Beth Andrews (17 page)

‘I assure you, Uncle—’

‘I was the one who let them in,’ Cassandra confessed. ‘Nor do I regret it in the least. We have had the most fun! Have we not, Rosalind?’

‘Daughter!’ King Lear never looked so stupefied at the thanklessness of Cordelia. ‘Can I believe what I am hearing? After I read the letter which the uncle of this young jackanapes so kindly committed to me, I found it hard enough to believe that either of you could have been so foolish….’

He would undoubtedly have prosed on at much greater length, but was stopped by a commotion from the end of the hall. Someone was at the front door remonstrating with Debenham. The voice was clearly that of Julian Marchmont, and it was not difficult to discern that he intended to do whatever was necessary to gain admittance.

‘I must speak with Mr Woodford. I shall not leave until I have done so!’

An unintelligible response from Debenham was followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching. Debenham appeared in the drawing-room doorway, and had the pleasure of an audience which, though small, hung upon his every word. Alas, his words were few.

‘Mr Julian Marchmont desires—’

That was the full extent of his speech, for Julian had quietly followed behind him and could now be seen by those in the drawing-room. At the same moment, Debenham realized that he was not alone. This was what halted his announcement, which, in any case, was now superfluous. Mr Marchmont himself was about to declare his desires for himself.

‘How dare you enter this house, sir!’

Mr Woodford’s heroic stance would have gained applause at Govern Garden. He might have been the Commendatore’s statue stepping forward to drag Don Giovanni down to the nether regions. But Julian seemed unwilling to act the Don. He did not raise his voice, but his determination was evident to all.

‘Mr Woodford, sir,’ he said. ‘I beg you to hear me out before you evict me from your house.’

‘I fail to see, sir, what you can have to say which would in any way alter my intentions.’

‘I wish to explain—’

‘Your explanations,’ Mr Woodford said grandly, ‘are quite unnecessary. Your uncle’s letter laid bare your
scheme with remarkable clarity.’

‘My uncle’s letter?’ the younger man repeated, obviously mystified.

It was Rosalind who answered him this time.

‘Before you arrived in Buckinghamshire,’ she explained, ‘I received a letter from Sir Jasper Marchmont. It was directed to my uncle, but I had been instructed to open any correspondence which might arrive for him in his absence.’

For the first time Julian was made aware of the duplicitous nature of his uncle’s scheme. His astonishment and chagrin as Rosalind related the rest of her tale could not be doubted. It seemed as though the revelation had robbed him of the ability to speak, and he swallowed before he did so, as though clearing his throat of some obstruction.

‘I cannot deny,’ he ventured at last, ‘that my intentions when I came here were the very reverse of what is open and honorable. There is no defending the arrogance and heartlessness of such an enterprise.’

‘I am glad to see,’ Mr Woodford said, ‘that you are capable of expressing such sentiments, though I am far from being convinced that they are genuine. Your behavior thus far has been unlikely to produce any confidence in anything which you might either say or do.’

‘At least grant that I may be capable of more tender feelings than my conduct would indicate.’ Julian was looking down at the rich parquet flooring as he spoke, but he raised his head to continue. ‘If I cannot excuse what I have done, at least allow that I may be able to repent of it.’

Mr Woodford inclined his head in gracious acknowledgement that this might indeed be possible. Rosalind could see that he was wavering before responding to Julian’s words, and could almost read his mind at that moment. Should he offer a speech of gracious absolution for the young man’s sins? Should he deliver an oration on the dangers of pride, disdaining the young man’s plea for mercy and dismissing him from his sight forever? Which would have the most dramatic effect? It was a difficult decision. In the end, he must have decided that magnanimity was most suited to his situation — tempered by a short sermon on the dissipated habits of the younger generation, of course.

‘Far be it from me to withhold that degree of charity which all good Christian men should display in the face of such a petition.’ He paused to make a pontifical gesture. ‘I suppose that you are no worse than most of the fashionable fribbles which pollute the streets of town and have so lowered the moral tone of our Great Empire, even now sowing the seeds of our own future destruction.

‘At least you are man enough to stand and face those whom you have wronged, and to offer an apology — though perhaps too little and too late. Go on your way, and let me see no more of you.’

‘That I cannot do, sir,’ Julian answered.

‘What?’ This was clearly not the response which the older man had expected. This Marchmont fellow was definitely not playing the part as it should be done. This was the cue for his exit. Why did he linger?

‘I have a favor to beg of you, Mr Woodford — one which I do not deserve, admittedly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I wish to marry your daughter, sir. May I have your permission to pay my addresses to her?’

‘Yes! Yes, you may!’

This immediate and most gratifying response did not issue from the lips of Mr Woodford however, but from Cassandra.

‘Silence, girl!’ This was probably the harshest tone Mr Woodford had ever used to her in all her life. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, sirrah?’ he demanded next, addressing her suitor.

‘If it be madness to be deep in love,’ Julian said, ‘then yes, I have taken leave of my senses. For I am very much in love with your daughter.’

‘Oh, Julian!’

That Cassandra was much affected by this declaration was obvious to Rosalind. Her eyes might be sightless, but none could mistake the joy shining from them like a beacon. Her lips trembled and two tears, like cut crystal, dangled on the edge of each pink-tinged cheek. She had never looked so beautiful. It occurred to Rosalind that, in these few weeks, Cassandra had left her girlhood behind her and emerged as a young woman who knew what it was to love and to be loved.

That Mr Woodford was also much affected was equally plain. Pleasure, however, was not his dominant emotion. He was extremely angry at such brazen boldness. Where Cassandra had turned a delicate shade of pink, his face was bedecked in an unattractive shade of purple. The veins in his neck stood out like ropes, and she feared an attack of apoplexy.

‘By God, sir!’ he cried, forgetting his usual eloquence, ‘I’ve a good mind to thrash the life out of you! You dare to come here and ask me — ME — for my daughter’s hand? Get out of my house now, sir, while you still have two sound legs to stand on.’

‘I do not wish to offend one whom I hope will someday be my father-in-law,’ Julian answered, standing his ground, ‘but if your daughter loves me, sir, then nothing and nobody shall prevent me from making her my wife.’

‘Julian, I do love you!’ Cassandra cried impetuously. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

At this, the fierce look left the young man’s face, to be replaced by a tenderness which was unmistakable. Whatever his original intentions might have been in paying court to Cassandra, they were long forgotten. His love was real. Rosalind did not doubt it for an instant, incredible though it seemed.

‘You are both mad!’ Mr Woodford’s native Yorkshire brogue, which he generally took such pains to suppress, became much more pronounced. ‘Ye’d better mind yourself, me girl. I’ve no patience with such cantrips.’

Rosalind considered that it was time for her to intervene. What the result might be, she could not guess. But someone had to be rational if there was any chance for a happy resolution to this hobble in which they found themselves.

‘Uncle,’ she said calmly, ‘I think that you should consider carefully before you deny Mr Marchmont’s request.’

‘Eh?’ Mr Woodford looked both confused and dismayed at what he clearly perceived as an act of betrayal on the part of his niece.

‘Only consider, sir,’ she expanded upon her theme, ‘what an advantageous match this must be for Cassandra. Mr Marchmont comes from a family of impeccable lineage, in far more exalted circles than our own. Nor do you need to fear that he is after your daughter’s fortune, since his own is at least as great.’

A reluctant ‘harrumph’ was all the response she got from her auditor.

‘I believe that he is sincere in his devotion to Cassandra despite the inauspicious beginning to their acquaintance.’ She clenched her hands together, moving a step nearer to her uncle and ignoring the other two in the room. ‘She clearly loves him equally well. And should not her happiness be your greatest concern?’

There was a moment of silence. The two lovers waited breathlessly for his reaction to this.

‘But she is just a child!’ The father in him was very much in evidence, reluctant to part with his cherished image of a schoolroom miss at his knees.

‘I think not, sir,’ Rosalind told him, gently but firmly.

‘And have you forgotten her condition?’ He turned back to Julian. ‘Are you willing to bear the burden of having to care for her for the rest of her life? Can you accept what your friends and family will say?’

‘Sir,’ Julian Marchmont answered him without hesitation, ‘I can imagine no greater felicity than to care for and to cherish your daughter as long as we both shall live. My family will undoubtedly adore her, and anyone who would pity me, or slight her, is no friend of mine.’

‘It is hard for me to believe that such a man as you can make her happy,’ Mr Woodford protested. If his words lacked diplomacy, they compensated for it with refreshing honesty.

‘If I do not marry Julian,’ Cassandra told him, ‘I shall never be happy again. You have given me so much, Papa. Do not deny me the one thing that I want — nay, that I
need —
most.’

Julian was about to add his plea to Cassandra’s but stopped abruptly at a telling look from Rosalind. Reining in his passion, he proceeded more sedately.

‘I beseech you most humbly, sir,’ he requested, ‘not to take from me the hope that you will at least consider my offer, which I make with all my heart.’

With the three of them ranged against him, what could the poor man do?

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will think on it tonight, and let you know my decision tomorrow.’

They wisely refrained from any display of happiness at this victory. It would not do to antagonize the older man. Instead, Julian bowed and withdrew with no more than a loving glance at Cassandra and a smile of gratitude for Rosalind. Those two soon dismissed themselves as well, staying out of Mr Woodford’s way for the rest of the day.

* * * *

‘Oh, thank you, Lindy. Thank you!’ Cassandra embraced her friend as soon as they were alone together. ‘I did not expect you to become our champion.’

‘I do believe that he loves you,’ Rosalind admitted, ‘and I was not afraid to say so.’

‘But will it serve, do you think? Will Papa really give us his blessing?’

‘My uncle is no fool,’ Rosalind reminded her, ‘else he could not have become so wealthy in his business dealings. I think, once he considers the benefits of the match, he will come around.’

‘And we shall owe it all to you!’

‘Nonsense.’

‘I am so happy.’ Cassandra flung herself upon her bed and bounced up and down like a child. ‘I never dreamed that I should ever be married. Can it possibly be true?’

‘Miracles do happen, my dear — even today.’

‘But what of you?’ she asked, suddenly sober.

‘Do not worry about me.’ If her smile went somewhat awry, at least Cassandra could not see it. ‘I shall be an old maid, sitting quietly with my cat, and will make a fond aunt to your children.’

‘No.’ Cassandra shook her head decisively. ‘I am sure that you can do better than that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Rosalind conceded, trying for a lighter note. ‘After all, there may yet be a Mr Plummer in my future.’

In one thing, at least, Rosalind proved to be a reliable judge. On the following day Cassandra’s father summoned Julian to the abbey. He arrived with Mrs Plummer and Richard St George, to whom Mr Woodford was at last properly introduced. He received them with great cordiality, which Rosalind recognized at once as a most auspicious sign. She was almost positive now that he had perceived the good sense of her arguments and was prepared to accept the young man as a prospective son-in-law.

As confirmation of her suspicions, Mr Woodford soon requested that Mr Marchmont accompany him to his study for a few moments. This left the other four occupants of the room to pass the time in commonplace comments upon the weather, although all of them were almost certainly preoccupied with their own speculations as to the outcome of the discussion taking place within the study walls.

Cassandra was nervous and distracted, several times having to be called to task by Rosalind for ignoring some question or remark by the others. For her part, Rosalind directed her gaze steadily towards Mrs Plummer, trying unsuccessfully to forget the presence of her nemesis a few feet away.

‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’ Rosalind enquired of the lady.

‘Quite divine!’ Mrs Plummer was eager as ever to comment upon anything and everything. ‘A perfect day for a picnic — though not, perhaps, by the pond.’

‘That might be tempting fate, indeed,’ St George replied. He looked rather sour and his tone was more caustic than usual.

‘I have spent such an enjoyable visit,’ his cousin rhapsodized. ‘I am quite distressed to think of it ending.’

‘You are not leaving so soon?’ Rosalind asked, genuinely surprised.

‘Well,’ the older woman shrugged regretfully, ‘St George will be returning to Town tomorrow, and I am, after all, entirely at his disposal.’

‘We will miss you greatly,’ Rosalind said, and meant it.

‘And how I shall miss my new friends here in Buckinghamshire.’ Mrs Plummer reached across to take her hand. ‘Dear Miss Powell, you cannot guess how little your friendship has meant to me — and Miss Woodford too, of course! I trust that this will not be the first time we see each other again.’