“It would be too late then,” he argued. “He would throw me out at once, possibly literally with the help of several of the servants, and then the house – and no doubt the grounds too – would be barred to me. I fear I can only be sure of you if we elope. Will you not find that romantic, my darling?”
Susan’s instinct was to reply at once in the negative but then she thought that it would indeed be perfectly tragic never to see or kiss this wholly adorable man again so she said, “Yes, but I am afraid.”
“Of course you are but I will take the greatest care of you, I promise. I have been saving my wages so that we shall not go short, at least not at first. We will not stop until we reach Gretna Green where we can be married over the anvil.”
“We will be obliged to change the horses several times,” Susan pointed out in her practical manner.
“Indeed; but that does not require a stop of more than a few minutes unless we wish to take some refreshment. We can be there in little more than two days. Will you trust yourself to me, Susan? You will make me the happiest man on earth.”
The idea that she, the tall, ungainly girl who could neither sing nor dance, had it within her power to make this startlingly handsome and talented man happy filled her with a sort of effervescent joy and she said, “Yes, yes, of course I will. Let us go tomorrow night if that is what you think best.”
Chapter 35
Lady Leland and Mary were the last to arrive at Marklye’s house for the dinner party where they found the assembled guests to be identical to those who had attended the card party. Mr Porter was not amongst them.
“I suppose the companion likes to make an entrance which draws everyone’s attention to her,” Mrs Porter muttered ungraciously to Susan, with whom she was standing; she seemed determined not to acknowledge Mary’s reinstated rank as the daughter of a viscount.
Sir Adrian, to whom she had been confiding her opinions concerning the quality of the summer thus far, lost interest the moment the Beauty entered the room and thus, perhaps fortunately, did not hear her animadversion, his eyes being already fixed upon the delectable Miss Best rather in the manner of a starving man who sees at last the feast for which he has been waiting.
“She is very beautiful,” Susan said, partly in an attempt to undo the animosity inherent in her mother’s comment - which she thought unwarranted and certain to displease Sir Adrian - and partly because, however pleased she had been to be the object of his attention for a few moments, she had no expectation of remaining so now that the Beauty was present.
“Yes, she is, is she not?” he agreed, dragging his eyes from the vision in cream silk to rest them, with a warm and approving expression, upon the girl beside him. “I am sorry,” he went on, “I do not spend much time in Society and have not met a great many Beauties. It is as difficult to take my eyes off her as it would be if a unicorn should come into the room.”
Susan laughed at this; she liked the reference to a quadruped which bore – apart from its horn – a startling resemblance to a horse. “Is that all it is? Interest in the unusual?” she asked. “I made sure that you were in love with her.”
“I thought so too until recently,” he admitted. “But, in truth, she is not the woman for me; it is only that she is so extraordinarily beautiful that I cannot take my eyes off her. I am certain she would not be happy to live buried in the country with a man who knows more about horses than women.”
“She has been living buried in the country with an old lady for several years and does not appear to find her situation disagreeable,” Susan pointed out gently.
“That is true but, now that her real identity has been revealed, I should not suppose that she will remain here much longer – or, rather, will not remain unmarried for much longer.”
“No,” Susan agreed, her eyes moving to their host, who was still fussing over Lady Leland’s comfort with offers of shawls and cushions.
Mary, meanwhile, her job seeming to have been taken over by Lord Marklye, embraced her mother and returned that lady’s fulsome compliments only to find herself facing Mr Armitage, who had taken advantage of there being so many people present to approach her again.
“Your devoted servant,” he murmured, sweeping her an ironic bow.
“Mr Armitage,” she responded graciously. “Have you met my mama?”
“Indeed, yes. While we were all waiting – such an age - for you to arrive, Lady Benstead told us of her delight at finding you. Have you been lost for long, Miss Best – or should I in fact address you as Miss Benstead?”
“I believe I prefer Miss Best – I have grown accustomed to it.”
“We all wondered,” he went on, steering her expertly away from her mother, “what such a Beauty was doing buried in such an out-of-the-way place; it seemed positively to be a waste. Now the mystery, although partially unravelled, has at the same time grown deeper. Were you in hiding, Miss Best? And, if so, why?”
“If my mama has not told you how I came to be lost I do not feel that it behoves me to tell you either, Mr Armitage,” Mary said primly, adopting a pursing of the lips and widening of the eyes worthy of a schoolgirl.
“I am persuaded there was a scandal,” he said. “But it is all one to me; I would still like to marry you, however shocking the reason for your concealment may prove to be.”
“Very generous, but I can see that you are not altogether in possession of the facts,” Mary said archly. “Your original proposal, arriving as it did hot on the heels of your assault, appeared to be prompted by your learning of my legacy. Now that you know my family name, is it possible that you remain ignorant of my circumstances? I feel it would be unfair if I did not tell you the whole before you do something rash. My father is a man much like you - a spendthrift and a gambler to name but two of the ways in which you resemble him. As a consequence, my family lives on the edge of ruin and you would find yourself in competition with Papa for my legacy. Since Lady Leland has managed, by sheer force of character, to hold on to her assets and resist every lure cast in her direction by my papa – through the offices of my poor mama - I would be betraying her trust were I to disburse the whole – or even a portion of what she wishes me to have – to either a husband such as you or to a father who has done little save beget me. I must advise you most strongly to look elsewhere to recoup your losses.”
Mary lifted her chin at the end of this speech and fixed Mr Armitage with a steely glance which had the effect of making him as angry as he had made her the last time they met.
“You are an unnatural daughter!” he spluttered, colour rising in his cheeks and his eyes snapping. “I would not want you for a wife if you were the last woman in England.”
“Just so!” she replied.
“Now you have your eye on a bigger prize if I’m not mistaken,” he went on in a loud voice. “Nothing less than Marklye’s fortune will do for you, will it?”
“It would certainly be of more use than handing mine to a man who would run through it in no time and leave me in the situation in which my unfortunate mother finds herself,” Mary retorted, unabashed.
“I will not tolerate bullying.” It was Lord Marklye who spoke. Having finally settled Lady Leland to his satisfaction, he had turned his attention to the two who seemed, already, to be at each other’s throats.
“I suppose you know the sordid past of this fortune-hunter,” Mr Armitage said, abandoning all pretence of admiration for Mary.
“Not entirely, but I daresay you would readily tell me the whole if I made it the price of bailing you out,” his lordship said acidly.
“I meant her – what she has done which has resulted in her being obliged to hide here under a false name as a companion to her own grandmother!”
“I know what you meant but, when you referred to a fortune-hunter, I could see only one who fitted that description. If you cannot conduct yourself with greater propriety, I shall be compelled to ask you to leave.”
Mary, shrinking back against the wall, watched the s
ilent tussle which took place between the two men before Mr Armitage shrugged with exaggerated disdain, cast Mary a look of extreme dislike and moved away.
“I apologise for his presence tonight,” the Viscount said. “I did not wish to cause distress to his parents by pointedly leaving him off the invitation but I would not have had him insult you for the world.”
“Oh, it does not signify; I have known Mr Armitage for a long time and am well aware of his character; he only singled me out when he learned of her ladyship’s will.”
“Not quite,” Marklye countered. “He did so earlier – on the road – adopting a rather different sort of approach.”
“So he did, but that does not signify either since I was fortunate enough to be rescued. Pray do not give it another thought.”
He smiled and Mary wondered which group she could join without causing some sort of a scene. Her mother could not be trusted to receive her quietly - she would either fall upon her neck and cover her with kisses or berate her for some misdemeanour, possibly committed many years before; Sir Adrian was clearly in the process of transferring his admiration to Miss Porter and she was afraid that, if she interfered, she might set all to naught – which would be a pity as there was no doubt in her mind that Sir Adrian and Miss Porter would make an excellent couple, a little larger than the average but perfectly matched. Mrs Porter’s expression, when it rested on either her or her mother, reminded Mary of a well-trained dog unnerved by the arrival of a cat that it judged both dangerous and unpredictable. The remainder of the Armitage family was still cringing in shame from Mr Armitage’s stentorian repetition of his marriage proposal swiftly followed by his rout at the hands of their host.
It was a relief when dinner was announced. She found herself seated between Sir Adrian, who could generally be relied upon to behave in a proper manner, and Sir James Armitage, whose age permitted him to pay her compliments without making her feel hunted. The dinner was excellent, the wines first-rate and the whole was accomplished without anyone raising their voice or being obliged to leave the room until Mrs Porter, acting as hostess, rose to lead the ladies out.
When the gentlemen joined them, his lordship suggested that, although there were no more than five couples, he believed a little dancing might be in order; it would, he opined, be more amusing for the ladies who might otherwise expect to be asked to perform. Everyone agreed with this although, while there might be more scope for amusement, there would also be more opportunity for people to fall out or fly into distempered freaks if they took exception to other people’s partners.
“Would you like me to play?” Mary asked.
“No; I would like you to dance.”
If he had hoped that Mrs Porter or Lady Benstead might have offered to play, he must have been disappointed as neither put themselves forward and he was forced to suggest sending for the music teacher.
This did not meet with Susan’s approval although she was not in a position to say so. She found she felt a strong reluctance to have him and Sir Adrian in the same room, conscious that her dealings with the music master had not been altogether proper – and in a few hours’ time would become grossly improper - while her growing friendship with Sir Adrian was entirely without shadow.
“I will play,” she cried, jumping up and immediately tripping upon the hem of her dress. “I am not a gifted pianist,” she added, flushing uncomfortably when everyone looked at her, “but I am sure you will overlook my mistakes.”
“Of course we would,” Sir Adrian said at once. He had already leaped to his feet and caught her as she stumbled. “But I would like to dance with you and cannot do so if you are seated at the pianoforte.”
“No,” she said doubtfully, “but I do not think Signor Pontielli was expecting to play for us; he may be doing something else.”
“What?” Mrs Porter asked, much taken aback. “It is almost dark; he cannot be out on a walk and, since he is employed by me, I believe I am in a position to ask him to play. In addition, my lord, he is staying in your house and must be desirous of repaying you for your generosity.”
“I daresay he expects to have his evenings free,” his lordship said pacifically. “But I am perfectly willing to give him a little extra for helping us out.”
He rang the bell and instructed Harper to invite Signor Pontielli to present himself in the drawing room to play a few dances.
“I hope you will give me the first dance,” Mr Armitage said to Susan, almost elbowing Sir Adrian aside.
Since his run-in with Lord Marklye and the very clear signal his lordship had given that further overtures in Miss Best’s direction were out of the question, Mr Armitage had found himself in the fortunate position of sitting beside Miss Porter at dinner. He had, of course, been obliged to compete with Sir Adrian for her attention but, as a well brought-up girl, Susan had divided her time with scrupulous fairness between the two gentlemen.
She was well aware that Mr Armitage had made Miss Best the object of his attentions; indeed, she had heard him reiterate his offer of marriage immediately prior to going in to dinner; she had also, as had everyone else, heard the Beauty’s set-down and seen Lord Marklye remove him from Miss Best’s vicinity.
She had never been in any doubt that her host had developed an attachment for Miss Best at the very moment he had pulled her from the river; she had seen his despondency at Lady Leland’s card party when the companion had flirted outrageously with Mr Armitage and, now that the young woman had been claimed as a member of the nobility, it seemed to her to be only a matter of time before she became Lady Marklye.
What she did not know at this juncture – because nobody had thought it necessary to tell her – was that Mr Armitage was deep in dun territory and needed a fortune to extract him. As a consequence, it did not occur to her that he might have caught a whiff of hers and begun to pursue it.
“Yes, thank you – although I own I am not particularly good at dancing,” she replied, glad that there were not enough couples for the cotillion.
“I am certain you do yourself less than justice,” Mr Armitage said, although he did not sound certain; rather, the necessity of contradicting such a self-deprecating statement without having any knowledge of the matter one way or another rendered his attempt to set her at ease meaningless. Perhaps sensing this, he added, fatally, “You have only to follow everyone else – nobody is expecting a solo performance.”
The impatient tone and the abandonment of his earlier approach – which had singled her out, while not alerting Susan to the deficiencies of either his character or his financial position, nevertheless extinguished any chance he might have had of engaging her affection – or diverting it from either Signor Pontielli or Sir Adrian.
At that moment the door opened and the music teacher entered the room, saying politely, “You sent for me, my lord?”
Before the Viscount could speak, Miss Best’s voice, at its most imperious, cut across the momentary lull. “What is that man doing here? I will not dance to any tune he plays.”
Chapter 36
Susan’s heart jolted and for a moment her breath seemed almost to stop, so much so that her senses swam. It was not so much the words, startling though they were, as the tone in which they were uttered, which was so filled with icy contempt that it was as though a chill wind had blown through the room.
Miss Best stood beside the pianoforte, at the opposite end of the room from the music master; she had not raised her voice but its extreme disdain sliced through the chatter like a knife, seeming to sever every nerve and fibre in the younger woman’s body.
Susan, who had lacked the courage to look at the music teacher when she heard the door open, could not look at him now either; her eyes were drawn, as were everyone else’s, to the woman who had spoken. She was a magnificent sight, standing very straight, her arms by her sides and her face aflame with what looked like a sort of primeval rage; if she could have felled him with a dart from those fine, large eyes he would surely have fallen as she s
poke. Her cheeks were as pale as her gown but for two bright spots of crimson high on the flawless cheeks, her bosom heaved as though she had been running but her mouth was closed tightly, the lips pressed together as though to keep out the fatal contagion which hung about the music master. There was something magnetic, not only about the face and figure of the Beauty, which was shown to great advantage when lit by fury, but also about the aura of moral outrage which surrounded her.
When Susan succeeded in dragging her eyes from the blazing Beauty and sought the figure of the music teacher, she saw that his countenance too was bleached of colour; the peach-like quality of his skin, whose delicious bloom she had so admired and so loved to touch, had vanished and the flesh beneath appeared to have melted so that the skin, now almost translucent, was moulded to the fine bones like parchment. His full dark eyes looked huge, opened wide with a look she recognised as fear; he resembled a startled deer which, too late, perceives the predator which has appeared as if from nowhere and is about to spring. He was shaking like a blancmanger and trying to sidle backwards with the intention, she guessed, of escaping through the door through which he had recently entered. But he was already too late because Sir James Armitage had moved and stood in front of it. Lord Marklye was rapidly advancing from the other side.
“What is the cause of Miss Best’s outrage, Signor?” he asked quietly as he reached the teacher.
“I – I do not know – I think she must have mistaken me for someone else. I have never met her before in my life.”
“That is a lie! He is the man who persuaded me to run away from school with him; he took me to Italy.” Mary spoke still in that quiet but ringing tone. “It was he who ruined me.”
Mary Or The Perils 0f Imprudence Page 31