The Reluctant Widow (38 page)

“As you wish,” he said indifferently.

She was surprised, for she had expected him to argue the matter and had braced herself to resist his persuasions. After another slight pause she said, “I do beg you will agree to let me leave Highnoons at once, sir. You are aware of my situation. I must look about me for an

eligible engagement, and it will not do for me to be lingering on in this way.” “Mrs. Macclesfield,” he murmured. “I thought we should return to her.” She laughed. “No, alas! I fear my credit with Mrs. Macclesfield cannot be high! But do be serious, sir! I dare say it may be many months before a purchaser is found for Highnoons, and then what shall I do, with so much time wasted?”

“I have considered that, ma’am, and if you should not like to return for a space to your own relatives I think it would be an excellent scheme for you to go on a visit to my sister, Lady Hartlepool. You will like her, I fancy. She has a sweetness of disposition which must always please. I do not suggest that you should go to Lady Flint, for she is expecting to be confined. And my sister Augusta is forever racketing about town in a way that would hardly be proper for you during the period of your mourning. My sister Elizabeth will be visiting me shortly, and if I may do so I will bring her to make your acquaintance.”

“But—but does Lady Hartlepool require a governess?” asked Elinor. “Oh, no! Her children are all still in the nursery.”

“Then—My lord, I do not know what scheme you may have in your head, but—” “I hope you will think better of this determination to seek another post as governess.” “Well, I shall not, I assure you, sir! I told you once before that I would not become your pensioner, and I beg of you to believe that I meant it!”

“I hope that you will become my wife,” he replied, with all his usual calm. She was stricken to silence and was aware of nothing but the hammering of her heart in her chest.

He continued after a moment, “I should not be making such a declaration to you yet, but I think my sentiments cannot be unknown to you.”

“Quite—quite unknown, my lord!” she said in a voice which did not seem to be her own. “I have tried to conceal them. It is too soon, and I would not upon any account embarrass you. But when the period of your strict mourning is over it is my very ardent desire to be permitted to pay my addresses to you.”

She could only say: “It is absurd! I am persuaded this is one of your whimsical turns, my lord!”

“My whimsical turns! No, indeed! I was never more serious in my life. You are the only woman I could think of asking to be my wife. You must be aware, at least, that I have found no common delight in your company.”

“No! No, no, I had not the least notion—Oh, pray do not, my lord! This is some chivalrous conceit! You cannot mean it!”

He sounded amused. “My dear child, when have you ever known me indulge in such romantic folly as a chivalrous conceit? Indeed, my fear is that my overbearing, self-willed ways may have given you a distaste of me which not all my future efforts may serve to eradicate. Is it so?”

“No,” said Elinor. “Oh, no! But—”

He found her hand and raised it to his lips. “Well, I have used you quite abominably, but I will not do so any more. I mean to take the greatest care of you, if you will let me.” She was obliged to hunt hurriedly in her reticule for her handkerchief. Trying to speak in a collected way, she said, “It will not do! You are so very obliging, my lord, but do, pray, consider!”

“I have already considered, and it is absurd to say that I am obliging.” “Oh, stop, stop! It is madness! Only think of your sisters. What would they say? You to marry one who is nothing but a penniless governess!”

“What in the world is this new flummery? Do you forget that until a week ago you were Miss Rochdale of Feldenhall?”

“No, I do not forget it, but I think you must forget the circumstances of—of my father’s death!” “I remember them perfectly, but what they have to do with you, I fear, will always remain a mystery to me.”

She was silenced, but after a moment managed to say, “I am persuaded your sisters would

not say as much. Only think what a shock it would be to them to learn of such tidings as your betrothal to me!”

“If I know anything of my sister Georgy,” he responded, “she has already written to tell both Eliza and Gussie, and very likely Harry too, that Ned has fallen head over ears in love at last.”

She blushed rosily in the darkness. “Oh, no! do not say so! She cannot have thought such a thing!”

“Well, she said I was very sly, but that she would not tease me.”

“I must not listen to you!” Elinor said, much shaken. “Oh, it is the most ridiculous thing! You only met me a week ago, and then you constrained me to marry your horrid cousin!” “It is a fortunate thing that I did not know you better, for if I had I should certainly never have done so.”

She uttered a laugh that broke in the middle. “Odious, odious man!” “I depend on you to teach me to be less odious. I shall be very happy to learn of you.” Elinor gathered her forces together. “Lord Carlyon!” she began.

He interrupted. “Do you know, it has of late become an ambition of mine to hear my name on your lips instead of my title?”

“Certainly not!” said Elinor with resolution. He was silent.

“And when I think of the hateful way you have of calling me Mrs. Cheviot, when you know I dislike it,” added the widow, quite ruining her effect, “I wonder that you should ask it of me!” “Very well. When we meet in public, I will call you cousin, as Nicky does. But here, in the privacy of my carriage, I need not scruple to say, Elinor, I have fallen very deep in love with you, and I beg that you will honor me with your hand in marriage.”

“You are talking a great deal of nonsense and you will thank me one day for not attending to you!” said Elinor in a scolding tone.

“Now you are being uncivil,” he said imperturbably. “I shall have to teach you how to reply to a declaration with more propriety, my little love.”

She trembled. “Oh, no! Pray—Oh, will you only think for one moment! If you were to marry me, everyone would say you had done it to obtain possession of Highnoons! “Certainly not. You are going to sell Highnoons, and we shall not trouble ourselves to put it into any but reasonable order. It will go for a song, I dare say. If any money is left when Eustace Cheviot’s debts have, been paid, you will buy your bride clothes with it, and so we shall be rid of the whole concern. Have you any other objections to put forward?” “Oh, if only I knew what I ought to do!” Elinor cried.

“You had better let yourself be guided by me, for I have no doubts at all on that subject.” “Oh, my lord, how can I help believing that you have made me this offer because of some nonsense I have talked—the merest raillery!—of your having ruined all my prospects?” Carlyon moved, and firmly pulled the agitated widow into his arms. “You know, I never thought you could be such a simpleton!” he said, and kissed her.

Elinor tried rather halfheartedly to thrust him away, but finding this an impossibility, appeared to resign herself, merely saying, when she could say anything at all, “Oh, Edward, no!” “Elinor, I have spent a great part of my life in listening patiently to much folly. In my sisters I can support it with tolerable equanimity; in you I neither can nor will! Will you accept of my hand in marriage, or will you not?”

“Recognizing that his lordship’s disordered intellect was beyond mending, the widow abandoned the attempt to reclaim his wits, leaned her cheek thankfully against his shoulder, and said with the utmost meekness, “Yes, Edward, if you please! I would like it of all things!”