But, she observed her future husband excused himself quickly to the ladies and disappeared up the stairs, just as his brother and grandmother had only moments before, he did look a little unwell. His complexion, which had been ruddy with drink, food, and proximity to the fire only moments before, looked a little pale.
Perhaps he will be taken ill, and the wedding will have to be postponed, she thought to herself with a sudden jolt of hope. Heavens, I do hope so.
She felt ashamed of her own thoughts. Of course, she wished no harm to come to Charles - no substantial harm, certainly. But the thought of avoiding his marital embraces, even if only for a few additional days, was to her certainly enough to give cause for a sense of consolation.
Chapter 19
Grandmamma Horatia did not have favorites between her grandsons.
She had always counseled her daughter that this was the secret to bringing up fine, vigorous, happy boys. If two young lads could discern additional favor from a parent, if they even so much as suspected it, then relations between them would be permanently damaged, and they would become unhappy and impossible to manage.
She believed this as firmly as she believed anything.
For the most part, it had worked. Even when her dear Stephanie had died and she had become a proxy mother to her daughter’s children, she had felt that she had given the two boys affection and care in equal measure and that they were both the better for it.
However much she herself had tried to treat the two grandsons as equals, however, she could not deny that the machinations of fate and chance had not been as judicious.
No-one could disagree that Andrew was the better-favored of the two. It was as if Charles’ measure of luck had all been diverted into his position of birth as the first son, and all the other blessings of looks, talent and temperament had fallen on his brother to correct the balance of the scales.
Charles just never seemed quite able to get it right, somehow. Grandmamma Horatia had found herself wincing inwardly at his behavior since Rebecca and her friend had arrived at Godwin Hall. She had known Rebecca Winterson all her life and had always admired the girl’s self-assurance and spirit.
She felt that Charles should have known enough about women — indeed, about people — to see that the way to win this young lady over was not to behave in a swaggering, domineering fashion, which would only give Rebecca cause to resent him. He needed to be kinder, gentler, more respectful if he had any hope that he would gain Rebecca’s heart in addition to her hand.
She had hoped that Charles would have been able to come to this conclusion for himself, but she was starting to see that this was not going to happen. She decided to herself that she would have a quiet word with Charles in her sitting room tomorrow, and see if she could persuade him that he would need to take a different approach if their marriage was to be a success.
For the time being, however, she felt that the first necessity was to attend to Andrew.
The young man was apparently in great distress, and she hated to see it. She had discerned and feared that he had been in love with Rebecca for as long as he had been capable of loving a girl. Knowing her son-in-law’s plans for Charles marriage, she had hoped that the attachment would fade away as Andrew grew up and met other young ladies.
It had, however, proved to proceed oppositely. She had detected, when Andrew had gone to London for the Season and undergone numerous introductions with fine young ladies, that he was constantly comparing them to Rebecca and finding them lacking.
“Do you not find all these London girls rather fussy, Grandmamma?” she remembered him saying to her once. “All preoccupied with dancing and dresses and husband-finding. I can’t see a bit of spirit in any of them apart from Rebecca.”
Grandmamma Horatia had replied something, gently suggesting that her grandson might learn to be a little more generous in his assessments of young ladies if he grew to know any of them a bit better, but inwardly her heart had sank. She could see that his adolescent infatuation had matured into a young man’s passion, which would be much more difficult to dissolve.
If she could have had her own way, of course, then she would have said that Rebecca and Andrew were clearly the better couple. Not only did they enjoy a deep and sincere attachment, but they were clearly equals in every sense of the word. Rebecca was just not right with the dear, sweet, unfortunate-looking Charles.
And Charles was a sweet boy. He had always been cheery, sunny, a true light to all who were fond of him. But he had been severely affected by the way that his younger brother outshone him in every way, and it had caused him to grow rather clumsy in his manners, demanding in his affections and petulant in his sentiments.
But Grandmamma Horatia knew enough of the world to know that a marriage like that of Charles to Rebecca could not be put off. By anyone’s standards, they were the ideal prospect for each other in terms of wealth, status and lineage.
As soon as the two of them proceeded on to the Season together after their wedding, she knew that they would be the envy of all that saw them. They would make the sort of couple that was the reason that people went to Hyde Park to see the promenade of the most glittering jewels of fashionable society.
To call such a wedding off was unthinkable. The best that she could hope for was that the two young people would find a way to make it work and that Andrew would find a way to overcome his suffering.
She tapped on the door of his bedroom with the jet tip of her cane. There was an indeterminate noise in response and she pushed the door open.
Andrew was sitting on the window-seat in his shirtsleeves, with his cravat removed as if it was encumbering him and his hair in disarray. She suspected that he had been running his hands through it so that it stood up wildly, as he had done in moments of distraction since he was a little boy.
“I’ve got to get away, Grandmamma,” he said immediately, instead of a greeting.
Grandmamma Horatia had been intending to say something consoling and encouraging to him, but instead, she merely crossed the room to take the hand that he was holding out to her so piteously, and said in soft agreement, “I believe you are right, my dear.”
“You said you thought it would come well in the end,” he said. There was a note of accusation in his voice as if her words had possessed some magical property.
“And I still do, my dearest Andrew,” she said immediately. “I believe that both you and Rebecca will both live full and happy lives, although I must say to you now, that such happiness may not come to you in the way that you might have hoped or expected.”
She could see that these words were of little comfort. Nonetheless, her years of experience and watching the lives of young people unfold convinced her that they were true nonetheless. Andrew and Rebecca were both the kind of person who would fight their way to happiness, and of this, she had every faith.
“It is too late, Grandmamma,” Andrew replied flatly.
“Too late for what, dear?” Grandmamma Horatia had little patience for such declarations from a young man of four-and-twenty. At that age, it was not too late for anything.
“Just too late,” he repeated miserably. “Everything is about to change.”
“Indeed it is, and we shall have to make the best of what comes,” she responded. She placed both gloved hands on Andrew’s and grasped it firmly.
“Now, my dear boy,” she said, obliging him with her steely gaze to look her in the eye. “I ask you to do something for me now. Will you go and speak to your brother, and take your leave of him in friendship?”
Andrew scowled at her words, but she continued nonetheless. “After all, he may be married when you get back. As difficult as I know this is for you, I beg you to remember that he is your closest living relative, and those sorts of bonds should never be corrupted by grudges.”
Andrew’s face was not that of a man who wished to be obliging, but in all his life she had never known him to refuse a direct request from one who loved him.
; “Besides,” she added, “You are leaving now, you will be getting away from this house. Spare a thought for those who will still be here after you have left.”
She meant Rebecca, primarily, of course. The lack of maturity that she had been disappointed to see in Charles over the years meant that he was prone to taking out his temper on whoever happened to be nearest at the time, and because of this, she felt a sincere concern for the girl who was going to be his wife.
Andrew clearly saw what she meant, and nodded.
“Of course, Grandmamma,” he said. “I will speak to him directly, and…” he hesitated, seeing that it cost him every ounce of resolve that he had to form the words, “I will wish him joy.”
Grandmamma Horatia bent down to kiss her grandson on the cheek and left the room. It was not the conversation that she wanted to have with her grandson, but she felt it was the one that he needed to get him through this difficult time.
Walking down the corridor away from Andrew’s chamber, she was surprised to find Charles coming down the hall, looking a little pale.
“Are you quite well, my dear?” she asked. It was not unusual for Charles to suffer from a touch of indigestion after dinner, and the less said about his intemperate drinking habits, the better. But she was always concerned when she saw one of her grandsons indisposed. It was a consequence, perhaps, of having lost her only daughter.
“Of course, Grandmamma,” he replied, with the falsely cheerful tone that she had heard him adopt so frequently of late. “Just a touch of indigestion. I really must learn to adopt a less rich diet.” He smiled at her, clearly doing his best to alleviate her concern. “Please do not be alarmed, Grandmamma. I shall be quite well in the morning.”
Chapter 20
Rebecca played the pianoforte for a short time while Caroline listened, or at least, appeared to listen. She appeared no less distracted than anyone else in the house, and Rebecca was touched by her friend’s concern. She drew real comfort from the knowledge that after she was married to Charles, Caroline would at least be permitted to remain by her side.
“I am afraid my playing is appalling tonight,” she said wryly after a movement or two. “I suspect that the wisest thing that one can do today is to follow Andrew’s example and go directly to bed.”
“I hope you’re quite well, Rebecca,” Caroline said. The concern was justified, as it had been a very long time since Rebecca could recall playing so poorly.
“Oh, quite well,” she replied dismissively, passing a hand over her forehead in a gesture that she herself could not have said whether it owed more to weariness or malaise. “I am sure it is nothing that cannot be resolved by a good night’s rest.”
She did not really mean that, but she was starting to realize that now that Andrew was going away, the task would fall to her alone to begin making the best of things, even when they seemed dreary.
“My dears.” Grandmamma Horatia’s voice floated in from the doorway. “I have only come down to bid you both a good night.”
She crossed the room to the piano where Rebecca was still sitting, and reached out to pat her on the arm. “And to tell you, my dear girl, to keep your chin up. I am sorry that the last few days have not gone as well as either of us would have hoped.”
Rebecca nodded and smiled tightly, gratefully accepting the kiss that Grandmamma Horatia affectionately bestowed upon her cheek. Had circumstances been different she would have thought herself very fortunate to have influence such as Grandmamma Horatia present in her life.
Not having much more to say to each other, the two young ladies went up to bed and bade each other good night on the landing.
“You are sure that you feel quite well, Rebecca?” Caroline took her friend by both hands and studied her face intently. “I have scarcely ever seen you look so pale before.”
“No indeed,” Rebecca said. “It is as I have said, Caroline, that I am merely tired. It has been a very long and tiring day.”
“It has.” Caroline smiled thinly. “Hopefully there are not too many like it to come.”
* * *
Rebecca woke early in the morning but made no move to dress. Instead, she sat on the window seat of her bedroom, telling herself that she was reading but really waiting for the sound of Andrew’s horse’s thudding hooves as they carried him away.
She was still not precisely sure what her feelings for Andrew were. What she was sure of was that she had some intimate feelings that concerned Andrew, and felt nothing of the sort for Charles.
It was not so simple as saying that she wished to marry Andrew rather than Charles, but merely that if she were going to marry one sort of man above another sort, of her own free will she would have chosen a man far more like Andrew. She could admit this, even to herself. That to her seemed like nothing more than the expression of common sense, of self-knowledge on the most basic of levels.
What she was finding it more difficult to categorize, or even allow herself to think about, was the way that she had felt when the two of them had galloped across the turf side by side. The feeling in her chest when she had heard Charles saying that Andrew was to go away to London. The tingling feeling in her right hand when she had shaken his to bid him farewell.
She suspected that their ride together would prove to be the last time that they were ever alone. Both of them, she knew, had far too much of a sense of honor to allow themselves to explore those feelings they both shared when she and Charles were to be married. Andrew was a bold and impetuous man, to be sure, but she knew that he would never dream of making advances upon his own brother’s wife.
The solution, she realized, was for them to see each other very little in the future.
The thought made her shiver. Again, she told herself firmly that had nothing to do with her feelings for Andrew, and everything to do with the bleakness of the prospect of marrying Charles.
She recalled a conversation that she had with Caroline not long ago when they received the news that a young lady of their casual acquaintance had lately been married.
“I make no suggestion that the man in question is not a perfectly honorable gentleman,” Rebecca had sighed. “But that is scarcely the point.”
“What is the point then?” Caroline had replied. Rebecca remembered having the sense at the time that Caroline herself had no strong feelings on the subject and was waiting to take the lead from Rebecca’s opinion, whatever that might have proven to be.
Rebecca had sighed. “It is a matter that constantly amazes me that young ladies, with a fraction of the opportunities and education that are afforded to gentlemen, mature into creatures that are every bit the equal to men.”
“If not their superiors,” Caroline had said, and then giggled in such a way as to confirm that she did not mean it. This Rebecca had thought, seems to be what young ladies often do when they wish to diffuse thorny conversations on the matter of the imbalance between the sexes.
“A young ladylike Miss Randall,” Rebecca had continued, referring to the young newly-married woman who had first sparked off the subject of their conversation. “Is not only the equal of Mr. Alan in every particular, but in native intelligence, she is by far his superior.”
Caroline had been unable to dispute that. They had both met Miss Randall’s new husband in London and at the time agreed that he was a uniquely stupid fellow whose only saving graces were his title — he was a Viscount — and the fact that he had a tendency to fall asleep by the fire before he had an opportunity to torture his companions for too long with his tedious conversation.
“Miss Randall is a pragmatist,” Rebecca remembered Caroline observing. “She knows perfectly well that she will never have another suitor that will afford her more advantages than this offer from the viscount. She has chosen to accept his offer. It is the choice that most young ladies would make.”
“It is not the choice that I should make,” Rebecca had replied heatedly at the time.
“That is true,” Caroline had replied soothingly. “And,
I hope you will not mind my saying this, Rebecca, knowing how dearly I love you, but perhaps in the case of Miss Randall you might wish to remember that not all people respond to situations in the same way.”
“Marrying a man as stupid as Mr. Alan is scarcely a mere difference of opinion!” Rebecca had responded, feeling her cheeks flushing.
“Miss Randall is poor!” Caroline had replied, equally spiritedly. “You may not have noticed it, Rebecca, because she has a wealthy aunt and uncle and moves in good society, but if she had not made a good match, her situation should have been desperate indeed! Poor women cannot afford to remain old maids.”
Rebecca had settled back into her chair, slightly shamefaced. “I hope, my dear Caroline, that you will not believe me to be too harsh on my own sex,” she had said, after a few moments of reflection. “Nothing could be further from the truth. I have the greatest of esteem for Miss Randall.”
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