The Proposal (35 page)

“You have taken Constance under your wing,” he said, “and have enabled her to attend a few
ton
entertainments, as befits her status as my sister. My relatives are both amused by and impressed with my title, you know. But they are not unintelligent people. They will soon understand, if rumor has not already reached their ears, that you are here because I am courting you.”

“Are you?” she asked him. “The last time I saw you, you said quite definitely that you were not. I thought I was invited here to court you or at least to discover for myself why it is impossible for you to court me.”

He hesitated before answering.

“My relatives will conclude that I am courting you,” he said. “Everyone loves what appears to be a budding romance, especially when a family member is involved. Whether they are right or whether they are wrong remains to be seen.”

But perhaps his relatives would not love this particular budding romance, Gwen thought. They might well resent her. She did not say so aloud, though. She smiled again.

“I will be down soon,” she said.

He inclined his head to her and left the room. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Gwen stayed where she was for a short while. She thought back to the day on the beach in Cornwall when she had felt that tidal wave of loneliness. If she had not felt it then, would she have felt it ever? And, if she had not, would she have stayed safely cocooned in grief and guilt that had grown so muted that she had not even realized how they had paralyzed her life? Strangely, it had been a comfortable cocoon. She half wished she were still inside it, or that, if she must have been forced out, she had then proceeded to meet the quiet, comfortable, uncomplicated gentleman she had soon dreamed up—as if any such person really existed.

But she had met Hugo instead.

She shook her head slightly and made her way to the dressing room so that she could wash and change and have her hair freshly brushed before stepping fully into Hugo’s world.

Fiona’s parents were feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Hugo soon realized, and sat in a sort of huddle with their own family members. Even Fiona’s in-laws must seem like grand persons to them, and he knew they looked upon him in some awe.

Too late he realized he should have instructed his ever-resourceful butler to find someone to look after the two boys during the house party. They were sitting on a sofa with their parents, the younger squashed between the two of them, the elder on the other side of his father.

Hugo’s own relatives were boisterous, as they usually were in company with one another. But perhaps there was a little self-consciousness added today as they were in a strange place and there were other people present who were virtual strangers.

Fiona sat by the fireplace with Philip. Her mother was gazing wistfully at her.

Constance was flitting about from group to group, her arm through Gwendoline’s. She was introducing her to everyone as the lady who had presented her to the
ton,
the lady who was her
sponsor
. It was Hugo who ought to be making the introductions, but he was happy that Constance was doing it for him and unwittingly making it seem that indeed Gwendoline had been invited for her sake.

Ned Tucker stood behind the seated group of his friends from the grocery shop and looked good-humoredly about him. Hugo had wanted to invite him just to discover what, if anything, existed between him and Constance. And her grandmother had made it easy for him. When he had gone to the grocery shop to issue the invitation, Tucker had been with them, and Constance’s grandmother had laid a hand on his sleeve and told Hugo he was like one of the family. Hugo had promptly included him in the invitation.

And Hugo, observing the groups around him, realized that he was part of the scene too. He was standing there in the midst of it all, like a soldier on parade. He wished he had some social graces. He should have learned more while he was at Penderris. But he had never needed social graces to mingle with his family. He had never known a moment of self-consciousness or self-doubt when he was growing up among them. And he did not need social graces to mingle with Fiona’s family. He merely needed to show them that he was human, that in reality he was no different from them despite his title and wealth. Or perhaps that was what social graces
were
. There was Gwendoline, Constance’s arm still through hers, talking with Tucker, and all three of them laughed as Hugo watched them. Gwendoline did not have her nose in the air, as she had with
him
on occasion, and Tucker was not bobbing his head and tugging at his forelock. Hilda and Paul Crane got up from their seats and joined them, and then they were
all
laughing.

Hugo had the feeling he might be scowling. How was he to bring these separate groups together, make a relaxed house party out of it? Really, it had been a mad idea.

He was rescued by the arrival of the tea tray and another, larger one bearing all kinds of sumptuous looking goodies. He turned to his stepmother.

“Will you be so good as to pour, Fiona?” he asked.

“Of course, Hugo,” she said.

And it struck him that she was
enjoying
herself as a person of importance to everyone in the room, since as his stepmother she was in a sense his hostess. It had not occurred to him that he would need one. But of course he did.
Someone
had to pour the tea and sit at the foot of his dining table and stand at his side to greet the guests from the neighborhood when they arrived for the anniversary parties in a few days’ time.

“Thank you,” he said, and he took it upon himself to circulate among his guests, distributing plates and napkins before he carried around the plate of goodies and persuaded everyone to take one or two.

Meanwhile Cousin Theodora Palmer, recently married to a prosperous banker, carried a cup of tea to everyone as Fiona poured, and her sister-in-law, Bernadine Emes, Cousin Bradley’s wife, crossed the room and spoke to the little boys. Her own children, she told them, together with some of their cousins, were having tea in a lovely big room up in the attic. And after they had finished, their nurses were going to take them out to play. Perhaps Colin and Thomas would care to go with them?

Thomas half hid behind his father’s sleeve and peeked out with one eye. Colin’s face lit up with eagerness, and he looked to his father for permission.

“We do not have holidays often, do we?” Hugo heard Bernadine saying to Mavis and Harold. “Neither do our children. We might as well all enjoy this one to the full while we may. There are two nurses, both thoroughly trustworthy. The children obey them and adore them. Your boys will be quite safe with them.”

“I am sure they will,” Mavis said. “We do not have a nurse. We like to keep our children with us.”

“Oh, so do I,” Bernadine said. “They grow up so fast. When I had my first …”

Hugo opened the drawing room door, beckoned one of the new servants, who was hovering outside, and told him to inform Mrs. Bradley Emes’s nurse that she needed to stop at the drawing room on her way outside with her charges in order to collect two more children.

Gwendoline was talking with Aunt Rose and Uncle Frederick Emes, and Cousin Emily, aged fourteen, was gazing at her in awe. Constance was leading her grandparents toward Aunt Henrietta Lowry, his father’s widowed eldest sister, matriarch of the family.

Rome was not built in a day, Hugo thought without any great originality. But it
was
built. And perhaps his house party would not be an unmitigated disaster. He was probably feeling awkward and anxious only because Gwendoline was here and he wanted everything to be perfect. He would not be worrying if she were
not
here, would he?

He went to talk to Philip, who was part of neither larger group but seemed perfectly comfortable anyway as he looked down at Fiona pouring second cups of tea.

They made a handsome couple, Hugo thought in some surprise. Philip and Fiona, that was. Now
there
was a thought. Perhaps he would turn into a matchmaker in his dotage.

They must be pretty close in age too.

And then tea was over and the trays were removed and Hugo explained that everyone was at liberty to remain where they were or to remove to their bedchambers to rest or to wander outdoors for some fresh air.

Most people dispersed. Fiona’s mother and father circled the room slowly with Aunt Henrietta, admiring the paintings. Constance went outdoors with a large group of young people that included several of the Emes cousins, Hilda and Paul, and Ned Tucker. Gwendoline was talking with Bernadine and Bradley. Hugo joined them.

“I’ll take all the children to see the new lambs and calves and foals tomorrow morning,” he said to Bernadine. “There are some chicks and kittens and pups too. I think I would have thought I had died and gone to heaven if someone had done that for me when I was a child.”

“We all remember your strays, Hugo,” Bradley said, laughing. “Uncle used to sigh when you came home with yet another bedraggled wall-eyed cat or skeletal three-legged dog.”

“The children will love it,” Bernadine said. “Just do
not,
I beg you, Hugo, allow any one of them—especially one of mine—to persuade you to allow them to take a puppy or a kitten or a lamb or two home with them when they go.”

Hugo laughed and caught Gwendoline’s eye.

“Perhaps you would all care to come and see the lambs now,” he said. “They will still be out in the pasture.”

“Oh, Hugo,” Bernadine said with a sigh. “The journey was a long one and the country air is killing me—in a thoroughly good way, I hasten to add. And our children are off playing. I am for my bed until it is time to dress for dinner.”

“Brad?” Hugo said.

“Another time, perhaps,” Bradley said. “I
ought
to walk off that extra cream cake I could not resist, but that bed in our room is beckoning very insistently about now.”

“Lady Muir?” Hugo looked politely at her.

“I will come and see the lambs,” she said.

“Ah,” Bernardine said, “Lady Muir is being polite. You would soon learn to be more selfish if you spent more time with us, Lady Muir.”

But she laughed as she took Brad’s arm and moved off with him without waiting for an answer.

“Sometimes,” Gwendoline said, looking at Hugo, “I think I already am the most selfish of mortals.”

“You don’t
have
to come,” he said.

“Don’t
start
.” She laughed and took the arm he had not yet even offered her.

Chapter 21

Walking into the drawing room for tea had taken a surprising amount of courage, Gwen had found. She had not known quite what to expect. She had feared everyone would look at her either with excessive awe or with resentful hostility, either of which would have been isolating and would have made it difficult for her to behave with any degree of ease.

Constance had made it easier, even though she had probably done it quite unconsciously. Although there had been some sign of awe as the girl introduced her, Gwen had detected no hostility. And even some of the awe, she believed, had dissipated during tea. Perhaps after all this was going to be somewhat more doable than she had feared.

She did not care anyway. She was almost fiercely glad she had come. Even open hostility from every single one of his family members would be worth facing just for
this
.

This
was the sight of Hugo feeding a lamb, the smallest of the flock. Its mother had died giving birth to it, and the sheep to whom it had been given, though it had lost its own lamb, was not always willing to let it suck. Today was one of those days, and so there was Hugo, sitting cross-legged in the pasture, the lamb half on his lap and sucking greedily from a bottle with some sort of nipple attached to it.

He was talking to it. Gwen could hear his voice, though she could not distinguish the exact words. She stood against the outside of the fence, her arms leaning along the top of it, watching them, though she believed he had forgotten all about her. There was such tenderness in his voice and in his whole manner that she could have wept.

He had
not
forgotten, though. Even as she thought it, he looked up and smiled at her. No, it was not just a smile. It was more of a boyish grin.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I ought to have taken you back to the house first.”

“Don’t
start,
” she said again.

And he laughed and returned his attention to the lamb, which was finally showing signs of having had enough.

“Or I ought to have had someone else do the feeding,” he said a short while later as he let himself out of the meadow. “There
are
a few laborers. I had better not offer my arm. I must smell of sheep.”

She took his arm anyway. “I grew up in the country,” she reminded him.

He
did
smell faintly of sheep. And he was still wearing the very smart clothes he had worn for tea.

He did not take the path that led directly from the boundary of the park to the stables. Instead, he led her about part of the perimeter of the park, where there were more trees. They were widely enough spaced, though, that it was easy enough to walk among them.

“I can understand,” she said, “why you shut yourself up here in the country a number of years ago and wanted nothing more to do with the outside world.”

“Can you?” he said. “It cannot be done indefinitely, though. My father’s dying dragged me out again. On the whole, I am not sorry.”

“Neither am I,” she said.

He turned his head to look at her but did not comment.

“I realized something,” he said, “when I was feeding that lamb and you were standing there so patiently, watching. I keep my sheep for their wool, not their meat. I keep my cows for their milk and cheese, not for their meat. I keep chickens for their eggs. I have felt very virtuous about it all. But I eat meat. I concur in the killing of other, unknown animals so that I may be fed. And almost all creatures prey upon others for food. It is all very cruel. One could dwell upon it and become massively gloomy. But that is the way life is. It is a continual balance of opposites. There are hatred and violence, for example, and there are kindness and gentleness. And sometimes violence is necessary. I try to imagine Bonaparte having been allowed to reach our shores with his armies. Overrunning our cities and towns and countryside. Pillaging for food and other pleasures. Attacking my family and yours. Attacking
you
. If any of that had happened, I could never have stood by in the name of the sanctity of human life and the tenderness of my conscience.”