The Miser's Sister

by Carola Dunn

  “You do not think I have fallen in love with a society butterfly? Ruth, nothing you can do conceals your essential sweetness, your spirit, and your confiding nature. It is you I love, not your past, not your present.”

  Tears came unbidden to her eyes. That this poised, sophisticated, and proud man should plead with her was more than she could bear. She had taken the wrong tack; there must be some way to convince him without humiliating him.

  “There are reasons why I cannot return your regard,” she tried tentatively. Oliver’s behaviour in the past week had revived her hopes, and she was no longer so adamantly set against rousing any suspicion of her feelings for him.

  Lord Sarbury’s eyes flashed.

  “I have a rival, I know. Do not say that your affections are irrevocably fixed on him!”

  Ruth blushed and hesitated.

  “No,” he continued, “I have no right to ask you that. Ruth, I will not press you now, but allow me to hope. Do not forbid me to see you, to try to win your heart.”

  “I cannot forbid you, nor can I offer any hope. Would it not be less painful to put me at once out of your mind? I do not wish to hurt you, believe me! You have been so very kind.”

  “It seems I have little reason for optimism.” He smiled wryly. “Well then, my lady, I shall try to convince myself that mine is a lost cause, but I anticipate a long struggle. May we be friends, if we can be no more?”

  “Indeed I hope so. It is what I have wished for.”

  “Ah well, better a wanted friend than an unwanted lover. Come, Lady Ruth.”

  His lordship took her hands and pulled her to her feet. Retrieving the forgotten primroses and wilting violets he piled them in her arms.

  “We must have something to show for our time,” he said, then taking her face in both hands he pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Farewell, beloved; welcome, friend.”

  Ruth’s heart was too full for speech as they walked back to the carriage.

  * * * *

  The weather continued fine. That Sunday, Lady Pardoe saw that the wedding preparations were well in hand and revived her proposal for an outing to Richmond, Kew, and Hampstead. The announcement of Rose’s betrothal to Lord Theodore had brought them a spate of invitations, but the next day was free and was fixed on.

  Oliver, his hopes arousing, was enthusiastic. Once more it seemed possible that he might soon want a mansion in the country in which to settle his bride. Ruth, having practically confessed to Lord Sarbury that her affections were engaged, had given up trying to hide the fact from anyone else, especially as Oliver’s attentions had become more and more like those of a suitor rather than a brother.

  As it happened, no one else had noticed that the pair were going around in March smelling of April and May. Even Lady Pardoe was too busy, too preoccupied with Rose, to give them her serious attention, though she was aware that they were together a great deal. The coming wedding was one reason why Oliver did not immediately declare himself. The other, and major, reason was that he was planning to see Lord Penderric when he went down to Cornwall for Bob Polgarth’s balloon flight. He intended to avoid the slightest possibility that anyone might say he had not observed the proprieties, and though Ruth was of age, and at present under the protection of Sir John Hadrick, he felt he must ask her brother’s permission to seek her hand. For all he knew, in fact, Godfrey might be her legal guardian. He certainly controlled her fortune.

  Oliver was not in the least interested in any addition to his own wealth, but the money was Ruth’s by right; it would give her a certain independence of which he would be loath to deprive her. He had no desire to play King Cophetua to her beggarmaid. The earl must be tackled, as his sister had tackled the dowager marchioness, and since he would be in the duchy within the sennight, he would not have to wait long before he could with a clear conscience ask Ruth to be his wife.

  Oliver had reluctantly come to realise that he would not be able to fly with his friend all the way to John o’ Groats, if indeed the balloon decided to go that far, or even in that direction. “The ascension is planned for March twentieth,” he explained to Ruth. “Rosie’s wedding is just six days later. If the flight should happen to go so far as the north of Scotland, I could never return in time.”

  “Indeed you could not. I am sorry for your disappointment, but I must confess it is a relief that you will not be risking your life in that contraption.”

  “Perhaps the wedding could be postponed for a few days, though, if the flight proves successful.”

  “Oliver, you know it cannot! Theo must leave for Vienna by the end of the month, as you very well know.”

  “Or I could just leave Rose to get hitched without me. After all, young ladies are married every day and not all of them have brothers to support them through the ordeal.”

  “Now I know you are roasting me. You’d not miss seeing your sister wed for the world!”

  “Ah well, then I shall have to write to Bob and tell him to find another companion.”

  “Come and write the letter this minute. I will mend a pen for you and stand by to make sure it is done!”

  Oliver announced his decision to his family at dinner.

  “I had quite forgot your balloon,” said Rose, “but I am happy to think that I am the cause of keeping you from it. Of all the crack-brained starts!”

  “I confess I am glad, too, dearest,” agreed her mother. “It sounded such a very hazardous undertaking.”

  “I shall go down to Cornwall, however,” Oliver added. “Bob will appreciate a show of support, and I must keep an eye on our investment.” In view of the vigorously expressed relief of the ladies, he concealed the fact that he had no intention whatever of remaining tamely on the ground to watch the ascension: he reserved the right to go up in the balloon while it remained tethered, but there was no need to tell them that.

  So on Monday, as the carriage, escorted by Oliver and Theo on horseback, swung out of the narrow alley and down Ludgate Hill, no breath of apprehension marred the holiday air. Sir Edward had been persuaded to put off his inevitable business engagements and join the excursion. It was a small family party, Ruth and Theo being both quite part of the family by now.

  Cook had packed a pair of huge picnic hampers, which were securely tied on behind. Unbelievably, the weather had not changed overnight, and though the early morning air was chilly, the pale blue sky held no hint of clouds.

  The streets of the City were wide awake and bustling as they passed, in contrast to the fine squares and terraces of the West End, where only a few servants were visible. They saw a few solitary horsemen in the parks, and then they were out of town and bowling merrily along toward Putney Bridge. A little more than an hour brought them to Richmond Park.

  As Ruth stepped down from the carriage, joy at being under an open sky overtook her, as it had just three days earlier. She could not help contrasting the two occasions, and spared a pitying thought for Lord Sarbury. This time no expectation of awkwardness spoiled her enjoyment. She could relax and be herself among her dearest friends.

  The ladies were all dressed for walking, but Rose and her mother were true townswomen. A half mile stroll along an inviting path merely whetted Ruth’s appetite for further exploration, while the other two were ready to turn back. It was still early, so Lady Pardoe suggested that she and Rose should sit in the shade of a group of elms, allowing the rest of the party to continue.

  Sir Edward was no more of an enthusiast of long tramps than his wife, and Theo could not be parted from Rose. Ruth looked longingly down the track at a distant lake.

  “I can see that you will never be satisfied to sit admiring the view, Ruth,” said Lady Pardoe, smiling. “I see no reason why Oliver should not escort you as far as you wish to go. You are no schoolroom miss to be needing a constant chaperon.”

  “You think it would be unexceptionable?” asked Ruth eagerly. “I should love to see the lake.”

  “Weighted with years as you are, Lady Ruth, you are safe in my
hands,” Oliver assured her. “I shall stop you straying from the path, pull you from the water when you fall in, aid your faltering steps, and generally treat you with the respect due to a grandmother.”

  “Odious wretch! You had best beware, or I shall treat you like a small boy and rap your knuckles. A fine pair we shall make!”

  “Be off with you,” ordered Lady Pardoe. “We sedentary nature lovers wish for peace to settle ourselves comfortably. We shall await you in that copse near the carriage.”

  Oliver offered Ruth his arm and they set off. Oliver found that in spite of his long legs he scarcely had to alter his pace to fit in with Ruth’s country-bred stride. They walked for a while in companionable silence.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” offered Oliver at last.

  “I was thinking of the last time we walked together,” Ruth confessed. “Only it was you who did most of the walking, I fear.”

  “The cliffs at Boscastle,” recalled Oliver. “‘Scuzzle,’ I should say. Do you remember the old shepherd?”

  “Barely. I was half asleep at the time. I felt as if I had not slept for months. The whole thing seems like a dream now.”

  “Just as well. It is the sort of experience one would wish to forget.”

  “Not all of it. There are parts I wish to remember.”

  Oliver stopped and turned toward her. He lifted her chin with one finger and studied her face. What he saw there must have satisfied him, for when they resumed their walk, as they did immediately, the little hand laid lightly on his left arm was engulfed in his right hand.

  “I do believe,” he said conversationally, “that you are fishing for me to carry you again.”

  “Not at all,” replied Ruth with spirit, but blushing. “I was enjoying the memory of bringing down that pitcher on Shorty’s head.”

  “Bloodthirsty wench! I am not sure that I am safe out here alone with you.”

  At that moment they came to a place in the path where even a week of sunshine had left a muddy morass too wide to step over. Oliver seized his chance, and before Ruth could wonder how she was to pass, he had swept her up in his arms and swung her across.

  Amazingly, the exertion made Ruth more breathless than it did Oliver.

  They walked on decorously, approaching the lake. The slope on the far side was a mass of daffodils, spreading their yellow carpet beneath the bare trees. Some thoughtful soul had placed a wooden bench beside the path, looking out over the water where mallards sported their bright spring plumage and marsh marigolds grew among the bulrushes. It was nearing midday, and the sunshine and exercise had made Ruth and Oliver warm.

  “Let us sit for a while,” proposed Oliver.

  “Should we not return? The others will be wondering what has become of us and waiting for their luncheon.”

  “Just a few minutes,” he coaxed. “I am quite exhausted from the walk.”

  “I do not believe that for a moment, but the bench does look inviting. How beautiful it is here, and peaceful.”

  “Have your feelings for the countryside not been overcome by the attractions of town life? After all the amusements and entertainments would you not feel dull?”

  “Parties are delightful now and then, and after living in isolation all my life I have excessively enjoyed having a wider circle of friends. However, Richmond Park cannot be compared with Bodmin Moor, you must agree. I have missed being able to walk freely, and the quiet and the fresh air, but I shall not repine at making my home with my uncle in London.”

  “You have no thought of returning to Penderric then. Ruth, have you heard nothing from your brother since you left?”

  “Not a word. I wrote as soon as we reached London, and so did my uncle when he arrived, but there has been no response. I cannot bring myself to worry over how Godfrey is managing without me.”

  “Of course you cannot. You know I am going into Cornwall on Friday. Should you object if I were to visit the castle? There are... certain matters I wish to discuss with Lord Penderric. Your uncle has also mentioned that there is unfinished business with which I might be of assistance.”

  “I do not like to think of you in that horrid place, Oliver, but otherwise I can have no objection,” Ruth shuddered. “Pray let us talk of pleasanter things.”

  “Yes, one should not spoil a perfect day with such thoughts. Forgive me. You look forward to going to Almack’s on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, indeed, since Rose has also received vouchers. It is amazing how many doors have opened to her since her betrothal. I do not think she cares for it in the least, but your mama must be happy to see her success. It is too bad that she was not admitted to the Ton years ago. She might have met Theo then and been an ambassador’s wife by now.”

  “Your class is very exclusive. Even though a female may move up by marriage, her male relatives might find themselves forever shut out.”

  “My class? I do not think of them so, but rather of myself as an outsider, an intruder. I find so many of their concerns to be utterly without interest or importance. And the Corn Laws are iniquitous, leaving the poor to starve in order to line the pockets of the landowners!”

  “There speaks Sir John’s niece. My father would be delighted to hear you.”

  “I fear your father will rather be maligning me for keeping him from his refreshment. We must go back, Oliver.”

  “Very well,” he said obediently, and they sauntered back along the path, both more than satisfied with the conversation.

  The mud puddle was still in its place and presented no greater difficulty than last time.

  They found the rest of the party waiting only for their reappearance to begin the meal. The fresh air had given everyone hearty appetites, and great inroads were soon made into the contents of the hampers.

  Sir Edward was ready for a nap after his luncheon but was persuaded to take it in the carriage. They set off down the hill toward the villages of Richmond and Kew.

  The river banks were lined with pleasant villas, and new construction was visible everywhere. Rose thought it delightfully rural.

  “How can you say so?” teased Oliver. “It is pretty enough, yet one might as well live in Paddington. It will not be long, I think, before the area will be quite built up.”

  In fact, though plenty of open space remained and a few estates of a fair size could be seen, there were also rows of houses reminiscent of the London squares.

  “The river is very peaceful,” remarked Lady Pardoe, “but I expect it is quite ague-ish in winter, and I believe it floods regularly.”

  It was late afternoon when they reached the steep hill of Hampstead Heath. Once more, Rose, her parents, and her betrothed were content to stretch their legs with a stroll along the base of the slope. Ruth and Oliver found a lane that zigzagged upward, and they deserted the others again.

  For a few hundred yards they could see nothing because of the high hedges on either side. Then they rounded a corner and emerged on the heath.

  Before them stretched empty acres of common, up to the horizon. Looking west, nothing interrupted their view of the beginnings of a lovely sunset. They turned. Below was spread the wide panorama of London, the river glinting like a crimson snake in the evening light. St Paul’s Cathedral stood out in benevolent majesty above the hazy clutter of the city.

  Ruth and Oliver both caught their breath, and their hands met and gripped. Without any exchange of words, it was settled that this was the place where they could spend their lives together. At that moment nothing could have seemed more certain and inevitable to either of them.

  A loud “Halloo!” came from the lane below, and Theo climbed breathlessly into sight.

  “Rosie and Lady Pardoe are growing chilly,” he panted. “Stop gaping, you two, and come down or it will be dark before we get back.”

  “I know what it is,” groaned Oliver. “You are all hungry again. We are coming.”

  Chapter 18

  The following day, Ruth went to see her aunt and Letty. She had seen very
little of them since removing to the Pardoes and was ashamed to admit to herself that she had not missed her sister at all.

  Lady Hadrick asked after Lord Sarbury.

  “He drops in quite frequently, aunt, and I am forever meeting him at parties,” said Ruth evasively.

  “Your attitude is monstrous cool, miss! If you are not careful he will not come up to scratch, and then where will you be? Already you have lost one admirer to Mistress Rose. You cannot expect an endless procession of suitors.”

  “I do not, ma’am, nor do I wish for such a thing. I beg you will not concern yourself for me. How does my sister?”

  “It is very shocking that you should prefer the company of Cits to your own family,” complained Letty. “How do you think I can tell people when they ask where you are? You were always selfish and never thinking of me.”

  “I am sorry you should feel that way, Letty dear. I am afraid you will not be pleased with the errand I am come on today. Aunt Hadrick, it was settled, was it not, that I should return to Curzon Street on Friday? I must ask you to allow me to stay with the Pardoes until Rose’s wedding. I am to be her maid of honour, you know, and there is a great deal to be done at such short notice.”

  “I am sure there is nothing that Lady Pardoe’s servants cannot accomplish better than you, Ruth,” said her aunt in irritation. “Your place is here with your sister. I am quite worn out with taking her about, and you now know enough people that you can chaperon her yourself. You are sufficiently advanced in years to make it quite unexceptionable.”

  “But not yet in my dotage, aunt,” warned Ruth quietly. “Certainly Letty must have enough friends to keep her company for a fortnight.”

  “They are all stupid and mean,” Letty objected. “I do not wish to go out with that ugly Amelia Vaughn, who is always moaning that she has no beaux.” She looked at her sister’s forbidding face. “However, if you mean to be cross about it, I do not want your company either, I vow.”