The Hermit's Daughter (20 page)

This was perfectly true, and very generous, but it brought no real pleasure to Sally. She simulated gratitude and expressed all the joy she should be feeling. Yet when she went upstairs, her heart felt like a large boulder in her chest. She didn’t want an old man like Parkes to buy her, and she didn’t want to buy a husband with her mother’s money. She wanted Monstuart, free and clear.

She had always wanted him; since his first visits to Ashford she had felt a strong attraction. Knowing his faults, his pride, and his arrogance and propensity to lightskirts, she wanted him still. She lay on her bed, thinking. Was Lady Dennison really his mistress, or only a political cohort? He had cared for her good opinion when he had told her about the political meetings. Perhaps he had lied. Certainly he was a womanizer, or Papa would not have had to handle that case for him. She would never know the details of that intriguing business.

Whatever Monstuart’s faults, he was too good for her. He was right to accuse her of managing Derwent, and doing the job poorly to boot. Their rush wedding was her idea. And Derwent’s acquaintance with Peacock was her doing as well. Why had she ever given Peacock the time of day except to make Monty jealous? The same urge had let Monty think she was going to marry Sir Darrow, Then his true opinion of her had come pouring out. He spoke of Derwent “having the scales removed from his eyes”
and meant himself. He actually thought her so avaricious that she would marry an ancient, as long as he had money. His verdict was hard. He thanked God for his rescue from her clutches and spoke of the “inalterable mistake”
of offering for her.

Her anger stirred again at these charges. There was no pleasing the man. He complained when he tricked her into behaving with propriety at Ashford, and again when she behaved like her sinful self in London. What did he want? And who was he to be so demanding? In a final fit of revolt, she rose from the bed, determined to put Monstuart out of her mind and heart and life. She had been happy before she had known him, living her life according to her own philosophy. She would not try to change a hair for him.

* * * *

Mrs. Hermitage had arranged an intimate family party for the evening. Sir Darrow was the only guest, and the talk was all of the future, the wedding tomorrow, and the more distant future. They spoke of family visits to Gravenhurst and perhaps a tour of the Lake District in the early autumn. None of them had been there, and all wanted to see the beauties of mountains and fells and water. Sally listened, trying to catch their enthusiasm, but she felt an outsider. It would be the two happy couples and her, alone, the troublesome spare woman.

When the door knocker sounded at nine-thirty, she gave a leap of alarm. Monstuart! He had come! Her face turned quite pale, but she said nothing. In a moment the butler came and announced that Sir Darrow’s secretary was sorry, but he must speak to him for a moment about some case that was pending. Sir Darrow had to leave early to attend to some business details, and Derwent wished to go over the business papers Monstuart had drawn up. The three ladies sat on alone, discussing the excitement of the past months till it was bedtime.

* * * *

The next day was a confusion of wedding preparations, with the coiffeur rushing from one to the other, presents and flowers and food and caterers arriving to throw the house into chaos. At three o’clock the minister arrived for the simple ceremony, and afterward the wedding party went to the Clarendon to enjoy the elaborate dinner. Between the dinner and nuptial soiree, Sir Darrow had his most urgently needed belongings moved into the house.

By eight o’clock everyone had changed into evening attire to greet the guests and performers. Sally was able to put off her white gown for this informal do at home and wore her favorite color, green. Her hair was carefully arranged, her small diamond necklace in place, and her smile determinedly bright.

“Licked to a splinter”
was Sir Darrow’s compliment when she descended the staircase. Long as she had lingered at her mirror, she was downstairs before the other ladies. “Have you got a kiss for your new steppapa?”

She kissed his sere cheek, and his blue eyes danced in pleasure. “I see you dragging about the place like a stray kitten, Sal,”
he said in a kindly way. “You must never feel you are not wanted under my roof. We shall have merry old times, Mabel, you and I. A daughter is something new to me. You and Mellie are the only children I have. I’m in no hurry to lose you.”

“Thank you, Sir Darrow.”
He shook his head. “Papa.”
She smiled.

As if on impulse, he looked at her with a curious look and said, “Did Mabel tell you what Monstuart said when he saw me coming out of here t’other day?”

“No.”

“Go to hell. That’s what he said. I was very civil to him. Made him welcome, told him you were planning to ask him to the wedding, and he told me to go to hell. I respect a man who speaks his mind. Strange, though, is it not? You don’t suppose he was jealous of me? Ho, there’s a good joke, his thinking you would ever marry an old pelter like me.”

“Monstuart is never hesitant in speaking his mind.”

“I fancy you’ll hear a piece of it tonight. Ah, here is the bride.”
He went forward, arms out, to greet his new lady, and Sally went to the saloon to think over what he had said. Would she be subjected to another piece of Monstuart’s mind? If he dared to cast a single slur on anything to do with her or this marriage or Derwent’s marriage, she would unceremoniously empty her wineglass in his face.

That was her mood when Monstuart arrived, not the first to come but far from the last. His dark eyes scoured the room for Sally and found her staring boldly at him. She immediately tossed her head and turned away. If he began edging toward her, she edged in the other direction. Without ever precisely looking at him, she managed to know where he was and where he was going and was at pains to take evasive action. When the players began their show, she took a safe seat between Sir Darrow and Der-went. Thus buttressed, she got through the concert with no awkwardness.

At dinner Sally had arranged her place at the far end of the table from Monstuart, and on the same side so that he could not even look down the board at her. There was to be no dancing. At twelve-thirty, the crowd began to disperse, and she had not exchanged a single word with him. While she had taken elaborate steps to avoid doing so, something in her resented his lack of initiative. When he was one of the first to leave, she was ready to crown him.

In a fit of the sulks, she went into the vacant library and slammed the door behind her. She would not cry. She had a wonderful life to look forward to. Sir Darrow loved her like a daughter; he had agreed to giving her all of her mother’s money for her dowry. The rest of the season would be better, and if she didn’t find a husband this year, next year she would do better. In the autumn the whole family was going to the Lake District. Her future could hardly be brighter, or her effort to hold in her tears more difficult.

When she heard a tap at the door, she thought little of it, except to be grateful she wasn’t crying. Monstuart had left, so obviously it was only some guest who had gotten lost in the labyrinth of the house, or perhaps it was just Mama.

“Come in,”
she called.

The door opened slowly, and Monstuart stepped in.

“I thought you had left!”
Sally exclaimed.

“I did. I came back.”
Monstuart stood hesitantly at the doorway, waiting to see if she picked a book from the shelf and hurled it at his head.

“What do you want?”
she demanded. He began to close the door behind him. “Please leave that open,”
she called imperiously, for no particular reason except to annoy him.

Monstuart left the door ajar and strolled warily toward her. “I thought the party was breaking up and I might return a little later and speak to you in privacy. As I have waited for a quarter of an hour and still the guests are hanging on, I decided to come back.”

“The guests may be lingering, but I am eager to retire. What is it you have to say?”

He advanced toward her. Sally’s lack of cooperation was swiftly eroding his good humor. “I came to apologize for my tirade the other day, when you let me believe you were marrying Willowby.”

“I said nothing of the sort.”

“You didn’t correct my misapprehension. You knew what I thought.”

“It’s not my job to correct the many errors you fall into. You made your opinion of me perfectly clear,”
she charged. “From the very beginning you have done nothing but find fault with me.”

“You are not completely innocent of the same charge. I was judged before I reached Ashford. It was my duty to protect Derwent’s interests.”

“A duty you took rather lightly, I might add, shearing off when you were supposed to be reconsidering.”

“You weren’t slow to push forward the wedding, behind my back. You only did it to get the better of me.”

“What a monstrous ego! That wasn’t the only—the reason.”

A flash of triumph lit his eyes. “I am aware of the other reason—viz. to get yourself a Season. You have succeeded, so let us cease bickering about that.”

“It’s impossible to talk to you without quarreling.”

Monstuart hunched his shoulders. “No matter, bickering is actually my manner of courting a lady. I assumed it was your way of receiving my attentions, to retaliate thrust for thrust. Come now, you must own it is more interesting than the conventional exchange of banalities. You know your hair is like a raven’s wing and your eyes like emeralds, or whatever gemstone is in fashion this year,”
he said offhandedly. Sally peered from the corner of her eyes. “I know I am the manliest man you have ever met and, what you never would tell me, almost certainly the wealthiest.”

“I would
never—”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I have just said so. Even among friends, I would be only the most eligible, not the plain Anglo-Saxon ‘richest.’
"

“I wasn’t angling after your fortune, so don’t think it!”
she charged angrily.

“I acquit you of such sensible behavior. But pray, don’t tell me you have not enjoyed our bouts of mutual insulting, for I don’t believe it.”

“I may have enjoyed bickering—a little—but it had nothing to do with courting in my mind. I like the insipid conventions very much. And no one ever told me I had hair like a raven’s ... wing ....”
The words petered to silence.

“You have, if it gives you any pleasure to hear it. Only a curly raven’s wing, of course.”
His finger flicked a curl over her ear. “Ravishing.”
The finger moved to brush her cheek. “Skin like marble, eyes like a panther’s—and the sleek stride of one when you walk, too, all smooth and undulating.”

“Monstuart! I cannot believe these are the conventional banalities.”

“They are the similes that occur to me. I didn’t mean to offend you. I admire panthers, especially their walk.”
Her marble face colored alarmingly as she stared at him from her slanted emerald eyes. “Dare I proceed with my compliments, or have you had enough?”

“That is more than enough,”
she said primly, though she was dying to hear more.

“I won’t take it amiss if you care to find a resemblance to Adonis in me,”
he suggested playfully. “Since we have lowered—raised—
altered
the tone of our conversation.”

“Adonis! You’re more like Bluebeard.”

Monstuart rubbed his chin. “I shaved not six hours ago. My beard grows quickly. It is taken as a sign of virility among those of us who are cursed with it.”

“I really must go now,”
Sally said.

“Will you be kind enough to give me some hint, before you leave, as to how I should proceed in future?”

“I suggest you proceed with more propriety, if you care for the good opinion of me or anyone else.”

He nodded his head in agreement. “I care for yours. May I do myself the honor of calling on you tomorrow morning?”

After a moment’s consideration, she replied, “If you will behave, you may.”

“I shall make every effort to behave in a manner you think you will like, ma’am,”
he said. He bowed and walked toward the door. Before leaving he stopped and tossed over his shoulder, “But you’ll be bored to flinders, Sal.”

* * * *

The next morning before she rose from the breakfast table, Miss Hermitage received a large bouquet of red roses and a box of bonbons from her “respectful suitor, Monstuart.”

“What can it mean?”
Mrs. Hermitage, now Lady Willowby, asked in confusion. “I am sure he hadn’t a word to say to you last evening, Sal.”

Sir Darrow’s eyes twinkled merrily across the board. “Go to hell, ho! I knew he was jealous as a green cow.”

Lady Willowby looked a question at Sally. “It sounds as though Monstuart must be in love with you.”

“Love!”
Sir Darrow smiled. “The young use that as an excuse for bad manners nowadays. Go to hell—-imagine. In my youth, we behaved better with the ones we loved, not worse.”

“I don’t think it’s
you
he is in love with, Darrow,”
his bride informed him.

“No, no. He was jealous of me. What do you think of that, Mabel, a top-of-the-trees buck like Monstuart jealous of your husband?”

“Don’t be so foolish, Darrow. And eat your crusts.”

Lord Monstuart arrived shortly after his gifts. Miss Hermitage received him in the Gold Saloon, with her mother playing propriety while Sally thanked him most civilly for his gifts. Lady Willowby took up her netting and moved discreetly to the far side of the room.

“I received the flowers and bonbons, Monstuart. Thank you very much,”
Sally said primly.

“I reconsidered,”
Monstuart replied, “and decided you were right. Some token obeisance must be made to convention so you may hold up your head among your family and friends. But let it be understood
entre nous,
Miss Hermitage, you are not to eat any of that box of disgusting sweets. Let Mellie gorge herself. She’ll run to fat inside of a year anyway, but I don’t want your sleek lines blurred. A pudgy panther, you know, would be a ludicrous sight.”