A Country Wooing

by Joan Smith

  Talking was better than keeping it all bottled up inside, and the ladies talked till late into the night, then went to bed to think about what they had said and try to figure a way out of the muddle. Mrs. Wickfield was up early, haggard from lack of sleep, but she always rose with the chickens, whether she had slept or not. It was still early when Penholme stopped on his way to London.

  “Robin has taken the Anglins over to Sawburne, and I’m off to London,” he said, smiling widely. “Where’s Annie? I must talk to her at once.”

  Mrs. Wickfield had never seen Alex so excited. She looked in shock at the almost hysterically happy man before her. “She didn’t get to sleep till all hours. I don’t like to waken her, Alex. You seem in mighty high spirits.”

  “I am, Auntie. You’ll never guess what happened.”

  “What?” she asked eagerly.

  “I’m rich. Can’t you waken Annie? I must talk to her.”

  “Rich? How?”

  “It’s a miracle. Albion did it—I love him,” he said, and, tossing up his hands, laughed like a deranged man.

  “Albion?”

  “Yes, he gave me a hand last night, went through my papers, and made me a rich man. Did I tell you I’m off to London?”

  “You’re going to sell the house—is that it?”

  “What, sell a sterling investment? Why, it would still be worth a king’s ransom if the roof fell in. He told me not to sell. I mean to follow Albion’s advice in everything. I’m stopping at Exmore’s place to make Rosalie come and visit my new in-laws.”

  “But what happened, Alex? How did Albion make you rich?”

  “Really, it was Charles who did it. It’s all very complicated. He wasn’t such a bad brother after all. How could he know his ship would sink? At least the gas stocks didn’t blow up. Albion is heavily into gas stocks.”

  He rattled on so disjointedly that she hardly knew what to make of it. “Gas stocks, you say?”

  “Yes, they have to be sold now. I want to do it before they go down.” He looked impatiently at his watch. “Perhaps I won’t wait for Annie to get up. Let her sleep. But tell her not to worry and not to pack her bags to go abroad either. With Albion’s help, I’ve saved Penholme. You’re invited to the wedding, by the way. Albion is planning a capital do.”

  “What wedding is this, Alex?” she asked fearfully.

  “Oh, Robin’s and Maggie’s, of course. They will go first.”

  “Perhaps I should rouse her.”

  “No, don’t bother. I am anxious to get to London and settle everything. It would take her a while to get dressed. I’ll leave but be back tomorrow. Isn’t it wonderful? Really, we were foolish to look down our noses at the Anglins. They’re very nice.”

  He walked to the door, still rattling on in a fashion that made little sense. But two facts emerged clearly: he had saved Penholme, and the Anglins were very much involved. His happiness proved contagious. Mrs. Wickfield hummed as she went about her duties, and when Anne came downstairs sometime later, her eyes heavy, she was surprised to see such happy spirits bubbling out of her mama.

  “Alex has been here” she was told, and, of course, the rest of the story soon came out.

  Anne was first ecstatic, then curious, and finally doubtful. “But what did Anglin do, exactly?”

  “I don’t understand it, my dear. Alex was very excited. It has something to do with Charles.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “And gas stocks and a ship that sank. Did I tell you Alex is bringing Rosalie to visit the Anglins?”

  Rosalie’s presence at this time was nothing but a disaster. “The Anglins? Why not the Hall?”

  “I don’t know, Anne. As I said, Alex was strangely excited. A kind of euphoria—or hysteria,” she added uncertainly.

  Exactly how Penholme was to be saved was unclear, and Anne soon began to wonder whether Anglin had convinced Alex to marry Miss Anglin. Her mother declared it was no such a thing. He wouldn’t have been wearing a smile from ear to ear if that were the case, now would he?

  Anne could not think he would, but why else should Anglin settle his debts for him? Her mother obviously misunderstood something that had been said. There was no way in the world Charles had helped from the grave. All his acts while alive had been disastrous. It was too exciting a mystery to continue for a whole day, so the ladies loaded into the gig and went to Penholme to talk to Aunt Tannie, from whom they learned exactly nothing.

  The whole household had been up and gone before she had come to breakfast. When she had gone to bed the night before, Anglin had been locked up in the study with Alex’s papers, and when she had come down, everyone was gone, so she ended up exacting information instead of giving it.

  She was questioned closely as to what degree of intimacy existed between Miss Anglin and Alex, and had to confess he seemed to like her pretty well. Most damning of all, he had been seen walking with her in the orchard at some unremembered time. The ladies returned home no wiser than when they had left, to face an afternoon and evening of uncertainty.

  In London, Alex was much more happily occupied selling his shares in the Gas, Light and Coke Company, giving Naismith money to discharge Charles’s debts, paying Rosalie, and finding a tenant for the London house. As he couldn’t get so much done in one day, he stayed part of the next, rather than have to return. He was finished by afternoon, but so late that the wiser course was to stay overnight.

  In a mellow mood, he was induced to pay his respects to Aunt Lucretia. He made a hit there, for he was an ex-officer, even if he didn’t wear his scarlet tunic. When he politely declined an offer of a loan, Lucretia was so stunned, she quite insisted he take ten guineas as a gift. Rosalie, who accompanied him, railed like a harpy at his stupidity. “You should have read her a Cheltenham tragedy, for she would certainly have offered to bail you out,” But he left a good impression behind, so that there was some possibility his stupidity might yet bring a reward when the will was read.

  He told Rosalie all his plans and got her agreement to visit the Anglins before the wedding. Indeed, she quite looked forward to it, though she could not go for a few days. “What a lark! I would love it, of all things. Bertie will be wearing a face like thunder. I’ll billet half a dozen servants on Albion to impress him. They will be willing to spend any amount. It would be a pity to have it vulgar, when a little help from me could do it up in style. Besides, I cannot allow the bride to outblaze me in her gown. And how about your wedding, Alex? Will it be first?”

  “Annie will decide, but it will be very soon.”

  “She’ll run you to the altar before you have time for a second thought. Of course, I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I only wish Charlie could be here.”

  “But if he were, you would not be marrying her, would you?” she asked with no notion of giving offense.

  “Do you know, sis, I think I would,” he said contentedly.

  Rosalie smiled politely and uttered not a word of enlightenment.

  Penholme ordered from Weston a blue coat of Bath cloth and a formal suit for his wedding. A curled beaver hat, gloves, and a walking stick were put into his possession on Bond Street. Rosalie did not consider him elegant enough yet that she insisted he accompany her to a party, but he was happier to stay home.

  He planned to leave early the next morning. He made only two stops before going, one to retrieve the family heirlooms from the London vault. He would not return to London soon and wanted Anne to have the jewelry on her wedding day. The last stop was to buy six yards of white crepe. He had no idea what quantity was required for a gown, but six yards looked enough for anything.

  As the carriage bolted through the spring countryside, he alternately smiled and laughed aloud, all alone in the carriage, as he hastened to Penholme.

  His staying another day did nothing to ease exacerbated nerves at Rosedale. Aunt Tannie came to call the second afternoon, to say that the party at Sawburne was remaining
overnight. As Alex was expected home that day, no eye was long turned from the front window that would give a view of any carriage passing on the road. Each was scrutinized carefully, but none was Penholme’s. After two cups of tea, Aunt Tannie left, shaking her head and hoping in a despondent fashion that Alex hadn’t done something foolish, by which she meant—and they all knew it—something wise, like offering for Miss Anglin.

  Early the next morning, the Wickfields resumed their vigil at the window. By afternoon, they knew every branch and leaf on the mulberry tree by heart. They knew they had to bend their heads to see the farthest corner of the road. It was approaching teatime when Penholme’s carriage passed Rosedale. It passed and did not turn in as the watchers felt confident it would. The women looked at each other, doubt stiffening their faces.

  “I don’t like the looks of this,” Mrs. Wickfield worried.

  “He is anxious to get to the Hall to see Miss Anglin,” Anne said, and looked hopefully for contradiction.

  “No such a thing. He wants to freshen up—that’s all. And you know, Annie, it was never his way to come down just at mealtime. He’ll have a bite and be here in an hour or two. Why, the Anglins aren’t even at the Hall.”

  “He doesn’t know that. Besides, they must be back by now.”

  “Pshaw! You make me angry with your gloomy notions. He wouldn’t have said not to worry if he’d offered for Miss Anglin, would he?”

  “You’re sure he said that?”

  “Certainly he did. And in such a way, with his eyes shining. He’ll be here before you can say Jack Robinson. Go brush up your hair and put on a ribbon to be ready for him.”

  Anne felt an unbearable churning of excitement. She not only brushed her hair but made a very distracted toilette, to pass the time till Alex arrived. Tea was forgotten entirely at this crucial moment. His carriage was so soon rolling up to the door, however, that it was clear he hadn’t stopped to eat. In fact, he had done no more than clean away the dust of travel and put on a fresh shirt and cravat. He had, for the sake of civility, to say a word to the Anglins, who had just arrived from Sawburne.

  “Are you going to see Annie now?” Robin asked.

  “Yes,” Alex said, walking briskly to the door.

  “Let me go with you. I want to see her face.”

  “I don’t think ... Oh, very well,” Alex agreed, too happy to say no to anyone. “But don’t be sticking to us like a burr after we get there. Give us some privacy.”

  Miss Maggie, never long from Robin’s side, also hopped out to the carriage. “Come on, Marilla,” she called to her sister. Marilla was under orders to ingratiate herself with every lady and gentleman possible, so she, too, went with them. It was a jolly trip. Alex had given Robin a fine ring for his bride. No one knew it had been purchased by Charles with Harriet Wilson in mind, or wondered how such an important piece was unentailed.

  When the carriage was finally close enough to be seen from Rosedale’s saloon window, Mrs. Wickfield called her daughter, who came pelting down the stairs in such a rush she tripped and very nearly broke her neck. Her eyes widened in dismay to discern the Anglin ladies within the carriage.

  “He had the temerity to bring her here!” Anne whispered, aghast. Her eyes flew to the stairway as she wondered whether she had time to get up it before they were in. She hadn’t. Alex bounded up the steps two at a time and pounced in without knocking, to enter the saloon ten steps ahead of the others. The ladies scarcely had time to turn from the window. Alex took a quick step toward Anne, then halted as he saw Mrs. Wickfield by her side. Robin and the girls were just coming in the front door with all the accompanying racket of a group of healthy youngsters.

  “Where can we hide?” Alex asked. He grabbed Anne by one hand. She noticed that in the other he clutched a brown parcel. “Can you stave off the bunch, Auntie?” he asked. “We’ll be with you directly.”

  No stranger to Rosedale, he wasn’t long finding a hiding spot in the morning parlor. He closed the door, tossed the parcel on a table, and released Anne’s hand. He stood looking silently at her for a long minute with a very happy, triumphant, intense look on his face.

  “We’ve done it, Annie.” Her doubts vanished when she saw him there, looking at her as if she were a jewel beyond price. “By God, we’ve done it.”

  Without further waste of time or words, she ran into his arms, all doubts and fears abandoned. She was kissed with a very satisfying violence. “I never thought ...” he began to say, but was soon kissing her again, hungrily and with renewed vigor.

  During a pause for air, Anne said, “Alex, you haven’t told me ...” His lips brushed hers to silence.

  “Later,” he mumbled in a dazed voice, and kissed her again, crushing her against him in a way that promised harm to his wound.

  “Alex, do be careful,” she cautioned in a breathless voice.

  “I’ve been careful all my life, Duck. Too cautious. I should have done this three years ago.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts.” He kissed her again gently, then pressed her head against his shoulder. “We have three lost years to make up. How soon can we start?”

  “Alex, you haven’t told me anything.”

  “Didn’t your mama tell you?”

  “Only that Albion had helped you somehow, and ...”

  “Albion is the one who discovered it.” He went on to tell her all about that evening of revelation. “So Charles wasn’t quite the wastrel we’ve been thinking him. We don’t hate him anymore, do we? Really, I hated hating him.”

  “I’m ready to love him—and the Anglins—the whole world.”

  “Say you love me; you can’t think how I’ve longed to hear you say it.”

  “You, most of all. That goes without saying.”

  “I’m so happy I could fly. Shall we take off into the blue, Duck? Fly home to Penholme, our Penholme.”

  “I’d love it, but should we not waddle into the saloon first and say good day to our darling in-laws? No, I am not being satirical! If their blunt is good enough for us, so is their blood. I only disliked them because I thought you meant to offer for Marilla.”

  “I—Marilla?” he asked, brown eyes blinking. “Annie, you must know I’ve never looked at any girl but you. I must be the most faithful lover that ever was. All the time you were dangling after Charles, I was constant as marble. Not even in Spain, with all those dark-eyed señoritas following the drum. I never wanted anyone but you, Duck, in my whole life. Since I was old enough to think of such things—and you were much too young—I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I—I didn’t think you loved her, but I knew you must redeem Penholme. You said you would do anything. I daresay Albion would have come down heavy for an earl.”

  “Fifty thousand was the sum mentioned,” he admitted, smiling at the memory.

  “Oh, she’s worth ten times as much as I am!”

  “Not to me. I wish he had offered a million, that it might have seemed a real temptation. But it wouldn’t have been. Nothing would. What is money for but to gain security and happiness? You are my happiness. We’ll be as inseparable as Juno’s swans. I have you, and we have Penholme. Money is irrelevant.”

  “How strange that sounds, after what we’ve been through.”

  “I’m irrational with joy. Money matters a great deal, of course, especially when you don’t have it. I intend to run a tight ship at home, to see we don’t run into the shoals of bankruptcy again. Be prepared with your hammer and tacks to shore up the family footgear.”

  “Are we really out of deep waters?”

  “Sailing free. A lot of work to be done still, but I relish that. I have plans to ship the excess of servants out to Sawburne—they can afford anything there, the nabobs.”

  “I personally will gladly forgo my white crepe gown for a few years. I want to do my bit.”

  “We aren’t that poor, Anne. You are to be my one extravagance. I mean to see you turned out in style. I have new outfits coming up fr
om Weston. I can’t have my style ruined by wearing a dowd on my arm. Family tradition must be maintained, and we Penholmes have a strong streak of the peacock. To get you started, I have brought you something from London.”

  He took the brown parcel from the table and pulled it open, with a quite careless disregard for the paper, which with careful handling could have been reused. Yards of creamy crepe flowed from his fingers. He draped a corner around her neck, and she turned in circles, laughing, to wrap it around her body.

  “Alex, such waste! There are yards too much!”

  “I want you to have too much of everything, just as you would have if you had married Charles.”

  “Yes, too much drinking and gambling and debts—to say nothing of mistresses!”

  He grabbed her fingers and pulled her to him, his eyes glowing. “I’ll make you a better husband than he would have, Annie. Truly, I will. I’m not as tall or handsome or as dashing. My poor old carcass is full of holes, but I love you better than anyone else in the world ever could.”

  A lump rose in her throat at this heartfelt speech. “I know. We’ve agreed not to hate Charles; now shall we agree to forget him? He wasn’t as bad as we thought—since he happened to get lucky and regain a little of the money he lost. You are more handsome and more dashing to me. And you are rapidly getting taller, too. I love you better than I ever loved him, Alex. Isn’t that what you really want to know?”

  “Thank you, my darling Duck. That is exactly what I wanted to hear you say. I already felt it, but my ears wanted to hear it, too,” he said in a loving voice. “I shan’t pester you with my doubts again. Now we’ll unwind you from this marriage shroud and go do the pretty with the in-laws. You chose wisely, by the way. The white crepe does enhance your complexion. Would it make a suitable wedding gown?”