A Symphony for the Earl (The Merricks #1)

Chapter One

Where on earth had Percy Ferrar obtained a morning coat in such a sickening shade of magenta?

Richard stared, stunned into silence. The young man’s tightly fitted jacket opened to an unfortunate chartreuse-striped waistcoat.

From his heeled Hession boots to his elaborately curled hair, the idiot before him was a Macaroni of the first order.

Richard winced as a wave of pungent brilliantine wafted across the room.

To collect his thoughts, he turned to the bay window of his study and gazed across the street to Hyde Park.

A swarm of carriages, well-mounted equestrians, and elegantly attired pedestrians filled the tree-lined paths.

Along with tiresome crowds, the spring ritual of musicales, soirées, and balls grew less appealing each year.

He was growing jaded if the whirl of another London Season seemed dull compared to the solace of his country estate.

“Well, my lord? Have you an answer?”

Richard schooled his features before looking back at Ferrar. “Er…what was the question?”

“I offered for Miss Merrick’s hand in marriage, and I’m waiting for your permission to pay my addresses.” Her swain could hardly turn his head, held prisoner by the huge amount of starch required to keep his painfully high collar points in place.

“Ah, yes. I’ve considered your request to marry my sister and my answer must be no, Sir Percy. But I wish you all the best in your quest for a wife.”

“You’re…you’re turning me down? How can you possibly refuse my suit? I deserve an explanation, my lord.”

Richard’s brows snapped together in annoyance.

This pointless interview could render a fine morning unsalvageable.

“Let me be frank, Sir Percy; your age is the sticking point. You’ve just turned twenty-one, and my sister is but seventeen herself.

Understandably, I hope to find Miss Merrick a husband a bit older and more settled in station. ”

Now the bonebox looked insulted. Surely, he wouldn’t argue with a peer of the realm? But Richard’s hopes were dashed as Sir Percy elevated like the peacocks in Regent’s Park.

“Surely there must be some mistake. You may be the Earl of Seldon, but my grandfather is a marquis. Our family is an old and impeccable line.” Emboldened, his lip curled in a sneer. “Dare I say there is no stain on my family’s name?”

There it was, he thought bitterly. Once again, his father’s folly was fodder for scorn.

No matter that the entire Ferrar family waded in the River Tick and their fine London house was mortgaged to the hilt. Leisurely, he lifted a gold-rimmed quizzing glass and inspected his guest.

The ninny had the grace to flush a vivid shade of crimson, but persisted. “Despite the scandal of your father’s ruin and his untimely death, my grandfather the marquis, desires—indeed, he expects—an alliance between our families.”

Richard let the oval glass fall, swinging it slowly at the end of its black ribbon. “Does he indeed? Pray continue, Sir Percy.” The strongest among the earl’s acquaintances would blanch at the sardonic invitation, but the boy lumbered on.

“I will inherit one day, and by my soul, an offer of marriage from the future Marquis of Hurd should merit more consideration, even if you are an earl.”

“Then do come back once you are the marquis. I may reconsider your suit.”

Richard moved over to the marble fireplace and sat in a bergère armchair—one of two—making no effort to offer his guest the other. He hoped it might signal the end of a truly painful conversation, but Ferrar merely gaped at him, shifting from foot to foot.

“I offer Miss Merrick a name of consequence and an excellent reputation,” he retorted. “Though my family does not have your inexhaustible fortune, my lineage and certainly my character are more than worthy.”

Richard leaned back, inspecting his well-manicured fingernails one at a time. “Please explain to me, Sir Percy, how losing twenty thousand pounds in one evening at the faro table is character?”

Sir Percy blanched.

“And to drop thousands more at Watier’s in a bet that Lady Swilling dyes her hair? Very honorable indeed.” He raised his quizzing glass again, and the boy pulled at his elaborately tied cravat as if the layers of cloth choked him.

“Perhaps I am too old to recall the excesses of youth, but a midnight horse race in Trafalgar Square while you are in your cups is not character. I heard it cost you more than a monkey and another three to escape prosecution when you er…borrowed Lord Hiram’s bay stallion.

” Frowning at his sleeve, he flicked a stray thread from the superfine wool.

“You may think it amusing to mock me, my lord—” Sir Percy sputtered, balling his fists.

Richard rose to his considerable height, forcing Sir Percy, who was quite short, to glare awkwardly above his stiff shirt points.

“I’m afraid my answer remains unchanged.

” He indicated the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have pressing business at hand. My bootmaker is expected at any moment and he demands my utmost attention. I’m sure you know how particular Hoby can be.

” He glanced pensively at Sir Percy’s heavily tasseled boots. “Or perhaps not,” he murmured.

Sir Percy turned scarlet to his very ears. “M-my lord, you cannot dismiss me this way!”

“But I have, haven’t I?” Richard covered a yawn.

Sir Percy struggled to strip off one extremely tight leather glove.

After much effort, the boy succeeded, chest heaving, and slung it at Richard’s foot. The offending article landed against the earl’s gleaming top boot and slid to the priceless Turkish rug below.

“There, my lord! I will not suffer such shabby treatment,” Sir Percy screeched. “My honor demands a meeting or an apology!”

The nerves along the back of Richard’s neck tightened. He walked over and pulled a velvet cord hanging in the corner.

A towering man clad in impeccable black and silver appeared in the doorway.

“Stand by, Hansen,” Richard said. “Sir Percy will be leaving us at any moment.”

“Do you refuse to meet me, Lord Seldon?” his guest choked. “This is unacceptable—I refuse to leave without satisfaction.”

Richard looked down, his lip curling. “Then I will give you several compelling reasons to change your mind. First, it’s deplorable manners to call out a man in his own home.

Second, if you survive a duel with me—” Hansen coughed discreetly in the background.

“Yes, Hansen, I agree it is unlikely—you will be a laughingstock.”

Sir Percy’s clenched hands opened and closed as if he imagined them around his host’s neck.

Richard smiled wolfishly.

“Last, there’s a very important fact of which you must be ignorant, so pray let me enlighten you. My name stands at the top of Manton’s Shooting Gallery for marking the wafer nineteen out of twenty times. That number held steady for six months…until yesterday. Yesterday, I scored all twenty.”

Sir Percy looked slightly nauseous. He swallowed repeatedly, and his eyes flickered from Hansen’s grim form to the door.

“Now, I offer you one last opportunity to leave this house, or I will acknowledge your misguided insult and meet you when and where you wish.”

The color came and went from Sir Percy’s face. He opened his mouth, then closed it, looking rather like a landed bass, bent, and snatched the crumpled glove from the carpet.

Valentina’s erstwhile suitor fled the room, Hansen close behind.

Richard sank into the chair behind his desk, leaning back against the leather headrest. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. Perhaps finding a husband for his sister would prove more challenging than he imagined.

“Damnation.” He reached up to massage his temples and winced. Another blasted headache would certainly put the crown on this dreadful interview.

And his new Prussian-blue morning coat was too snug through the shoulders. Although his tailor delighted in showing Richard’s physique to advantage, the ability to breathe was a topic he must mention on the next visit—gently, of course.

He crossed his buckskin-clad legs and sighed. The morning was a waste, and this afternoon he had promised Valentina a drive in the park at twelve thirty. The Sèvres clock on the fireplace mantel indicated quarter past eleven.

Richard rifled through the papers on his desk; most were unanswered correspondence.

He desperately needed a secretary but hesitated to turn over his affairs to a stranger.

Determined to make a dent in the pile, he pushed aside the heavy ledgers of household accounts to make room.

An envelope fluttered to the floor, addressed to Lord Richard Merrick, Earl of Seldon.

He retrieved it. The missive, still sealed, bore his solicitor’s name and street number in the upper corner. It was delivered by post, most likely put aside and lost in paperwork.

Richard broke the wax and scanned the single paper. The blood drained from his face, and he quickly reread the letter with growing dismay.

“Damnation!” He tossed the envelope and its contents onto his desk and strode to the atrium hallway, where Hansen arranged the day’s calling cards on a silver tray.

“Hansen, where is Lady Merrick?”

The majordomo snapped to attention. “In the morning room, I believe, my lord.”

Richard followed the long, portrait-lined hall to a smaller room where his mother sat at her writing table, giving instructions to the housekeeper. Both ladies looked up in unison, startled by his abrupt entrance.

“I must speak to you alone, Mother. Mrs. Talbot, could you see that the governess keeps Octavia in the schoolroom? And if Valentina comes down, we are not to be disturbed.”

“Of course, my lord.” The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and hurried out.

It was a charming space, filled with sunlight peeking through airy yellow curtains.

The settee and matching chair were upholstered in his mother’s favorite shade of raspberry, and the rug was a tasteful medley of matching peonies nestled amidst celadon leaves.

A vase of yellow hothouse roses stood nearby on a Hepplewhite table.

His mother only enhanced the charming décor. She watched with great concern as he paced the room.

“Richard, what on earth has put you so out of countenance?”

He attempted to speak, then threw up his hands in frustration. Taking the delicate floral chair opposite her, it was some moments before his agitation subsided and he could answer calmly.

“I’ve had the most disturbing—no, incredulous—letter from my London solicitor. Falworth claims that I’m responsible for some underage girl in Dublin and sends legal papers to prove my guardianship. What’s more, she is on her way here to Merrick House.”

“Well, it sounds like Mr. Falworth is misinformed. Why don’t you visit him and remedy the situation?

Quietly, of course.” Lady Amelia pointed to the society papers spread open on the desk.

“Have you seen Lady Sanderton’s daughter is engaged, Richard?

Why, the girl has a decided squint, and your sister has been out a month with no offers yet. ”

“Mother, this is a grave matter. I can’t turn around a ship in mid-ocean. She will arrive in London whether we wish it or not.” The tight bands around the back of his neck had become another full-blown headache, but he took a deep breath and mastered his impatience.

“Falworth claims I am her guardian in the eyes of the law and she must reside here with us. This is not a good thing, Mother. God knows I have done my best to bring up two siblings, but I’d like to enjoy a bachelorhood before I marry.”

His mother raised a brow. “I would say, Richard, that Rose Talbot, Miss Ernest, and I have done most of the work concerning your sisters, while you have concentrated on restoring our fortune.”

The earl ground his teeth and dropped his head in his hands. He would have raked a hand through his hair, but recalled his valet had painstakingly combed it à la Brutus this morning.

“How did we come about this child? You haven’t…oh, Richard…she’s not yours?”

Richard sat up abruptly. “Good God, no. It’s Gerald Rafferty’s daughter.”

“Gerald Rafferty? Your Uncle Carlisle’s old partner in Barbados? Why on earth does he not take care of his own child?”

“Rafferty has been lost at sea for these past two years. This letter dates from February, but I misplaced it and just read the damn thing.”

“It’s not like you to lose things, Richard. Perhaps you’re overtired. But I still don’t understand why the girl must come to us. How old is she?”

“Falworth didn’t mention her age. The guardianship has trickled down to me by the merest chance. In the event of his death, Gerald Rafferty’s will named Uncle Carlisle her guardian.”

“But your uncle died four years ago. This is all very confusing.”

“The will on file with Rafferty’s solicitor in Dublin has never been updated. And as Carlisle Merrick’s closest living relative, the guardianship falls to me.”

“Well, it is inconvenient, I must say. When is this—”

“Fiona Rafferty.”

“Miss Rafferty expected?

“The letter says she will arrive in a month.”

“But if the letter is one month old…” Richard waited for his mother to grasp the implications of her reasoning. Lady Amelia grew pale.

“Exactly,” Richard replied, leaning back and closing his eyes. The fragile chair creaked alarmingly, and he leaped to his feet.

“Well,” his mother rallied. “Well, let’s hope she will be a quiet thing and stay in the background.

It would be best if she were quite plain.

We can’t have your sister overshadowed in her first Season.

Heavens, what shall I do about dinner this week—I wasn’t expecting a guest. Shall I order lamb or goose? ”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Goose.”