The House of Hardie (18 page)

‘My grandfather will allow me whatever I ask,' said Lucy confidently. She had always been able to twist him round her little finger. ‘It will be better, I think, if I approach him first, rather than you. I believe that since my father's death it is Archie whose permission will be required. But Archie will obey my grandfather's commands, so there will be no difficulty. Why do you look so doubtful?'

‘I hope you're right,' said Gordon.

‘I'm sure I am. I shall be able to write to you within a week to say that we may be married as soon as you can procure a licence.'

‘It will necessarily be a very hasty and simple affair,' Gordon pointed out. ‘You would have expected, I'm sure, to marry in a cathedral, with a beautiful dress and bridesmaids and wedding presents.'

‘I think you have quite a wrong idea of me,' Lucy told him spiritedly. ‘I've been brought up at Castlemere and so I've accepted the way of life that Castlemere imposes. But I'm not old and set in my ways. The time must come when I shall leave here and make a life for myself – a life which is bound to be of a different kind. I would like it to be with you, Mr Hardie – Gordon.' She moved closer to him, sure that he would not stand aloof any longer. How strong he was as he clasped her fiercely in his arms – how different from the polite young men who had danced with her at Oxford and from the distinguished old men who dined at her grandfather's table. There was no one like him in the world; and he loved her.

As they made their way to the site of the rock garden a
little while later, Lucy felt as though she was floating on a cloud of happiness. She agreed with every suggestion Gordon made, for she admired him and respected his judgement so much that in everything he must know best. He wrote down the date on which he planned to sail, and the name of the ship, and she tucked the paper into her bodice as though it were the most valuable of keepsakes. When the time came for him to go she said goodbye while they were still in that secluded part of the garden, so that she could lose herself in his embrace. She could not have endured the formal parting which would have been necessary within sight of Castlemere.

How could she bear to wait the four days which must pass before her grandfather came back from Scotland? She was almost tempted to approach Archie directly – but Archie for some reason was in a foul temper that day, and Lucy was realistic enough to keep away from him.

The marquess, in contrast, was in a good mood when at last he returned to Castlemere. His son's grouse moor had proved to be well stocked, and he himself had been able to boast the largest bag when the first day's shooting ended. As a rule, Lucy could hardly bear to think of so many birds being terrified into the air merely so that they could be blasted down again. But on this occasion she listened patiently to her grandfather's account, asking tactful questions and offering congratulations.

‘And you, young lady. How have you been amusing yourself while I was gone?'

Lucy took a deep breath. She had practised many different ways of approaching her request, but now she could not remember any of them.

‘I've been thinking about the future, Granda. I am eighteen now. I would like – I would very much like – to get married.'

The marquess laughed affectionately. ‘Plenty of time for that yet. I wouldn't say you were on the shelf at only just eighteen. By the time you finish your London Season next year you'll have proposals of marriage coming at you from all directions.'

‘I've received one proposal already, Granda. I'd like to accept it.'

The smile faded from the marquess's face. ‘Don't talk nonsense, Lucy. You're far too young. Put it out of your mind. We won't discuss it again.'

‘But Granda, don't you even want to know who –?'

‘Makes no difference,' said her grandfather. ‘Could be the Duke of Clarence offering to make you Queen of England one day and I'd still say the same. Look here, Lucy, you've finished with your books, and I don't doubt you think you know everything. But you've still to learn how to move in society, how to judge a man, how to choose the kind of life for yourself that will make you happy now and still keep you happy when you're forty. Your Season will be part of your education. A pleasant part, I hope, but with a purpose. Wait.'

‘But I
have
chosen the kind of life I want. And I
have
found a man who is brave and clever and loving. London will have no one better to offer.'

‘You can judge that when you come to it. When you're twenty-one, you'll be free to do whatever you want. If you think you love this man, and he loves you, put it to the test of time.' His offhand manner made it clear that he expected her fancy to be a passing one.

‘It's far too long!' cried Lucy. ‘Three years! You can't possibly expect … Besides –' She paused, wondering whether it was wise to mention a fact which might increase her grandfather's disapproval. But what could be stronger than his present opposition? She had nothing to lose. ‘He's about to leave on a long journey. As his wife I could
accompany him. But if you make me wait so long, I should have to miss what could be the greatest experience of my life.'

‘Sounds to me as though you're more in love with the journey than with the man,' grunted the marquess. Then he frowned to himself and looked at her sharply. ‘You'd better tell me after all. Who is it?'

‘Mr Gordon Hardie.'

‘Hardie! How does he come to be on proposing terms with you? And what does he mean by going behind my back?'

‘You weren't here when he came, Granda. And I told him that I would ask your permission at once. He will call on you as soon as you will allow.'

‘I don't allow. Don't allow anything. In particular I don't allow you to waltz off to heathen parts with a man you scarcely know. I'd have thought
he
had more sense than to lumber himself, even if you haven't. Can't say I blame anyone for falling in love with you, if that's what he's done. You're a pretty child. But a child still, all the same. He ought not to have taken advantage.'

‘You allowed my mother to marry when she was only a few months older than I am now.' Lucy waited anxiously for her grandfather's reaction, not knowing whether the mention of his beloved only daughter would soften or upset him.

‘Different kettle of fish entirely.' His voice might be thick with emotion, but there was no lack of firmness in it. ‘I'd known your father since he was a boy. A younger son; not much money, but a good county family. School friend of your Uncle Edward, and then a fellow-officer in the same regiment. Your mother had known him as well – since she was ten and he was eighteen. Not a hole-in-the-corner rush like this affair of yours. She'd had time to
understand the man – and the kind of life she'd be leading if she married him. You have no idea, Lucy. No idea at all. Not your fault. Means I must do the thinking for you, though. The answer's No, and there's an end to it. Don't trouble me with the subject again.'

Lucy could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her grandfather had never before refused her anything on which she had set her heart. Even when, for her fifteenth birthday, she had pleaded to be given her own hunter and chose a horse which he felt was too strong and spirited for her to control, he had given way in the end. She left the room now in silence, feeling an anger that was perhaps childish, but at the same time a disappointment wholly adult – that of a woman in love and determined not to be thwarted.

During all the eighteen years of her life Lucy had accepted her grandfather's authority, even though she might try to wheedle her way out of his decisions. She owed him her duty for the way he had brought her up; there was no doubt about that. But if it were to be considered on a legal basis, his authority had been exercised on behalf of her absent father. And now that her father was dead, it was strictly speaking Archie whose permission was required. Moving quickly, so that she should reach him first, Lucy went to find her brother.

Archie was inspecting his guns when Lucy came in search of him. He had been presented with a pair of Purdeys for his twenty-first birthday, and they were about to be given their first test.

‘Grandfather brought back an invitation for me to go to Scotland next week,' he told his sister. ‘For the shooting, of course – but there's more to it than that. There's to be a ball at Lochander Castle, and Aunt Anna has been asked to make up a dinner party. I'm needed to partner cousin Marian.'

‘Just for the ball?' asked Lucy with a flash of mischief in her eyes. ‘Or has Aunt Anna a more permanent partnership in mind?'

‘She may well have.' Archie smiled as readily as his sister at the idea. ‘With the three eldest off her hands, she only has Marian to dispose of. But if she's cast me for
that
role, she's in for a disappointment.'

‘Because Marian's too young, do you mean?'

‘Not that in particular. Marian's – what? Eighteen, it must be by now. There's something to be said, I don't doubt, for packing a girl off from her father's house to a husband's before she's had time to get into any mischief. But it don't suit
me
to marry so young. A man's a fool to tie himself down before twenty-five or twenty-six, at the earliest.'

‘So how do you see the ideal marriage?' enquired Lucy in an offhand manner. ‘Between a girl of eighteen and a young man of, say, twenty-seven?'

‘Something of the sort, I suppose. It's not a matter to which I've given much thought.'

‘I'm eighteen,' said Lucy. There was an unusual firmness – almost defiance – in her voice which made Archie look up from the engravings he had been studying on his guns. The bright flush on her face held his full attention. ‘And I would like to marry – a gentleman who, as it happens, is exactly twenty-seven years of age. I take it that you would approve such an alliance.'

‘There's more to a marriage than the ages of the husband and wife, dash it all.' As Archie spoke, he did his best to think who the man could be. He had not known that she had any young men amongst her close acquaintance – but then, he was so much away from Castlemere that he could not expect to be aware of all her friendships. ‘As a rule, though, it's only ill-favoured girls who need to be in haste to catch a husband. Someone as pretty as yourself is in no danger of being left on the shelf. Why not wait a little until you've seen a wider world and have a wider choice?'

‘Because I've already made my choice.'

Archie shrugged his shoulders. He had no strong views on whether his sister should marry young. The only important consideration was that she should choose someone suitable. ‘And who is the fortunate chap?' he asked.

‘Mr Gordon Hardie.'

Archie set the guns back in their case and rose slowly to his feet. ‘A gentleman, you said!' he exclaimed. ‘You call Hardie a
gentleman!
You must be out of your mind. The man's a bounder. And a tradesman.'

Lucy, still flushed, defended herself with a tenacity which alarmed him. ‘I've often heard Granda say how much he respects the opinion of Mr John Hardie,' she said.

‘On his own subject, perhaps. He knows about wine. And in the pecking order of tradespeople I'll allow that a vintner stands high, just because he serves only the higher class of customer. But can you see yourself coming to that, Lucy – having to take comfort from the fact that you can at least look down on a grocer's or a butcher's wife?'

‘I don't look down on anyone. Or up.'

‘I'm being a realist.' He had been drawn into the conversation casually, but by now he was dismayed. To find himself attached by marriage to a man who had so impertinently attacked Archie's own behaviour was unthinkable.

In addition, Archie was well aware that the attack had been justified, although naturally he had no intention of admitting that. He had behaved disgracefully towards Midge Hardie. Part of what he had said to her brother was true; he had genuinely not known how to treat someone who claimed more freedom in her life than most young women. But he could not carry that excuse very far. Midge had made it clear that only a promise of marriage, or at least an understanding, could justify her remaining alone with him. He had not given such a promise, but he could understand that she might have thought he had.

Archie did not feel too much guilt about seducing her. She must surely have realized that he could not help himself, and she had seemed willing. It was in his behaviour afterwards that he had been chiefly to blame – for he had treated her rather like the girl in the nearby tobacconist's shop who was unofficially regarded as being Magdalen property. He knew perfectly well that he ought to have gone to see Midge the next day – but how could he, when he had nothing to say that she would want to hear?

She would expect marriage; girls from that kind of
family always did. But although Archie was not clever, he had a fair share of common sense. Any promises of such a sort which he might make would lead only to disappointment. The liking and desire that he felt for Midge were genuine enough, but he knew that she would not make a suitable wife for him – nor, as his wife, would she be happy. Had he tried to introduce her into his own circle, Lucy would have been kind, because that was her nature; but the rest of his family would have disapproved, the servants would have been scornful and his friends incredulous – whilst Midge herself would have been bored. Since Archie had no estate of his own, he needed a wife who would bring him land as part of her dowry if he was not to live the life of a dependant. To think along those lines was not calculating but practical – for the sake of his future wife as well as himself.

So it was for Midge's sake, he told himself, that he had done his best to save her from a disappointment which would have been greater had it been longer delayed. Although he would have liked to continue in the enjoyment of her company – her conversation, her kisses, and more – without obligations on either side, he recognized that this was impossible. So he had changed the time of his weekly tutorial to avoid the danger of any accidental encounter. He had also invented an order from his grandfather – who was wholly ignorant of Midge's existence – to provide an excuse for his own sudden withdrawal. Only, though, because he thought that such an explanation would prove less hurtful than a blunt statement of his own decision.