by Mira Stables
But no need to think of that yet. There could be no harm in extending his knowledge of Miss Morley’s disposition, her tastes and preferences, always ensuring that she understood the terms of the suggested bargain as clearly as he did. He had no intention of arousing hopes of romance in a maiden heart that he suspected of being extremely unsophisticated, despite the lady’s age and that one Season in Town. If that was understood—
These views he presently explained to Mr. Morley, a little hesitant at first, waxing insistent when Mr. Morley was inclined to demur about explaining the situation to the lady. Only on that understanding, he said firmly, was he prepared to go any further with the business, which, he admitted, might well be successful if given a fair chance. Mr. Morley eventually capitulated, though not without one final fling.
“Your scruples, milord, give me an excellent notion of your honesty in business dealings. I doubt, though, if you have much knowledge of the opposite sex or the best way to handle them.”
Julian grinned. “That should count in my favour, surely? I confess that I have no more experience of females than one milk and water romance when I was a mere schoolboy, and the casual adventures that are the common lot of the military man. I have never met the girl with whom I wished to share the rest of my life.”
Mr. Morley nodded thoughtfully. “I would suggest, then, that you go back to Town and make arrangements to remove to Wellasford for a month or so, as soon as may be convenient. At such close quarters that should be long enough to ascertain your feelings for each other.”
Julian nodded. “Ample time. I have one or two matters to settle while I am in Town but I would expect to be with you in a week’s time.”
There was a heavy pause. Quite suddenly Mr. Morley looked ages older. In a voice utterly devoid of emotion he said, “First there is one thing that I must explain. When that is done you are perfectly free to withdraw from the bargain and I shall not hold it against you. But it is best done now. Like you, I prefer to see my way clear. Small use in forging ahead, only to meet an insuperable obstacle just when things are in a promising way.”
Julian met his gaze steadily, aware of an odd feeling of pity for which there was no reasonable cause. The heavy-lidded grey eyes that were reproduced in his daughter were full of pain, but he lifted his head gallantly enough as he said, “I am unmarried. Anastasia is my adopted daughter—legally adopted. She is my younger sister’s child; and she was born out of wedlock.”
The shock was severe, there could be no denying. The Wellasfords had been proud—though there was little enough to be proud of today, reminded Julian’s sense of fair play. But it was instinctive pity for the dumb suffering in the haggard face that prompted him to say gently, “And her father?”
There was a faint relaxation in the taut pose. “His blood was as good as yours. He was a soldier, and died on the field of battle. Whether, if he had lived, he would have married my sister, I cannot say. She thought so. But women are easily cozened with fair promises. I told you I had good cause to dislike your kind. At least now you know why.”
Julian did not understand what prompted his answer. Surely he was not actuated by pity—not even by mild sympathy—for the man who had filched Wellasford! Filched it, too, by means which might be strictly legal but were certainly not above criticism. Perhaps, partly, it was the subtle flattery of not being specifically asked to respect the confidence reposed in him, partly regret for the bringing down of that gallant façade. For certainly his host—the owner of beloved Wellasford—was at his mercy.
He said gently, “I am honoured by your confidence, sir. I should think I could clear up my outstanding commitment by next Thursday. Would that be convenient for you?”
Chapter Three
He set out for Wellasford a week later in less obliging mood, having spent much of the intervening time in wondering how he had been persuaded to subscribe to such a mad-brained scheme. He had thought seriously of writing to Mr. Morley to say that he had changed his mind. Better to withdraw now and save all parties a deal of embarrassment.
Next day he would find himself wondering if the suggested marriage was really so ridiculous, so impossible. Arranged marriages were a commonplace in his class of society. Had his father pursued the normal pattern it was very likely that some such match would have been arranged for Julian. A well-born maiden, comfortably dowered and well-trained in the duties of wifehood—including that of closing her eyes to such of her husband’s extra-marital adventures as chanced to come to her notice. She herself, of course, would not be permitted such licence until she had produced an heir, and even then must exercise the utmost discretion in her light amours. Was Mr. Morley’s suggestion so very different? To be sure, the less said about the lady’s birth the better. But to set against that she could bring him not only a handsome dowry but Wellasford itself.
A note from his prospective host suggesting that he bring any of his horses that he wished, especially his hunters, did much to raise his spirits. If hunting was in prospect he was evidently not expected to spend the whole of every day in gentle dalliance. It seemed only sensible to give the thing a decent trial. He fortified himself with the wisdom of several old saws of the ‘Nothing venture’ school, and completed his preparations for a sojourn in the country.
This time he drove himself in his curricle. No doubt he would be expected to squire the lady in gentle expeditions about the countryside and the curricle would add a touch of panache to the proceedings. In fact the greys that had been selected for the journey were so fresh that for the first hour they gave him small chance to reflect upon his approaching ordeal. By the time that he was able to spare it a thought the exhilaration of driving at a spanking pace along a good road on a crisp autumn morning had done much to banish his gloomy forebodings.
At least he had not taken Miss Morley in dislike. If she was not precisely the sort of female he admired, at least she was not an antidote. It would be interesting to see how she appeared in modern dress—for presumably she did not spend all her time attired as though she was Mrs. Siddons about to take the stage as Lady Macbeth. And she had seemed to possess an equable disposition and a good deal of dignity, qualities highly desirable in a wife. The prospect, on the whole, might have been very much worse.
For two or three days his visit was quite undistinguishable from the normal country house pattern. He rode or went shooting with his host, drove out when the day was mild with his hostess, spent several hours strolling about the gardens and shrubberies with her, and passed the evenings in playing various card games or just in talking. It was all very comfortable. And at the end of a sennight he found himself obliged to ask Mr. Morley if he had fulfilled his promise of making the situation perfectly clear to his daughter. For there was not the least trace of consciousness in her manner. She treated him in precisely the same friendly fashion that she had used on that first evening, and betrayed none of the apprehension, the female flutterings that he had expected in a young woman who knew herself to be sought in marriage.
Mr. Morley assured him that his daughter was perfectly well acquainted with the purpose of his visit, and was doubtless, in her own fashion, deciding whether or no they would suit. “She is never one for making grand fusses,” he explained. And then, suddenly, grinned. “If you do decide to make a match of it,” he said, “I can promise you a wife who will never enact you a Cheltenham tragedy because you’ve forgotten some pettifogging engagement. And I’m not sure that that isn’t better than a great many fashionable accomplishments in which I fear my poor Anna is sadly lacking. Never could see the use of ’em myself, so I didn’t insist that she apply herself. I did send her to dancing classes, but she hated ’em. She was a stranger—knew no one—the other girls teased her about her name. Anna stays ’ere—that sort of thing. Which she wasn’t used to, being an only one. The only accomplishment for which she showed any aptitude was music. I had her taught to play the harp,” he added rather defensively, looking sideways at Julian.
So far
had their understanding developed that Julian allowed a crack of laughter to escape him. “Of course you did,” he agreed delightedly. “What else could so perfectly complete the picture? Does she play it well?”
Mr. Morley twinkled back at him. “Reasonably well,” he decided. “It’s a pleasant kind of noise. She sings, too. A small voice, but sweet and true. Could never be persuaded to perform in public, and indeed I doubt if her voice would be sufficiently powerful in a crowded room. You must judge for yourself some evening when she is in the mood.”
Miss Morley’s appearance in modern dress was neat but not impressive. And as Julian had surmised, she was definitely plump. He wondered if she would grow stout with increasing maturity but recalled hopefully that Mr. Morley’s spare frame showed no tendency to corpulence. It was a new idea, though, that behind the serene friendly mask the lady should be assessing his merits as a possible husband. He was not at all sure that he cared for it. He had never before given the matter any serious thought but he would have said that all females were on the catch for a husband. After all—what else was there for them to do? And this particular female could scarcely hope to do better. It was not as though he was a fortune hunter, interested only in her expectations. And though he had never been much in the petticoat line he could claim, with all due modesty, that he had never been given cause to doubt his ability to attract such ladies—or lightskirts—as took his fancy. Surely a girl of doubtful pedigree did not aim higher than a Baron? Nevertheless the realisation that she might be weighing his every word and action made him self-conscious and awkward. The only time that he really felt at ease was over dinner. Then, with Miss Morley attired in one of her old-world dresses and her father’s presence to remove the tension of tête-à-tête intimacy, he was able to relax into his natural behaviour and enjoy a taste of family life such as he had not known in years.
It seemed to be accepted that for the purpose of ‘dressing up for dinner’ he was no longer regarded as a stranger. Miss Morley appeared in a succession of different costumes. They ranged from the simplicity of early Anglo-Norman to the exotic splendours of the late Plantagenets, and oddly enough she seemed equally at home in all of them. Probably long usage, he supposed, and came to look forward with amused interest to each evening’s presentation and to discussing it quite impersonally with father and daughter, realising to some degree how the course of history had dictated the quirks of fashion. During that hour they met as friends, without any tantalising problems of marriage and inheritance to constrain their easy intercourse. And on this particular evening Miss Morley made it plain that her father had reported Julian’s puzzlement, for after dinner had run its leisurely course she enquired demurely if the gentlemen would care for a little music and, receiving a polite response, asked one of the footmen to bring in her harp.
She was magnificently attired that night in a fashion that had been popular in the early years of the century. Mr. Morley called it a contouche. There was a loose over-dress, made from thick, supple golden taffeta, worn over a soft white under-dress. It was cut low across the bosom and the sleeves ended at the elbow, being turned back to reveal delicate ruffles of the white material. If ever a gown was designed to show off the graceful movements of a woman’s hands and arms as she played a harp, that one was. Julian thought there was a glint of deliberate mischief in the lady’s eye as she touched the strings, apologised for the delay while she re-tuned the instrument, and enquired their mood.
She played them a Scarlatti sonata, one or two wistful Irish airs and the old English tune, Greensleeves, singing the latter to her own accompaniment in a sweet, almost sleepy little voice. She might have been playing for her own amusement, so little heed did she pay to her audience. Secretly Julian confessed himself surprised, a little entranced. She played and sang a good deal better than he had expected from Mr. Morley’s modest account, and he noticed with interest that her hands and arms were beautifully moulded. But it was not just the quality of the performance. It was the atmosphere that she created, in her old-fashioned gown with that soft, creamy skin that made a man wish to smooth his lips over it and her hair simply dressed so that one heavy ringlet came forward over her shoulder and half a dozen loose curls softened the broad brow. For once there was something of enchantment about her, and her very abstraction enhanced that spell. She would not play again, but bade them good night much earlier than was her custom and retired to her own apartments. Mr. Morley and his guest beguiled the evening with a few rubbers of piquet, but Julian found it difficult to focus his attention on the cards.
Had Miss Morley retired early in order to reflect on her situation? Would she reach a decision tonight? And was he himself desirous of going ahead with the scheme? Mr. Morley had suggested a month. Already a week had gone by. Very pleasantly, to be sure, but he felt that it was time that the business which had brought him into Hertfordshire was delicately broached.
Such preoccupations were not conducive to careful judgement in discards, nor to precise calculations of the odds. Mr. Morley beat him handsomely.
Chapter Four
Miss Morley herself brought matters to a head the very next day. It was a morning of blustery wind and driving rain. Mr. Morley apologised for deserting his guest on so dismal a day but his duties as a Justice of the Peace obliged him to travel into Ware. Perhaps his lordship would like to play billiards with Anna, who really played reasonably well for a female. Julian glanced across at the lady in smiling enquiry. She said tranquilly that she must first discharge her domestic duties. Perhaps his lordship could amuse himself with a book until this was done. She would look for him in the library as soon as she was free.
She came into the library perhaps an hour later to find him gazing out of the window at the wind-swept trees in the park, and said directly, “I am very willing to play billiards if that is your wish. But if you do not object to it I would rather take this opportunity of talking with you about certain personal matters without fear of interruption.”
His lordship, a little staggered by this frank approach, bowed polite assent and drew forward a chair for the lady. She seated herself; very erect, her hands folded quietly in her lap, a sedate figure that yet was imbued with a steady determination that commanded respect, and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment or two as though she was wondering how best to phrase what was in her mind.
“My father told me of your concern that I should be fully informed as to the reason for your visit. I can assure you that he spoke to me quite frankly of the suggestion which he had put to you. But there are one or two circumstances of which he is in ignorance, and I feel that it is only fair that you, too, should be fully apprised of all the circumstances before you come to any decision.”
If Julian had been a little startled, even mildly shocked by her frank attitude to so delicate a business, he felt nothing but respect for a sense of fair play that was positively masculine. He awaited her further disclosures with considerable interest.
She went on steadily, “I had not thought to marry. In my girlhood, of course, I indulged in the usual romantical dreams of a brave, handsome wooer. But during my London season it was made abundantly clear to me that there was a deal of difference between dreams and real life. To put it bluntly, I did not take, and it would be hard to decide whether Aunt Sarah or I was the more thankful when the miserable business came to an end.”
“At the same time I am not averse to the married state, and since the possibility was mentioned to me I have given a good deal of thought to it. It seems to me that it might well provide the only means of escape from what is in fact a luxurious prison.”
“It is at this point that I must ask you to bear with me patiently. I have seen your growing liking for Papa, and I would not have you think that I do not love him dearly, for indeed I do. Added to which is the immense burden of my gratitude. If he had not chosen to acknowledge me I must have been sent to an orphanage, for my Aunt, kind-hearted as she is, would never have dared so far to flout convention. He ha
s been the most generous of fathers and I could not endure to do anything that would hurt him. But his ideas on bringing up a daughter are unusual and absolutely uncompromising. You may have wondered, for instance, why I did not ride with you. It is because Papa will only permit me to ride astride, declaring that side-saddles are unfair to the horse and dangerous for the rider. And you cannot have failed to notice the amount of milk that I am obliged to drink. It is only because of your presence that my meals are not portioned out for me. It is only his tender care for me, you must understand. Concerned because my mother died of the wasting sickness he studied the subject of diet with the same thoroughness that he brings to his business enterprises, and I have been brought up from infancy in conformity with his ideas. You surely did not think that I like being as fat as a prize gilt?”
The very crudity of the comparison on the lips of a girl who was usually moderate in speech brought home to Julian the bitterness that lay behind the serene façade. He remembered his sympathy over the milk drinking at their first meeting, and understood something of the frustration of a young, vigorous creature prisoned, however luxuriously, by fetters forged from affection and gratitude. He said, “And the evening dress parade?”