The Proposal (33 page)

“Mr. Rigby called this morning,” she said at the Rosthorn ball. “He came to offer for me.”

“And?” Gwen looked at her with interest and fanned her face against the heat of the ballroom.

“Oh, I refused him,” Constance said as if it were a foregone conclusion. “I hope I did not hurt him. I do not believe I did, however, though he
was
understandably disappointed.”

She said it without any conceit.

“I believe,” the girl added, “his pockets are rather to let, poor gentleman.”

“He would have been a very good match for you nevertheless,” Gwen said. “His grandfather on his mother’s side was a viscount. He is handsome and personable. He would have treated you well, I believe. But if you do not feel any deep affection for him, then none of those things matter and I can only congratulate you for having the courage to refuse your first offer.”

“If he had no money,” Constance said, “he might have some relative purchase a commission in the military for him or become a clergyman. Both are considered quite unexceptionable careers for the upper classes. He might be someone’s steward or secretary with only a little lowering of his pride. Marrying a rich wife is not his only option.”

“And that is what he was trying to do with you?” Gwen asked. “Did he admit as much?”

“He did when I pressed him,” Constance said. “And he was hardly embarrassed at all. He assured me that we had equal assets to bring to a marriage—money on my part, lineage and social standing on his. And he assured me, I believe truthfully, that he had an affection for me.”

“But you were not convinced it
was
an equal exchange?” Gwen asked.

The girl frowned and unfurled her own fan.

“Oh, I suppose it was,” she admitted. “But what would he
do
for the rest of his life, Lady Muir? He would have all my money with which to be idle, but …
why
? Why would any man
choose
to be idle?”

Gwen laughed.

“Mr. Grattin is coming to claim his set with you,” she said.

The girl smiled brightly at her approaching partner.

She had not mentioned Hugo. She did not mention him all week, and Gwen did not ask.

You will be hearing from me,
he had said the last time she saw him. And she had expected to hear the next day or the day after.

More fool she.

And then she
did
hear. He sent a letter, which was beside her plate at breakfast one morning with a bundle of invitations.

“Constance’s grandparents will be celebrating the fortieth anniversary of their marriage in two weeks’ time,” he wrote. “These are my stepmother’s parents, the grocery shop owners. A cousin on my father’s side and his wife will be celebrating their twentieth a few days later. Both sides of the family have agreed to spend five days with me at Crosslands Park in Hampshire in order to celebrate the occasions. If you would care to join us, you may travel in the carriage with my stepmother and sister.”

There was no opening greeting, no personal message, no specific dates given, and no assurance at the end that he was her very obedient servant or any such courtesy. Just his signature, boldly scrawled but without any affectation. It was perfectly legible.

“Trentham.”

Gwen smiled ruefully down at the single sheet of paper.

Come to my world.

“Is it a joke you are able to share, Gwen?” Neville asked from his place at the head of the table.

“I have been invited to a five-day house party in the country in the middle of the Season,” she said.

“Oh, how lovely,” Lily said. “Whose?”

“Lord Trentham’s,” she said. “It is in celebration of two wedding anniversaries, one on his father’s side of the family and one on his stepmother’s. Both families will be there, at Crosslands Park in Hampshire, that is. And me if I care to go.”

They all looked at her in silent inquiry for a few moments as she folded the note carefully and set it back beside her plate.

“He wishes to introduce you to his family,” Lily said. “That is significant, Gwen. He
is
serious about you.”

“But it is a little strange,” Gwen’s mother said, “that he has invited
only
Gwen.
Is
he about to renew his addresses to you, Gwen?”

“On the contrary,” she said. “When he came here last week, it was to inform me that he had decided not to court me. He was horribly embarrassed by that scene at the Brittling garden party, you know, and feared that he had embarrassed me too.”

“Yet he has invited you to a house party?” her mother said. “And you are to be the only guest who is not a member of his family or his sister’s? And why would he come here to tell you that he was
not
going to court you?”

“I invited him to court me,” Gwen said with a sigh, “when he came to Newbury Abbey.”

“There!” Lily exclaimed. “I have been right all along. Admit it, Neville. Gwen and Lord Trentham are head over heels in love with each other.”

“Who are Mrs. Emes’s people?” Gwen’s mother asked.

“They are small shopkeepers,” Gwen said with a rueful smile. “His own people are successful businessmen. So is he. He is also a farmer on a small scale. His head, I believe, is with his businesses, but his heart is firmly with his lambs and chicks and other live-stock. And with his crops and garden.”

“And so,” Neville said, “having courted you for the first part of the Season, Trentham is now inviting you to court him for the second part, is he, Gwen? It makes some sense. You ought to know what it is you would be marrying into if you were to wed him.”

“There is no question of my marrying him,” she said.

“Is there not?” he said. “Then you will refuse his invitation?

Why subject yourself to the company of shopkeepers and businessmen, after all, if there is no serious purpose to it?”

“Gwen must not be pushed, Neville,” her mother surprised her by saying. “Clearly she has tender feelings for Lord Trentham just as he has for her. But theirs would be no easy or ordinary match—for either of them. He has acquitted himself well at
ton
gatherings, especially during that sordid episode at the garden party, for which he was
in no way
to blame. But he has never looked quite comfortable despite all his well-deserved fame. Gwen does not yet know how comfortable
she
would be in a gathering of his people, especially one that is destined to last for five days. How clever of him to think of that. Only the most hopeless romantic would be foolish enough to believe that a marriage concerns no one except the two people involved. It concerns a great deal beyond that, not least their families and the society with which they are accustomed to mingle.”

“You are quite right, Mother,” Lily said, gazing along the table at Neville. “But even so, it is the two people concerned who matter most. I dare not think what my life would be now if Neville had not fought for me when I believed a workable marriage between us was an impossibility.”

“There is no question of marriage between Lord Trentham and me,” Gwen said again.

Which was a ridiculous thing to say, of course. Why else had he invited her?

If you want me, Gwendoline, if you imagine that you love me and think you can spend your life with me, come to my world. You will find that wanting, even loving, is not enough.

And why was she thinking of accepting? No, she must be honest with herself. Why was she
going
to accept? Because she wanted him? Because she imagined that she loved him? Because she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him? Because she was determined to prove him wrong?

She did not
imagine
that she loved him.

“Then do not go,” Neville said.

“Oh, I am going,” she said.

Neville shook his head and half smiled. Lily clasped her hands to her bosom and beamed with delight. Gwen’s mother reached out and patted her hand though she made no additional comment.

“I am taking Sylvie and Leo to the park this morning while Neville is at the House,” Lily said. “Come with us? I can take the baby too if you do. You can do all the running after balls. It seems they will
never
learn how to catch them.” She laughed.

“Of course I’ll come,” Gwen said, getting to her feet. “Perhaps they cannot catch, poor things, because their mother cannot throw. Aunt Gwen to the rescue.”

For three years Hugo had jealously guarded his privacy in the country, first at his cottage and then at Crosslands. It was his own domain, his refuge from the tumult of the world. He had never invited anyone to stay, even his fellow members of the Survivors’ Club, and he had only rarely invited neighbors for dinner and cards.

But things had changed.

Actually,
everything
had changed.

Come to my world,
he had said to Gwendoline. And suddenly he had ached with the need to give her the chance to do just that, not for a mere afternoon of tea and conversation or an evening of tea and cards, but for … well, for a long enough spell that she would know what it felt like to be out of her own comfortable domain.

You will find that wanting, even loving, is not enough.

And he felt the desperate hope, the
need
to be proved wrong.

He could and would mingle with her world whenever it was necessary to do so, provided he could keep the reins of his businesses in his own hands and retreat to the country for several months of each year. But could she mingle with
his
world? More important,
would
she? Or, like Fiona, would she ignore them if they were to marry, pretend they did not exist?

He would not be able to bear that.

His family was important to him despite the fact that he had neglected them for years. He had rediscovered them lately, and he was not going to let them go again. Or marry a wife who would ignore them. And he had discovered Fiona’s family and liked them even though they were not related to him in any way. They
were
Constance’s family, though.

He had known about the upcoming anniversaries for a while. And he had been toying with the idea of inviting both families to Crosslands for a short time during the summer. It could not be for long. These were working people who could not afford to take lengthy holidays.

But why not invite everyone to Crosslands for the actual anniversaries? Why wait until summer? The possibility popped into his mind during the week following his last visit to Gwendoline. When he had told her she would hear from him, he had not known
what
she would hear. And when he had invited her to come to his world, he had not known quite how it was to be done.

But then he
had
known.

And everything had worked out wonderfully well. Despite the short notice, everyone was able to make arrangements to be away from their work for a week. And everyone was excited at the prospect of seeing his large country estate and being together there and celebrating two such grand events.

The only thing that remained to be seen was whether Gwendoline would be able to leave London in the midst of all the activities of the Season. And whether she would wish to. And whether she
would
.

It did not matter anyway, he told himself. He wanted to go for the sake of his family. It was time that he opened the whole of his life to them. And Crosslands and all he had there were a large and significant part of his life.

If Gwendoline could not come or would not, then that would be the end of it. He would not try to see her again, and he would put the pieces of his heart back together and move forward with his life. If she
did
come, on the other hand …

But he could not, would not think beyond that. He had told her that wanting, even loving, would not be enough for them. He was not sure he believed that. But he did not
not
believe it either.

And then he had a brief note from her, accepting his invitation.

His house, he remembered then, was like a barn. Although it was fully furnished, he had only ever used three rooms of it. The others were permanently shut up and covered in dust sheets. His servants could easily manage those three rooms and cater to his needs when he was there, but they would be quite overwhelmed by a house party. His stables and carriage house were well managed by a groom and his young helper. They would need more help, though, when a whole cavalcade of carriages and their attendant horses descended upon Crosslands. His park was barren, his flower garden bare soil.

Was there enough bed linen? Were there enough towels?

Enough dishes and cutlery?

Where would all the extra food come from? And who was going to cook it all?

But Hugo was not his father’s son for nothing. He advertised for a butler and chose with care from the seven applicants. After that, everything was taken out of his hands and he was made to understand that any interference on his part was neither necessary nor welcome. His new butler was a man after Hugo’s own heart.

Even so, he went into the country several days before his guests were due to arrive. He wanted to see what his house looked like without the dust sheets. He wanted to see what the gardeners the butler had hired had done with the park on such short notice. He wanted to make sure that the guest chamber with the best view had been assigned to Gwendoline.

Everything looked quite respectable, he was relieved and impressed to find, and the butler had turned into a tyrant of efficiency, who demanded hard work and perfection of everyone and got both—as well as total devotion, even from the staff members who had been with Hugo for longer than a year and might have resented the newcomer.

The day when everyone was to arrive was fine though not sunny. And everyone made good time. But that was to be expected of people who were up at dawn every day to work instead of sleeping off the excesses of the night before until noon.

Hugo greeted everyone as they came and turned them over to the care of his housekeeper.