Instead of the Thorn

by Georgette Heyer

  She had never felt this want before, but now it entered deep into her soul and told her that she was lonely and helpless, lacking a guiding hand. Aunt Anne became suddenly useless and apart from her, Lawrence a stranger. She felt that she stood alone and that there was no one to help or to advise her. Dimly, subconsciously she knew that Aunt Anne was no more to her than Lawrence, a creature who loved her but did not know her, whom she did not know.

  It was in this mood that Stephen found her, alone in the drawing-room.

  He came unannounced into the room, quickly as always, and shut the door behind him with a little, decided click.

  Elizabeth was sitting in a big chair beside the fire, with an open book on her knees. She was not reading, but looking wistfully down into the fire; her mouth drooped, her eyes were laden with shadows. She did not turn because she thought it was only the parlour-maid who had come to set out the table for tea, and for a moment Stephen stood quite still with his hand still on the door-knob, watching her.

  Then, wondering, she raised her head, and he saw a tinge of colour creep into her cheeks.

  “Stephen! I didn’t know it was you.” She had sat for so long in the half-light, all alone; she was so glad to see him. It was as though he had known of her loneliness and her unhappiness, and had come because she needed him. She rose and went towards him with little, hurried steps, holding out her hands. “I’m so glad you’ve come!” she said, like a child, and with a tiny catch in her voice.

  His hands came out to meet hers, and clasped them warmly together, and kept them so.

  “Elizabeth! Why, you poor little thing, what’s the matter?”

  He sounded so sympathetic and anxious, and so tenderly possessive that a rush of hot tears sprang to Elizabeth’s eyes and glittered on the end of her lashes. She tried to smile and to draw her hands away.

  “N-nothing. I—I don’t know. I was lonely.”

  It seemed an infamous thing that she should be lonely, or that anyone should, however indirectly, have caused those wonderful eyes to brim with tears. Stephen bent his head over the hands in his, and kissed them.

  “Dear little Elizabeth!” he said. “What a damned shame!”

  She was startled; he felt her pulses leap under his fingers, and looked up again, smiling.

  “Don’t be so scared, dear! Come and tell me all about it.” He knew now that his mind was made up; he would not leave this room until he had told her how greatly he loved her; her tears and her helplessness had brought matters between them to a head.

  Elizabeth knew also, blamed herself yet was glad. She let him put her back into her chair, and quivering watched him sit down on a low stool at her feet.

  “There—there isn’t anything to tell. It was only being alone—and silly. I’m awfully sorry I was such an idiot.”

  “You weren’t. You couldn’t be,” he said quietly.

  “Oh, but I was! I was just being—morbid. It sounds frightfully stupid, because I never knew her, but I—I wanted my mother.”

  His eyes darkened, and again he held her hands.

  “Stupid? Did you think that I shouldn’t understand, Elizabeth?”

  She was drawing back into her shell; she thought it could not have been herself who had made that confidence.

  “I don’t see how you can. I don’t understand it myself. Please—please, will you let me go?”

  “No. I want you to let me keep you and take care of you all your life, Elizabeth. I love you. Oh, my darling, you’re trembling! You’re not afraid of me—you couldn’t be!” He was on his feet now, and had pulled her up to stand before him. “Elizabeth, little wild bird! I love you so much!”

  She started to struggle; it was the impossibility of breaking away from him against his will that made her shrink suddenly towards him; that, and the marvellous feeling of security his strength gave her. Without knowing why, she began to cry, very softly, with her face buried in his coat. His arms were tight about her, she felt his lips on her hair, and presently his fingers came under her chin and forced her head up that he might look into her eyes. She bore his look for a moment, and then her lashes fell and she felt his lips hard-pressed against her mouth.

  He was gentle with her after that, knowing her fright, and dried her tears with his own large handkerchief, laughing at her a little, but very tenderly.

  “Little babe! Oh, my darling, I’ll be so good to you! You shall never be lonely again, never! Elizabeth, dearest one, say that you love me! Say it quickly!”

  Her senses were whirling; she was no longer Elizabeth, but some strange, mad girl who had been kissed by a man who was not her father. She was being swept off her feet by a swift tide of unreality and things unknown.

  Stephen gave her a quick hug; she gasped and put her hands up against his chest.

  “Say it, you little witch! If you don’t I’ll—”

  She flung her head back to avoid the threatened kiss, and pulled away from him as far as his arms would let her.

  “I love you,” she stammered. “Let me go! Please, Stephen, please!”

  His arms slackened from about her shoulders, but he took her face between his hands and very gently kissed her.

  Nothing he could have done would have made so great an appeal to her as his present forbearance. She felt his iron self-control and loved him for it. His passion had frightened her, even though it carried all before it, but his consideration now drove out her fear. Shyly she returned his kiss, then drooped her head and laid nervous fingers on his coat-sleeve.

  He wanted to pick her up, but something warned him that he must not. It was in keeping with his ideal of her that she should be timid; he must be careful, and not forget her frailty. So he drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa and began to play with her little hand.

  “When will your father be home, sweetheart? I just can’t wait.”

  “I don’t know—the usual time— Oh, Stephen, are you sure?”

  “My darling! Am I sure! Elizabeth, you won’t make me wait too long?”

  “Would you—if I wanted to?” she asked, peeping up at him. “Would you, Stephen?”

  His fingers crushed hers against his lips.

  “I—yes, if you wished. But don’t, Elizabeth, don’t!”

  It was marvellous to think that anyone so big and masterful would give way to her so humbly. She pulled her hand from his and showed him her whitened fingers.

  “Look! How cruel, Stephen!”

  He was all contrition at once; she saw herself precious in his eyes, and tilted her head, a faint smile of new-born confidence on her lips.

  Then, after what seemed a very little while, Lawrence’s key grated in the front door lock, and Stephen sprang up.

  “I never knew that I could be in such a fever of anxiety!” he said. “Wait here, my darling, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and raised her hand to brush a piece of fluff from his coat.

  His eyes laughed, and again he caught her in his arms.

  “Oh, you darling!” he said, and went striding out to meet Lawrence.

  Chapter Eight

  It was not very long before Miss Arden came in. She found Elizabeth wrapped in dreams, slowly regaining her balance.

  “Well, well, nothing to do?” she exclaimed. “Haven’t you any sewing, my dear?”

  Her voice interrupted the pleasant reverie and irritated Elizabeth. She looked up, and that tiny, triumphant smile again curved her lips.

  “Stephen is here,” she said.

  Miss Arden glanced round the room as though he were hidden somewhere in it.

  “Where?” she asked. “His car is not outside.”

  “I suppose he took a taxi,” Elizabeth answered. “He’s with Father.”

  Miss Arden jumped and stared very hard at Elizabeth.

  “My dear?”

  “We’re—we’re going to be married,” Elizabeth said simply.

  Miss Arden dropped her furs and her bag and almost fell upon her niece.

  “
Oh, my darling! my dearest child!” she cried. “What —What can I say?” She kissed Elizabeth, and fondled her hair. Her eyes were wet. “I don’t know how I shall bear it, or what I shall do without you! But I’m very, very glad, for your sake. If I have to give you up to any man I’d sooner it was to Stephen. Oh, darling, are you very happy?”

  “I think I am,” Elizabeth said conscientiously.

  “I Think! Elizabeth, surely, surely—”

  “No, of course I’m happy. It’s only that it was so sudden—I don’t quite know where I am or what’s happening.”

  “My dear, I understand! I’m not a bit surprised, of course, at your news. Onlookers see most of the game, don’t they, love? Oh dear, and you’re so young! I had hoped— What are we going to do without you? Stephen Ramsay too, of all people! I don’t fancy that your father will make any objection. He’s such a charming young man, as I told his mother, and so well-connected. Darling, really I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels! If only your poor dear mother were alive, how proud she would be! She’d understand what I’m feeling, too. It seems only yesterday that you were playing with your doll.”

  Then Lawrence came bustling in with Stephen behind him, and, pouncing upon his daughter, kissed her, twice.

  “Well, well, well! So my little girl wants to be married, does she? And a very obstinate, pushing husband you’ll have, my dear! I have been forced—yes, forced at the sword’s point so to speak—to give my consent to an early marriage. Many, many congratulations, Elizabeth, but more to Stephen. You little know what a treasure you are going to possess, young man.”

  “I do know, sir, none better,” Stephen said promptly.

  Lawrence heaved a great sigh.

  “Not as I, her father, know. It’s going to be a great gap in our lives, eh, Anne?”

  “I can’t bear to think of it,” she answered. “But I do congratulate you, both. And I do hope you aren’t going to force Elizabeth into too early a marriage, Stephen.”

  “I couldn’t force her into anything, Miss Arden,” he replied, smiling. “But I’m impatient. Can you wonder?”

  “No, oh no, but there’s so much to be thought of, and so much to be done.”

  “Long engagements,” said Lawrence unexpectedly, “are a mistake. We’ll discuss all that at some future date. Meanwhile, Stephen tells me he has promised to be at his mother’s flat by half-past six.”

  “A dinner-party,” Stephen explained, grimacing. “If it wasn’t the mater’s party—”

  “Oh, but of course you must go!” Elizabeth said quickly. She was anxious to put an end to this trying scene, and stepped forward to his side. “I’ll come and see you off.”

  Outside, in the hall, he put his arms about her and kissed her eyelids.

  “If you only knew how often I’ve longed to do that!” he murmured. “Your father was a brick, Elizabeth. Don’t let them persuade you into putting off the wedding! Let it be soon, sweetheart, I can’t wait!”

  “Not too soon!” she begged. “You don’t understand, Stephen, I must have time. I—I’ve got to get used to the feel of being engaged first.”

  “Poor little precious, you shan’t be rushed and badgered! Elizabeth, until I can get you a real, proper ring, will you wear this?” He drew the signet ring from his little finger.

  “I’d like to,” she said, and gave him her hand.

  *

  Cynthia was with his mother, and Anthony. As Stephen came impetuously into the drawing-room, Anthony, pen in hand, was saying,

  “But, look here, mater, you must remember where that missing twenty pounds went to!”

  “I don’t, a bit,” Mrs. Ramsay said placidly, then caught sight of her son. “Stephen, Anthony’s bullying me.”

  Stephen bent to kiss the top of her head.

  “What a shame! And what have yon been doing?”

  “He says I must account for a horrible twenty pounds. Put it down as incidental expenses, Anthony.”

  “Can’t. Everything is incidental expenses! And really, mater, this isn’t the way to keep an account-book.”

  “Isn’t it, darling? You show me, then.”

  Anthony grinned, and shut the book.

  “Showed you last week, my dear. Not a bit of good.”

  “Don’t worry her,” Stephen said. “She likes to be in a muddle. I’ll go through with her later. She probably bought a Chippendale chair with that twenty pounds.”

  Mrs. Ramsay sat up.

  “No, not a chair, a mirror. Stephen, you’re perfectly wonderful! I should never have remembered! How did you do it?”

  “Long association with you helped, mater. I’ve news for you.”

  “How nice! Good news?”

  Stephen went to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. Mrs. Ramsay saw that his chin was tilted a little as though for battle.

  “Very good news. I am engaged to be married to Elizabeth Arden.”

  Heavily weighted, his words fell into a strained silence. Then Cynthia moved, jerking her head.

  “Oh, damnation!” she said forcibly.

  “Thanks,” said Stephen. “Anything else?”

  “Go to the devil your own silly way!”

  Stephen’s hands went into his pockets, tight clenched. There was blazing light at the back of his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

  “Yes? What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “What I say!”

  Anthony heaved himself out of his chair.

  “No, she doesn’t. Gently, Cynthia, now! Congratulations, old man, an’ all that sort of thing. Nice little girl, Elizabeth.”

  Mrs. Ramsay came to Stephen, and put her hands up to hold the lapels of his coat.

  “Please don’t frown at me, Stephen dear! If you’re very happy, I am too. Didn’t I say I should be? Somebody bring me a footstool, I can’t reach him, and I want to kiss him.”

  “You’re a dear, mater,” Stephen said, and hugged her. “You won’t be able to help loving Elizabeth when you know her better.”

  “Of course I shan’t. Can I congratulate her, or does that look as though I’m too proud of you?”

  Cynthia rose and walked out of the room.

  “Don’t be huffy, old man!” Anthony begged. “You know what she is. She doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I do indeed know what she is,” said Stephen grimly. “Of all the shrewish—”

  Anthony put his pipe down on the mantelpiece.

  “That’ll do, Stephen,” he drawled.

  “I daresay it suits you to shut your eyes to her abominable behaviour!” Stephen sneered.

  “If you’ve got anything more to say, you can come outside and say it,” Anthony warned him softly. “I’m willing to admit that Cynthia shouldn’t have said what she did, but if you think I’m going to let you—”

  “I’ll say what I like about Cynthia! You seem to forget that I’ve got the rotten bad luck to be her brother!”

  “And you—” Anthony planted himself firmly before Stephen, “seem to forget that I have the extraordinary good luck to be her husband.”

  “Very extraordinary!” Stephen snapped.

  “I think it’s time I began to cry,” Mrs. Ramsay said plaintively. “Don’t quarrel, you dear silly creatures. Anthony, don’t pay any attention to Stephen. Goodness me, you ought to know the Ramsay temper by now!”

  Anthony picked up his pipe.

  “Pity it isn’t kept under control,” he remarked, very levelly.

  “Damn it all,” Stephen said fiercely, “anyone would think I started the row!”

  “Never mind who started it!” begged Mrs. Ramsay. “And be nice to Cynthia, Stephen, just to please me. You can be so awfully nice if you try.”

  “Be nice to her! What am I expected to do? Apologise for marrying a girl whom she doesn’t happen to like?”

  Mrs. Ramsay stroked his coat sleeve.

  “It’s only because she’s so proud of you, dearest, and because she’d set her heart on yo
ur marrying Nina. She’s sorry by now that she was so tactless.”

  Stephen was slightly mollified, but still he scowled.

  “Jolly way to- have the news of one’s engagement received,” he said.

  “Horrid, darling, but I’m glad that you’re going to be happy, and so is Anthony.”

  The door opened; Cynthia came back into the room with her hat and gloves on. Stephen went forward.

  “Going to congratulate me, Cynny?”

  “I don’t suppose it matters to you what I say,” she answered bitterly.

  “Cynthia, do behave properly!” sighed her mother. “I won’t have you all quarrelling round me. And Stephen’s going to kill Anthony—or Anthony’s going to kill Stephen, I’m not sure which—and it’ll be most unpleasant. All over you too, and it isn’t anything to do with you really.”

  “You needn’t bother to fight over me,” Cynthia said. She hesitated, and then held out her hand. “Sorry, Stephen. I’ll write to Elizabeth to-night.”

  “Thanks, old girl.”

  “Very handsome,” commented Anthony. “I’d better take her home before she spoils it. Cheerio, mater; good luck, Stephen. Come on, my lady.”

  Cynthia released Stephen’s hand.

  “Perhaps I’d better,” she admitted. “Time you and Stephen dressed for your party, mater.”

  So Stephen and his mother were left alone, and for a long time stood with linked arms before the fire. At last Mrs. Ramsay spoke.

  “Soon, Stephen?”

  “I hope so, mater.”

  Mrs. Ramsay stifled a tiny sigh, and looked up, smiling.

  “I’ll give Elizabeth the pearls as a wedding-present, shall I?”

  He pressed her elbow slightly.

  “No, dear. You won’t.”

  “I’d like to, Stephen. Truly.”

  “Elizabeth wouldn’t like you to. Nor should I. But you’re a very nice little mater to think of it.”

  “Aren’t I?” she nodded, pleased.

  Chapter Nine

  Following close upon a letter from Mrs. Ramsay, Stephen came to the Boltons’ next morning and caught Elizabeth up into his arms.

  “Oh . . . don’t!” she cried, in agitation.