The Lady Next Door (27 page)

Latteridge sat very still listening to her earnest attempt to explain Louisa’s motivations, the sunlight catching only the highlights of her features as she sat turned slightly toward him. He was tempted to trace the line of her jaw with his finger, the skin looked so smooth and clear. “She’s never been frivolous, though she has a delightful sense of humor. Don’t you think, though, that she might find some worthy peer, who took a special interest in politics or agriculture or the like who could appeal to her?”

“I suggested as much, and all I can say is that she convinced me that it would never be the same again. You’ve seen them together. They have a sort of magical understanding of one another, and I truly believe that she isn’t the least concerned with the things that you or I or Dr. Thorne think should alarm her. It’s not as though they will be poverty-stricken or entirely abandoned by the ton. Lady Louisa is a charmer, and she is likely to be in demand whether she marries a professional man or not. There is, of course, the possibility that she will not stand up well to the more gruesome aspects of his calling.”

He shook his head mournfully. “No such luck, I fear. You should have seen how cool she was when he treated Harry’s sword wound.”

“Sword wound?”

“Harry’s ‘accident’ was a duel. The poor devil caught one of his friends cheating at cards and was so shocked that he let it be known. Lord, how trying it is to be young! So you think it is useless to hope Louisa will recover sufficiently from this attachment to find someone who suits her as well?”

“Yes. I’m sorry if it grieves you,” Marianne said gently.

“Oh, it doesn’t really grieve me, though Mother will take a great deal more convincing, I fear. I suppose I have known all along that it had gone too far, which was partially my own fault. Just the other day I was thinking that it seemed almost impudent to interfere, they are so perfectly in accord. And the devil of it is, I like Thorne tremendously.” His fingers tapped absently on his leg in a motion she had seen before when he was deep in thought. “Well, I shall give them my blessing."

“Lady Louisa is concerned that she hasn’t actually been asked.”

Latteridge laughed. “She’s a determined little puss; I don’t doubt she’ll find a way to get him to propose, but if not, I’ll speak with him.”

They were silent for a while, Latteridge watching her face and Marianne steadfastly staring at the carved wooden knife box. He observed, “William seemed to think that Mr. Deighton wished to carry your aunt off with him.”

“Yes, she’s agreed. He’s an old beau, you know.”

There was an awkward pause, since he really had no intention of asking her if she planned to go with them, or what she did intend to do. He stood and walked to the table, straightened a chair and returned to stand in front of her. “I don’t know why this should be so difficult, except that I have the feeling you’re prepared to refuse me. I can see it is those gloriously expressive eyes. Do you know they were what first attracted me to you? On the way home from the river that day your smile seemed to dance back and forth between them and your lips. Not that your lips are any less appealing, you know.

“Really, Lord Latteridge,” she said, flushing, “I must protest.”

“It is perfectly all right to quibble on the small matters, if you will only allow me my way on the most important. If you have not surmised my errand, I am come to induce you to marry me. Please,” he hastened to add, holding up an admonitory hand, “don’t say anything just yet. You must allow me to present my case before you say anything rash. I can think of any number of reasons for you to turn me down, and I intend to dispose of them one by one. Will that do?”

His eyes were suspiciously merry but Marianne was too tightly drawn to respond in kind. “I’m afraid you couldn’t, sir. Don’t think I’m not honored. I . . ."

“Please. A few minutes should suffice. Won’t you spare me such a small segment of your time? I’ve allowed you as much in Louisa’s defense.”

“I . . . . For your own sake. .

“Good. Now, where shall I start? With your reputation, I think, since it seems to most upset you. I am not in the least concerned with it, my dear. As my wife you would find that any rumblings ceased. There is nothing quite so respectable as marrying a title, you know, and I think I do not delude myself that I am more than a match for any of the gossips. In fact, I would be very put out if you refused me on the grounds of your reputation being a handicap to me; that would indicate you have insufficient faith in my social prowess.”

“Heaven forbid I should so slight you,” she murmured.

“Precisely. Now we should consider my brother and sisters. All three, I know, would be delighted with the match. Louisa already knows my intention; Susan was
aux anges
with my . . . ah . . . carefully worded impression of you. Harry is already your devoted servant. He, by the by, has decided to keep himself out of trouble by forming a partnership of sorts with your Mr. Geddes for the promotion of the various inventions. That leaves only Mother.”

“Only . . ."

Latteridge thrust his hand in a pocket and withdrew a sealed sheet. “This, I hope, will make some amends for her treatment of you. Of course, there is the chance that she has not kept her word, but I have placed my trust in her. Her trouble is an inability to admit fault, not an uncommon failing, but unfortunately carried to an extreme. And an almost definitive sense of pride. Still, she has many excellent qualities, which very few people have observed, I know, but they are there all the same.”

Unable to force her shaking hand to reach for the sheet, Marianne allowed him to break the seal and hold it for her, so that she could read it but he could not. It was not a particularly long message but it caused her throat to ache and her eyes to shine with unshed tears.

“Is it . . . adequate?” he asked, alarmed by her emotion.

Marianne took the sheet, folded it and slipped it in the bosom of her gown. “More than adequate.”

Relieved, he reseated himself beside her and could not resist asking, “I think we are making excellent progress, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There is no need to say anything as yet, my dear. I had intended, before Mr. Deighton arrived, to suggest that your aunt live with us, but obviously that is out of the question now. Though you will miss her, I cannot but believe you are pleased for her. Do you think she would object to your marrying me? Perhaps my mother’s note will provide some solace to her.”

“She wouldn’t object, anymore.”

"Then there are, as I see it, only two objections which can possibly remain. I have written to your father to advise him of my desire to address you. Of course, there was no reason to expect him to reply and you are under no legal or moral obligation to have his permission, considering his treatment of you. And I cannot say that I wrote him out of anything more than courtesy, which is hardly owing him. However . . .“ He paused at her bleak expression and took her hand. “However, this morning I had a letter from him.”

Her startled eyes flew to his. “Is he well?”

“Apparently he is suffering from the gout at present, but it sounds a temporary ailment, though periodic for him. His permission is granted for the match, which he expects you will not be so foolish as to reject,” he told her ruefully, holding fast to her hand when she attempted to withdraw it. “Also, he promises to settle the estate on you and your children and to grant the dowry which he had proposed if you had married your cousin. You might like to read his letter to me, but most assuredly you will wish to read that addressed to you.”

He dug again in his pocket and handed her the slim, sealed missive before rising and walking to the other end of the room where he stayed some time with his back to her. When he heard the rustle of her skirts he turned to find her approaching him, a smile on her lips. “And is your father’s letter . . . adequate?”

“Yes.”

“And you are satisfied with the arrangements he would make for a dowry?”

“Yes.”

“They aren’t necessary, you know, but I’m glad they ease your mind. Now, Marianne, to my way of thinking there can be but one remaining objection.”

“And what is that?”

"That you do not, and feel you never could, love me. Before I met you I was intrigued by the things I heard about you. When I met you I was beguiled by your resourcefulness, your sense, and your unusual feeling for the absurd. As I have come to know you . . . well, I could list the virtues which I cherish, but that wouldn’t really explain why I feel as I do, would it? I can only tell you that I love you, have loved you practically from the moment we met, and I want to share the rest of my life with you.”

“I couldn’t possibly object to that,” Marianne confessed, her eyes sparkling.

“Couldn’t you? Excellent! Then I hope you won’t object to this,” he retorted, drawing her into his arms.

Copyright  © 1981 by Elizabeth Rotter

Originally published by Fawcett Coventry

Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.