The Merry Marquis
Chapter One
By: Opal Soul
Disclaimer: Do you *think* I'm talented enough to own Sailor Moon?
As Serena stared at her mother, she felt sure she must be dreaming. "Mama," she stammered hesitantly. "Please, say that again?"
Lady Ilene answered sharply. "I just told you that you are to marry the Marquis of Melbourne."
Serena gave a small cry. "That was what I thought you said-- Mama, but I did not wish to believe it!"
Her mother's eyes were hard. "Listen to me!" She gestured at the shabby interiors of their house in the country. "We're almost starving here, Serena!"
"We are . . . happy," Serena ventured timidly.
"Happy?" Lady Ilene repeated, laughing bitterly. "Happy? You may be happy, clumsy little fool, but I am *not* happy!"
Serena's bluish eyes were very large in her small face as she watched her mother, almost fearfully.
"I am only thirty-five," her mother said. "I can't be expected to look after you when my life is still ahead of me!" Her voice broke a little and affection for her daughter showed. She pleaded with her large purple eyes. "Please . . . Serena, I do not mean to be difficult, or angry, but this is for your own good as well as mine!"
The expression of love in her mother's eyes was almost too much for the lonely girl to bear. "Yes, Mama," she murmured. "I am sorry I was . . . so difficult. It was just so . . . sudden and I was surprised."
The tenderness on her mother's painted face was recognizable. "Thank you, Serena," she said. "You may think it horrible now, but Serena . . . " She spread her hands out helplessly. "You will thank me one day."
"I thank you now," Serena said.
Lady Ilene's face closed again. "As should be expected," she said coldly.
"Mama-- " Serena said softly. "Supposing the Marquis does not wish to marry-- me?"
"It has been arranged," Lady Ilene explained stiffly.
"Arranged? How?"
Her mother turned to face Serena. She bent a little to her daughter's height. "What I am about to tell you is a secret, Serena. Do you understand?" Serena nodded, her curiosity piqued. "The Marquis needs to marry as soon as possible," Lady Ilene confided.
A small cry escaped from Serena's trembling lips. "Why?" she managed.
"His father died last month, as I am sure you know," said her mother. "His mother now insists on his marriage to a *respectable* woman, debutante or not. The old woman is convinced that she is 'next in line' for death and if he does not comply with her wishes, he shall be cut from the family!"
"Mama, but-- you said he was the only-- Melbourne?" Serena protested.
"Obviously you have never met the Dowager Marchioness of Melbourne," Lady Ilene remarked dryly. "A kind old woman, no doubt, but very set in her ways-- her old-fashioned ways."
"Old-fashioned?" echoed Serena.
Lady Ilene's tongue clucked. "Perhaps you have heard of the Merry Marquis?"
"The amorous . . . marquis?"
"Who is, in fact, the Marquis of Melbourne!"
Serena drew in a soft gasp. "Then I am to marry-- the Merry Marquis?"
"His mother does not approve of all his love-affairs," Lady Ilene said. "She wants him to marry a girl who has not yet been introduced to high society.
"But supposing-- he does not love her?" asked Serena, forgetting for the moment that the girl in question was in fact herself.
Lady Ilene shrugged her plump, beautiful shoulders. "There is nothing his mother can do about what he does after he is married," she told her daughter. "She merely wants to see him tied down."
"Why-- me?"
Lady Ilene's face softened in remembrance. "Your father was her godson," she said. "She had heard that Charles left a widow and called on me while you were still at the Convent. She saw the condition we were in, knew of you, and we sealed the bargain only yesterday."
There was a silence. "Of course, Mama," Serena said uncertainly. "I will-- marry him and be what . . . the Dowager Marchioness wants me . . . to be."
"*You* shall be the Marchioness," Lady Ilene reminded her.
The Duke of Elsbury raised his glass of port to his lips. "Melbourne, we drink to your marriage."
The Marquis was incensed. "Damn you."
The Earl of Brodey raised his bushy eyebrows mockingly. "Melbourne, show a little respect."
The Marquis sneered. "Brodey, when you get married, remind me to say that very thing."
The Earl waved his hand indifferently. "I intend to stay single," he said loftily. "After all," he said pointedly, "my mother is dead."
"Damn you, too."
Lord Alvanley clucked disapprovingly. "Watch the language, Melbourne."
"Damn you," the Marquis said wildly. "You're not getting married!"
"She may well be beautiful," Lord Alvanley said, lighting a cigar.
"I don't care," the Marquis snarled. "I've never seen her before and I don't want to marry her!"
"Whoever she is," the Earl finished for him.
"Exactly," growled the Marquis. "Likely and ugly little schoolgirl with no money and no brains. Simpering."
The Duke sat back in his chair. "In truth I almost envy you."
The Marquis snapped, "Why the hell is that?"
He shrugged. "You will be getting a wife who obviously will not expect too much of you, your mother will be happy, and you are still free to play around."
The Marquis was known throughout England as the Merry Marquis. His lifestyle was reckless and wild, as were his nights. The beautiful women of Europe laid their hearts at his feet, and it seemed that a new one was looking at him adoringly every dinner. It was not uncommon for the servants in his household to hear screams of pleasure and delight from their master's bedroom.
It was not just his looks, although they contributed a good deal. His dark hair was brushed back, yet managed to have the tousled and tailored look the nobles paid for. His midnight eyes were set underneath midnight hair and they glittered cynically beneath his noble brow. His shoulders were broad, almost impossibly so, and his chest narrowed to a slim, trim waist. His body and height commanded attention and the hard lines of his body, suggesting a capability of cruelty, excited women.
The Marquis was also exceptionally intelligent. He was something of a dandy, but beneath his handsome, almost frivolous appearance, was a brain of high import. He was clever and rich. The beautiful women of Europe melted in pools at his feet.
Now the Marquis laughed darkly. "I am bored of playing," he admitted.
Lord Alvanley put out his cigar. "Bored with the lovely Michelle? So soon?"
The Marquis grimaced. "Her whining annoys me," he explained. "And she was simply too easy."
The Duke nodded, smiling knowingly. "Melbourne is notorious for his fickleness."
"I am not fickle," snapped the Marquis. "I am simply waiting for the right one." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Katherine obviously is not the right one."
"Then who is?" the Duke voiced the question of every-one in the room.
The Earl smiled sadly. "Melbourne, love does not exist in our society. No-one marries for love."
"I certainly am not," the Marquis replied bitterly.
Serena was startled from her breakfast by the entrance of her mother. "Mama," she cried in surprise. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I should be," Lady Ilene said, somewhat grumpily. "But we have much to do today."
"We do?" asked Serena curiously.
"Of course," her mother said briskly. "We must get to Bow Street immediately."
Serena gave a small cry of delight. "Are you going shopping again, Mama? You are so beautiful!"
Lady Ilene smiled at her daughter. "Today we are shopping for you."
"For . . . me?"
"As the Marchioness, you will require an entire new wardrobe," she explained. "Since the wedding is to be in a month, your wedding-gown must also be designed and completed."
"Where will we get the money?" wondered Serena.
"You are forgetting," said her mother, "that the Marquis is very, very rich!"
"He will pay for it all?" said she incredulously.
"His mother will see to it," Lady Ilene said firmly. "You are lucky. Very lucky!"
Serena nodded slowly. How lucky am I? she wondered. I am to marry the most sought-after man in the whole of England! And I have never met him-- and he will never love me.
Serena sighed and snuggled into the worn but comfortable couch. It had been an exhausting shopping expedition. Her mother had taken the tailors and boutiques by storm, demanding gowns of every genre-- day dresses, evening gowns, bathrobes, nightgowns, riding habits . . . nothing had been forgotten. Lady Ilene was a lioness on a rampage. The seamstresses had been reluctant at first, but upon hearing the Marquis of Melbourne's name, they had been delighted to tailor her gowns.
Now all she wanted was to relax.
For Serena, relaxation equated books.
Starting from a very young age, her father had provided books for her to enjoy. Serena had loved reading with her father. Her father had been partly a philosopher, and most of the books in his extensive library had dealt with the like. But every year on her birthday, her father had presented her with one modern novel. Even after he had passed on, her mother scrimped to provide her with the treasure.
Her favorite was "Utopia."
Utopia existed in Serena's mind. She believed it not to be as the author had described, but as a world of flowers, angels, lace, clouds-- endless happiness. It was a young, innocent girl's dream-world. She felt that in such a world, nothing could go wrong.
Serena was not stupid or delusional; she merely had a fantasy.
She knew it was a fantasy.
But as dreamers do, she liked to dream.
"What are you reading?" a deep, unmistakably male voice asked.
Serena gave a small cry, closing the covers abruptly. "I was not aware that there was anyone here," she said.
There was a smile in his voice. "Of course not," he said charmingly. "Miss Broxia, as it is your own home, I am the intruder."
Serena raised her chin defiantly at the speaker. "Who are you?" she demanded. "How do you know who I am?"
The young man bowed deeply at his trim waist. "The Marquis of Melbourne," he answered. "Your fiancé."
Serena was silent for a minute. "Surely-- surely you do not want this wedding?" she asked hesitantly.
He smiled at her. "That is a question for which only I have the answer."
"But . . . I do not even know you!" she cried. "You do not know . . . me either!"
Bitterness crept into his voice. "Somehow our mothers did not have that in mind," he remarked dryly.
"It is wrong!" she sniffed indignantly. "If I had any say, I would sooner marry-- a pig!"
He laughed. "Am I that horrible? As you said, you do not even know me," said the Marquis mockingly.
Her face softened. "It is not you," amended Serena. "Just-- when I *do* marry, I want it to be for love."
"Do you mean that?" he asked. A glint was in his eye.
"Of course I do!" said Serena.
"And what does a girl your age know about love?" he asked, his disarming smile vanishing.
"Nothing," Serena admitted reluctantly. "But I can dream, and hope, and wait."
"Has it occurred to you that you are marrying me-- not for love?"
"Of course," she said. "I am not so stupid as you think." There was a pause, then she added mischievously, "That is, if you think at all."
The Marquis threw back his handsome head and laughed. "I think," he reassured her. "And I think women are liars and cheaters as well!"
"Perhaps they are," Serena said.
A dark eyebrow rose cynically. "Are you not a woman?"
"I am a girl!" she defended herself.
"And do you not lie?"
"I never lie!" she declared. "And I never cheat."
"Are you telling the truth?"
She burst into unaffected laughter. "Of course," she said merrily, blue eyes dancing.
The Marquis was silent. "I think," he said after a long moment, "marriage to you will not be so boring as I thought."
She gave a cry of frustration. "I was hoping you could talk my mother out of it!"
He gave her an amused look. "It would be unwise to do so," he remarked dryly.
"Why?" asked Serena.
"I have learned over the years," said the Marquis, "that when my mother wants something done, it gets done."
Serena was silent.
The Marquis said, "At least I will not hate you."
"I will not hate you-- either," whispered Serena. "I was afraid . . . so afraid!"
"Look at me, Serena," the Marquis said, suddenly using her Christian name.
There was something compelling in his voice. She raised her large blue eyes and glanced at him shyly.
"You will never be afraid of me," the Marquis said quietly. "I swear I will not frighten you!"
"I believe you," Serena said wonderingly, solemnly.
The Marquis nodded. "That is good," he said. "And now I am afraid I have stayed too long." He smiled engagingly, leaning forward to raise her tiny white hand to his lips. "I will see you later, Serena."
~~*~~@ @~~*~~
Okay, this started out as an original story, but then I thought: well, how else can I get someone to read this story? Change the names, obviously. If any of you recognize the style of writing, I admit: I LOVE BARBARA CARTLAND'S WRITING. I have changed the style somewhat, but the underlying tone is the same. No-one can sue me; unfortunately my favorite Romance Writer passed away very recently. If you have any flames and/or feedback, send it to me at spots_goil@juno.com OR Dariens_Bunny@sailormoon.com. Thanks!
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check and of course Barbara Cartland.
"If I am a jewel, as a dear friend once flirtatiously dubbed me, I am an opal. Fiery ice swirling in the milk-white of innocence. Passion and compassion. Myself to the core." Surprisingly enough, I wrote that. It's just to clarify any questions on my strange pen-name.
Chapter One
By: Opal Soul
Disclaimer: Do you *think* I'm talented enough to own Sailor Moon?
As Serena stared at her mother, she felt sure she must be dreaming. "Mama," she stammered hesitantly. "Please, say that again?"
Lady Ilene answered sharply. "I just told you that you are to marry the Marquis of Melbourne."
Serena gave a small cry. "That was what I thought you said-- Mama, but I did not wish to believe it!"
Her mother's eyes were hard. "Listen to me!" She gestured at the shabby interiors of their house in the country. "We're almost starving here, Serena!"
"We are . . . happy," Serena ventured timidly.
"Happy?" Lady Ilene repeated, laughing bitterly. "Happy? You may be happy, clumsy little fool, but I am *not* happy!"
Serena's bluish eyes were very large in her small face as she watched her mother, almost fearfully.
"I am only thirty-five," her mother said. "I can't be expected to look after you when my life is still ahead of me!" Her voice broke a little and affection for her daughter showed. She pleaded with her large purple eyes. "Please . . . Serena, I do not mean to be difficult, or angry, but this is for your own good as well as mine!"
The expression of love in her mother's eyes was almost too much for the lonely girl to bear. "Yes, Mama," she murmured. "I am sorry I was . . . so difficult. It was just so . . . sudden and I was surprised."
The tenderness on her mother's painted face was recognizable. "Thank you, Serena," she said. "You may think it horrible now, but Serena . . . " She spread her hands out helplessly. "You will thank me one day."
"I thank you now," Serena said.
Lady Ilene's face closed again. "As should be expected," she said coldly.
"Mama-- " Serena said softly. "Supposing the Marquis does not wish to marry-- me?"
"It has been arranged," Lady Ilene explained stiffly.
"Arranged? How?"
Her mother turned to face Serena. She bent a little to her daughter's height. "What I am about to tell you is a secret, Serena. Do you understand?" Serena nodded, her curiosity piqued. "The Marquis needs to marry as soon as possible," Lady Ilene confided.
A small cry escaped from Serena's trembling lips. "Why?" she managed.
"His father died last month, as I am sure you know," said her mother. "His mother now insists on his marriage to a *respectable* woman, debutante or not. The old woman is convinced that she is 'next in line' for death and if he does not comply with her wishes, he shall be cut from the family!"
"Mama, but-- you said he was the only-- Melbourne?" Serena protested.
"Obviously you have never met the Dowager Marchioness of Melbourne," Lady Ilene remarked dryly. "A kind old woman, no doubt, but very set in her ways-- her old-fashioned ways."
"Old-fashioned?" echoed Serena.
Lady Ilene's tongue clucked. "Perhaps you have heard of the Merry Marquis?"
"The amorous . . . marquis?"
"Who is, in fact, the Marquis of Melbourne!"
Serena drew in a soft gasp. "Then I am to marry-- the Merry Marquis?"
"His mother does not approve of all his love-affairs," Lady Ilene said. "She wants him to marry a girl who has not yet been introduced to high society.
"But supposing-- he does not love her?" asked Serena, forgetting for the moment that the girl in question was in fact herself.
Lady Ilene shrugged her plump, beautiful shoulders. "There is nothing his mother can do about what he does after he is married," she told her daughter. "She merely wants to see him tied down."
"Why-- me?"
Lady Ilene's face softened in remembrance. "Your father was her godson," she said. "She had heard that Charles left a widow and called on me while you were still at the Convent. She saw the condition we were in, knew of you, and we sealed the bargain only yesterday."
There was a silence. "Of course, Mama," Serena said uncertainly. "I will-- marry him and be what . . . the Dowager Marchioness wants me . . . to be."
"*You* shall be the Marchioness," Lady Ilene reminded her.
The Duke of Elsbury raised his glass of port to his lips. "Melbourne, we drink to your marriage."
The Marquis was incensed. "Damn you."
The Earl of Brodey raised his bushy eyebrows mockingly. "Melbourne, show a little respect."
The Marquis sneered. "Brodey, when you get married, remind me to say that very thing."
The Earl waved his hand indifferently. "I intend to stay single," he said loftily. "After all," he said pointedly, "my mother is dead."
"Damn you, too."
Lord Alvanley clucked disapprovingly. "Watch the language, Melbourne."
"Damn you," the Marquis said wildly. "You're not getting married!"
"She may well be beautiful," Lord Alvanley said, lighting a cigar.
"I don't care," the Marquis snarled. "I've never seen her before and I don't want to marry her!"
"Whoever she is," the Earl finished for him.
"Exactly," growled the Marquis. "Likely and ugly little schoolgirl with no money and no brains. Simpering."
The Duke sat back in his chair. "In truth I almost envy you."
The Marquis snapped, "Why the hell is that?"
He shrugged. "You will be getting a wife who obviously will not expect too much of you, your mother will be happy, and you are still free to play around."
The Marquis was known throughout England as the Merry Marquis. His lifestyle was reckless and wild, as were his nights. The beautiful women of Europe laid their hearts at his feet, and it seemed that a new one was looking at him adoringly every dinner. It was not uncommon for the servants in his household to hear screams of pleasure and delight from their master's bedroom.
It was not just his looks, although they contributed a good deal. His dark hair was brushed back, yet managed to have the tousled and tailored look the nobles paid for. His midnight eyes were set underneath midnight hair and they glittered cynically beneath his noble brow. His shoulders were broad, almost impossibly so, and his chest narrowed to a slim, trim waist. His body and height commanded attention and the hard lines of his body, suggesting a capability of cruelty, excited women.
The Marquis was also exceptionally intelligent. He was something of a dandy, but beneath his handsome, almost frivolous appearance, was a brain of high import. He was clever and rich. The beautiful women of Europe melted in pools at his feet.
Now the Marquis laughed darkly. "I am bored of playing," he admitted.
Lord Alvanley put out his cigar. "Bored with the lovely Michelle? So soon?"
The Marquis grimaced. "Her whining annoys me," he explained. "And she was simply too easy."
The Duke nodded, smiling knowingly. "Melbourne is notorious for his fickleness."
"I am not fickle," snapped the Marquis. "I am simply waiting for the right one." He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Katherine obviously is not the right one."
"Then who is?" the Duke voiced the question of every-one in the room.
The Earl smiled sadly. "Melbourne, love does not exist in our society. No-one marries for love."
"I certainly am not," the Marquis replied bitterly.
Serena was startled from her breakfast by the entrance of her mother. "Mama," she cried in surprise. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I should be," Lady Ilene said, somewhat grumpily. "But we have much to do today."
"We do?" asked Serena curiously.
"Of course," her mother said briskly. "We must get to Bow Street immediately."
Serena gave a small cry of delight. "Are you going shopping again, Mama? You are so beautiful!"
Lady Ilene smiled at her daughter. "Today we are shopping for you."
"For . . . me?"
"As the Marchioness, you will require an entire new wardrobe," she explained. "Since the wedding is to be in a month, your wedding-gown must also be designed and completed."
"Where will we get the money?" wondered Serena.
"You are forgetting," said her mother, "that the Marquis is very, very rich!"
"He will pay for it all?" said she incredulously.
"His mother will see to it," Lady Ilene said firmly. "You are lucky. Very lucky!"
Serena nodded slowly. How lucky am I? she wondered. I am to marry the most sought-after man in the whole of England! And I have never met him-- and he will never love me.
Serena sighed and snuggled into the worn but comfortable couch. It had been an exhausting shopping expedition. Her mother had taken the tailors and boutiques by storm, demanding gowns of every genre-- day dresses, evening gowns, bathrobes, nightgowns, riding habits . . . nothing had been forgotten. Lady Ilene was a lioness on a rampage. The seamstresses had been reluctant at first, but upon hearing the Marquis of Melbourne's name, they had been delighted to tailor her gowns.
Now all she wanted was to relax.
For Serena, relaxation equated books.
Starting from a very young age, her father had provided books for her to enjoy. Serena had loved reading with her father. Her father had been partly a philosopher, and most of the books in his extensive library had dealt with the like. But every year on her birthday, her father had presented her with one modern novel. Even after he had passed on, her mother scrimped to provide her with the treasure.
Her favorite was "Utopia."
Utopia existed in Serena's mind. She believed it not to be as the author had described, but as a world of flowers, angels, lace, clouds-- endless happiness. It was a young, innocent girl's dream-world. She felt that in such a world, nothing could go wrong.
Serena was not stupid or delusional; she merely had a fantasy.
She knew it was a fantasy.
But as dreamers do, she liked to dream.
"What are you reading?" a deep, unmistakably male voice asked.
Serena gave a small cry, closing the covers abruptly. "I was not aware that there was anyone here," she said.
There was a smile in his voice. "Of course not," he said charmingly. "Miss Broxia, as it is your own home, I am the intruder."
Serena raised her chin defiantly at the speaker. "Who are you?" she demanded. "How do you know who I am?"
The young man bowed deeply at his trim waist. "The Marquis of Melbourne," he answered. "Your fiancé."
Serena was silent for a minute. "Surely-- surely you do not want this wedding?" she asked hesitantly.
He smiled at her. "That is a question for which only I have the answer."
"But . . . I do not even know you!" she cried. "You do not know . . . me either!"
Bitterness crept into his voice. "Somehow our mothers did not have that in mind," he remarked dryly.
"It is wrong!" she sniffed indignantly. "If I had any say, I would sooner marry-- a pig!"
He laughed. "Am I that horrible? As you said, you do not even know me," said the Marquis mockingly.
Her face softened. "It is not you," amended Serena. "Just-- when I *do* marry, I want it to be for love."
"Do you mean that?" he asked. A glint was in his eye.
"Of course I do!" said Serena.
"And what does a girl your age know about love?" he asked, his disarming smile vanishing.
"Nothing," Serena admitted reluctantly. "But I can dream, and hope, and wait."
"Has it occurred to you that you are marrying me-- not for love?"
"Of course," she said. "I am not so stupid as you think." There was a pause, then she added mischievously, "That is, if you think at all."
The Marquis threw back his handsome head and laughed. "I think," he reassured her. "And I think women are liars and cheaters as well!"
"Perhaps they are," Serena said.
A dark eyebrow rose cynically. "Are you not a woman?"
"I am a girl!" she defended herself.
"And do you not lie?"
"I never lie!" she declared. "And I never cheat."
"Are you telling the truth?"
She burst into unaffected laughter. "Of course," she said merrily, blue eyes dancing.
The Marquis was silent. "I think," he said after a long moment, "marriage to you will not be so boring as I thought."
She gave a cry of frustration. "I was hoping you could talk my mother out of it!"
He gave her an amused look. "It would be unwise to do so," he remarked dryly.
"Why?" asked Serena.
"I have learned over the years," said the Marquis, "that when my mother wants something done, it gets done."
Serena was silent.
The Marquis said, "At least I will not hate you."
"I will not hate you-- either," whispered Serena. "I was afraid . . . so afraid!"
"Look at me, Serena," the Marquis said, suddenly using her Christian name.
There was something compelling in his voice. She raised her large blue eyes and glanced at him shyly.
"You will never be afraid of me," the Marquis said quietly. "I swear I will not frighten you!"
"I believe you," Serena said wonderingly, solemnly.
The Marquis nodded. "That is good," he said. "And now I am afraid I have stayed too long." He smiled engagingly, leaning forward to raise her tiny white hand to his lips. "I will see you later, Serena."
~~*~~@ @~~*~~
Okay, this started out as an original story, but then I thought: well, how else can I get someone to read this story? Change the names, obviously. If any of you recognize the style of writing, I admit: I LOVE BARBARA CARTLAND'S WRITING. I have changed the style somewhat, but the underlying tone is the same. No-one can sue me; unfortunately my favorite Romance Writer passed away very recently. If you have any flames and/or feedback, send it to me at spots_goil@juno.com OR Dariens_Bunny@sailormoon.com. Thanks!
Thanks to: my wonderful spell-check and of course Barbara Cartland.
"If I am a jewel, as a dear friend once flirtatiously dubbed me, I am an opal. Fiery ice swirling in the milk-white of innocence. Passion and compassion. Myself to the core." Surprisingly enough, I wrote that. It's just to clarify any questions on my strange pen-name.