Heart of a Marquess

by Joyce Alec

  “Now, there is to be none of your nonsense this evening, Emma,” Lady Perrin warned, as they drew up to the house. “None of your catty remarks, and—so help me—should I hear you speak badly of your stepsister to anyone, then the consequences shall be quite severe.”

  From the slight look of worry on Lady Emma’s features, Charlotte could see that her stepsister knew her aunt was not shamming in the least. A warmth slowly spread across Charlotte’s chest as Lady Perrin smiled at her. The lady, it seemed, was quite determined to treat her as one of the family, for which Charlotte could not have been more grateful. It was a protection that she needed—for to have her stepsister spread gossip and rumors about her, it would have been a heavy burden to bear.

  “I thank you,” she murmured, as she alighted from the carriage and began to walk towards the steps leading to the front of the house. “You are very kind to me, Lady Perrin.”

  “You are family now, are you not?” Lady Perrin asked, in her firm manner. “And as family, we look out for one another. We do not fight like cats and dogs in the street.”

  Charlotte could not help but laugh, ignoring the way Lady Emma glared at her over her shoulder. “Indeed, we do not,” she replied, as they entered the house. “Then you must call me Charlotte, Lady Perrin. No more formality if we are meant to be family.”

  Lady Perrin’s eyes twinkled with a sudden spark, and Charlotte felt a flurry of affection blossom in her heart.

  “Then you may call me Aunt Agatha if you wish,” the lady replied softly. “Come now, enjoy yourself, Charlotte. After the pain you have been through in recent years, I wish for you to have as wonderful an evening as you can.”

  The lump in Charlotte’s throat took some time to disappear, but she managed to greet their hosts without too much difficulty. She was quite overcome with just how kind Lady Perrin had been to her. Seeing that Lady Emma hurried away to greet her friends and acquaintances almost at once, Charlotte chose to stay beside Lady Perrin as they entered the ballroom.

  The dancing was already in full swing, and Charlotte could not help but smile as she saw the colorful skirts twirling around the ballroom.

  “And does your mother permit you to waltz?”

  Charlotte smiled and nodded, remembering how her mother had agreed to such a thing only a year or so prior to this event. “Yes, some time ago, although I confess I have not had much opportunity to do so!”

  Lady Perrin regarded her carefully. “Is it because you do not know a great many of those present?”

  “No, indeed,” Charlotte replied quickly. “I have some very dear friends in London, but after my year of mourning, I found it somewhat difficult to return to the way life had been before.”

  “I see,” Lady Perrin murmured thoughtfully. “I believe I understand.”

  Charlotte made to explain further, only for one of her very dear friends, Miss Augusta, to approach. Delighted to see her, Charlotte grasped her friend’s hands and quickly introduced her to Lady Perrin. Once the appropriate introductions had been made, Lady Perrin excused herself, and with a reminder to Charlotte to enjoy herself, she made her way towards where the other companions and wallflowers sat.

  “I have not offended your aunt, I hope?” Augusta asked, her light blue eyes filled with puzzlement. “She took her leave very quickly.”

  Shaking her head, Charlotte laughed softly. “She insists that I have the most wonderful of evenings, and I believe that she thinks her presence by my side will prevent that.”

  “Oh,” Augusta murmured, her eyes still following Lady Perrin. “Is she quite good to you then?”

  Charlotte nodded. “She is, yes.”

  “Kinder than her niece?”

  Aware that Augusta knew of how Lady Emma had treated her in the two weeks they had been living together in London, Charlotte sighed heavily. “Lady Perrin is firm yet fair. She frustrates Lady Emma terribly, and the house has not had a day without some kind of falling out between them.”

  Augusta frowned and looped her arm through Charlotte’s. “Lady Emma does not want a sister, it seems.”

  “No,” Charlotte agreed sadly. “It seems she does not.” Taking a breath, she gave herself a small shake, refusing to dwell in melancholy. “However, I am quite determined to do just as Lady Perrin said and have a wonderful evening. Thus far, we have only been to card parties and recitals, so I am looking forward to having at least one dance.”

  “One dance!” Augusta repeated, sounding horrified. “One dance will never do, Charlotte. You think much too little of yourself. Come now, let me introduce you to some new acquaintances of mine. We shall have your dance card filled within a few minutes. I am quite certain of it.”

  Laughing at Augusta’s determination and thinking it a little misplaced, Charlotte allowed her friend to lead her through the crowd towards a small group of gentleman and ladies, all of who turned to greet them as they approached. Putting a smile on her face and trying her best to ignore the sudden flurry of nerves rattling around in her stomach, Charlotte allowed Augusta to make the introductions, curtsying carefully.

  “Miss Richardson,” one gentleman said, smiling broadly at her. “Might I see your dance card? I simply must secure a dance with you.”

  “And I,” said another, slapping the first gentleman on the back. “That is, if I may be permitted to put my name there, Miss Richardson?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Charlotte replied a little breathlessly.

  She could hardly believe that no less than five gentlemen signed their name on her dance card, and she saw Augusta’s wide grin as the last of them stepped away. Her eyes caught sight of Lady Emma standing just behind one of the gentlemen and was somewhat startled by the malice she saw there. Turning her attention back to the smiling gentlemen, she chose to ignore her stepsister entirely. Instead, she smiled back at her companions.

  “You are all very kind,” she finished, glancing down at her card and seeing it almost filled with names. “I cannot remember the last time I had so many dances.”

  “And I believe our dance is just being called this very moment,” said one of the gentlemen, stepping forward to take her hand. “Shall we, Miss Richardson?”

  “Thank you, Lord Martin,” Charlotte heard herself say, her heart bursting with joy as she was led onto the floor. It appeared that Lady Perrin was to get her wish—for Charlotte knew she was bound to enjoy this evening, now that she had so many gentlemen to dance with. She would have to remember to thank Augusta later.

  3

  “And, has anyone in particular caught your eye this evening?”

  Phillip, the Marquess of Withington, sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at his friend.

  “No, Kinsley, they have not. As much as you dance your pretty acquaintances before my eyes, I confess that not one of them has made any impact on my heart whatsoever.”

  Lord Kinsley snorted. “You are much too particular, Withington.”

  “That, I will admit to!” Phillip agreed at once, thinking that marriage was much too important a prospect to be taken lightly. “I cannot find myself interested in any lady simply because of her looks or status. They are all far too grasping anyway.”

  Lord Kinsley shook his head in despair. “You are impossible, Withington.”

  Phillip could not help but laugh at the despondent expression on his friend’s face. “I think you will find that I am wise, Kinsley. A man should not allow himself to be taken in by a pair of pretty eyes or a bright smile—as I ought to know.”

  “You are not being taken in!” Kinsley spluttered, waving his arms wildly. “You are simply showing some kind of interest in them. I cannot recall the last time you danced with anyone of note, and practically the entire assembly is waiting for you to do so.”

  Grimacing, Phillip sighed inwardly. “I am aware of that, Kinsley. That, in fact, is the entire problem.”

  Seeing the frustration ebb away in his friend’s eyes, Phillip shrugged one shoulder, hoping Kinsley would understand. “I am a marqu
ess, and that means I must marry well. And, whilst I am well aware of that, there are a great number of mothers who are aware of it also. Their daughters are paraded before me, hoping that I might settle on one of them to be my bride, and as you well know, they often go to ridiculous lengths in order to try and secure my hand. They do not care as to whether or not we would be a good match, rather they think only of the status and wealth that will come with a union to me.”

  “And is that such a bad thing?”

  Phillip grunted, aware that his friend did not see things in the same light as he did. “Yes, I rather think it is, Kinsley. Although I do not think we shall readily agree on this.”

  “No, we shall not,” Kinsley retorted, with a chuckle. “I, for one, do not understand why you do not simply take your pick of the ladies and enjoy their company for a time. There is no need to take things any further than that. One bad experience does not mean that all eligible young ladies are the same. All this talk of matrimony makes you much too serious.”

  Phillip grinned, his dark blue eyes alive with good humor. “Much too serious, eh? Then I can only pray that these young misses will see me in much the same light and find me singularly disinteresting. Mayhap I can encourage them to place their gaze on you for a time instead. Perhaps then you will find the idea of matrimony a little more appealing.”

  He saw Kinsley grimace and could not help but laugh aloud, knowing that Kinsley did not intend to wed any time soon. That did not stop him from attempting to charm the very many eligible young ladies that they met at almost every social event they attended.

  “Speaking of young misses, I had best go in search of Miss Laura Folkstone,” Kinsley muttered, his eyes roving across the ballroom. “It is to be our dance next, I believe.” He raised one eyebrow at Phillip, his dark eyes gleaming. “Are you sure I cannot tempt you to dance? I would be able to find you a partner in a minute, I am quite sure of it.”

  “And yet, I find no inclination to do so,” Phillip replied with a heavy sigh, as he put on an almost sad expression. “Go and enjoy yourself, Kinsley. I shall be quite all right here, avoiding those grasping mothers and their doe-eyed daughters.”

  Chuckling to himself, Phillip moved towards the staircase that led up to the balcony, thinking to excuse himself from company for a time. As much as he laughed about it with Kinsley, the truth was that Phillip did find these milk-and-water misses to be something of a trial. They all came to him because of his title and wealth and certainly not because of who he truly was. His character was never truly considered, and, in fact, Phillip had once overheard a remark that, even if he were a drunkard and a rogue, the mother would still press her daughter onto him.

  It was not a comment he had appreciated.

  Sighing heavily, Phillip sat down on a small bench and leaned back against the wall. The noise of the guests clamored in his ears, his head buzzing with sounds. Was he never to find what he wished? A woman who might care for him without too particular an interest in wealth or title? The last thing he wanted was to marry a lady who would practically ignore him for the rest of their married life once the heir and the spare were produced. He had seen that kind of marriage between his parents, and it had neither been a happy nor a fulfilling one.

  And yet, he mused, Kinsley was probably correct in saying that he would never find the right woman, the kind who would live up to his expectations. It was every young lady’s dream to marry well, and, after all, he had a duty to marry well also.

  “But they are all so dull,” he muttered to himself, passing a hand over his eyes to blank out the sight of the twirling skirts for a moment. He wanted someone with a little spirit, a little fire within her. Someone who had enough intelligence to hold a good conversation, someone whom he would look forward to seeing on his return home.

  “Hopeless,” he sighed, shaking his head to himself. “It is quite hopeless.”

  Sitting back, he heaved a sigh of relief as the music slowly came to a close, allowing him a brief respite from the noise. There was no urgency to return to the ballroom, although the thought of the card room sparked a flicker of interest in his mind.

  Getting to his feet, Phillip chose to wander along the balcony, studiously ignoring the whispers emanating from the shadows at various points. He had no wish to intrude on the privacy of the couples hiding there, although they did intrude a little on his own precious solitude.

  The music started once more, and Phillip continued his slow stroll around the ballroom, his gaze on the paintings adorning the walls rather than on the dancing couples below him.

  Suddenly, a strange noise caught his ears. Frowning, he tried his best to locate where the thump had come from, quite certain he had heard some kind of rattle and bump coming from somewhere.

  There! It came again!

  His brows furrowing, Phillip slowly moved forward—only to see a door handle being turned repeatedly, followed by a loud thump and a shout of frustration. His heart picked up speed at once, as he moved closer, suddenly afraid that a gentleman was pressing his attentions onto a lady who did not welcome them.

  The key was still in the lock, although the handle continued to be turned repeatedly. Over the sound of the music and laughter from the guests below, Phillip knocked once on the door and tried to speak clearly.

  “Stand back from the door, madam. I am just about to unlock it for you.”

  The last thing he wanted was to push the door open suddenly and find that he had knocked whoever was within clean off her feet. Pausing for a moment, he turned the key and pushed open the door—only to be confronted by a very angry-looking young lady, who clearly had been crying. Her hair was a little unkempt, her cheeks red and blotchy, and her dark hazel eyes filled with tears, although her mouth remained a tight, thin line.

  “I say!” he exclaimed, stepping inside. “Are you quite all right? What are you doing in here?”

  “There is not a gentleman in here with me, if that is what you are implying!” the lady exclaimed, her cheeks bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, as she quickly wiped at her eyes.

  “No, I was not implying that in the least,” Phillip replied calmly. “However, you do look quite out of sorts. Whatever happened here?”

  The young lady cleared her throat and lifted one delicate shoulder, an inscrutable expression on her face. “I must have locked myself in, somehow,” she murmured, not looking at him. “I am sorry; I should not have shouted at you so.”

  Phillip found himself suddenly intrigued by the lady, wondering what the truth of her trouble really was. It was quite clear that she had not locked herself in, for that simply could not have occurred. Someone had turned the key and left her inside—although whether that was deliberate or not, he could not say for certain. A niggle of worry bit at him. Had she been in here with a gentlemen and then argued or something? Had the gentleman locked her in the room alone, in the hope of making his escape?

  “I was in here alone,” the lady said firmly, evidently aware of the questioning look on his face. “No gentleman has been here and left me behind in a fit of anger.”

  “No, no, of course not,” Phillip heard himself stammer, a river of heat creeping up his spine. “I did not even think such a thing.”

  The young woman looked at him with one eyebrow arched, clearly disbelieving. Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head and tried to smile. “I suppose I should thank you for unlocking the door,” she continued, looking a little more composed. “I have already missed two dances; I am quite sure of it.”

  Phillip’s eyes strayed to the dance card twirling on a ribbon tied around her wrist and found, much to his surprise, that a spiraling disappointment filled his chest on seeing that it looked nearly full. It was only when he looked up into her eyes that he saw her looking at him with expectation, realizing that he had not yet said anything in response.

  “Not in the least,” he said, holding the door open wide for her to step out into the balcony. “I was walking along here and heard you sho
ut, that was all. Nothing particularly heroic.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile, but she did not return it.

  “This has all been a little embarrassing,” she said quietly, her gaze already drifting away from him and back down towards the ballroom. “I must thank you, truly, for helping me. I must beg you not to speak to anyone of this, although I know it would make a fine story.”

  Phillip shook his head, stepping a little closer to her so that he might assuage the worry in her eyes. “No, I shall not breathe a word, I promise you. Although might I know your name? I am the Marquess of Withington—if you please.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, dropping into a curtsy. “I thank you very much, my lord. And pray, do excuse me. I must return to the ballroom.”

  4

  Charlotte made her way back to the dancing with steam practically pouring from her ears. Not only had she been stuck in that room for a time, she had then been rescued by one of the most handsome gentlemen she had ever set eyes on, who, much to her dismay, had looked quite astonished at finding her so. He had been gazing around the room to see who else might be in there with her and, on finding no one, had assumed that she might have had some kind of falling out with a gentleman lover.

  Her cheeks burned with heat. She was going to throttle Lady Emma.

  Making her way carefully down the stairs, Charlotte caught sight of Lady Emma watching her with a smug expression, before turning and lightly tapping the arm of the gentleman next to her with her fan, laughing at something he said. Charlotte wanted nothing more than to march over there, grab her fan from her, and practically beat her with it; but instead, she chose to remain in the shadows until she was composed enough to continue.

  Oh, Lady Emma had been very cunning indeed, telling her--with a horrified expression of course—that Aunt Agatha had collapsed and was now in the small room at the other end of the house. Charlotte had not even thought to consider that her stepsister was lying to her and had hurried after her at once. Lady Emma had led the way up the staircase and along the balcony until they came to a small room with the door a little ajar. Charlotte had entered and—on seeing no one there—had turned back to speak to Lady Emma, thinking she had gone to the wrong room, only for the door to be slammed shut.