Marriage Alliance: A charming Regency Romance

by Mira Stables

  Her horses — and Melly. And soon there would be no more Melly. The young governess was to be married at Easter. She was very sorry, she said, to desert her charge, whom she held in genuine affection, but now that her Philip had at last been presented to a living he needed her support and it would not be right to ask him to wait. Since they had already waited six years, during which time Melly had spent most of her holidays at High Barrows, no reasonable person could cavil at that. But Fleur was going to miss her dreadfully. Now that she was done with school, the days seemed endlessly long. Despite Grandpapa’s wealth — perhaps, even, because of it — they had never been wholly accepted into the social life of the neighbourhood. Very few invitations came her way. Nor had she made any close friendships at school, thereby once again disappointing Grandpapa’s expectations. The shock of Maman’s desertion — for although the years had brought more understanding, Fleur still accounted it desertion — had made her chary of bestowing too much affection on any one person. It was better — safer — to be on terms of easy friendship with a number of her schoolmates rather than risk a closer intimacy that might end in further bitter hurt.

  When Melly went she would be alone indeed. And of late Grandpapa had stopped talking about the arrangements that he proposed for her début. Perhaps he had given her up as hopeless and did not intend to squander any more money on trying to turn her into a society lady. Which was disappointing, not because she cared so much for the promised delights of the social round, but because she did long to visit London. That was only natural. She had been born there, and Maman had talked so much of the house in Hans Town and of Grandpère, of theatres and concerts and the Opera, that Fleur felt that she knew them all and longed to see them. And secretly she hoped that somehow she would be able to get in touch with Grandpère, if he was still alive, and hear news of Maman. Perhaps, when Melly left, the London scheme would be revived. Grandpapa could not desire her to spend the rest of her life in seclusion at High Barrows. And since he had little liking for her society — she was too much like Maman — perhaps he would make a determined effort to launch her on the marriage market.

  Chapter Three

  THINKING of Maman reminded her that she had not yet done her exercises today. She wrinkled her short nose in a whimsical grimace as she crossed to the barre, kicked off her shoes and dutifully commenced on a series of plies. Since she would never dance professionally, the exercises were rather a waste of time, but their performance had become a kind of ritual. She was even mildly fanciful about them, feeling that somehow they kept her in touch with Maman — that perhaps, if she kept faith with her in this childish fashion, some day she would be rewarded by hearing words of approbation spoken in that dear remembered voice. And in any case it was something definite to do. The February day was gloomy with the threat of rain, no weather for either walking or riding. She wondered if Melly had finished the letter to Philip that had detained her in her own room. It must be a long one to keep her for close on an hour.

  She finished with plies and began on battements. How must it feel to pour out one’s inmost thoughts on paper, secure in the knowledge that the recipient would think them of prime importance and read them with sympathy and even partisan support? She sighed faintly, envying Melly’s secure haven in the devotion of the faithful Philip, and, on the thought, the door opened abruptly and Melly came in.

  As was only right and proper in one whose duty was to set a good example, Melly was always meticulously neat. She was twenty-six years old, and twenty-six years of rigid discipline had left their mark. Her bearing was sedate, her voice rather flat. The only display of unbridled emotion that she had ever permitted herself had been a speaking pressure of Fleur’s hand when she had found words inadequate to express her regret at their approaching separation.

  Judge, then, of Fleur’s amazement when this paragon of propriety positively erupted into the schoolroom with something of the appearance of a badly startled hare. Her neatly banded locks were in unusual disarray, her mild brown eyes so distended that they seemed about to pop out of their sockets, and she was pink and breathless. Yet she seemed at a loss for words and could only stare helplessly at her erstwhile pupil, sinking agitatedly into a chair and blinking myopically at Fleur as if she had never seen her before.

  “Goodness!” exclaimed the startled girl. “What in the world has happened to put you all on end, Melly? Is it Grandpapa?”

  Miss Melling nodded, gulped, and actually sat for a moment with her mouth open. Such an unprecedented loss of composure was quite frightening.

  “Not bad news of Maman?” ventured Fleur anxiously. Miss Melling shook her head.

  When her employer had obligingly informed her of the plans that he had made for his grand-daughter’s future, he had gruffly intimated that he left it to her to tell the wench. “Females are better at such things,” he condescended largely. “And you being about to enter parson’s mousetrap yourself will make it seem more natural-like.”

  Even in the nerve-shattered condition consequent upon his startling disclosure she had been flattered by this recognition of her abilities — the first courtesy, indeed, that she had ever received from him. Alas! Mr Pennington’s faith would have been sadly shaken by her present behaviour. Realising that she must say something, his emissary gripped the edge of her chair with both hands, drew a deep breath and announced baldly, “I have to tell you, my love, that your grandfather has arranged a very advantageous marriage for you.”

  It was Fleur’s turn to stare open-mouthed, slender dark brows drawing together, what colour she had fading as she realised that Melly was serious.

  “Who?” she breathed tautly.

  “Marcus Blayden,” said Melly quietly, reverting to her normal staid manner now that the worst was over. She said nothing more for a moment or two, allowing the girl time to adjust herself to the startling news of the sudden change in her immediate prospects. And small wonder that she was startled, even shocked, thought Melly indignantly. Arranged marriages might be perfectly commonplace. There could be no doubting that parents knew best and were well within their rights in arranging them. For her part, Melly, happily betrothed to a young man whom she had known from childhood, thought that this particular arranged match was absolutely iniquitous. The contracting parties were not even acquainted, yet would, if Mr Pennington had his way, become man and wife within a sennight. What hope of happiness could there be for Fleur, young, gauche, unarmoured by the very seclusion of the life she had led, if she were given in marriage to a man of Marcus Blayden’s stamp? A man of the world, sophisticated, cold-hearted and contemptuous of lesser folk, his acceptance of the bargain purchased by Pennington gold. Yet duty to her employer demanded that she play her part in the unpleasant business. Besides — what else could the child do, if her grandfather was determined?

  “I believe that he is quite a personable young man,” she said temperately. “And there can be no denying that, as his wife, you would have a position of the first consequence. To be sure, his father is only a baron but it is one of the oldest creations. The Blaydens set themselves on a very high form.”

  “But not so high as to turn up their noses at my grandfather’s money,” said Fleur bitterly, her colour returning as the shock of Melly’s news abated.

  “I believe it is true that Lord Blayden has sadly reduced his inheritance by his passion for gaming,” admitted Miss Melling soberly. “I do not attempt to deceive you, my dear, and must admit to the belief that sheer financial necessity has persuaded him to consent to such a match for his only son. But that does not necessarily mean that it is a bad one. Mr Blayden may make a perfectly acceptable husband. At least he is young — not yet thirty, I believe. And not to mince matters, since it is plain that social advancement is your grandfather’s sole object in promoting the match, he might have offered you to Lord Blayden himself. Now that I could not have supported. A man so much older, and wholly given over to his mania for gaming.”

  “And even as it stands it’s q
uite Gothic,” protested Fleur, resentment rising as she considered all the implications. “To expect me to marry a man I’ve not so much as set eyes on, just to satisfy his passion for rank and title, with no regard for my happiness, or, I daresay, for the character and tastes of the bridegroom to whom he consigns me.”

  “For all we know to the contrary, Mr Blayden’s character may be well established,” urged Miss Melling dutifully. And then, falling to a note of doubt, “Though I have heard —” She broke off in some confusion. “But there — I daresay the tales were exaggerated, as they so often are.”

  “What tales?” demanded Fleur.

  “Why — only that he was as wild and reckless a blade as ever was thrown on the Town. And surely that is not to be wondered at when one considers his father’s example. Besides, that was several years ago. If he is contemplating matrimony we may believe that he has put the follies of youth behind him. Now that I come to think of it, it is months since Mrs Fordyce, who was my informant, has so much as mentioned his name. So you may rely upon it that her sister in London cannot have unearthed any recent scandal about him.”

  Fleur pondered this pronouncement judicially. “Well — I had rather marry a man of spirit and enterprise than a virtuous ninny,” she decided. “But I don’t wish to be married at all. I’ve seen nothing of the world except High Barrows and school. I want to travel and have adventures and meet interesting people. And then, when I am quite old — say nineteen or twenty — I want to choose the kind of husband that I like, not have one thrust upon me.”

  Miss Melling shuddered. She could not imagine where her charge had picked up such revolutionary notions. It must come of being half French. Hurriedly she closed her mind to the impulse of sympathy that stirred her, for to encourage any hope that Fleur might cherish of setting her grandfather at defiance would be mistaken kindness. As well might some naked nestling hope to outmanoeuvre a hungry prowling cat.

  “Your Grandpapa has arranged for Mr Blayden to call upon you this afternoon,” she warned. “Whatever your feelings in the matter you will be expected to meet him with all due courtesy. It would be foolish — and would only enrage Mr Pennington — if you were to decline his offer without even seeing him.”

  Fleur looked mutinous. “Certainly I will receive him,” she said with dignity. “I can scarcely refuse him the common usage of hospitality. But for him to be making me an offer when his feelings are no more engaged than my own is quite absurd. Indeed, it is almost insulting. And so I shall tell him,” she ended with spirit.

  Miss Melling sighed. In general the child was biddable enough. She was a warm-hearted little creature and sincerely attached to her duenna. But once she took a notion into her head she had a determined obstinacy strongly reminiscent of her paternal grandfather.

  “Pray remember, my love, that young ladies in your position do not choose their own husbands,” she said firmly. “They have neither the wisdom nor the experience to do so. Suitable marriages are always arranged for them by parents or guardians who are better able to judge.”

  Fleur sniffed and put up her chin defiantly. “Me, I have no position,” she announced. “I am not a lady of long pedigree. Why should I be bound by these outworn conventions? I’m not even English. I’m half French.”

  Miss Melling was swift to seize the advantage. “And had you been wholly French, brought up in France,” she pointed out, “your marriage would have been arranged for you years ago between the respective parents. No one would have consulted your wishes. So you are no worse off.”

  Fleur looked slightly deflated, but not for long. “In that case I would at least have been betrothed to someone in my own rank of life,” she argued. “It would have been a — a business arrangement. A partnership. That one could respect. But to be sold to a decadent aristocrat just because my grandfather has antiquated notions about consequence and rank and title is no better than slavery and I will resist it to the death!”

  Miss Melling eyed her reprovingly. “You had that out of a book,” she accused. “Some cheap and trashy romance. Really, Fleur! How can you repeat such fustian? And you know very well that it is nothing of the kind. Though to be sure, your intemperate language makes it abundantly clear that you are by far too young to be married.”

  Fleur flushed rosy red and bit her lip. The phrases did sound false and over-dramatic when spoken aloud. Seeing her taken at fault, Miss Melling hurried on, “I do not need to tell you that you have every cause to be grateful to your Grandpapa and that you should study to please him. I do not urge you to accept the match; only to meet Mr Blayden with courtesy and to keep an open mind until you have come to know him a little. For I must remind you that if your Grandpapa were to cast you off — and when he is in one of his takings there is no saying what he will do — you would be in sad case. How would you earn your bread? You will be the first to admit that you are quite unfitted for a post as a governess. You are too young to have the care and companionship of an invalid and you are quite untrained for anything else. It is no light matter to be cast alone and penniless upon the world. I beg you to consider very carefully before you anger Mr Pennington beyond the point of forgiveness. He has gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange a splendid match for you, and his heart is set on it.”

  Fleur was sobered if not convinced. Melly had spoken with an earnestness that at least gave her pause. It was all nonsense, of course, about being cast upon the world. Grandpapa would never do so. And even if he did, there must be dozens of things that she, Fleur, could do, even if she wasn’t clever enough to be a governess. But it was true that, in his own way, Grandpapa had been good to her. If meeting the Honourable Marcus Blayden with some show of complaisance would appease him, surely she could bring herself to do that.

  Chapter Four

  IT had seemed simple enough, talking to Melly in the familiar security of the schoolroom, to decide what she would say to her unwanted suitor. In the formal atmosphere of the ladies’ parlour it was a very different matter, even though she had Melly’s support and Grandpapa had mercifully absented himself from the interview. “The pair of ’em’ll manage better without me,” he had bluntly informed Miss Melling. “What’s more they’d do better without you either. Yes, yes, I know she can’t receive him unchaperoned. I may not have been born into the world hosed and shod, but I do know that much. You’ll have to show your front to play propriety, seeing as the Blaydens are such high sticklers, but I still hold to it that a man and a maid’ll deal best left to themselves, and if so be as you can shab off without giving offence, you do it. Or send ’em out to walk about the grounds, or some such ploy. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Miss Melling glanced through the library window at the bleak prospect of lowering sky and rain-sodden lawns and shivered involuntarily. “Perhaps the conservatories,” she said doubtfully, “though indeed, at this season of the year there is little to be seen —–”

  “And little they’ll care for that,” snorted her employer. “Just you give ’em a chance to settle the business with no one by. Them’s my orders, remember. The chap’ll know well enough how to set about it so long as you’re not there to hinder him, and the sooner it’s settled the better I’ll be pleased.”

  So it was that when Marcus was ushered into the parlour he found only the correctly colourless Miss Melling and a white-faced frightened-looking child waiting to greet him. He had come reluctantly, cursing the weakness that had driven him to submit to his father’s scheming yet unable to devise any means of crying off without sacrificing his sister. An earlier interview with Mr Pennington had been difficult enough, but at least it had taken place on his own ground at Blayden and there had been no need to beat about the bush. The older man had been bluntly businesslike, setting out his terms for the proposed settlements with no more emotion than if he had been selling a bale of goods. Nor were those terms ungenerous, and, if the girl herself was willing, he supposed he might as well agree to the bargain. He had stood out for a week’s grace in which h
e and Miss Pennington might become acquainted. That would at least allow him time to discover whether she was being forced into marriage against her will. Having met her formidable grandfather, such a discovery would not surprise him. And there was certainly nothing in his first sight of her to correct this impression.