Elisabeth Kidd (23 page)

He looked at her as if he did not comprehend the question, then
smiled and admitted that if he were, his destination had gone quite out of his head.

“Yes, I was decidedly taken aback myself. We should not be so surprised,
I suppose—and we may perhaps be reading too much into the incident—
but it did seem to you, did it not, that we have been got rid of like a pair of
unwanted visiting relations?”

“We were, indeed. Well, since there is no help for it, shall we take a
drive? Not long enough, of course, to give rise to too much speculation
in the household about my father’s sudden business here!”

Antonia agreed and sent a maid for her bonnet and shawl. “I should
prefer to walk, however. Would you be good enough to escort me back to
Mount Street, Charles?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

They had not gone more than a few steps on their way, however, before
Antonia perceived that walking had not been such a happy notion after
all. It was a bright, sunny day and all of London, it seemed, was abroad in
it. A number of ladies—and worse, gentlemen—of her acquaintance
waved at her from their carriages, and courtesy obliged her to return
their greetings. Although he was unacquainted with the majority of
these persons, Charles nodded his head graciously at them just the same,
gratified for Antonia’s sake—he told her—that she was so warmly acknowl
edged by members of, apparently, only the highest Ton.

“I fear I do not understand you, Charles. I’m certain I have told you
that Isabel has received any number of such callers.”

“Ah, yes, but—you will forgive me, my dear—but they were calling on
Isabel, were they not? It has not been clear to me until now that you have
attracted such callers for your own sake, which indicates that your—
perhaps I should even say our—past indiscretions have been forgiven us. You must have noticed that I have been reluctant to accompany you in
public, but this has been solely for fear of reminding the world of our last appearance together. Now I confess that it gratifies me wonderfully to see
that my scruples were groundless.”

Antonia had been about to make the same observation to him, rather
more forcefully. She had had the uneasy suspicion that he was about to
congratulate her on her rehabilitation into Society, but then his disarm
ing assumption of the blame in the case had stopped her. Then, too, had
her own efforts not been to effect this very change in her status? She held
her tongue, therefore, and, finding it difficult to address any other
subject with aplomb, said nothing at all else. Charles’s steps slowed to a
stroll, and although she attempted to hurry him along it was several
minutes before they arrived at Mount Street.

“May I come in for a moment?” he asked her, since she made no move
to invite him to do so. As she could offer no plausible excuse to refuse,
she agreed, and they entered the empty house. No footman was about—nearly all the servants being employed in decorative duties in Cavendish
Square—so Charles removed his own hat when Antonia showed him into
the gold drawing room. She seated herself opposite him and, suddenly
attacked by nerves, embarked on a voluble conversation as uncharacteristic
as her previous reticence had been. It was Charles who this time replied only in monosyllables as she chattered on, until at last he cut her short by
rising suddenly and facing her.

“Antonia!”

Something urgent in his low voice compelled her to be still and listen
to him, but for a few minutes he remained silent, too, his brow knit.

“Yes, Charles?” she prompted him.

“Antonia—”

She folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him expectantly. She could imagine what he was about to say, but although she was coward enough almost to wish it not said at all, she could not help but be moved
by the emotion which seemed so foreign to him, but which was now so
touchingly close to the surface. At last, he took a deep breath and
plunged into the heart of the matter.

“Antonia, you may have wondered—not that I expected you to give me
more than a passing thought—but you may perhaps have thought it odd
or uncivil in me not to have written more—no, not that, for I have
several times addressed you most improperly by letter—but at the least
come to see you during these past years, particularly in view of our
former...attachment.”

“Not at all,” she assured him gently. “Indeed, I was both astonished and grateful—considering my unforgiveable behaviour at the time—to
find you had not forgotten me, buried in the country as I have been. You
have had so many more important matters to occupy you—”

“No, no, not more important! At least, only in that they served to
distract me during that period when I could not allow myself to think of
you—of us—very often. As for your, ah
...
impulsiveness, I had long
since forgiven what could only be put down to a young girl’s romantic fancies. I knew that, with maturity, you, too, would see those fancies for what they were. But while Carey was away from home, and you were
Isabel’s guardian and solely responsible for the management of your
brother’s estate, I could not presume to impose myself upon you.”

“That could never be the case, Charles. You must know that.”

“Well, yes—I did know it. I knew that you would never think badly of
me, but the fact is that I thought badly of myself. With time for reflexion,
I came to see that I must be able to offer you more than a mouldering pile
of a house and neglected lands, more than just—myself!”

“Charles…”

“No, let me finish. I might not have the courage after a moment’s
hesitation. You deserve so much more than I could have offered you six
years ago, Antonia. You, with your beauty and kind heart, deserve to
have all of London at your feet, to command every luxury, every attention.
Oh, not just such extravagances as Cloris Beecham talks of constantly,
but a way of life that puts you at its centre, as is only just, and provides
you with everything not just for your physical comfort, but for your
happiness as well. I could not ask you even four years ago, when Anthony
died, to choose between what I could offer you then, and your duty to
Wyckham and to Isabel. I know what your choice must have been.”

Antonia was more than willing to disclaim any desire for fame and
fortune, but she could not be certain that she would not have made this
last choice precisely as he said. She was silent.

“I shall never be truly worthy of you, Antonia, but now that my
circumstances are so much improved, I must, as they say, seize the
initiative. I shall speak to Carey as soon as he comes home, which must
be any day now. I have no doubt you will have more flattering offers—
indeed, you must already have had more than one, but
...”

He paused for a moment, and then seized her hands and finished, a
little breathlessly, “Antonia, if devotion and a desire above all else to
please you carry any weight, these I can offer you. Will you take my poor
self along with them?”

“Oh, Charles, how can you be so...idiotish!” she said, her voice
failing her and giving way to a tremulous laugh as she thought, for no
reason at all, of how much less heartfelt Charles’s words sounded beside those Lord Kedrington had uttered in jest. “Indeed, it is not very becoming in you to claim to hold yourself in so little esteem, and then to offer
yourself to me as the best bargain I shall be able to make!”

He looked stricken and, realising that, unlike Kedrington, Charles might take this literally, she hastened to reassure him. “Now you are
being absurd, Charles! As if I should ever believe you unworthy! I have
always held you in esteem and—no, that is not the case at all. I adored
you as a child, loved you as a girl, and now
...
oh, Charles, I hope you
will not think me entirely idiotish to say I am afraid to say yes to you now
simply because I cannot imagine a higher state of happiness with you
than I have already known?”

He hesitated, not unnaturally puzzled, until she smiled and clasped
the hand that still held hers more tightly, as if in reassurance. He took
the hint.

“Am I to understand that you wish a little more time to consider my
offer?”

“Yes!” she replied eagerly. “I mean, it is only that...that I must be
quite certain I can truly make you happy.”

He smiled, contented. “How can I refuse you, my dear? But will
you—that is, how shall I know when to appeal to you once more?”

“Dearest Charles, I assure you that I shall not force you to repeat all
the pretty speeches you have made me today. I know how difficult they
must have been for you. I shall make my feelings known to you as soon as
I am easy in my own mind about what they are.”

He appeared to consider this and find it satisfactory. Then at last, he did exactly as he ought and took her in his arms.

Afterward Antonia could not, for all her efforts, recall precisely what
it was that had made her hesitate to accept Charles’s offer. And it was
very little time before she forgot her hesitation entirely and told him
what he wanted to hear.

They were to dine in Mount Street before the theatre that evening, and
Charles went away only long enough to collect his father and change into
his evening clothes. This gave Antonia, too, only enough time to search out her most becoming gown and to have Esme arrange her hair with
Charles’s latest bunch of lilies-of-the-valley in it. Any doubts that may
have lingered in the back of her mind were dispelled temporarily by her
natural feminine pleasure in being adored, so that when they set forth for
Drury Lane later that evening, Antonia was in high good looks and
Charles glowed with pride at having her at his side.

The production was an excellent one, and by the first interval, Antonia
was entranced, forgetting that it was not at all the thing to take more interest in what was happening on the stage than in the activities of the persons in neighbouring boxes.

“Do you know,” she said to Charles, “I have never believed that
Gloucester could have been as black as Shakespeare painted him, but Mr
Kean has quite convinced me that he was. When he said, ‘I am determined to prove a villain,’ I quite trembled for the safety of the realm!”

Charles agreed. “One would not have thought a man of such mean
stature and unprepossessing countenance could project such horror. It is
undoubtedly a triumph.”

He continued in this vein for some moments, and Antonia found
herself, since little further was required of her in the way of conversation,
glancing abstractedly around the theatre. It was then she saw that a box
across from them which had been empty when the curtain rose was now
occupied. She recognised Miss Hester Coverley, Octavian Gary—and
Viscount Kedrington, who appeared not to have noticed her at all, for all
that they had not encountered one another for more than a week. Then,
with an inexplicable chilling sensation in the region of her heart, Antonia
looked at the young woman with whom the viscount was absorbed in conversation.

She was somewhat younger than Antonia, with a slightly foreign look,
masses of black ringlets, and the clear, delicate complexion of one who
has been sheltered all her life from both the natural elements and the
ravages of the Beau Monde. It occurred to Antonia that this must be the mysterious lady whom Kedrington had been disinclined to acknowledge
in Hyde Park—this time without her veil. She could now be seen to be
rather too dark of complexion and short of stature to be considered a
beauty. It was, rather, the adoring expression in the wide green eyes and
the glowing smile on the full mouth which seemed never to open in
speech—so intent was she on what her companion was saying—that made her beautiful.

Antonia remembered in a rush, if for no particular reason, all the
foolish things she had ever said to Kedrington—all the bantering words which had never seemed less clever than they did now in comparison to
his present companion’s serene, silent adoration—and suddenly the evening seemed not so delightful after all. Antonia turned her eyes away
from the viscount’s box and did not look that way again.

During the next act, she concentrated her attention on the stage, but
her mind failed to take in what was happening on it. When the curtain
was rung down for the second interval, Imogen expressed a desire for a breath of air, rose from her seat, and left through the draperies separating
them from the corridor, pulling Philip along behind her.