Beth Andrews (18 page)

‘The day is indeed fine,’ St George said, attempting to stem the flooding tide. ‘A stroll in the garden would not go amiss.’

‘An excellent idea!’ Cousin Priscilla rose at once. ‘Alas that it should be our last together. Such larks as we have had….’

Here she broke off her effusions, for the other two gentlemen had returned. The glow of Julian’s countenance told Rosalind everything she needed to know. Her uncle beamed upon them also, in self-satisfied serenity.

‘Cassandra, my dear,’ he announced, ‘I believe that Mr Marchmont wishes to have a word with you in private.’

‘Of course!’ She almost flew up from her seat. ‘Shall we use your study, sir?’

‘Surely there is no need,’ St George said smoothly. ‘We were just planning to enjoy the gardens, which are quite enticing on such a day. Stay where you are, and we shall remove ourselves forthwith.’

* * * *

To the surprise of the quartet which ventured out of doors, the sun was no longer shining. A light breeze had sprung up which, if it did not exactly shake ‘the darling buds of May’, at least ruffled the delicate blooms of August. Low grey clouds spread out across the sky like spilt water on a polished blue table.

Whether by contrivance or by chance, Rosalind found herself partnered by St George while her uncle was fully engaged with Mrs Plummer. In a very few minutes, St George’s faster pace had separated them a considerable distance from the dilatory tread of the older couple. In fact, they arrived at the cloisters where their very first meeting had taken place. Rosalind wondered whether she would ever behold this particular place without remembering that momentous occasion.

Thus far they had not spoken. This was unusual enough, for they never met but what they bandied words about like tennis balls. His silence was strangely ominous, threatening a thunderbolt. Never had she seen his brow so darkly furrowed, his eyes so hard and cold. Still he did not speak, and the silence unnerved her so that she felt she must say something — anything! — or go mad.

‘So you are leaving the country, then,’ she remarked.

‘My reason for being here is now at an end.’

‘And what reason was that?’

‘Your seduction, of course.’ He did not flinch, did not offer an apology. The words were uttered with complete unconcern.

‘You retire in defeat?’ How she got the words out without choking, she did not know.

‘I was unaware that you were well informed of our intentions even before we arrived.’

‘Julian has told you of his uncle’s letter.’ It was a statement, not a query.

He did not deny it. ‘It seems,’ he said, with some degree of self-mockery, ‘that while we thought ourselves to be playing a deep game, you and Miss Woodford were playing an even deeper one.’

‘Sir Jasper acted somewhat the part of a guardian angel, in fact.’

‘I would not impute to him so altruistic a motive.’ His chuckle was not one of amusement, but rather of incredulity.

‘What do you mean, sir?’

In their perambulation, they had now arrived at the small arbor with the armillary where Rosalind had come so perilously near the precipice of her own wayward desires. He drew away from her and stepped around so that once again they faced each other across it. There was no beguiling moonlight now, but only the harsh rays of the sun, interrupted now and then by the passing of clouds overhead and the distant rumble of thunder.

‘From what I have heard,’ St George told her, ‘it would appear that Julian’s uncle acquainted you with all the details of our little wager — with one notable exception.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He neglected to tell you that it was he himself who proposed the wager and told us about the forbidding abbey and its beautiful but mysterious inhabitants.’

‘What!’

Rosalind could not deny that she was both shocked and appalled at this revelation. The man who had represented himself as the defender of their virtue and the upholder of pious morality was himself the one who had helped to bring this calamity upon them. It was incredible! Yet she did not doubt that what St George had told her was the truth. After all, now that she considered the matter, it was certainly odd that they should be using the man’s home for their schemes. Knowing of it, he could easily have forbidden them to stay there. Why had that never occurred to her before? Not that it would have made any difference, she supposed. Their behavior would have been the same in any event.

‘So you see, you were not quite so clever after all, my dear dragon - were you?’

‘I never pretended to be clever.’ She lifted her chin and looked straight at him. ‘Whatever I said or did was only what I thought best to protect myself and Cassandra from two men who were known to be rakes. That much I would have done even had I never received the letter.’

‘Nevertheless, it seems that you had an unfair advantage over us.’

‘Instead of the unfair advantage which you and Julian should have had over
us
?’

‘Exactly so.’

‘At least, since Sir Jasper was not entirely honest with you, I would imagine that the wager is now forfeit. Though you may have lost, you are not obliged to pay.’

‘True.’ His lip curled slightly. ‘Trust a woman to think of such a thing. It had not even crossed my mind.’

‘I suppose that you are too wealthy yourself for it to matter.’

‘Indeed.’

There was silence again for several moments. The wind picked up, blowing the ribbons of her bonnet across her throat. She pushed them back, but to no avail. They returned again immediately.

‘At least Cassandra has not been hurt,’ she said at last. ‘And Julian seems content with the outcome of his adventure.’

‘I wish them both very happy.’ But he did not sound like it.

‘His
feelings, at least, were not entirely feigned.’ Try as she might, she could not keep the hint of bitterness out of her voice.

‘No,’ he confessed. ‘Though none of us, I think, can surpass your own performance.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘That night, here in the garden,’ he reminded her. ‘You were quite superb, you know. Even with my own considerable experience of females, I was convinced that you cared for me. Believe me, Miss Powell, you are quite wasted here. You should be on the stage.’

‘Thank you.’ Her heart felt as though it had just been trampled under his feet, but she would die rather than let him see it. ‘I did not suspect the extent of my own talents until you came here.’

‘It has been a most  enlightening experience.’

‘I hope that you have learnt something by it.’

‘Only that no man can match a woman when it comes to deceit.’

‘Of that I am not so certain.’

* * * *

Inevitably, their tête-à-tête was interrupted — and, as it happened, by the same voice which had ended their previous encounter.

‘There you are!’ Mrs Plummer cried. ‘Mr Woodford is so knowledgeable about agriculture. He was telling me all about cultivating roses. Alas, it is all one to me! But certainly the gardens here are most delightful. I could leave here forever, and never wonder of seeing its tires.’

While the others tried to decipher this last sentence, they all began to move towards the house. They soon made their way back to the drawing-room, where they discovered the couple (who could now be described as officially engaged) seated side by side on the sofa.

‘Are congratulations in order?’ St George asked his friend, with a raised brow.

‘I am the happiest man alive!’ Julian assured him.

What followed was the usual round of questions and felicitations. The ladies congregated on one side of the room and the men gathered on the other.

At last the most interesting subject was exhausted and the party from the lodge took their leave. Standing in the doorway with her uncle and Cassandra, Rosalind watched the barouche drive away. Tomorrow Richard St George would return to London. But certainly this was the last she would ever see of him. He swept out of her life as swiftly as he had swept into it. But how long, she wondered, would it be before she could banish him from her thoughts, or from her heart?

As it happened, Julian requested that Mrs Plummer remain with him at the lodge until the wedding. She would be of great help to both himself and Cassandra during this brief period of their betrothal. Since the family at the abbey did not attend church — one of the things which had helped to fuel the fires of gossip in the village — it was decided not to have the banns published in the usual manner. Instead, Julian would travel to London to obtain a Special Licence.

The Woodfords had once employed a retired clergyman as their unofficial chaplain, who conducted services in the small lady chapel which was all that remained of the original abbey church. The old man had gone on to his reward some three years previously, and the services had ceased, although Mr Woodford read prayers in the chapel each Sunday when he was at home and the girls would generally choose one or two hymns to sing in honour of the Lord’s Day.

The strong influence of the Evangelicals did not lead the family to look very kindly upon the Established Church. It was therefore a Herculean task to find anyone to conduct the wedding service for them. After some extensive enquiries round about the neighboring county, Julian eventually discovered a Methodist minister in a nearby town. The Reverend Austen Jenkins listened sympathetically as the young man explained the peculiar circumstances of his bride and her family, and expressed himself as being very pleased to consecrate their vows on a date to be determined by the parties concerned.

‘Did you explain to Reverend Jenkins how you came to meet your betrothed?’ Rosalind asked him, when he arrived at the abbey with his good news.

‘I did not,’ he answered simply. ‘I am not a complete nodcock, you know. I wanted the man to marry us, not send me to the Devil!’

* * * *

One of the strangest incidents over the course of the next fortnight was the return of Julian’s uncle. Having now been fully informed as to the extent of his involvement in the whole sordid business which had brought Julian and St George into their small circle, it was with mixed emotions that Rosalind, Cassandra and Mr Woodford anticipated his introduction. It could not now be avoided, but it could yet be dreaded.

Julian arranged all by persuading his uncle to invite the party from the abbey to dine with them at the lodge one evening. That it would be awkward was beyond question; but, as the saying goes, “What cannot be cured, must be endured.” The man was to be connected to them whether they approved of him or not, and, as Rosalind pointed out with her usual common sense, if they could forgive the nephew for his part, they could hardly refuse to pardon the uncle for instigating the affair. After all, his was only the suggestion; the performance depended upon others, who might easily have refused if their pride had not eclipsed their morals.

To everyone’s surprise, they found Sir Jasper’s charm to be quite irresistible. It was clear that Julian had inherited the most disarming qualities of his relation; Rosalind could only hope that the younger Marchmont was more respectable. She could not help but be entertained by Sir Jasper’s wit and engaging manners, but suspected that his morals were rather less firm.

After dinner, she enjoyed an unexpected few minutes of private conversation with him, while Julian and Cassandra flirted and whispered on a sofa and Mrs Plummer distracted her uncle with more outrageous tales of her late unlamented husband.

‘It seems, Miss Powell,’ Sir Jasper commented, eyeing the young couple with a kind of detached approval, ‘that all’s well that ends well.’

‘Even if it is not precisely the outcome which you anticipated,’ she remarked with gentle sarcasm.

‘On the contrary.’ He turned his gaze back towards her with a twinkle in his eye. ‘This is very much what I expected, with one notable exception.’

‘And what is that?’ She could not help but be curious.

‘That you are not yet engaged to my old friend, Richard St George.’

She stiffened immediately. ‘I cannot conceive what you can mean by such a remark, sir.’

‘Come, come, my dear child.’ His look was far too knowing for her taste. ‘It seems to me that you are just the sort of woman who could bring that hound to heel. I have been awaiting the announcement these three weeks or more.’

‘Then you wait in vain, sir.’

‘Would you care to wager on that?’

‘You are far too apt to wager, Sir Jasper — particularly upon the lives of others. Are we merely pawns in some game?’

If she meant to discomfit him, she did not succeed. He smiled slyly and, if anything, seemed to take her remark as some kind of compliment.

‘I must admit,’ he said, ‘that my fellow creatures provide me with endless amusement.’

‘And if someone should be hurt in the course of your schemes?’

‘There is that, of course.’ He shrugged carelessly. ‘But we must all take our chances in the game of life. Some win, some lose, and some make fools of themselves to no purpose. I am a mere spectator, and I think that observing you and St George will provide me a pleasant diversion for some time to come.’

‘Forgive me if I do not find it quite so droll as you do.’

‘You are angry.’ He shook his head in mock sadness. ‘But remember that the game is not over yet. As in a horse race, my dear, many come from behind to pass the finish line in first place.’

* * * *

Rosalind did not feel like a winning entry. She felt sad and lonely and hopelessly confused. How could she harbor tender feelings towards someone like Richard St George? It was madness. Yet something had gone out of her life along with him. He had stolen her peace of mind, tricked her into compromising her deepest convictions, and now fled with a rather large portion of her heart. Why was it that something inside of her still cherished the absurd belief that he was not what he seemed: that there was yet a heart beneath that carefully contrived exterior of cold calculation? Even after his vindictive appraisal of her that last day at the abbey, there was something — not precisely hope, but not entirely divorced from it — which taunted her with foolish fancies which were all but impossible to be true.