A Poor Relation (20 page)

Chris went away comforted and hopeful. He went straight to Rowena’s door, where he was told firmly by Miss Pinkerton that he could not possibly enter for at least an hour. He sought out Bernard in the library.

The captain was seated at the vast mahogany desk, engaged in his own lists and calculations.

“We shall live with Cousin Martha for some time while I show her London,” he announced as Chris entered. “Then we shall travel. I cannot wait to explore Paris and Rome and Vienna with her.”

“You have come to an understanding, then?” Chris dropped into one of the large, leather-covered chairs and lounged back.

“With Anne, yes. She is the dearest girl! I have to ask Sir Henry’s permission, and then I must post up to London to tell Cousin Martha. I think it best to deliver the news in person, do not you?”

“Certainly, if you mean to billet yourselves upon her.”

“On the contrary, she would be shocked and horrified if I were to suggest taking a house elsewhere in town.”

“And Anne has no objection?”

“She thinks it a delightful plan, especially as she need not trouble her head about housekeeping. We shall visit all the libraries and bookshops and museums and—”

“Enough! You are very sure of Sir Henry’s consent.”

Bernard shrugged. “I am no earl, to be sure, but my birth is as respectable as his and my means are adequate to support his daughter in comfort, if not in luxury. Martha’s house will be mine eventually, you know. Anne may spend her couple of thousand on books with my good will. I expect Sir Henry’s consent, but does he choose to withhold it, I shall run away with her.”

“Bernard! I always thought you the most conventional of men.”

“We love each other, and I shall not let anything stand in our way. Surely you can understand that?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Chris’s voice was dubious. He adored Rowena, and he hoped that she was fond of him, but he had no assurance of mutual love to buoy him. His discovery of his feelings was too recent to have allowed time to delve into the implications, especially as purely practical considerations had come first. Would he risk the scandal that must attach to a runaway marriage? He was not sure, so it was fortunate that Rowena was her own mistress. On the other hand, he was once more overcome with doubts as to whether it was honourable to ask her to share what must amount, for some years at least, to hard work and straitened circumstances.

Bernard was talking. “She and Lady Grove are coming this morning to take Rowena home. The house is bound to be in something of an upset, so I shall ride over tomorrow to speak to her father.”

“This morning? I promised to send her home in my carriage, filled with pillows, and I have done nothing about it. Potter shall go with them.” To escort her himself on such a short drive would look excessively particular. He jumped up and strode to the door, then turned and said thoughtfully, “I’ll ride with you tomorrow.”

It was too late to speak to Rowena this morning, and this afternoon she would be tired from the journey.

Tomorrow, in her aunt’s house, he would lay before her all the disadvantages of becoming his wife, and he would find out whether the offer of his heart was compensation enough.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I wish you had let me get up earlier, Pinkie!” wailed Rowena. “Now he will think I don’t want to see him.” She was sitting in a copper hip bath before the fire, carefully shielded from draughts by a pair of Chinese screens, with her hair full of soapsuds and her eyes screwed shut.

“Nonsense, child, he is not such a slowtop as to suppose it must always be convenient for a lady to receive him in her chamber.”

“He is not a slowtop at all, but I am going back to my aunt’s today.”

“And that is precisely why I did not let you rise early. A fine thing it would be if you were worn out before your aunt comes to fetch you. Now bend your head while I rinse your hair or you will have soap in your eyes.”

Rowena leaned forward obediently. It hardly hurt to move any more, and it felt wonderful to be clean all over. All the same, once she had stepped out of the bath to be enveloped in a huge, well-warmed towel, she was ready to lie quietly by the fire while her hair dried.

Miss Pinkerton bustled about the room, humming as she packed the few clothes that had been brought down from Grove Park.

“I wish you were coming, too,” said Rowena suddenly.

“Lady Farleigh says I may borrow a carriage whenever I wish to visit you, my love. And besides, I daresay it will not be long before you return.”

“Do you really think so? I wish I could be certain. He needs money so badly, Pinkie, and I have nothing to give him. If he does... does want to marry me, perhaps I ought to refuse so that he can have Millie.”

“Fustian, my girl, would you condemn him to a fate worse than death?”

This drew a reluctant chuckle from Rowena, but she quickly sobered. “I love him too much to say no if he asks me, even though we both may regret it later. I wish I had a huge dowry to give him.”

“Be glad you don’t, Rowena. At least you will know, if he offers for you, that it is you he loves and not your money.”

“Like Millicent and Mr. Ruddle.”

“Precisely. The girl is a fool if she does not take him.”

Rowena thought of Pinkie’s words when Chris came to carry her down to the carriage. When he lifted her in his arms, she felt his tension, and the look he gave her was searching, troubled. She clasped her hands behind his neck and pressed herself against him in an effort to reassure him. If his worry had nothing to do with her, if she had misinterpreted the message in his eyes yesterday, he would think her shockingly forward. She was willing to risk it.

Though his arms tightened about her, he seemed to relax a little.

“The carriage is so full of cushions, I am not sure there is room left for you,” he said teasingly, “especially as your cousin thinks you will prefer company instead of riding in solitary state.”

“And is my aunt to squeeze in, too?”

“I understand she was delayed by unexpected visitors. Anne was too impatient to wait, and she is at this moment receiving a scold from Bernard for riding down with only a groom to escort her. She sent the groom home with a message to Lady Grove that she need not come. I ought to have informed everyone yesterday that you had accepted the offer of my carriage, but I had other matters on my mind.”

Rowena longed to ask for an explanation of those other matters, but they had reached the bottom of the stair. Lady Farleigh was waiting there, with Miss Pinkerton, Bernard, and Anne, who looked less than cowed by her scolding. Chris set Rowena lightly on her feet, and she performed a somewhat wobbly curtsy, glad of his strong arm to grasp as she rose.

“My lady, I cannot thank you sufficiently for your hospitality.”

“It was nothing, Miss Caxton.” Lady Farleigh waved dismissal, then added severely, “However, I trust you will honour me with a visit when you have recovered your strength, without waiting for your aunt to bring you.”

“Of course, ma’am, I shall be happy to.” Rowena smiled at the dowager, aware by now that her sharp manner hid a warm heart.

Pinkie hugged her and kissed her cheek and promised to call at Grove Park tomorrow. The captain wished her a short convalescence, and it was time to go. Rowena was suddenly struck with embarrassment at the thought of everyone watching as Chris picked her up and carried her out.

“I shall walk,” she told him with dignity, “if you will lend me your support?”

“Now what would you do if I said no?” he asked wickedly, but he offered his arm, and when she laid her hand on it, he covered it with his own.

Her progress was halting, and by the time they reached the bottom of the front steps she was leaning on him heavily, but she managed.

The effort was amply repaid when he said softly, “You are indomitable, Rowena. May I call tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes, please do. I... I shall be happy to see you.”

Without waiting for permission he swung her off her feet and deposited her on a mound of cushions in the carriage. There were velvet cushions and brocade, cushions trimmed with lace, embroidered, tapestry-covered, plain satin and striped, in every colour of the rainbow. Anne hopped in, blowing a kiss to Bernard without the least regard for propriety, and settled on the opposite seat. The carriage rumbled into motion.

Rowena burst into tears.

Anne looked at her in astonished horror. She dropped to her knees on the joggling floor of the coach and put her arms round her cousin.

“Darling Rowena, whatever is the matter?”

“It’s just that he—that everyone is so kind,” she sobbed.

“You must be tired. That’s nothing to cry about.”

“I know, I can’t help it, and I can’t find my handkerchief.”

“Here’s mine.” Anne returned to her seat. “I’m glad you’re not crying because you are miserable, for I am positively bursting to tell someone. Bernard is coming tomorrow to ask Papa for my hand!”

“Oh, Anne, I am so glad. I know I need not wish you happy.” Rowena dried her eyes and did her best to enter into her cousin’s elation. She was truly delighted, but she could not help wishing that she dared reciprocate with the news that Chris was on the point of offering for her. Though her heart told her it was true, her head kept reminding her that Millicent was beautiful and rich, and she was neither.

They had turned in at the gates of Grove Park before Anne’s euphoria abated enough for her to recall a matter of minor interest.

“A letter came for you this morning. It looked to me like your lawyer’s hand. Do you suppose he has found another hundred pounds for you? What will you spend it on?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, instead of counting my chickens before they hatch. I hope it is not a request to send back the hundred pounds to pay a newly discovered debt.”

“How fortunate that you have already spent half of it.”

“Goosecap, it is probably just another paper to be signed, like most of his communications.”

“I suppose so. Don’t tell Mama and Millie that Bernard is coming tomorrow, will you? I must tell Papa, of course, so that he will be there, but I want a
fait accompli
before Millie finds out.”

Rowena reassured her, as the carriage drew up before the front door. Potter appeared from nowhere to let down the step. He helped Anne down and turned to Rowena.

“The major’s orders was to carry you in, miss, but I seen you walk out o’ there like a Trojan, so if you’d rather take me arm, like?”

“You are willing to disobey the major for me, corporal?”

He grinned at her. “You won’t never give me away, miss.

“To be sure I shall not. Yes, I prefer to walk, thank you. Pray tell his lordship that I have never had so restful a journey in my life.”

Even after walking in, Rowena felt well enough to sit for a while in the parlour instead of retiring at once to bed. She was ensconced in a comfortable chair by the fire, and Anne brought a footstool while Aunt Hermione rang for tea to restore her. With the tea tray, the butler brought her the letter.

“Go ahead and read it, child,” said Lady Grove. “No need to stand upon ceremony when there are none but family here, though I expect Mr. Ruddle will bring Millicent back presently.”

The direction was in Mr. Harwin’s hand, and the paper was sealed with the usual mass of wax. Fortunately the butler had provided a paper knife. Rowena slit the seal, unfolded two sheets and began to read. It seemed only polite to inform her companions of the contents as she went along.

“I explained, did I not, Aunt, about the confusion Papa’s papers were in? It seems Mr. Harwin’s clerk has at last finished going through them. Most are unimportant, receipts and such. He lists them but I will not bore you with such stuff. ‘There is one, however...’” She turned to the next page: “‘...which proves beyond a doubt that a large portion of the mortgage on Chillenden Manor was paid long since. I have taken the liberty of resolving the matter with the lender before informing you of the result. I beg to inform you, my dear Miss Caxton, that I am holding for you from the proceeds of the sale of Chillenden the sum of ten thousand, two hundred...’” The words swam before Rowena’s eyes.

“Mama, she is fainting! Where are your smelling salts? Pray ring for some brandy. Rowena! Oh, you are horridly pale. Rowena, it is
good
news. Listen, I will read it to you.” With the hand that was not waving the vinaigrette, Anne snatched up the letter. “Here’s the place. ‘My dear Miss Caxton, I am holding for you’ etcetera ‘the sum of ten thousand, two hundred and forty-four pounds, six shillings and sixpence.’ Rowena, that is a fortune!”

“Ten thousand pounds!” Millicent had entered the room unnoticed, followed by Mr. Ruddle. “Rowena cannot possibly have so much. Her papa died a pauper.”

“Well, she does,” crowed Anne, triumphing over her sister for once. “Here is her lawyer’s letter. It is down in black and white.” She hesitated a moment, but the opportunity was too splendid to miss. “And not only is Rowena rich, but I am going to be betrothed to Captain Cartwright!”

“Betrothed!” Millicent’s voice rose to a shriek. “Mama, I will not have it. The disgrace of my younger sister engaged before me! It is out of the question. Papa must refuse him”

“Really, Millicent, do not be shatterbrained! There can be no question of refusing the match, if your papa is satisfied with the captain’s ability to support dear Anne.”

Millicent gaped at her mother in shock, then burst into tears.

Rowena let the storm rage over her head. With trembling fingers she retrieved the letter from the floor where Anne had let it fall, smoothed it and reread the staggering news. Though she had recovered from her momentary dizziness, it still left her breathless. If Chris indeed loved and wanted her, she need have no qualms about accepting. With ten thousand pounds, Farleigh Grange could be set to rights and turned into the productive estate it ought to be.

Her attention was drawn back to the combatants by a portentous clearing of the throat. Mr. Ruddle, hitherto a distressed spectator, had decided to take a hand.