by Stella Riley
* * *
While every merchant in London was busy convincing His Majesty of the folly of this move and finally, in desperation, promising him two hundred thousand pounds, Viscount Wroxton came wrathfully back from Far Flamstead to demand his wife’s explanation of her marriage plans for their daughter. My lady replied at length, expounding her reasons – first with deceptive cajolery and then with defensively hard-headed logic. Neither did her any good. Her lord was adamant. He refused, he said bluntly, to be made the biggest marital joke since the Earl of Essex – and there wasn’t enough money in the world to tempt him.
Mary passed from icy sarcasm to open derision and finally lost her temper.
‘You’re a fool, Gervase – and all this bleating about pride makes me sick! You have no pride – no, nor ever will have so long as we’re forced to grub around for every penny!’
‘After twenty-two years of marriage to you, I am left with only shreds of self-respect,’ he retorted, eyeing her with complete dislike. ‘But at least I have some excuse. You, sadly, were born with the mind of a shopkeeper and the morals of a slut … and it’s therefore a waste of time trying to explain that not quite everything can be weighed and measured.’
‘Dear God! You’re living in a dream.’
‘I think not. But let us return to the point. I will not sell Celia to your lover – and, if you continue to flout me or even to argue the matter further, I’ll have you removed to Far Flamstead for the rest of your life.’
There could be no doubting that he meant it and for a moment she could only stare at him, white-faced with loathing. Then, ‘And what, pray, am I to say to Cyrus?’
‘Tell him to go to hell.’
‘I see,’ she said viciously. ‘Then you’d better not come whining to me when the Italian beggars you – because the only help I’ll give you is to load the pistol.’ And, turning on her heel, she swept through the house to vent her fury on Celia.
‘Well, Mistress Stupidity – you’ve just kissed goodbye to a fortune and the only respectable offer it appears you’ll ever get. I hope you’re pleased with yourself and that you’ll remain so when you’re a dried-up insignificant spinster living on your brother’s charity! But you needn’t think that your father and I can afford to keep you here in London, suitably gowned and seen in all the right places – because we can’t. You leave for home on Friday.’
After she had gone, Celia continued to stare blindly at her reflection, torn between thankfulness and depression. Father had stepped between her and marriage to Cyrus Winter, just as Francis had said he would. She ought to be glad; perhaps some small part of her was glad. But she’d never before considered just what her situation would be afterwards – and now that her mother had put it into words for her, she saw that the prospect was bleak indeed.
She did not want to go home, to be forever mewed up in the country with scarcely any society. Neither did she want to dwindle into an old maid while less beautiful girls found husbands and regarded her with sympathetic superiority. She could not bear it. And at the back of her mind was the horrible suspicion that, though she could attract men, she could not inspire the sort of passion that resulted in marriage.
Except … except, just possibly, with Eden.
Eden. His face swam into her mind’s eye, blurred into that of Hugo Verney and then lingered till she banished it. It was Eden who had said he loved her and he who represented her only hope; and of course she was fond of him. But fond enough for marriage? asked a tiny voice inside her head. Truly?
‘Yes,’ said Celia aloud to her reflection. ‘Yes.’ Then, silently to herself, Oh God – let him only ask me and I swear I’ll love him forever.
* * *
If Eden was surprised to receive a note from his love asking him to meet her in secret amidst the bookstalls of Paternoster Row, his pleasure was more than enough to outweigh it and he set off for the assignation with a heart full of hope. That she wanted to see him so urgently and in such a way could surely only mean one thing; but when one had wanted a girl as long and as much as he had wanted Celia, the sudden change was almost terrifying.
Oh God, he prayed. Let her only say yes and I’ll see that she never regrets it – never.
He found her pretending to browse through a copy of Ben Jonson’s Volpone whilst casting wary glances around her. Then she saw him and he was struck by the realisation that she didn’t know what to say – any more than he did himself. So he gave her a slow, sweet smile and said neutrally, ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘I – yes.’ She flushed and bent her head over the pages of the book, wondering how on earth she was to begin. ‘I c-can’t stay long. Someone might see. It’s just that I wanted – I thought you should know that I – that I --’
‘Yes?’ prompted Eden, not daring to say more.
Her fingers clenched in frustration, crumpling the paper. Why wasn’t he helping her? For if he had any sense at all, he must know perfectly well why she was here.
She said carefully, ‘I’m going home. Father’s come back and – and saved me from the match Mother wanted for me … but of course she’s furious and she’s sending me home in disgrace. I – I doubt I’ll be permitted much freedom so we’re unlikely to meet for a while.’ She managed a small, unhappy smile. ‘You’re the only one who’s been kind to me in such a long time … so I wanted to thank you and say g-goodbye.’
There was silence and she allowed her long lashes to veil her eyes, not daring to breathe and not knowing that Eden could not. Finally, when he still did not speak, a great wave of self-pity engulfed her and she said on a genuine sob, ‘Oh – what’s the use? I should have known you d-didn’t really mean what you said. I wish I was dead!’
‘Don’t!’ Eden’s arms ached to hold her but the place was too damnably public. He said, ‘Don’t ever wish that – I can’t bear it. As for my loving you – how can you doubt it? Ever since I came back from Angers I’ve thought of little but how very much I’d like to have you as my wife. You know that. You must always have known it.’
Quite slowly, she raised brilliant eyes to his face.
‘How could I when you’ve never said it?’
He stared at her, his face pale and set.
‘Then let me say it now. I love you more than I can say. Will you … will you give me leave to ask my father to call on yours?’
Celia waited but only for a moment.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Yes, dear Eden – I will.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
SIX
‘Father?’ Eden stood just inside the door of the room that Richard used as an office and looked at his father across the mountain of paperwork that littered the desk. ‘Are you very busy?’
‘Very,’ grinned Richard, dropping a letter on to the heap. ‘Come in.’
Eden closed the door and crossed slowly to the hearth to stare thoughtfully down at the empty fire-dogs. From behind his desk, Richard eyed him resignedly but made no attempt to hurry the process. Finally, Eden looked up and said, ‘It’s Celia. I expect you’ve guessed. I want to marry her.’
‘Ah.’ Richard leaned back in his chair. ‘And she?’
‘Feels the same.’
‘I see. I suppose it would be stupid of me to ask if you’ve given the matter careful thought?’
‘Yes.’ A smile touched Eden’s mouth.
‘Or to point out that you’re still very young and have – as far as I know – little acquaintance with other young ladies?’
‘I’ve met enough to know that Celia outshines them all.’ It was said briskly but the hazel eyes softened. ‘Are there objections? No. I don’t mean that. Is it – would it be displeasing to you?’
Richard ran a quill through and through his fingers, frowning a little.
‘I think the word is worrying.’
‘Why?’ Eden dropped neatly into a chair. ‘I think I almost suspected as much – but why? I know it can’t be money. Is it Celia herself?’
‘Partly – or so your m
other would say. And I usually find her views worthy of attention. But there’s more to it than that. What, for example, are your opinions of the King’s more recent and better-known policies?’
Eden blinked. ‘Much the same as your own, I imagine.’
‘Not good enough. Try again. What about the dissolution of Parliament before it had been in session a month? What about the forced loan from the City and the arrests of Mr Hampden and Lord Brooke? Should we have upset the Dutch by considering a protection deal with Spain? Should Lord Strafford be allowed to bring Irish troops into Scotland? Come to that, should we fight the Scots at all – let alone again? Think.’
‘All right.’ Eden sat up. ‘Financial matters are a mess; our natural alliances ought to be Protestant rather than Catholic; the Scots are our countrymen, their church is their own affair and bishops have no place in civil government anyway. As for the Parliament – there’s no point to it as long as it’s only there to say ‘yes and amen’ to the King’s every wish … and it’s been proved that this King has no intention of allowing it to do anything else. All of which suggests that either His Majesty doesn’t know how much public opinion is against him – or he’s too stubborn to care.’
‘Thank you,’ said Richard mildly. ‘Now tell me what Francis’s answer would have been.’
Eden drew a long breath and then loosed it.
‘Roughly the opposite. All right. I take your point. But does it matter? Celia isn’t Francis.’
‘No. But she’s as much a product of her upbringing as anyone else and she’ll have absorbed the attitudes of her parents without necessarily even knowing it.’ He paused and then said slowly, ‘A marriage based on such disparate views hasn’t the greatest chance of success at the best of times. And now is not the best of times. A growing number of men are coming into open opposition to the King - and the closure of Parliament has only aggravated matters. As a result, Pym and the others mean business and, to a large extent, I am with them. Consequently, the differences between Gervase Langley and myself are widening every day. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’
‘Yes. But I don’t see why these things need come between Celia and me.’
‘Then you haven’t looked ahead. For even if Gervase and I agree on this match – and that’s by no means certain – something tells me that our other points of variance are going to multiply. And if I’m right, Celia could find herself caught between two stools and you’ll have a wife who doesn’t understand you.’
Eden came to his feet. ‘Are you telling me to forget her?’
‘No – though I can’t deny that I think it would be best. I’m just trying to open your eyes a little. Do you, for example, relish the prospect of acquiring Lady Wroxton as a mother-in-law?’
‘Not particularly. But I’m prepared to put up with it.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then Richard said flatly, ‘Daughters are apt to resemble their mothers.’
Eden flinched. It was what the Italian had said … and Kate, too … and it was still a suggestion that he found impossible to tolerate. Keeping his voice under rigid control, he said, ‘I’ll never believe it. I love Celia and I won’t give her up for such reasons any more than I imagine you’d have given up Mother.’
And that, of course, was unanswerable.
‘All right,’ sighed Richard. ‘I’ll think about it. But you’d better be very sure that Celia understands what she’s doing and that her feelings equal yours – because I know very well that your mother is going to require some convincing.’
* * *
Richard was right – she did. And he himself had too much wisdom and too many reservations of his own even to try. Instead, they talked late into the night, sharing their misgivings and regretting for the first time that they’d chosen to rear their children in an atmosphere of greater freedom than was usual in order to encourage them to think for themselves.
‘It makes it rather difficult to suddenly start issuing vetoes,’ said Dorothy gloomily. ‘What are you going to do? Talk to Gervase and hope he refuses?’
‘It may come to that, in the end. But first I intend to wait till you’ve spoken with Eden and formed an opinion of the strength of his affections. The trouble is that most of our objections to Celia stem purely from instinct – and we could be wrong. Eden’s not a fool and he must know her better than we do. He loves her. And if she loves him, it could be the making of her.’
‘If she does.’ Dorothy leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I, personally, doubt it. And how will we ever know?’
She expressed this thought, albeit somewhat more delicately, on the following morning when she managed to isolate Eden after breakfast. His response, however, did little to reassure her.
‘You’ve missed your cue,’ he grinned. ‘I’m the one who’s supposed to think myself lucky. You’re supposed to think me so irresistible that no girl could possibly not love me.’
Dorothy did not smile.
‘I’m sorry but it’s not a matter about which I feel able to be flippant. I want you to be happy. And I don’t think you’ll be happy with Celia.’
Amusement faded from his face and he said, ‘Then you’re mistaken. I can be happy with no one else.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘I can. But if you want to tell me what you’ve got against her, I’ll listen.’
‘With your mind already made up?’
‘I can’t help that,’ he admitted. ‘But it doesn’t mean I won’t try to appreciate your point of view.’
‘That’s generous of you.’ The sudden flash of acidity was strongly reminiscent of Kate; but then she said more patiently, ‘She’s a lovely girl and I can understand you wanting her. But there’s more to marriage than two bodies in a bed – and however much you may think you know of her mind, I suspect she hasn’t the faintest idea of what goes on in yours.’
‘She’s known me all her life.’
‘So? You can meet someone every day God sends and never really know them – or be with someone for only an hour and know them utterly. I’m speaking of – of a meeting of minds. And I’ve a notion that yours and Celia’s have scarcely passed within nodding distance. I’d be surprised, for example, if you’ve ever held a conversation that didn’t revolve almost solely around Celia herself. Am I right?’
‘No,’ said Eden, irritably and without thought. ‘But all you’re really saying is that she isn’t clever and that --’
‘She could have a brain to rival Leonardo,’ said Dorothy roundly, without pausing to absorb this interesting remark, ‘and be no more suited to you than if she were a simpleton. The things that matter are perception and instinct and the ability to understand. Convince me that those things exist between you and Celia – on both sides and in equal measure – and I’ll give you my blessing.’
‘What you’re saying is ‘Give me proof’ – and I can’t. No one could. But do you think I don’t know what marriage should be – that I’ve learned nothing from seeing how it is between you and Father? And, having seen, do you think I’ll be content with anything less?’ He smiled suddenly and opened his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘No one can choose who they will love. And I love Celia.’
Dorothy looked back at him helplessly. But, before she could speak, the door opened on one of her maids.
‘Please excuse me, madam,’ said the girl, ‘but the master asked me to tell you as how my lord Wroxton has called and that he’s wishful for you to join him in the parlour.’
Dorothy’s eyes travelled to her son’s face and rested there for a long moment before returning to the maid.
‘Thank you, Nan. I’ll be along in a minute.’ And then, when they were alone again, ‘Well … he hasn’t wasted much time, has he?’
Eden looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Celia must have told him. You can’t wonder at it. Her mother was intent on bundling her back to Far Flamstead tomorrow morning.’
‘Was she?’ The green eyes sharpened. ‘Why?’
‘Because Celia won’t do as she’s bid and marry some rich old man Lady Wroxton’s found for her,’ came the rapid reply. ‘Mother – I should think his lordship must be willing or he wouldn’t be here. What will you say to him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dorothy moved towards the door. ‘I don’t know. And Gervase may just as easily have come to say he’ll have none of the matter. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. You’re hardly the match he was hoping for, after all.’
‘Because I’m not heir to a title?’
‘No. Because you can’t pay his debts,’ she returned sardonically. And was gone.
Her hopes were soon dashed. Lord Wroxton was of a mind to make himself master in his own house. He cared little for Mary’s infidelities so long as she was discreet, but her attempt to marry Celia to her lover was more than he could swallow. Consequently, when Celia informed him that he was to receive a call from Richard Maxwell on behalf of Eden, and Mary immediately said that such a match was out of the question, Gervase naturally gave his consent to it. And by the following morning he’d managed to convince himself that he hadn’t done so purely in order to spite Mary – for the Maxwells were well-connected and Eden heir to a snug property. It wasn’t what he’d hoped for … but it began to seem perfectly acceptable.
* * *
While her parents were listening unwillingly to the simple pleasure emanating from Lord Wroxton, Kate and her maid delivered Toby to Cheapside en route for a shopping expedition with Venetia Clifford – only to be delayed by a cheerful scolding from Giacomo.
‘Why you are not staying? You don’t come so often no more and is not good. ’Ow I teach you to speak my language if you are coming and going so fast?’
Kate grinned. ‘I’m sorry. I promise I’ll come tomorrow. But this morning I have another engagement.’