who was scuttling sideways, eyeing the scowling footman, considerably bigger in stature. “Good day, monsieur.”

  Armand stopped in his tracks and shrugged helplessly, as Charity led Merry towards the carriage waiting in the South Carriage Drive.

  Once inside the vehicle, Charity turned the sobbing girl. “I thought you wished time away from Armand. I will not be held responsible for your underhanded clandestine arrangements.”

  Merry sniffed. “I wish you might have talked to Armand, Charity. He isn’t what he seems. He told me the French government confiscated his family’s chateau and all of their fortune.”

  “I’m sure he isn’t what he seems,” Charity said acerbically.

  She leaned forward and took the distressed girl’s hand. “A poor French émigré and a fortune hunter more like. My goodness, what were you thinking? When Robert finds out…” She shook her head.

  Merry’s eyes widened and she gave a mew of distress. “Oh no, you won’t tell him.”

  “I’m disappointed in you, Merry. What did you expect? That I would keep this from Robert?”

  Merry’s shoulders heaved and she studied her hands in her lap. “Forgive me. It was wrong of me.”

  Charity shook her head. “Promise never to do this again,” she said sharply. “Or you must return home.”

  “I promise,” Merry said in a small voice. She pulled her handkerchief from her petticoat pocket and blew her nose.

  “You don’t need to deceive me, my dear,” Charity said in a kindlier tone. She knew well what it was like to love someone blindly and without hope. “If it’s within my power, and the right thing to do, I will help you. But I can’t if you conceal things from me.”

  Robert found them in the salon, dressed for dinner, Charity with a glass of sherry and Merry sipping lemonade. “You ladies have a touch of color to your cheeks. The trip to the park did you both good,” he said with naive satisfaction.

  As he poured himself a whisky from the crystal decanter, Charity gave Merry a quick shake of her head. She had decided not to tell him just yet. It would be like putting a cat in the dovehouse.

  He would have Merry back in Bath before the week was out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Merry went about with a long face for most of the next day, but that evening she brightened with the delightful company at Lady Severn’s card party. There were several attractive young men who danced attendance on her, and dressed in one of her own gowns of pale apricot, she flirted and laughed with all of them.

  Charity breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would now forget the Frenchman, with his poetic black curls and wounded dark eyes.

  Robert seemed more than content to leave Merry to Charity’s ministrations. He spent a good deal of the evening with his friends around the card table.

  It was very late when they came home. In the upper corridor, Robert said goodnight to them both and made his way to his chamber.

  Merry paused in the dim light from the candle stubs flickering in their sconces. “My father and mother sleep in the same bed.”

  “It’s often not the way in London.” Charity felt a lurch of dismay. What sort of example were she and Robert setting?

  Merry must believe their marriage to be a very dry affair, which undoubtedly it was.

  “I suppose not,” Merry said kissing her cheek.

  “Did you enjoy the evening? I thought Mr Gutridge an impressive young man.”

  Merry giggled. “You sound so old, Charity. He is five and twenty. Older than you.”

  Charity sighed. “Well, you make me feel old sometimes, I confess.” Merry’s brows drew together.

  “Do I? I’m sorry. You deserve to be happy, Charity.”

  “But I am happy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Just a little tired, my dear. Goodnight.”

  Charity took ages to fall asleep. She had lied to Merry. In truth, she was miserable. How long could this go on? Would she and Robert ever be friends? She doubted they would ever be lovers. She had hoped for a while that their one coupling would produce a child. But that proved not to be the case. At the rate they were going she would have passed child-bearing years by the time he got around to it.

  The next afternoon a calling card was brought up to Charity in the salon where she and Merry sat with their tapestries and embroidery. Robert had gone to his club.

  Charity raised her head from the card to study Merry. “We have a caller, a Mr Foster.”

  Merry’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and her eyes filled with apprehension.

  “Please send Mr Foster up,” Charity said to the footman.

  Minutes later, a long-limbed, fair young man of about five and twenty entered the room. He bowed over Charity’s hand.

  “Lady St Malin, so nice to meet you at last.”

  “Likewise, Mr Foster. Merry has spoken of you.”

  His grey eyes twinkled. “Not all good, I’ll wager.” He went to bow over Merry’s hand.

  Merry’s cheeks were scarlet and her eyes sparkled with something akin to anger. “Well you’ve found me, sir,” she said ungraciously.

  “Merry!” Charity frowned at her. “Please sit down, Mr Foster. Can I offer you a libation?”

  He drew his gaze away from Merry. “No thank you, my lady. I came with the fervent desire to speak privately to Miss Hargrove, if I may.”

  Merry uttered no, just as Charity agreed. There was an awkward silence.
>
  “Very well, then,” Merry said in a sulky tone.

  Charity rose. “I must instruct Hove as to the hanging of a painting. It arrives this afternoon. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

  As she left the room, she heard Mr Foster say imploringly, “Merry, if I’ve driven you from home, I am inexpressibly sorry. It was wrong of me to speak to you so harshly, but I was angry when you made cow eyes at that blighter …”

  Charity closed the door, hoping that Mr Foster would discover the best way to appeal to Merry. He was not quite as dashingly handsome as Armand, but she liked his grey eyes and thought he exhibited calm good sense.

  Charity encountered Robert at the top of the stairs, heading towards the salon. “Don’t go in there,” she said, standing in his way.

  His brows rose. “Why ever not?”

  “Mr Foster has come to see Merry.”

  “Who the devil is Mr Foster?”

  “The man her father hopes she’ll marry.”

  “And you left them alone?”

  “I thought it prudent.”

  He stepped around her. “Well, I don’t.”

  She grabbed his arm. Conscious of the sensual feeling of velvet beneath her fingers, she withdrew it. “Can we talk in the library?”

  He nodded towards the salon door. “But what about …?”

  “Let them be.”

  He paused, studying her face. “I suppose a few moments can’t hurt.” Striding into the library he swivelled to face her. “What is it?”

  Charity told him about Armand and the episode in the park.

  His brows snapped together so fiercely her stomach tightened in alarm. “You didn’t see fit to tell me this?”

  “Knowing your temper…”

  “I don’t have a temper,” he said in raised voice, every line of his body taut as a bow string.

  She arched a brow. “You don’t?”

  “No,” he added more quietly.

  She sighed. “I thought it best to let nature take its course.”

  “And if that course is for Merry to run away with this vagabond … Armand?”

  “If she meant to elope with him, she would have done so. Why come to us in London where she would have less freedom?”

  He studied her silently.

  Under his scrutiny Charity’s heart thudded. “I don’t believe Merry ever planned to marry Armand. She wants to marry Mr Foster.”

  Exasperated, Robert ran both hands through his hair. “Then why the devil didn’t she agree to it?”

  She held his gaze. “Sometimes women need a little encouragement. They need to know that a man loves them.”

  Was that discomfiture that flittered across his face? It was gone in an instant. He fingers returned to rake his hair, leaving it disordered and her longing to smooth it. “I’m sure I don’t know what you women want.”

  She wouldn’t let him get away with that. “Perhaps you should give it more thought.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like it that you kept this from me. You’re too secretive for my liking, Charity. How am I to trust you?”

  “I am secretive?” she spluttered. “I don’t disappear at night to visit my lover!”

  He looked wounded. “And neither do I!”

  “Not at the moment, perhaps!”

  They were both breathing heavily. He took her by the shoulders, then quickly let go as if his hands burned. “That’s unfair! I haven’t touched another woman since I married you!”

  Rage at his duplicity and the unfairness of his criticism bubbled up in her throat to choke her. “Do you expect me to believe that? When you disappear at night sometimes until dawn?”

  “You can believe what you like.” He went to rip open the door. “I’m going to the salon to break up this charming tête à tête. I have the responsibility of Merry’s welfare on my shoulders, remember.”

  “Which you have happily left to me.”

  “Which I shouldn’t have done by the looks of it.” He cast her a glance of such dislike she shivered. “You may rest assured I shall take over this task you’ve found so distasteful.”

  “I haven’t found it distasteful.” Her voice trembled as she followed him down the corridor. “I’ve enjoyed having someone to talk to.”

  Robert opened the salon door and the couple inside broke quickly apart. They turned shining faces towards them.

  “What goes on here?” Robert asked sternly entering the room. Merry danced across the floor leading Hugh by the hand. “Robert, this is my fiancé, Mr Hugh Foster.”

  Hugh sheepishly offered Robert his hand. “I beg pardon, my lord. This is conduct unbecoming. But it’s the first chance I’ve had to straighten things out with Merry.”

  Robert gave his hand a hearty shake. Charity suspected there was more than a soupcon of relief in the gesture. “Glad to meet you, Foster. I gather this is what you want, Merry?”

  Merry was hugging Charity. She swirled to give him a teary smile. “Yes. Mother and Father will be delighted. I can’t wait to tell them.”

  “Then I wish you both happy.” Robert glanced at Charity. “It seems everyone’s happy.”

  “You must come to our wedding,” Merry cried. “It’s to be held in Bath in a month’s time.”

  “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.” Charity longed to quiz her about Armand when they were alone, but she decided against it. Best left well alone. She suspected he had only ever been a subterfuge to make Hugh jealous. She didn’t underestimate the Frenchman’s power of persuasion, however. She spared a sympathetic thought for him even though his conduct in this affair was ill judged. It might well be that his circumstances were as he said. And she suspected he really was in love with Merry.

  They all turned at the knock on the door.

  “My lady’s portrait has arrived,” Hove said. “Shall we hang it now, my lord?”

  “Please do, Hove,” Robert said. “Have them take that mirror over the mantle down. I’d like it hung there.”

  Two footmen carefully carried the painting in. They stripped off the brown paper.

  The portrait had been fitted into an elaborate gilt frame.

  When it was hung they gathered around to study it. Charity thought it dressed the wall and suited the décor of the room. She had to admit she did look dignified. She drew in a breath. It made her realize she really was a marchioness, if not really a wife.

  “Oh Charity,” Merry said with a throb in her voice. “It is so beautiful.

  And so very like you. Especially the wisdom in the eyes.”

  “A very fine work,” Mr Foster said, “from the hands of a master.” Charity was looking at Robert. “Indeed it is,” he said quietly.

  Two days later, Merry’s father came to fetch her. Mr Hargrove expressed gratitude for their handling of the awkward affair, and hoped they were not overly inconvenienced by his wayward daughter. He looked forward to seeing them again at the wedding, which was sure to be a more pleasant occasion.

  “You must stay at Roseleaf Manor with us,” he said, with a warm smile. “Mrs Hargrove and I would be delighted.”

  When she and Robert entered the house having seen them on their way, Robert turned to her, one hand on the banister rail.

  “I have to thank you for your skillful handling of this business, Charity. I was blind to the true circumstances of it. It might have turned out quite differently.”

  She hated to see chagrin in his eyes. “Women tend to confide in each other, Robert,” she said, “that’s all.”

  “A blessing in this instance.” He stood aside for her.

  She picked up her skirts and began to climb the stairs, knowing he would disappear into the library for hours. She took no joy in being proved right. She’d been at fault too. She should have trusted him and confided in him. Did she want to punish him? She wanted to reach out to him desperately, but on reaching the next floor, he squared his shoulders and disappeared through the library door.

  The house became quiet again. Charity had n
ot had time to speak to Brigitte about the episode in the park and now called for her. She spoke severely to her about abandoning Merry. “Why do you think you were asked to accompany her?”

  “But, my lady, Miss Hargrove insisted I leave her,” the French maid said. “I had to do as she wished.”

  “You might have remained within sight. You were nowhere to be seen. And you did not return to the house for some hours.”

  Brigitte twisted her fingers and was silent.

  “Can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t dismiss you?”

  “I’m truly sorry, my lady. It won’t happen again.”

  “I expect there’ll be no opportunity for it to happen again,” Charity admitted, relenting. Merry could be difficult she knew only too well. She was not pleased with Brigitte, but it wasn’t reason enough to dismiss her. “I’ll overlook it this time.”

  Brigitte bobbed. “Thank you, my lady.”

  There were no social engagements this evening. Robert had gone riding in the morning and was now in the library interviewing a man for the position of steward for one of his properties. Charity spent most of the afternoon alone in her chamber reading. The previous evening she and Robert had attended a concert where the famous mezzo-soprano, Girolamo Crescentini performed. His hauntingly beautiful voice had moved her to tears. Everything seemed to affect her so these days, from the rose and violet tints in the sky at dusk, to a dew-drenched cobweb sparkling like a diamond necklace in the garden. Despite relenting and offering her rare praise, Robert had shown no inclination to forgive her and now she worried that he didn’t trust her. She’d begun to feel very tired and wasn’t entirely sure she could continue this way for much longer.

  Robert had departed for Birmingham in the north on business, planning to visit the iron works. He would be gone for over a week. Charity missed him. Even though they’d reached a kind of frigid truce, she liked to see him at breakfast or over the dinner table. She tried to fill in the lonely days, taking lessons on the harp and riding with friends in the park.

  She attended another literary soiree at the Duchess of Devonshire’s house where ladies of the ton read poetry. Mrs Smedley read John Donne’s poem The Broken Heart in throbbing tones, her large bosom swelling with emotion. Donne’s concept of love failed to cheer Charity. She did not want to think of love as a ravenous pike, or liken her heart to the small fish it feeds on.