Theresa And The Tiger

Chapter One ~ 1869-2

Then they had seen Theresa coming through the door and had said no more.

Then six months ago the news arrived like a bombshell from the family Solicitors that her father, the Earl of Denholme, had died in Paris.

There was nothing dramatic about it like fighting a duel. He had merely contracted a fever that had apparently swept through the Capital taking toll of an inordinate number of victims and among them her father.

His body had been brought back and buried in the family vault in the Church in the Park.

It was then for the first time that Theresa was aware of how many relatives she had and how, disapproving of her father, they had deliberately ignored her mother and her all these years.

There were crowds of them and they were very unprepossessing with the majority elderly. In a way she could understand why her father had found them dull and refused to be restricted by their disapproval.

She resented the way they spoke of her as a ‘poor child’ because she was her father’s daughter and they obviously thought that it was extremely regrettable that she was so attractive.

She could almost hear them whispering amongst themselves that she would undoubtedly get into trouble, having her father’s blood in her.

What she could not excuse in them was their behaviour towards her mother who up until her dying day was still very beautiful.

It was then she understood that her mother was regarded with a certain amount of suspicion and disapproval by her Holme in-laws because she had French blood in her.

It seemed ridiculous, but already Theresa was learning that punishment for sinners was inflicted upon the innocent as well if they were connected with them.

Her grandmother, her mother’s mother, had been in her own right the Comtesse de Chaufour.

She had married Theresa’s grandfather because she loved him and not because it was an arranged marriage, as was usual in France.

They had met when her grandfather, Lord Greystone, was for a short time Ambassador in Paris.

He was a widower and her mother had often told Theresa how the moment he had seen the young Comtesse he had fallen madly in love with her and she with him.

Her mother’s family were already negotiating for her to become engaged to an eligible young Frenchman whose lands in the Loire Valley marched with those of the Chaufours.

“But it was difficult to find any reasonable objection to her marrying my father, except that he was sixteen years older than she was,” her mother had said, “but I have never known two people so happy.”

There was a sad note in her mother’s voice and a look in her eyes that had told Theresa that it was the happiness she had hoped she would find with her father only to be bitterly disillusioned.

Lord Greystone had died before his daughter had grown up and because he had no other children she had inherited a very large fortune.

“Yes, I became very rich,” her mother told Theresa.

The way she spoke made her daughter aware that it had brought her nothing but unhappiness.

Only as Theresa walked back from the churchyard did it occur to her that as she had no brothers or sisters and everything that her mother possessed was now hers.

She had been so unhappy when her mother died that she could only think of her loneliness.

Now she wondered what the money would mean to her and once again she told herself that she would never marry and no man would ever treat her as her mother had been treated by her father.

The doctors said that the Countess of Denholme had died because of a malignant growth that had given her a great deal of pain for some time before she admitted it.

Theresa did not believe them and was quite certain that, when her father had died last autumn, her mother now had no hope that he would ever return to her and had no wish to go on living.

It was as if she could see her fading away day by day, growing weaker and weaker and less interested in anything. She obviously had no further wish to hold onto life and had finally let go.

‘That is what happened,’ Theresa told herself, ‘because nobody ever mattered to her except Papa.’

It was then that something hard and resolute seemed to grow up inside her as if it had suddenly matured and become part of her make-up.

“I will never suffer as Mama has!” she said aloud as she walked back through the Park under the oak trees. “I will never let a man take my heart and trample on it and I will never trust a man, however handsome or attractive he may be!”

She was thinking of her father and of the irresistible glint in his eye and the aura of excitement about him because he was going back to another woman.

“He was horrible, cruel and evil!” Theresa cried. “I hate Papa and I hate all men!”

She was so deep in her thoughts that, as she went down the short drive to the front door of the Dower House, she did not at first see the phaeton outside it.

When she did so, she was sure that it belonged to her uncle.

She had seen him at the funeral and, as he was escorted to the front pew as the new Earl of Denholme, she saw that he had a slight resemblance to her father.

He was not as handsome or so tall and he had not the thin elegant figure that had been part of her father’s attraction.

He was much more heavily built and, although he could not yet be forty-five, her uncle was already going bald.

He had spoken to her after they had left the graveside and said,

“I shall be moving into the family house, Theresa, as soon as possible and will, of course, come to call on you.”

Because she was trying to control her tears and was determined not to allow herself to be over-emotional in public, Theresa had only nodded an acknowledgement.

Now surprisingly her uncle had called earlier than expected and she told herself that it would be a mistake, as he was now Head of the Family, not to be pleasant to him.

She therefore walked into the hall to find the old butler who had come with them from the Big House waiting for her.

“His Lordship’s in the drawing room, my lady,” he said.

“Is he alone?” Theresa asked.

“Yes, my Lady.”

Theresa did not ask any more questions, but walked into the drawing room.

Everything in it were what her mother had treasured most, some of them being delightful pieces of inlaid furniture that she had brought from Paris after her own parents were dead.

There were also a few valuable French pictures, which, filled with colour and light, were very different from the heavy family portraits that covered the walls of the Big House.

Her uncle was standing in front of the fireplace where there was a small fire burning and, as Theresa walked down the room towards him, she thought that he looked at her appraisingly, rather like a man inspecting a young horse he intended to buy.

She reached him and curtseyed.

“Good morning, Uncle Edward! I was not expecting you so soon.”

“I am not moving into the house for another week or so,” the Earl replied. “I just wished to have a meeting with the estate Manager and I thought while I was here that I would have a talk with you, Theresa.”

“That was very kind of you, Uncle Edward. May I offer you some refreshment?”

“I have already told your servant to bring me a glass of claret,” the Earl replied.

He looked round the room, his eyes resting on the French furniture and one of the Fragonard pictures.

“I see that you have made yourselves very comfortable here. I think it was sensible of your mother to move from the Big House, which was far too large for the two of you.”

Theresa thought he almost added,

‘After your father left,’ and then prevented himself from doing so at the last moment.

“That is what we thought,” she replied and sat down on the sofa.

“All the same,” the Earl went on, “you realise that you cannot stay here alone now that your mother is dead.”

“I have thought of that,” Theresa said quickly, “and I intend to ask one of my Governesses, a Miss Robinson, who I was very fond of, to come and stay here with me.”

“That is sensible of you,” the Earl approved. “At the same time at your age of eighteen you should be presented at Court and do the Season.”

“That is something I have no wish to do,” Theresa replied, “and anyway I am, of course, in mourning.”

“I am aware of that,” the Earl said a little testily, “but you will not preclude any festivities during the summer and by the autumn you will be nineteen anyway. I therefore have a suggestion to put to you.”

Theresa thought that she could guess what was coming and stiffened.

She had no wish to be introduced to the Social world that her father had once described as ‘a marriage market’ and in which she knew that she would be labelled ‘a desirable heiress’.

She had already planned in her mind that she would travel perhaps with Miss Robinson, if she would agree to accompany her, or else with some other suitable chaperone.

She had a great wish to see Greece and perhaps Egypt as well.

She thought that it would be a great mistake, however, to suggest anything so adventurous to her uncle and she only waited for what he had to say, being quite determined to resist it.

“I think you are aware,” the Earl said rather heavily, “that now both your father and mother are dead I, as Head of the Family, am your Guardian, and as your Guardian I am, after some considerable thought, convinced that the best thing for you is to be married as soon as possible!”

If the Earl had thrown a bomb at her, Theresa could not have been more astonished.

“Did you say – married – Uncle Edward?”

“That is what I said and that is what I meant!” the Earl replied. “You are a pretty girl and you have, as I understand, after consulting with your mother’s firm of Solicitors this morning, a very large fortune. This means, and you must be sensible enough to realise it, that you will be pursued by fortune-hunters who will want not you but your money!”

Theresa had the uncomfortable feeling that he was thinking of her father before he went on,

“I have therefore, as your Guardian, chosen a husband who I think will meet with your approval and who certainly meets with mine.”

“You have – chosen a – husband for me!” Theresa repeated incredulously.

“I don’t think you have met my son,” the Earl went on, “but you will find him a charming young man, intelligent, a good sportsman and it is naturally important that he should marry as he will one day inherit my title.”

The Earl paused before he continued,

“I will arrange for you to meet each other and, if you both agree, I see no reason, as long as you have a quiet marriage, why it should not take place in the summer.”

Theresa was so astonished by what he was saying that she could for the moment hardly credit that it was not part of her imagination.

And yet he was actually saying in his dry crisp voice that she was to marry a man she had never seen simply because she had a large fortune.

Her first impulse was to say that she would never in any circumstances agree to such a proposal and that anyway she had no intention of marrying any man, least of all a member of her own family.

However, Theresa was very intelligent and she realised that to antagonise her uncle who she had to accept was her legal Guardian would be a great mistake.

She therefore held herself under control in a way that would have pleased her mother. She merely looked down so that he would not see the anger in her eyes and said quietly,

“You have surprised me, Uncle Edward! I did not expect you to suggest anything like that.”

“When you think it over, you will realise that I have your best interests at heart,” her uncle answered, “and it is in fact the sensible thing to do. You and Rupert can live in this house which means you will both be able to enjoy all the amenities of the estate and, of course, your aunt and I will be near at hand to look after you and guide you both.”