A Poor Relation (21 page)

“My dear Miss Grove,” he began, a solemn look on his round, pink face, “do not be discomposed, I beg you. Miss Grove—Millicent, if I may be so bold—allow me to offer—not for the first time!—my hand and heart. It is my dearest wish—and has been these two years and more—to make you my wife and the mistress of Ruddle Towers. If you will only say yes, I shall seek out Sir Henry this instant and we may be formally betrothed before dinner. I have the ring here, next to my heart as always, waiting for you to relent.” He delved into a waistcoat pocket and produced a diamond the size of a gooseberry.

“Pray do, Millicent!” begged her mother, herself near tears.

“Heavens!” gasped Anne, her gaze on the gem. “I thought only the Crown Jewels had diamonds so enormous. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It is superb, is it not?” said her sister graciously. “I fear you cannot expect anything of the sort from a half-pay officer. Dear Mr. Ruddle, I feel it is time I rewarded your constancy. Papa is probably in his study at this hour.”

“I shall go at once.” The dandy kissed his beloved’s hand reverently, delighted at this sudden turn. “You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

“I expect he may be,” Anne murmured to Rowena, “for he will never even notice her megrims. Every time she throws a tantrum he will give her another diamond.”

Mr. Ruddle left and Millicent turned to Rowena. “So you have inherited ten thousand?” she enquired. “I am happy for you.”

Anne and Rowena exchanged startled glances.

“Is it not delightful?” Lady Grove beamed. “Rowena must have a Season. With such a marriage portion she may look for a husband as high as you please. And both my daughters betrothed! I believe I shall call on Lady Amelia. Anne, ring the bell, pray, and order the carriage.”

Her ladyship went off to spread the good news about the neighbourhood. Rowena, exhausted, stumbled upstairs on the footman’s arm and sank into her bed. A Season in London! She had not even considered the possibility. But what was the point of a Season when she had already found the only husband she would ever want.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Chris and Bernard were ushered into the front hall at Grove Park as the clock struck eleven. Anne rushed out of the morning parlour, her face alight with joyous anticipation..

“Papa is in his study. Come quick.”

“I daresay he will not mind waiting while I take off my coat.” Despite his prosaic words, Bernard’s tone was warm, his expression near as eager as hers, as he handed his hat and gloves to the butler.

Belatedly recalling her manners, Anne turned to Chris, already divested of his topcoat by a footman. She curtsied. “Good morning, my lord. Mama and Millie are in the parlour, and I believe Rowena will be down directly.”

“And you can escort Chris, sweet... Miss Anne, for I must speak alone with Sir Henry,” said the captain firmly.

Irrepressible, she stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. “He promised to be nice to you. He has to be, for Mama already told Lady Amelia, so half the county knows by now.”

Shaking his head with a grin, Bernard went off. Chris offered his arm to Anne and she laid her fingertips on it, suddenly the regal lady. They moved towards the parlour.

“How is Rowena?” he asked. “I trust the journey did not prove too tiring?”

“No, not with your mountains of cushions to rest on. It was the excitement afterwards that exhausted her, but she is quite well and I know she means to come down.”

“Excitement?”

“Such news! And then Millie... But she will want to tell you herself. Mama, here is Lord Farleigh.”

“My lady, Miss Grove.” Chris bowed, hoping his apprehension at Anne’s hints was not obvious. “I hope I see you well, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes, my lord, prodigious well. I vow I do not know when I have been better. Only think, all my girls, and all on the same day… I do not know whether I am on my head or my heels, I do declare.”

“You refer to Miss Anne’s betrothal, I collect? My friend is speaking to Sir Henry on that account at this moment.”

“To be sure. I cannot claim to know Captain Cartwright well, but an admirable gentleman, without a doubt, and a friend of yours, of course, my lord. And then Millicent! You must know that she has at last accepted dear Mr. Ruddle, who has been a faithful beau ever since her come-out.”

Chris turned to Millicent, half relieved to know that her fortune was now beyond his reach though he had decided he could manage without it. “I must wish you happy, Miss Grove, and I hope soon to have the opportunity of congratulating the lucky man.”

“Thank you, my lord. We expect Mr. Ruddle at any moment.”

Millicent waved her fan languidly in such a way as to ensure his noticing the huge diamond on her ring finger. Chris was left with the impression that if he chose to throw his handkerchief, preferably embellished with jewels, in her direction, he need not despair despite her betrothal. He hoped he did not do her an injustice. The thought of Rowena was like a draught of clear, cool water after a sticky-sweet sherbet.

Then, with a shock of dismay, he recalled Lady Grove’s words.

“You said, all your girls, did not you? What of Miss Caxton, ma’am?” Surely she was not betrothed, too!

“Now that is of all things the most surprising and the most delightful! Dearest Rowena turns out to be quite an heiress after all, a most respectable portion. With Anne off my hands, I shall take her up to town in the spring, for she may expect now to make a most eligible connexion. Indeed, I venture to say she may look for a splendid match.”

The arrival of Mr. Ruddle, Mrs. Berry-Browning and her son saved Chris from the necessity of responding. He managed to utter polite greetings, but his mind was in a whirl.

His immediate reaction to the news was joy. Though Rowena’s aunt, with unusual reticence, had not mentioned a figure, a respectable fortune could only ease their life together. He would not have to ask her to do without the elegancies he longed to provide.

Second thoughts came all too soon. The world would think that having lost Millicent’s dowry, he had seized the chance of securing Rowena’s before anyone else learned of it. They would whisper pityingly that he had only married her for her money. The very day he heard the news, they would say, he offered for her, and never a hint before that he had eyes for any but Millicent Grove and her twenty thousand.

The worst of it was that Rowena might believe it. The more he tried to convince her of his love, the more she must doubt his sincerity. How could he face the questions in her green eyes?

He cursed himself for not begging her to marry him before she left the Grange.

Yet if he had, and if she had accepted, the only honourable course of action now would be to free her from her promise. Lady Grove was talking of a London Season, the height of every young lady’s ambition, and of a splendid match. All Chris had to offer was a rundown estate and a great deal of hard work.

The unpleasant reality was impossible to ignore: he could not ask Rowena to be his wife.

Several more visitors arrived to discover for themselves the details of Lady Grove’s triumph, which had quickly spread about the neighbourhood. Bernard appeared with Sir Henry, both beaming. Anne and her captain were surrounded immediately by well-wishers. Then Rowena came in.

She paused in the doorway, glancing about the room. In the moment before she caught sight of him, Chris saw that she looked well, with a becoming colour in her cheeks. Not daring to meet her eyes, he looked hastily away from her face. Her slight figure, clad in a gown of her favourite green, seemed vulnerable, defenseless. He ached to hold her, to protect her.

He turned away to answer Miss Desborough. When he looked back, Rowena was the centre of a congratulatory group.

With a rush of jealous fury he noted that Mr. Desborough and Mr. Berry-Browning were both hovering about her with a hopeful air. He must leave before he did something he would regret. Bidding his hostess farewell, he told Bernard he would see him later and made his way to Rowena.

The glow in her green eyes when she looked up at him almost made him forget his resolution. It was only pleasure at the unusual attention she was receiving, he told himself. He bowed over the hand she held out to him, not touching it.

“My felicitations, Miss Caxton.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears.

Her smile faded. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You must excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

With a nod to the other members of her circle, he departed.

He rode long and hard over the hills in a vain attempt to drive her image from his mind. Everything reminded him of her.

It was sunny, though the October breeze had a nip to it—a perfect day for a gallop, and Rowena loved a good gallop. How alarmed he had been when he had found her weeping over her mare—had he loved her even then, unknowingly? Would she go back now to Geoffrey Farnhouse, who was fond enough of her to buy her horse and send it to her? Her denial of interest in him as anything more than a friend had seemed convincing, but perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part.

He swung over the crest of a hill, scattering a flock of sheep. They turned to look at him with reproachful eyes.
I did it for the best,
he wanted to shout at them;
it would be dishonourable to ask her to marry me.

The shepherd’s tuneless whistle brought memories of joking about their mutual lack of musical appreciation. Even the innocent grass was green, her favourite colour.

By the time he reached the Grange stables, El Cid was near exhaustion, and the return through the orchards had set the seal on Chris’s misery. Those had been his happiest times with Rowena, riding among the trees discussing his improvements. Was he to lose even the benefit of her advice?

He strode into the house, scowling. The dome over the magnificent vestibule was just another reminder that bricks and mortar had stolen his inheritance and his beloved from him.

“Her ladyship desires a word with your lordship,” announced Diggory.

“Later,” said the earl curtly.

He managed to avoid Lady Farleigh and Miss Pinkerton until dinnertime. Bernard had still not returned from Grove Park. However, a number of callers had dropped in at the Grange, bringing with them the news of Lady Grove’s triple triumph. Chris spun out his description of the captain’s successful wooing, and to his relief the ladies refrained from interrogating him further, though he knew they were agog to hear about Rowena. The dowager had made it plain enough that she would welcome Miss Caxton as a surrogate daughter-in-law.

Chris sat long at the table after the ladies had withdrawn. He had never appreciated the rich sweetness of port but the level in the brandy decanter sank considerably before Bernard joined him.

Though it was hard to focus, he noted with annoyance the spring in his friend’s step, negating his limp.

“Take a spot?” he mumbled as Diggory materialized with another glass.

“Just a drop of the port.” Bernard studied Chris’s face and wisely forbore from comment. “Thank you. I leave for London first thing tomorrow.”

“Want to bring Cousin Martha back... meet your betrothed?”

“May I? That would be ideal, for Lady Grove cannot be spared to accompany Anne to town.”

“Welcome. What time we leaving?”

“I hope to be off by half past seven. With luck I’ll make it in a day. There’s no need for you to come with me, Chris. I am perfectly well, never felt better in fact. I shall hire a post chaise in Broadway.”

“I’m going, too,” said Chris flatly.

The gentlemen were long gone when Miss Pinkerton set off next morning for Grove Park. It was a little after ten when she was ushered up to Rowena’s chamber.

Rowena was sitting at a small table, writing. With unshaken composure she set aside her pen, but when she embraced Pinkie her hug was convulsive. “You are quite chilled! Sit down here by the fire and let me help you take off your bonnet. There, that’s better, but your cap is awry, and I never thought to see you tousled.”

“One of the grooms was kind enough to bring me in the gig. Lady Farleigh does not keep another carriage and I could not like to borrow his lordship’s curricle. Such a sporting vehicle! The travelling carriage was gone, you see. His lordship and the captain left for London at dawn.”

Rowena nodded sadly. “I thought he would go with Bernard.”

“What happened, my love?”

“I don’t know.” She stood up again and restlessly paced the room. “There were a number of people there when I went down. He was on the other side of the room. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw his face. So stern and unhappy! He spoke scarce two words to me before he left. I hoped he might come back when there were no visitors, but when he did not, I knew he would go to London. I can only suppose that he really does love Millicent, that her betrothal was the cause of his distress.”

Rowena sank to her knees and buried her face in Miss Pinkerton’s skirts, though no tears came. “Oh, Pinkie, I did think he was beginning to care for me!”

“So did I, my dear.” Pinkie gently stroked her hair. “I trust that nothing I said raised your hopes above what was warranted. Lady Farleigh, too, fears that she may have encouraged you beyond reason.”

“It was he, his actions, his looks, that gave me encouragement. How could I have mistaken him so? And yet I cannot think him dishonourable. I saw what I wanted to see, I daresay. What a fool I have been!”

“He is the greater fool!” said Miss Pinkerton in indignation. “He’ll not find himself a better wife if he looks for a thousand years.”

Rowena stood up, went over to the table, and began to mend her pen. “I wish I could be gone before he returns. I cannot go on living so close. I expect my aunt and Sir Henry will not approve, but I have written to Mr. Harwin to ask him how to go about buying or renting a little farm. Will you come to live with me?”

“I should be grossly offended if I thought for a minute you doubted it, Rowena. A neat, small farm will be the very thing to occupy your mind. What a delightful notion!”

“You are not promised to Lady Farleigh?”