Rebel Heiress (16 page)

It was true. Henrietta was extraordinarily weary. The strain
of the season and of her new life had begun to tell, and besides, there was a deeper cause of unhappiness, one she hardly admitted even to herself. She could neither control her own feeling for Charles Rivers nor pretend that he felt anything more for her than friendship. And yet, he came constantly to the house and escorted them on most of their parties of pleasure. It was maddening, unsatisfactory … She would be glad when they went to Marchmont where, as she understood it, he was not to accompany them. Alone there, she would fight it out with her unruly heart. For the moment, she must live as best she might from day to day.

As a distraction, and to salve a guilty conscience, she visited kind old Miss Gilbert one hot afternoon and found her welcoming and eccentric as ever among her cats. She had had recent news of her brother the captain, who had just brought the
Faithful
into Southampton and enquired kindly, she said, after Henrietta. She herself was about to leave London for her younger sister's school at Shrovebridge and expressed her surprise that the Marchmonts had lingered so long in town. And she, too, commented tactfully on Henrietta's changed appearance. ‘I hope Lady Marchmont takes proper care of you, my dear.'

Returning home, Henrietta found Marchmont House strangely quiet. Fenner met her in the upstairs hall with her finger on her lips. ‘My poor lady,' she said. ‘Another of her megrims. His lordship sent a message to say he'd sleep at Chiswick with the duke so I've told the poor lamb she's not to leave her bed.'

Henrietta was surprised at her own relief. Why did she find it such a strain, these days, to dine alone with her stepmother: She rang for Rose and ordered a light dinner to be brought to her room. She would spend a peaceful evening writing to Miss Jenkin in Boston. Miss Gilbert had said that despite the war it might be possible for her brother to get a letter delivered for her — best not to ask how.

Time passed peacefully and Henreitta had just rung for candles when a quick tapping on her door heralded Fenner.

‘Miss Marchmont.' She was breathing fast. ‘You must come to her ladyship at once.'

‘Why, what's the matter?' Henrietta jumped up in alarm.

‘Matter enough if you do not hurry. Thank heaven you are dressed still. Come, there is no time to be talking here.' And she
whisked Henrietta along the corridor to her stepmother's room.

Passing the head of the stairs, Henrietta was aware of bustle below; footmen were hurrying about, shrugging themselves into their livery jackets as they went; somebody must be arriving; the message would have come up from the gate. But Fenner had ushered her into Lady Marchmont's boudoir, where, to her astonishment, she saw Rivers leaning against the mantelshelf.

‘There you are at last, my love.' Lady Marchmont was seated at her spinet. ‘What an age you have been, to be sure. I sent Fenner for you this half hour since, did I not, Rivers? We have been waiting for you to practise your song. But come, let us begin at once. I must have you perfect at it before we leave for the country.' And she struck up the opening bars of the air.

‘My love is fair, my love is false,' began Rivers in his pleasant baritone, and Henrietta was about to chime in with her part when the door was flung open and Lord Marchmont appeared, still in his greatcoat, his hat under his arm.

He took in the scene with a glance. ‘A charming domestic interior, my lady. I came to enquire about your megrim, but I see it is better.'

‘Quite better, I thank you, my lord. You see I have roused myself to practise these children in their duet. But what a delightful surprise that you are come home after all. I thought you fixed with the duke for the night.'

‘Yes. I thought you would be surprised.' There was something in his tone that Henrietta did not like. ‘So you are singing duets, are you? A charming pastime. And how long, I wonder, have you been doing so?'

‘Oh, this age. My fingers are worn to the bone. I have been making Charles practise his part while we waited for dear Henrietta. But I have a surprise for you, my love. I hope you will think it as delightful as I do.'

‘Oh?' He did not sound as if he expected to.

‘Yes. I must tell you at once why Charles sought me out so late. He wishes our consent to pay his addresses to dear Henrietta and hoped I would put in a word for him. And now' — she smiled playfully up at Rivers — ‘I can see he is angry with me for blurting it all out at once like this, but I am no believer in secrets. In truth, it has made me so happy I could not keep it to myself.'

Henrietta was so amazed at this speech that she did not know where to look. Rivers a suit for her hand? It was impossible, and yet equally impossible not to feel her heart leap at the idea. She dared not look at Rivers, but turned, instead, to gaze imploringly at her father, who seemed to have been struck dumb by his wife's announcement. Still without a word, he advanced deliberately into the room, taking off his coat as he did so and laying it with his hat on one of Lady Marchmont's pink satin ottomans.

‘You have indeed surprised me, my dear,' he said at last. ‘It is the young lady's part, I know, to say, “This is so sudden”, but I confess I am half inclined to do it myself. So you wish to be considered as a suitor for Miss Marchmont's hand?' He turned suddenly to Rivers, who stood motionless, his hand still on the back of Lady Marchmont's chair.

There was a tiny pause, then: ‘If you will not consider me too presumptuous, sir,' said Rivers.

‘Oh, I! It is no matter what
I
think; it is for Henrietta to decide, and we will not embarrass her with the question now. This has been an ill-managed business enough. We will sleep on it. Henrietta, my dear, it is time you were in bed. We will talk more of this in the morning.'

Henrietta accepted her dismissal with relief, dropped a blind and indiscriminate curtsey to the three of them and retired to her room with her head in a whirl. There was no ordering her thoughts. Rivers wanted to marry her. Surely that was happiness enough? Why, then, should she find herself so absurdly distressed because he had first broached the subject to her stepmother? After all, what could be more natural, especially as his relations with her father were all too obviously not of the best? She would have to change all that now. They must be friends. As for her answer, there could be no doubt about that. If her father had asked her, she would have given it at once. She had loved Rivers from the first moment she had seen him and was even prepared to forgive him for having come somewhat more slowly to caring for her. Thinking how she would tease him, later, about this, she fell asleep and dreamed of white satin and Valenciennes.

Alone with her over breakfast, Lord Marchmont was disappointingly grave. In her happiness, she wanted all the world to smile, but he would not, even for her. It was, he said, a good enough match, though far from being an extraordinary one.
Rivers, it was true, was heir to a barony, but his grandfather, Lord Queensmere, was a hale and sober old man of sixty odd. It might be years before Rivers inherited. In the meantime, his prospects were hardly better than those of a younger son. As for marriage, it was out of the question so long as Rivers continued in the army. ‘And a long engagement is the devil, my dear. I beg you will think more of this. Indeed, I confess, I am surprised at Rivers' effrontery in asking you, but it is all of a piece —'

‘Of a piece with what, Father?' Henrietta asked. ‘Tell me,' she went on, suddenly bold, ‘what is it you have against Rivers? How can you help but love him?'

He smiled at her at last. ‘Does it seem so strange to you that I should not? My poor child, I see it is useless to be talking of reason to you. Very well then, an engagement let it be, but promise me that if you should ever change your mind, you will tell me at once.'

It was not exactly an enthusiastic assent, but at least it was one. It was only afterwards that Henrietta realised he had not explained his prejudice against Rivers. And by then she was in such a daze of happiness that she dismissed it from her mind. There were better things to think about. To her relief, they had no morning visitors that day. Town was so empty that this was no cause for surprise, but reason for much delight: She could wait in peace for Rivers' arrival. He came at last, with a bouquet of exquisite hothouse flowers for Henrietta and a tiny bunch of violets for Lady Marchmont. The hothouse flowers, he explained, were, with her fondest love, from his grandmother's conservatory at Wimbledon. Henrietta had just time to wonder whether he was not taking her acceptance somewhat for granted when her father appeared and carried him off to his study.

Lady Marchmont was taking deep breaths of the violets' perfume. ‘My favourite flowers,' she murmured. ‘So thoughtful, always. But, my dear, you are looking quite fagged. Why do you not walk out into the garden? Never fear, I will send Charles out to you when he leaves your father.'

Henrietta obeyed the suggestion gratefully enough. If she felt she was being somehow a little managed, it was very much in the right direction. She ran upstairs past the silent study door, amazed Rose by insisting on arranging her bouquet herself, collected a shady chip hat and wandered out into the sundrenched
garden. She paused for a minute on the terrace, but her father's voice, rumbling and irascible from the study window, drove her on through the rose garden. She paused here and there to pick a late bud — Rivers, too, should have his nosegay — but then, feeling herself too conspicuous in such clear view of the study window, wandered on into the shrubbery that concealed the park fence. Rivers would find her here and they would meet for the first time as lovers in this comparative privacy. She settled herself on a shady bench to dream of it, looking up now and then with a quick start. Was he coming at least? Impossible not to consider the picture she presented; to rearrange herself from time to time; the big hat first in her lap, then impatiently back on her head; the flowers now in her hand, now on the bench beside her.

But time passed. The shadows moved, and she found herself caught in fierce sunshine. The rosebuds began to droop in the heat. Surely Rivers' interview with her father was taking too long? Could something have gone wrong between them: At the thought, she was on her feet at once. But her father had promised his acquiescence, if not quite his approval. He could not, at this eleventh hour, have seized on some pretext for breaking off the match. She stood for a few minutes, irresolute, thinking, then moved with a quick step towards the open lawn. Perhaps Rivers was this minute looking for her. Or, horrid thought, perhaps Lady Marchmont had been prevented, by the arrival of company, from telling him where she was. She was hurrying now, but the lawn, when she reached it, was empty. Again she stood for a moment, hesitating, the tired flowers drooping in her hand. Then, decided at last, she walked quickly towards the house.

On the terrace, she paused for the briefest instant outside the study windows. But there was no sound from within; the interview must be over. She passed on to the big doors that stood open into the main hall. Entering, she found herself half blind, for a minute, after the brilliant sunshine outside. The footman in waiting there had sprung to attention at her approach. It was Jem, she noticed, Rose's brother.

‘Lord Marchmont?' she asked. ‘Is he in his study still?' Impossible to ask about Rivers.

‘Why, no, Miss Marchmont.' The man sounded surprised. ‘He went out this half hour since. Did you not hear the carriage?'

‘Oh,' She paused for a moment, irresolute. But it must be asked. ‘And Mr. Rivers?'

‘In the morning room, I believe, miss, with her ladyship.'

‘Oh,' she said again. ‘Thank you, Jem.' What to do now? And what could have kept Rivers so long with her stepmother? Absurdly, it seemed quite impossible to walk down the hall arid open the morning room door — equally impossible not to do so. Worst of all, though, would be to be caught lingering here. She was conscious, suddenly, of the roses drooping in her hand. ‘Here.' She handed them to Jem. ‘Have these put in water for me, would you?'

He took them. ‘You've scratched your hand, miss.'

‘Why, so I have.' Here was the pretext she had needed for action. She turned and hurried, almost in flight, up to her room, where she made a business of bathing and having Rose bind up the wound. While doing so, she was able to keep watch over the garden below. At last she saw Rivers walk out across the lawn towards the shrubbery.

‘There,' she said, ‘that will do very well. I thank you, Rose.'

‘But, Miss Henrietta, there's blood on your gown,' protested Rose as she turned towards the door.

‘No matter for that. ‘Tis but a tiny stain and will pass for the figure in the muslin.' There was no keeping her now. She hurried down the stairs only to encounter her stepmother hovering, as she herself had earlier, in the hall.

‘Why, there you are, my love,' she said. ‘Rivers is but this instant gone to seek you in the garden. Did you think him an unconscionable time in coming? It was my fault; I could not let him have anything so precious as my child without some commands of my own. It is all settled, my dearest creature; all but the date of the wedding, and I am sure we shall contrive, in the end, to persuade your father that it is not reasonable you should have to wait for peace. Why, it might be years.' She sounded remarkably cheerful about it. ‘But what am I doing delaying you here while your lover is searching for you in the garden? Away with you, and make him the happiest of men.'

But as she spoke, the footman who had been lurking in the shadows at the far end of the hall sprang to open the front door and admit, of all people, Lady Marchmont's toadies, the three Miss Giddys. They advanced on Lady Marchmont and Henrietta with little crows of delight.

‘Why, my dear Lady Marchmont,' said the first, standing on tiptoe to kiss the lacquered cheek.