"I found you attractive the first time I saw you." He ignored the small voice that asked him exactly when that was. Which Miss Hazelbourne did he hold in his arms?
"My mother will welcome you, for she has been after me to marry these past several years. Indeed, she even suggested that either you or your sister would make me an excellent wife, for she knew your parents many years ago, and admires them both greatly."
He waited for her to say something, and when she remained silent, he went on, "Come Miss Hazelbourne, make me the happiest of men." He waited again. "Or have you taken me into aversion?"
"No, my lord. I have liked you ever since I first saw you. But the duchess said your fortune was squandered. I had wanted to marry someone who would keep me in the first style of elegance."
The complete artlessness of her confession made him smile. "I cannot promise to do that, but my pockets are no longer completely to let. I think I could contrive to provide you with some of the luxuries," he told her with a wry smile. Sometime in the past while, he had come to believe she might suit him very well. "I, too, have been aware of a liking for you since our first meeting."
Wilderlake still did not know which of the sisters she was, but really didn't matter, for he had liked them both. If he was going to marry a total stranger, one sister would do as well as the other.
After what seemed an age, she said, "Well, then, my lord, it seems that I must accept your proposal with gratitude." Again the trusting look, as if he held the solutions to all of life's problems in his hands.
He vowed silently to merit such trust. "I will return you to your family on the morrow, Miss Hazelbourne. At that time I shall speak to your father, who should not object. As soon as possible I will obtain a special license, so we can be married by the day after tomorrow at the latest."
"I wanted to be married in St. George's," she said with a small pout. "I have heard that all the best weddings are held there."
"Unfortunately, that cannot be arranged. You will have to settle for a quiet wedding in the bosom of your family. Immediately afterward, we will go to Wilderlake Castle, so you will not be exposed to the rumors and snubs that might otherwise be your lot until Lady Everingham finds someone else to rip apart. Perhaps your family might care to join us in a few weeks."
"But the Season is not even half over!"
"There will be other Seasons, my dear." He became aware that he was still sitting on her bed, holding her in his arms. She felt entirely too good there. He stood and stepped away from the bed. "I think we can contrive to be reasonably happy. I am not averse to spending at least part of the Season in London. When we are at Wilderlake Castle, there will be much to occupy your time. It is badly in need of renovation. Within reason, you may have a free hand at redecorating."
Chloe sighed. This was not going as she had planned, but Lord Everingham's warning about his mother's power among the ton had hit home. She had gone too far this time, as her sister had warned, time and again. How convenient that Lord Wilderlake had been on hand to save her from her own folly.
He is a viscount. Not as good as an earl, but still... "Very well, my lord. I will be ready to depart at whatever hour in the morning you set. You will stand by me when we reach my parents' home, will you not?"
He reassured her that he would allow no one, not even her parents, to abuse his affianced wife. "For, my dear, once you accepted my proposal, you became my responsibility."
She sighed with relief. "Oh, my lord, are you certain that you wish to marry me? I am given to willfulness and tantrums and I do not always like to do as Society expects of me."
"Then you must endeavor to conquer such impulses, Miss Hazelbourne. Look where they have led you."
"I have done nothing else for the past hour, my lord," she said, wishing his arms were still strongly about her. "Tonight I was forced to admit that Mama and my sister were correct in accusing me of having become terribly spoiled and arrogant in the past while. Today, finding myself penniless and abandoned so far from London, I suddenly became aware that I had lost all sense of restraint over my actions. I have resolved to act with more temperance and thoughtfulness in the future."
Wilderlake smiled warmly, but did not step forward to take her into his arms as she had hoped he would do. Instead he took her cold hand and bowed over it. "Get you into bed now, and sleep well. It has been a trying day for you. I will have someone attend you in the morning. Good night."
"Good night, my lord." Chloe waited until he left the room, then flung herself onto the bed to indulge in a new flurry of weeping. She wept for all her dreams, now lost, and for the future that she faced as the wife an impoverished viscount in a draughty castle in Cumbria.
* * * *
Wilderlake did not weep, but he sat long in the parlor after seeing his friends to bed. He had refused to give them details of the situation, but had informed them that the girl was indeed a lady and they were to keep quiet about what they had seen and heard. He would take the young lady back to London the next day, leaving them to make the return journey without him.
What would his mother think when she learned she was to have a daughter-in-law? He had not lied when he told Miss Hazelbourne that his mother liked her, but he had to acknowledge to himself that she had said that she liked Miss Phaedra Hazelbourne much better than her flighty sister.
He was coming to suspect strongly that the girl in the bedroom upstairs was the flighty sister. Chloe.
"Chloe," he said, testing the word on his tongue. "Chloe." He cast his mind back to his university days, but all he could recall was a tenuous reference to summertime. Yes, the name fit her, for her smile was as bright and sunny as a summer's day, her tears as quick and warm as rain in July.
He hoped that his mother would accept her and learn to love his wife. And will I learn to love her? He had no thought of a marriage in name only, as the young woman upstairs was to be the mother of his children.
A sudden warmth filled him at the thought of the begetting of those children. Yes, I can definitely see her as my wife. But love? I honestly do not know. He had little time for such sentimentality, for the task before him was still Augean, though not insurmountable as it had seemed upon his father's death.
His own mother had admitted not loving his father, but she had been a good wife to him, in spite of his mistreatment of her. At least his wife would not suffer as his mother had, contriving to keep the bailiffs away, to keep food on the table, to hang onto the unentailed lands of the estate until her son reached his majority.
Chapter Thirteen
As the rain-washed day slowly dripped into evening,, Phaedra found her thoughts drawn ever again to her sister's predicament. While she had never understood Chloe's desperate need to marry soon and well, she had sympathized with her determination to shape the future to her own satisfaction.
Theirs had never been the ordinary upbringing, for Mama was a great believer in education for girls, and Papa was determined his daughters would be trained in estate management and financial affairs. Both parents had encouraged their children to independent thought and open mindedness.
At the same time they had stressed the importance of society, for, as Mama had more than once quoted, "No man is an island..."
Phaedra had eagerly embraced the opportunity for education, and had read widely and voraciously, concentrating mostly on the natural sciences. Chloe, less able to be inactive for long periods, had spent many hours playing the piano and the harp, until she was an accomplished musician. Both girls had involved themselves with village and parish activities, although once discovered by the local swains, Chloe's interest in all but parties and routs and other of the more frivolous pursuits had gradually excluded other social pastimes.
Lately Phaedra had wished she had spent less of her time on her education and more on visiting and mingling with the local gentry. Learning how to piffle might have prepared her far better for coping with the haut ton than a knowledge of Latin, Greek and botanical nomenclature.
/> "Mama was so determined that we marry well," she mused aloud as she stared out into the darkening street. "Perhaps she should have encouraged me more to practice inane social chatter and less to improve my mind."
Cousin Louisa was silent for so long that Phaedra wondered if she would answer. At last she said, "There is much to be said for the ability to prattle, but it is a talent that loses its charm under the burdens of everyday life."
"Chloe prattles quite well, yet I am certain she will be able to cope with whatever she must face. She really isn't the flibbertigibbet she seems." Even as she defended her sister, Phaedra wondered if Chloe really would be able to cope. She had changed so much in the past few years. Sometimes I feel as if she's a different person, not my sister at all.
"She is much like your father. I remember when he was courting your mother..." Cousin Louisa let her mending fall into her lap as she stared into the fire. When she spoke again, her tone was pensive, as if she were dredging up long disused memories. "I was fifteen, too young to put my hair up, yet too old to stay in the schoolroom with the children. Your mother was not quite eighteen, and just as lovely then as she is now. The whole family expected her to make a fine match, for all our fathers had been gentry, rather than noble."
"I had forgotten your mothers lived together after they were widowed. Were you close, like sisters?"
"Not really, for Mother and I moved in with my aunt Mirabelle only a few months before Isabella made her come out." With a quick glance over her shoulder at the closed door behind her, she said, quietly, "Your parents' marriage was not considered a good match by either family."
Phaedra turned to stare at the older woman. "Not a good match. But they are so...so much in love. I would wager there is not a better marriage in the whole of England."
"Probably not." Cousin Louisa picked up the mending, and set it upon the drum table at her side. "Your mother's come out was a great success. She could have had her choice of husbands. Everyone was surprised when she chose your father." She smiled. "A wise choice, as it turned out, which surprised everyone on the family even more."
"You speak as if Papa was not particularly eligible."
"He was not. His name was on everyone's lips that Season, spoken with great disapproval. That was the year he gambled his entire remaining inheritance on a tin mine that everyone knew was played out."
"Papa?"
"Oh, yes. And this only a few months after he had sunk a small fortune into a canal scheme that seemed on the brink of ruin." She shook her head. "Everyone knew he was a poor risk, both financially and as a husband. Any woman foolish enough to marry George Hazelbourne, for all he was the grandson of a duke, would surely live a life of abject poverty, and probably even be forced to outrun the bailiffs."
"Oh, I cannot believe you. Papa is not wealthy, but we have never lacked for necessities, and even the occasional luxury."
"I know. The tin mine later reopened and he sold it at a modest profit. He recouped his investment several times over from the canal.. And hasn't that been a thorn in the side of many of the Verbains?" Cousin Louisa smiled widely. "Isabella has been proved wiser than her family, for your father has provided well for his family. Your portions are ample, your brothers will each inherit properties that will, with careful management, give them a decent living. And your father still gambles on endeavors most of the world considers foolish and improvident."
Phaedra thought back over her growing-up years. While she had never been told that the family coffers were full or empty, she remembered times when frugality and thrift were the order of the day. Although those times had been perhaps more frequent than when Mama ordered half a dozen new gowns, or Papa added yet another expensive hunter to his string, she had never felt, well, poor.
"So Mama followed her heart. She doesn't seem to have regretted doing so."
"No, she has not ," Cousin Louisa agreed.
"Then why is it so important to her that Chloe and I marry well?"
Phaedra waited so long for an answer that she began to wonder if Cousin Louisa would not reply. At last she said, "I believe it is because she sometimes found life...uncertain. No mother wants that for her daughters, no matter how happy she herself has been. Isabella must want you to have financial stability as well as love." Her sigh was heartfelt. "Unfortunately, Phaedra, mo one can guarantee love, prosperity, happiness, or any other blessing for another, no matter how good the intentions."
"But--"
Her question was lost as the door opened and her mother entered.
"No," she said, when both Phaedra and Cousin Louisa turned enquiring eyes upon her. "There is no word." Her voice broke on the last word.
"Mama--"
"I am sorry, Phaedra," Mama said, after a moment when she visibly controlled her worry. "I should have know better than to put so much emphasis on your marrying well. I should have encouraged you to look for love, not material wealth."
Phaedra knelt before her and clasped both her hands. "You did, Mama. I always knew that I wanted what you and Papa have, even if it meant living in a hovel."
"Perhaps." The word emerged on a long sigh. "I only wish..." She was silent for many heartbeats, until Phaedra wondered if she had forgotten what she had meant to say.
"You heard what I said about the importance of love in a good marriage, but I fear all Chloe heard was how important wealth and rank were to her happiness."
Tears clogged Phaedra's throat as she nodded. "Yes, Mama, I believe that was all she heard." She could not restrain a heartfelt sigh. "Poor Chloe."
* * * *
The spring night overtook Mr. Farwell and Lord Gifford before they were many miles from London, and with it came more rain. They took refuge in an inn, requesting the landlord to wake them before dawn so they might be back on the road at first light. Neither spoke of the fact that Chloe would be spending another night with a man not her husband.
Lord Gifford had hitherto shared Phaedra's impression of Farwell's foppishness. A day in his company had showed that the younger man was not at all what he appeared. He was both sensible and competent, for all his foppish appearance.
The sun had barely begun to penetrate the tattered clouds on the eastern horizon when the two men set out in pursuit once again. Their speed was less than Farwell's racing curricle was capable of, for the night's rain had turned the road surface into sticky mud through which the horses had to struggle. At their first change, inquiries of the hostler yielded the information that a young gentleman, answering to Everingham's description, had obtained a change of teams the previous day.
"Damn this mud," Lord Gifford exclaimed, as they once again slowed to inch their way through a rutted swale. "At this rate they'll be in Gretna before we can catch them."
"We're making good time," Farwell said. "It only seems slow because of your concern."
Lord Gifford shot him a scowl, but refrained from a reply. Farwell had been pushing the horses all the way, and he had no complaint. Only overwhelming worry about his daughter. Sweet, foolish Chloe. If only he'd been more stern with her. If only...
After another change at midmorning, they made better time. The roads were drying under the influence of bright sunlight and a balmy breeze. Farwell gave the job horses their heads on a long, straight stretch. Lord Gifford hung on for dear life, but Farwell seemed glued to his seat. They were bowling along at a good clip when he said, "My lord, I would like your permission to pay court to your daughter."
Lord Gifford gaped at the younger man. "Chloe?" he finally managed to gasp.
"No, sir. Your younger daughter, Phaedra. I have learned to respect her very much, and believe that she and I would suit very well."
Remembering Phaedra's characterization of him as a precious fop with not an ounce of sense or a brain in his head, all Lord Gifford could do was stammer, "You want to marry her?"
"I do, sir. I am aware, however, that she views me with less than complete approbation. Convincing her I am worthy of her will be a difficult task."
"Well nigh impossible," Lord Gifford blurted, before he could stop himself. "Phaedra sees life in a more serious light than the usual chit. Convincing her that you're a likely husband will be an uphill battle."
"One I am willing to fight. Have I your permission?"
Damme, I wish Isabella were here. She'd know what to do. But the fellow deserved an answer now. "For what it's worth, you do. That's not a promise she'll have you, mind."
"It is all I asked." Farwell dropped his hands, and the horses thundered down the road.
* * * *
Wilderlake allowed Miss Hazelbourne to sleep until late, wanting to see his friends well away before she emerged from her bedchamber. He had also seen a sullen Everingham on his way. When he finally escorted her to his private parlor, she said nothing beyond a polite good morning. He seated himself across from her after the waiter had laid out their breakfast and departed.
"Are you regretting your decision to wed me?"
"No, my lord, I do not regret it. Indeed, I am very grateful that you have offered for me. It is more than I deserve, I think." She gave him the ghost of a smile. "It is only that my throat feels raw and my eyes are burning."
He examined her. Aside from a certain puffiness under her eyes, she looked far better than she had last night. "Are you ill?"
"Not at all. I have often felt this way before, when I indulged in an excess of weeping."
He watched her help herself to porridge and toast. When she reached for a slice of ham, he said, with some concern, "Do I understand that you suffer from motion sickness, Miss Hazelbourne?"
She pulled her hand back. Looking up at him from under long, curled lashes, she nodded.
"Then I should warn you to take only a little unsweetened tea and dry toast this morning. My mother, who also suffers from that affliction, finds that having little on her stomach relieves the symptoms somewhat. Since I have only a curricle at my disposal, the trip back to London will not be comfortable for you. But you will have only to tell me if you feel sick, and we will stop."
A Sisterly Regard Page 16