Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (27 page)

“And Daniel?” asked Amaryllis, her throat tight with unshed tears.

“Daniel became a hermit. He would not see the family. My father pushed the divorce through the House of Lords with as little fuss as possible. My mother died soon after, and I took the news to Daniel. After that he let me visit, and Mary, too, on the rare occasions when she can get away from her family, but he has never welcomed us. He adores his daughter, though she bears none of his blood.”

“I know. That was what made me first look beyond his shocking manners. Only then I learned about the divorce, and then Don Miguel said...He said that Daniel...”

“Daniel told me. He thought you had not listened, and then you threw the whole business in his face the next day.”

“He could have explained. He could have told me the true story.”

“No, he could not. He had been humiliated before you; would you expect him to humiliate himself further? The deserted husband, cuckolded even before marriage. That is a fine tale to use as a plea for sympathy.”

“Don’t speak of him like that,” cried Amaryllis, furious. “Why should he care what I think, anyway? He only asked me to marry him because the vicar said he ought.”

“Now there you are fair and far out,” said George with an appraising look. “Is that what he told you? It’s my belief the young fool was in no condition to consider his words, and he certainly did not remember them. He told me only that you had refused his offer.”

“He offered because he thought he had compromised me.”

“He may have thought it, but that is not why he proposed. Devil take it, Amaryllis, a man don’t fall into black despair unless the woman he loves turns him down.”

“Black despair?”

“He came home and told me everything, and since then he’s scarce spoken nor eaten nor slept. He looks like a scarecrow. Do you think I’d have come here and embarrassed you with all this if he’d been a little blue-devilled? He was like this just after she left.”

Amaryllis paled. In George’s dark eyes, so like his brother’s, she read worry, and hope. She stood up in sudden decision. “You brought a carriage? I shall go back with you. Pray let us leave at once.”

He laughed as he rose and seized her hands. “You have not changed. But I’m damned if I’ll starve, even for Danny, and breakfast was long ago. Find me a crust and a rind of cheese and we’ll be off.”

She ordered cold meat and bread and ale for him, then ran to find her aunt and Tizzy.

“I’m going to Wimbish,” she announced.

“‘The wicked flee when no man pursueth; but the righteous are bold as a lion,’” said Miss Tisdale, encouraging though confusing.

“You will never be able to return before dark,” said Mrs. Vaux in alarm. “You must take one of the maids.”

Amaryllis shook her head determinedly. “No, one way or the other it will not matter. I must go now.” She kissed her aunt and hugged Tizzy and sped downstairs again to bundle Lord Winterborne into his carriage with his mouth full.

He finished his sandwich as they crossed the River Colne, took two wrinkled russet apples from the capacious pocket of his greatcoat and offered her one. “I suspected I might not be allowed to eat in peace,” he said drily as she impatiently waved it away.

She was much too agitated to make conversation. She sat bolt upright on the edge of the seat, clutching the tasselled cord hanging there for that purpose and peering out of the window as if watching the scenery could make it pass faster. George watched her with amusement as he crunched his apples, then laid his hand on her arm and made her sit back.

“You will be exhausted long before we arrive,” he pointed out, his voice gentle. “I think perhaps that like Daniel you have slept little for a couple of days. Try to relax.”

She leaned back against the squabs and looked at him affectionately. “When I knew you in London, I never guessed you were such a sensitive and considerate person,” she said, to his embarrassment. “I should be perfectly willing to fall in love with you if I were not already in love with Daniel. He is lucky to have such a brother.”

“Spare my blushes, ma’am.” he growled with heightened  colour.

“You would make an excellent husband,” she said, teasing him. “How is it you have never married?”

“With my brother’s example before me, I could not screw my courage to the sticking point,” he answered grimly. “Now if you were to provide a pattern-card of domestic felicity, I might change my mind and stick my head into parson’s mousetrap after all.”

“I shall do my best,” she promised with a joyful smile, but by the time they passed through Finchingfield her apprehension had returned. “Are you sure he wishes to marry me?” she asked, painfully anxious.

He took her hand between his. “No man can read another’s mind,” he said, “but I’d wager my last farthing on it and I’m no gamester.”

With that she had to be content. She sighed and leaned back again, wondering whether she could bear to be married to Daniel if he did not love her. Meanwhile, Lord Winterborne, who was not a praying man, raised a fervent prayer that he had read his brother’s feelings aright.

At last they pulled up in front of the manor. Its red brick looked warm and inviting in the pale winter sunshine. Amaryllis stepped down from the carriage and smoothed her skirts.

She was wearing one of her shabbier brown woollen gowns, not having spared a thought for her appearance when she left home. Suddenly she wished she had changed into her green silk, inappropriate as it was for afternoon wear, or at least into her Sunday best. With nervous hands she poked at her hair, until George impatiently urged her up the steps.

“You shall go upstairs to tidy yourself before you see him, if you wish,” he said, “though I doubt he will notice your hairstyle. You are a beautiful woman, my dear, and not one of those whose beauty is dependent upon her dress.”

Amaryllis blushed and gave him a speaking glance of gratitude. Nonetheless, she went up to Isabel’s chamber and borrowed a comb. She had just let down her copper braids and was wondering indecisively what to do with them, when Isabel and Louise bounced in.

“Miss Hartwell,” cried Louise in astonishment. “We did not know you were coming.” She hurriedly followed her friend’s lead and curtsied. “We came up to get our coats and boots to go out in the snow.”

“It’s mostly melted.” Isabel looked at her gravely. “Are you come to see Papa? He is very unhappy.”

“Yes.” Amaryllis found herself at a loss to explain her unexpected arrival. “Yes, your uncle George brought me.”

“Let me help you do your hair,” offered Louise eagerly. “Mama often wears it braided at home. I’ll show you how she does it.”

With amazingly nimble, clever fingers she created a double loop on either side of Amaryllis’s face, then she teased down a few curls to soften the brow. She examined her handiwork with delight.

Amaryllis regarded her image in the mirror. It looked somewhat Quakerish, but charming. She smiled at her young coiffeuse and thanked her. There was no more excuse for postponing her meeting with Lord Daniel. She pinched her cheeks in a vain effort to give them a little colour.

“You look very pretty,” said Isabel reassuringly, and hugged her in her loving, impulsive way. “Papa will be glad to see you.”

“I am going to marry him,” she whispered, then bit her lip and hurried from the room before she should say anything else she might regret.

She went slowly down the stairs. No one was about, no servants, and no sign of Lord Winterborne. Of course, she could ring for someone to tell her where to find Lord Daniel, but she did not want to. With uncertain steps she went to the library. The door was closed firmly. She raised her hand to knock, then took a deep breath and opened it without announcing her presence. She stepped through and closed it behind her.

Lord Daniel was slouched in a chair by the fire, hands in his pockets, staring at the flames. “George?” he said, not raising his head.

“No, it is not George,” she said softly.

He sat up, looking round incredulously, then jumped to his feet. “Miss Hartwell! What the devil...I beg your pardon, won’t you be seated?”

She moved towards him, noting the pallor of his frowning face. She sat down, and he stood scowling at her.

“What brings you here, ma’am?” he asked abruptly.

“Pray sit down, my lord,” she answered with composure. “I cannot speak to you while you loom over me like the castle keep.”

He resumed his seat. “Aha, I have it,” he said after a moment’s silence, sneering. His eyes were hard. “Pomeroy did not come up to scratch. In spite of my cruelty to my wife, you have reconsidered my offer to rescue you from your life of drudgery.”

“How dare you!”

‘You cannot expect me to hold open an offer of marriage indefinitely, but I daresay we can come to some arrangement.”

“How dare you!” Eyes blazing, fists clenched, Amaryllis jumped up and stalked to the window, where she stood with her back to him. “Lord Pomeroy did come up to scratch. In fact, he held open an offer of marriage for over eight years, until after much heart-searching I refused him yesterday. Bertram was a very dear friend. I shall never forgive you if I have lost his friendship for nothing.”

“Forgive me? What have I to do with your refusal?”

His tone was contemptuous, but she thought she heard yearning in it. Resolutely she kept her back to him.

“I told him I loved you, and it was true in spite of the dreadful things you let me believe about you.”

He was silent. She swung round and met a look of such misery she was startled. He was standing by the fire. When he met her eyes he turned and leaned his left arm against the mantel, resting his bowed head on it.

“You loved me.” His voice was so low she moved nearer to hear him. “It was half-true what Don Miguel said, a clever mixture of truth and lies. I am sure he believed it himself. Yet you loved me in spite of it. Have I driven you away, Amaryllis, with my curst temper?”

Unable to speak, she took his right hand and raised it to her cheek. He looked at her in dawning wonder. His arm went round her, and he held her tight, his cheek against her hair.

“She would not touch that hand,” he said, and Amaryllis realised he was weeping.

Gently she led him to a sofa. They sat down, and she put her arms about him, waiting for the tears to stop. At last he raised his head, his dark eyes devouring her. She smiled at him lovingly.

“You are one of those lucky souls who can weep without reddening your eyes,” she said. “If I indulged in a like bout of tears, I should have to hide away for an hour before I was presentable. But we women are fortunate in being permitted to cry. I think that was long overdue, was it not?”

His face was younger, as if ten years of unbearable tension had washed away. She smoothed his ruffled hair, conscious of its crisp, springy texture. He took her face in both hands and kissed her lips with the utmost gentleness. “Amaryllis,” he murmured.

A shiver went through her and she moved into his arms. They sat in silence for a while, heart to heart, then he said, “I can tell you now. I can tell you all about it.”

“There is no need, my love. Your brother has explained everything.”

“He told you about Francisca? About Isabel?”

“Yes. Bertram came here to inform him that we were not to be married after all, and he went to Castle Hedingham to...to discover my feelings, I suppose, and to tell me the truth about Francisca. Bertram is as good a friend to me as George is brother to you.”

“You do not mind that Isabel is not my child?”

“She is your child, Daniel. Have you not loved her and watched over her all her life? You have been both parents to her, and I see a great deal of you in her, not of looks but of character.”

“Not of my temper, I trust.”

She laughed. “No, but then, I suspect she rarely sees your temper.”

“Nor shall you see it henceforth,” he said seriously.

“Make no promises you cannot keep. I shall be vastly surprised if we do not come to cuffs now and then, for I have a temper of my own.”

“Once I knew you, I was only angry when I thought you did not care for me. Do you care for me, Amaryllis?”

She looked up at him, suddenly shy. The tenderness and hunger in his eyes made her heart beat faster. “I love you so much it hurts. And you, Daniel?”

“I adore you. You are the light of my life. That may sound trite but it is true, so do not giggle, my darling. You have led me out of the darkness where I thought to lie entombed forever. I adore you.”

That highly satisfactory answer called for a kiss, so she supplied one. His response left her breathless.

“There is one little thing you have forgotten,” she said when she could speak again. “A mere formality, but I must insist that it be observed.”

He looked alarmed and puzzled, till he saw that she was teasing.

“What is it, love?” he asked indulgently. “Have you some guardian hidden away of whom I ought to ask permission to address you?”

She laughed, eyes sparkling. “Yes, there is, though I had quite forgot him. You told me you are aware of my scandalous past, but what you cannot know is that Papa is now an ironmonger in Philadelphia, and a highly successful one by his own account.”

“I’m sorry, but if it means waiting for a reply from America, I must respectfully decline to approach Viscount Hartwell.”

“You do not mind that he is in trade?”

“You need not fear that I mean to cry off only because your papa chooses to make his fortune selling nails and... whatever else ironmongers sell.”

“You cannot cry off,” she pointed out severely, “for we are not yet betrothed. The proposal is the formality to which I referred.”

It was his turn to laugh. “How remiss of me, my darling. Now I come to think of it, all I have done is to offer you carte blanche. Under the circumstances it is most improper in you to have encouraged me to kiss you, but I assure you I do not mean to cavil.” His eager mouth swiftly approached hers.

She dodged. “How excessively ungentlemanly!” she said with great indignation.

He slid from the sofa to kneel at her feet, and took her hand in his. “My dear Miss Hartwell, you must know how greatly I admire you. Will you do me the inestimable honour of accepting my hand and heart in marriage?”