Aunt Sophie's Diamonds (26 page)

"Not so dark as Mr. Blandings."

"Well, well.” This wanton encouragement led him to take a seat beside her on the sofa. “Your holiday is half up,” he said, thinking to use the brevity of her stay as an excuse for undue haste in his courtship.

"How I dread to leave!"

"Do you? Upon my word, you are kind to say so, Miss Milmont. I am delighted you have enjoyed your visit so much."

"I have never had such a good visit in my life,” she said with real feeling.

"You'll like it much better when the place is fixed up,” he assured her, with a wary eye scanning the dilapidation of the chamber.

"A little dust and fraying of carpets doesn't bother me. It is the
people
who have made the visit so enjoyable."

He could hardly believe the soft words of delight she was pouring into his ears. “Good of you to say so,” he said and took her hand in his. His eye fell on the emerald, and he automatically added three thousand to her dowry.

"It sinks me to have to think of leaving in a week,” she confessed, withdrawing her hand.

"I will have to be leaving myself very soon,” he told her, as a preface to getting on with the offer. “I'll be here but a few days longer, for they will be having a tough time getting on without me at the Guards. In these troubled times a soldier's hours are not his own. He cannot always stay where he would like to be, with the people he would like to be with."

"You must dread to leave, when you are eager to set your house to rights,” she commiserated.

"A woman's touch is what the place needs,” he said leadingly.

"It would be great fun to redo it, but it would require a deal of money,” Claudia remarked, looking around the shabby room.

By Jove, if he didn't forge ahead and make his offer, she'd be doing it herself. She shared his feelings on every point. He reached out again and grabbed her hand.

"Are you admiring my emerald?” she asked.

"No, I am admiring your pretty little fingers,” he returned smoothly.

"Why, Captain, how gallant you are become!” she laughed and looked once more to the window to see if Sir Hillary was on his way yet. He had, in fact, already cantered his mount round to the stables while they had been talking.

"Are you looking for someone in particular?” Jonathon asked.

"Sir Hillary said he would call on me this morning,” she admitted with an involuntary blush.

Tewksbury was already very well aware that he had a rival in Sir Hillary. Hadn't seen him dangle after a girl so obviously in his whole life. Which was another pretty good indication she was well greased, come to think of it. The likes of Thoreau wouldn't be marrying any penniless country wench. And Thoreau knew she would be leaving soon, too. Without further ado, he was on his knees at her feet, pouring out his heart, while she sat in speechless wonder, incapable of imagining what had gotten into him.

Sir Hillary, all unaware, came into the house the back way from the stable, pushed open the door of the Saloon, and stopped dead in his tracks. There on the sofa with her eyes like saucers sat Miss Milmont trying to disengage her hands from Jonathon's grasp, and he, with one red arm outstretched, knelt in mid-declaration. A satirical smile settled on Sir Hillary's countenance, and he stepped in, looking very much as he had on the first occasion Claudia had seen him.

"Is this interruption by any chance untimely?” he asked blandly.

"No!” and “Yes!” came from Claudia and Jonathon simultaneously.

"There seems to be a difference of opinion here, but one always accepts the word of a lady,” he said, advancing towards the embarrassed couple. “Pray, don't mind me, Jonathon. Go ahead with whatever you were doing. I seem to be always interrupting you in the middle of your activities, do I not?"

Jonathon gazed at him with open hatred. “I can't very well make an offer in front of a third party,” he said.

"You are too shy, my friend. Thinking it necessary to plant flowers by moonlight so no one would see you, and thinking it would disturb me in the least to overhear an offer in form. I don't mind at all. Go right ahead."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't,” the captain repeated.

"That is begging the question, surely. Shall I show you how?” Sir Hillary asked. He went to stand in front of Claudia beside Jonathon, who rose and began brushing the dust from his knees.

"I shan't bother to kneel, for I see you have made a shambles of your trousers. Standing will do for a rehearsal, though in a real offer kneeling is all the crack. You take the lady's right hand—so.” He took Claudia's hand in his, without once looking her in the face. “You had her
left
hand, Jonathon, the one with the emerald—didn't you notice? You take the right hand, unless you are left-handed, in which case I suppose—but never mind, you are not left-handed, nor is Miss Milmont. Next you assume a suitably ardent expression—a mixture of hope, love, and eagerness with something of eternal devotion thrown in if you can manage it, but still firm and manly. Humility has no part in this particular expression. That will come later after she has accepted. I think the facial expression really half the battle. When my time comes, I shall think of a particular trout that has eluded me these several seasons and imagine I am about to land him."

"Now see here, Thoreau,” the captain began, noticing a quivering of Claudia's lips that augured ill for putting her into a romantic mood.

"Why must I keep asking you to call me Hillary? Is it so hard to remember? You are impatient for me to get on to the spoken part, I expect. Very well, if you're sure you have appreciated the importance of the expression. You lift the lady's hand—hold still, darling—clear your throat once for effect, and say, ‘Miss Milmont—or Jones, or Smith, of course, as the case may be—will you do me the honor to be my wife?’ Some recommend an enunciation of one's own unworthiness first, but I intend to avoid that. No reason to point out the obvious. If the young lady has any wit she knows it, and if she hasn't, there is no need to cut the ground from under your own feet. So you make the offer—short and simple—and then you wait. It's time for
your
lines now, darling,” he said to Claudia, looking at her at last. It was a quizzical, penetrating glance, deep into her eyes. She was beyond speech.

"Do you need a little prompting, too?"

"No, she don't!” the captain said.

Hillary looked at Jonathon, then again at Claudia. “She does, you know. You can see she hasn't a notion how to reply. We are making you a proposal, darling. That means we are asking you to marry us.
You
must now say..."

"I know my part,” Claudia told him. “I shall be honored, sir, to accept your kind offer,” she said demurely, with the laughter lighting her eyes.

"That's pretty good,” Hillary complimented her. “Just a moment's hesitation might have taken that edge of eagerness from the acceptance, but for a first try..."

"What makes you think this is my first offer?” she asked.

"Surely it is your first
acceptance,"
he pointed out. “Otherwise you ought really to have said no. But you have been practicing up to say ‘yes,’ no doubt, to have your lines ready for the first man who asked you."

"Oh, you hateful creature!” she flashed out at him. He bowed solemnly with a flash of his sardonic smile and replied, “Mr. Talkative, of Prating Row."

"We'll speak of this another time, Miss Milmont,” the captain said and stomped from the room in vexation.

"There—he has given you fair warning this time, darling, and you can be ready with your ‘yes’ before he has half the question out."

She was amazed to see he was truly angry, for she had made sure he was funning the whole time. “Sir Hillary! You cannot think I meant to accept him!"

The hard look vanished from his eyes so quickly she thought she must have imagined it was ever there at all. “Oh, I don't know what you deserve for that performance,” she laughed.

"Kean would ask about fifty pounds, but as a good amateur I wouldn't ask more than the half of such a sum."

"What an abominable trick to play on that poor man."

"Never mind the man. Is that any way to thank me for rescuing you from your romantic quagmire? Or are you in the habit of letting him make love to you? I seem to recall your mentioning it on a former occasion."

"You know I was only joking. He never makes love to me, but he should have been allowed to make an offer in peace.''

"He will be the better for the lesson, and do the thing properly the next time."

"Yes, I
do
know what you deserve. A good thrashing! And I wish he would give it to you."

"I wish he would try,” Sir Hillary answered quietly and, hitching up the knees of his trousers, he sat down beside her.

"What can have gotten into him to do such a thing? I was never so shocked in my life."

"It seems so ungallant to suggest it was anything but your beautiful blue eyes, but the unworthy possibility will keep obtruding in my mind that he mistakes you for an heiress."

"How could he be so misguided? I haven't a penny."

"We have all mentioned that famous phrase ‘intervening year’ and wondered about its meaning. He has already had a go at Luane; I wonder if he thinks you might do as well, being also a niece. He could be right, for that matter."

"I can't make heads or tails of it. We were just talking about nothing at all, and all of a sudden he was on his knees."

"Sweet
nothings at all?” he asked.

"What? Oh, you idiot! Of course not. We were saying that we think mama will marry Mr. Blandings. He is come, by the way."

"Say no more!” Sir Hillary said, waving his hands in a graceful way that was always a pleasure for Claudia to behold. “He knows a good thing when he sees it. If it is true your mama is at last to capitulate and have the Trump, then that accounts for his keen interest in you. What an awful thing to say! It is not my own feeling, I think you know."

"It will make no difference to
me,"
she replied, noticing but not mentioning the latter part of his speech.

"You will likely stand to come into some of his blunt when he dies."

"He is young, and the healthiest looking man I ever saw. Besides, he won't leave a thing to
me.
He doesn't even know I am mama's daughter."

"I beg your pardon? Do you actually mean she is palming you off as her sister?"

"No, her stepdaughter!” Claudia replied, laughing brightly, but Sir Hillary fell into another scowl.

"You mustn't be angry with her. She dislikes to claim me as her own daughter, for then she would have to be so terribly old. Jonathon very nearly let the cat out of the bag last night. Oh, how I wished you were here, Sir Hillary! It was a famous visit."

"Did you, Claudia? Then I wish I had been here, too. Tell me all about it."

She told him about Jonathon's saying bluntly she
was
Marcia's daughter, adding, “And he never blinked an eye, though I think he tumbled to the truth on the instant. He is so shrewd, Sir Hillary, there is no keeping up to him. Made a million pounds, and with only two years wasted at school. Oh, and the best part, when he was shown my ring, he pulled a jeweler's glass out of his pocket and held my hand to the light, giving its weight as fifteen carats on the spot. I bet he is right, too."

"He's a wonderful fellow. I like him excessively."

"Do you know him quite well?"

"Only in a business way, but he would be quite an ornament to society if he cared to bother. He doesn't, which I think is why your mama is so slow in having him. She'd better step smartly if she wants him. There are a dozen pretty chicks on the catch for him."

"Jonathon says they were holding hands, so I think she must have accepted at last, and very likely he has to get Sophie's diamonds to win her."

"No, he doesn't mean to do that."

"You cannot know it."

"Oh, yes, we had a charming visit last night."

"So
he
was out carousing with you!” she said.

"Carousing?” he looked at her blankly, causing a blush to suffuse her face. “Where on earth did you get that idea? We were merely discussing the case."

"Loo said very likely that was why you slept in so late this morning, and why Gabriel didn't get up to see her. She was mad as a hornet."

"You didn't heed my warning to disregard her slanders against me,” he smiled. “I knew how it would be. I couldn't believe my eyes this morning when I came downstairs and saw he hadn't had the sense to go up and say good-by to her while I slept. He thought to bludgeon me into letting him stay till Monday by that ruse, but it backfired. I hauled him right over to Maldon and put him on the coach. A close-run thing it was, too, to make it."

"Didn't he leave her any message or letter?"

"No, deep into the sulks, and hardly said a word. But you can fabricate all sorts of tender messages to lull the brat into peace. I suppose she's been raising an almighty dust, has she?"

"She went straight to her room, and I must own I was relieved to be rid of her."

"She'll be scribbling him off a blast of a letter, libeling me as the villain of the peace. They correspond regularly. Well, they are as good as engaged, and there can be no harm in it."

"It must be a splendid pastime for her. I love writing my letters to mama. It makes it seem as though you have a friend when you have someone to write to, and sometimes they answer you, too."

Every word the girl uttered about her mother threw him into a spasm of anger, but he was aware of the uneven relationship between them by this time, and said nothing.

"And now I will have Luane to write to as well,” she finished up.

"Have you given up the idea of being her abigail then?” he asked, surprised.

"I
given up? It is no such a thing. You didn't mean a word of what you said, and I know it perfectly well. I knew it was just talk."

"Claudia, my dear,” he said, a little angry as well as surprised, “that is not a very nice thing to say to me. I know it means a great deal to you, and I have every intention of carrying our plan through. You cannot have forgotten, I hope, that I mentioned there were some strings attached to it."