The Unofficial Suitor (22 page)

Raising her eyes, she looked out the window at Mr. Hawke’s secretary. John Tuke—a strong name for a strong man. But his eyes were too clear, his expression too open, for her to hope that he might be her rescuer. Even were he to notice her, which was an unlikely circumstance, given the rules her father had laid down for her conduct, it was most unlikely that he could penetrate her father’s defenses.

“You do not suppose my father may have mellowed somewhat through the years?” she said, unable to keep the wistfulness entirely out of her voice. “After all, it is not as though he enjoys my company of an evening. He rarely speaks to me over dinner, and then he invariably locks himself in his study afterward. Surely he could easily hire a housekeeper to take over my chores, and it would cost him no more than my keep does now. Perhaps, now that we have such exalted neighbors, he might allow me to accept an occasional invitation. Do you not think it possible?”

Mrs. Beagles did not reply. Turning to look at her, Margaret saw tears in the housekeeper’s eyes.

“Child, child, do not get your hopes up. You were invited here today, but your father made your excuses.”

“Without telling me anything about it. I see. If that is the way it is, then I must resign myself to my situation.” Holding her head up straight, Margaret turned away from the window. “I should be getting home now, lest my father discover I have played the truant and punish me for it.”

Her father had never struck her in his life, but then he had not needed to. He was adept at the cutting remark, the stinging rejoinder, the annihilating look. His cruelty was too subtle, too refined, to give her something solid to protest against.

Trudging down the lane toward the vicarage, she made no effort to conceal herself. Due to her father’s efforts, no one in the village would tip his hat to her or in any other way acknowledge her existence. But on the other hand, none of the villagers had ever betrayed her by the slightest word when she occasionally escaped her father’s watchful eye. Which was little enough to be thankful for.

* * * *

“Why do you wish to dally so long amongst the vegetables?” Lord Atherston asked. “The roses are a much prettier setting for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

Cassie could not very well explain to him that years of hunger made her see more beauty in a well-developed cabbage than in the finest cabbage rose. Thinking quickly, she invented a plausible explanation for her abnormal interest in edible plants.

“I find a kitchen garden can be most revealing if one wishes to ascertain the true condition of an estate. Neglected carrots and turnips are significant, and should alert one that the management of the estate is not as it should be.”

“But you should not bother your pretty little head about such matters,” the baron said, a trace of condescension in his voice. “That is a subject for Mr. Hawke to concern himself with, and as he has pronounced himself satisfied with the condition of the estate, so should we all be. I would not be so impatient, my dear Lady Cassiopeia, except that I have been wishing to speak to you in a more romantic setting.

“On the other hand, since we have achieved a measure of privacy here amidst the broccoli, perhaps ‘twere best that I seize the moment, so to speak.”

Something of her shock must have shown on her face, because he immediately began to reassure her. “Please, you must not think that I am being forward. I would never dream of speaking to you directly before I have received permission from your brother. Indeed, such action would be reprehensible on my part. But I do feel it is entirely allowable for me to inform you that I have arranged an interview with your brother for tomorrow morning at eleven.”

Apparently he thought she was going to say something, because he held up one hand, palm toward her. “No, no, do not think that I am expecting you to make known your sentiments at this time. That would be pushing things beyond what would be seemly. But you need have no fear that I shall spend the night in an agony of suspense. I am sure enough of your feelings that I am willing to wait until tomorrow to hear what your answer will be.”

Cassie was surprised to hear that he was sure of her feelings, because she was not. She should, of course, be quite content to marry such an amiable man, especially considering the men Geoffrey had threatened to sell her to.

She doubted even Digory could find anything offensive about Lord Atherston. He was all amiability and was even displaying an amazing degree of sensitivity, and she knew she had nothing to fear from him.

Taking her hand and placing it gently on his arm, he began to lead her back through the gate to the formal gardens, where the others were still strolling about, enjoying the auspicious weather.

“I know you will be delighted to learn that the kitchen garden at Atherston Hall is quite well tended.” He chuckled at his own cleverness, and she smiled up at him.

Strangely enough, her smile required a great deal of effort. Although by rights she should be as happy as Ellen was, Cassie felt almost ... sad. But that could not possibly be. Knowing that she was going to be the recipient of an unexceptionable offer was no reason for her to be cast down in the dumps. More than likely she was merely fatigued by the ride out from London and by all the walking about under the hot sun.

John Tuke moved away from the shrubbery that had concealed him from Lady Cassiopeia and her suitor. Although John’s eavesdropping had been unintentional, it was nevertheless fortuitous.

As quickly as was possible without attracting undue attention, he sought out Richard, who was ensconced on a wrought iron bench beside Lady Letitia.

“Might I have a word with you privately, Richard?” he asked. “Something has come up that you should know about as soon as possible, assuming it is not already too late.”

“If it concerns Lady Cassiopeia,” Richard replied with a smile, “then you may talk freely in front of Lady Letitia. She is privy to my plans, and has even offered sound advice in the past.”

“As you wish,” John said. Then he quickly related what he had overheard.

“Less than twenty-four hours,” Richard said calmly, no sign of emotion visible on his face. “That gives us little time to formulate a plan, much less carry it out.” Turning to Lady Letitia, he inquired, “Do you perhaps know a way Atherston could be discouraged from wishing to marry?”

“I doubt anything anyone might say would persuade Atherston to remain a bachelor. In fact, he feels it is imperative to marry as quickly as possible. He has three younger brothers, you know, and he is quite determined to cut them out of the succession.” She paused, then said bluntly, “And if you are too much of a blockhead to use that information, then I must tell you, Richard, I wash my hands of your affairs.”

Despite her white hair and lined face, her smile was so engaging, it was easy for John to see how she had managed to ensnare four husbands—although ensnare was not the correct term. Doubtless each of them had considered himself to be the most fortunate of men.

“So, my Lord Atherston wishes an heir, does he?” Richard mused.

“And a spare,” Lady Letitia said quite tartly. “In fact, I would imagine only a household of sons will satisfy him.”

“Then we must arrange to celebrate his forthcoming nuptials with him, John. This evening would not be premature, would it?”

Catching on at last to what his friend was planning, John smiled also. “One should never postpone celebrating, lest the cause of the celebration likewise be postponed.”

* * * *

Sitting beside dear Arthur, Ellen could not keep from smiling as they drove back toward London. Betrothed, and to such a handsome man. She sneaked a peek at him. Yes, she would be the envy of all her contemporaries, some of the more catty of whom had warned her that lacking a son, Arthur was falsely raising her hopes—in the end he would choose a much younger woman to take for a wife.

But he had not—he had chosen her! Oh, how he must love her! Her heart felt as if it would burst in her chest, so happy she was.

“Morwyle House is pleasant enough,” Arthur broke the silence, “but I should not choose to live there myself.”

“And why is that, my dear?”

“Too close to London. Why, everyone and his brother will be thinking of an excuse to drop by and wangle an invitation to stay for a few days or even a few weeks. For my own part, I much prefer living in Northumberland. I shall not be sorry to shake the dust of London off my feet forever.”

“But ... but ...” Ellen frantically cast around in her mind for some plausible explanation. Surely dear Arthur did not mean what he had just said. He must have been joking—or had he been? “What about... what about my daughter Persephone? It is only a few years until she must be presented in court—and of course, she must have a London Season.”

“Oh, as to that, I have it all thought out. We can take her to a few assemblies in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and I am sure we can find her a suitable gentleman there who will count himself fortunate to marry an earl’s daughter. Then after they are firmly buckled, it will be up to her husband to see to such things as court presentations.” He chuckled. “And I shall thereby save a pocketful of brass. I hope you appreciate, my sweet, that you are marrying a very frugal man, who knows how to hold household. I shall not fritter away a fortune by riotous living, or gamble it away like young Rowcliff did.”

With every word he spoke, Ellen felt her disquiet grow. Indeed, what she was feeling already went far beyond what could be termed disquiet. Panic was a more suitable word.

“Would we ... that is, do you plan to entertain much once we are back in Northumberland?” she asked hesitantly. Maybe she was jumping to unwarranted conclusions? Maybe life there would not be as bad as it was beginning to appear? Maybe there was something she could still look forward to, even if she had to give up London shops and London balls and London theater and the opera, and ... and everything that made life worth living.

“I have no time to waste on such things, nor any inclinations along that line. My father was never one to socialize much, and the older I become, the more I realize the wisdom of his ways.”

Why had she never seen it before? Dillingham was cut from the same cloth as her late unlamented husband, the Earl of Blackstone.

“It is fortunate that you already have so many gowns, so we will not need to postpone the wedding while you purchase your bridal clothes. I shall arrange to have the banns called immediately, so that we can be married in St. George’s without delay. A pity that we have to wait three weeks, but it is better than the expense of a special license.”

He patted her knee, then squeezed it hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Ellen felt herself shrinking away from him. Just three weeks before she would have to marry this ... this provincial oaf! It did not bear contemplating. In fact, if she allowed herself to think about being sequestered—no, imprisoned!—for the rest of her life in Northumberland, she would lose control of the tears that were even now threatening to spill out of her eyes. Oh, she was trapped—horribly, awfully, revoltingly trapped! No one could possibly help her now.

For the first time since they had left Cornwall, she understood how her step-daughter felt—except that no one, not even her despised step-son, had forced her to say yes to Dillingham’s offer. She had walked blindly into his trap with no one pushing her, and thus she had no one to blame but herself.

It was not the slightest consolation.

* * * *

Although obviously unaccustomed to such surroundings, Atherston had not raised an objection when Richard had suggested celebrating his impending marriage—or, rather, his impending proposal—in a tavern near the wharves. In fact, it had been Perry who had turned up his nose when he had seen what a low dive Richard was leading them into.

After the first round of ale had been drunk and the second round called for, Richard clapped Atherston on the back. “You are indeed fortunate to be in a position to marry Lady Cassiopeia. If I had a younger brother, or even a cousin, I should not hesitate to make a push to cut you out.”

“I am no fool,” Atherston replied. “I am fully aware that her brother will cost me a pretty penny before all is said and done. But if he expects to get aught from me beyond the marriage settlement, he will have to toe the line. He who pays the piper, calls the tune, as the saying goes. He will find I am not an easy man to chouse out of what is rightfully mine.”

Richard and Perry exchanged deliberately meaningful looks, and like a trout rising to a fly, Atherston snapped at the lure.

“Here, here, what is the meaning of the odd looks? If there is something I should know, then out with it. I already know the earl’s estate is heavily encumbered, and the man himself is nothing more than a dashed loose screw.”

“Something else,” Perry muttered. “But don’t know as I should tell you. Thought you knew, but it ‘pears like it’s a secret.”

“It is quite all right,” Richard was quick to reassure him. “I am sure that neither Lord Blackstone nor Lady Cassiopeia has engaged in a deliberate attempt to trick Atherston.” Turning to the baron, who was fortifying himself from his tankard, Richard said quite matter-of-factly, “You were doubtless already informed, were you not, that Lady Cassiopeia can never bear a son?”

The baron choked on his ale, and Perry quite helpfully pounded him on the back until he waved his hands in a signal to desist.

“What are you talking about?” he finally managed to croak out.

“Why,” Richard replied, his composure still intact, “it is common knowledge among the haut ton that there has never been anything but girls in her family.”

“Never was, never will be,” Perry contributed.

“A brother—she has a brother,” Atherston said, his voice still a little husky.

Looking suitably mournful, Perry and Richard shook their heads. “Half-brother,” Perry said.

“Totally different mothers,” Richard added.

“And her mother never had no sons.”

“And her grandmother never had any sons.”

“And her mother ...”

“And her mother’s mother ...”

“None of them ever had a boy.”