Mary Balogh
Page 49
But, Mrs. Dean was hasty to add while describing her daughter’s triumph over tea soon after their arrival at Middlebury Park, how could they possibly have resisted the prospect of spending a quiet couple of weeks in the country with old friends?
Old friends?
The situation had soon become painfully clear to Vincent, though no one bothered to explain. Miss Philippa Dean was on the marriage mart to the highest bidder. She had younger sisters growing up behind her and two brothers at school who might conceivably wish to continue their studies at university. It seemed unlikely that the Deans were vastly wealthy. They had come, then, on the clear understanding that there was a husband to be had for the girl at Middlebury and that she would return to London with all the distinction of being betrothed within a month of her come-out. It would be a singular triumph, especially as she would be securing a husband who was both wealthy and titled.
And who also happened to be blind.
Miss Dean was exquisitely lovely, his mother reported, with blond hair and green eyes and a trim figure. Not that her looks mattered to him. She sounded like a sweet and amiable girl.
She also sounded quite sensible when in conversation with everyone except Vincent himself. She often was in conversation with him during the following few days, however. Every other female in the house, with the possible exception of Vincent’s three young nieces, did everything in her power to throw the two of them together and to leave them together. Even a blind man could see that.
She conversed with him upon trivialities in a gentle, somewhat breathless voice, as though she were in a sickroom and the patient hung precariously between death and life. Whenever Vincent tried to steer the conversation to some meaningful topic in order to discover something of her interests and opinions and the quality of her mind, she invariably agreed wholeheartedly with everything he said, even to the point of absurdity.
“I am firmly of the opinion,” he said to her one afternoon when they were sitting together in the formal parterre gardens before the house despite a rather strong breeze, “that the scientific world has been in a wicked conspiracy against the masses for the past number of centuries, Miss Dean, in order to convince us that the earth is round. It is, of course, quite undeniably flat. Even a fool could see that. If one were to walk to the edge of it, one would fall off and never be heard of again. What is your opinion?”
It was unkind. It was a bit mean.
She was silent for several moments, while he willed her to contradict him. Or laugh at him. Or call him an idiot. Her voice was gentler than ever when she spoke.
“I am quite sure you have the right of it, my lord,” she said.
He almost said “Balderdash!” but did not. He would not add cruelty to unkindness. He merely smiled and felt ashamed of himself and talked about the blustery wind.
And then he felt the fingers of one of her hands on his sleeve, and he could smell her light floral perfume more clearly, an indication that she had leaned closer, and she spoke again—in a sweet, hurried, breathless voice.
“I did not at all mind coming here, you know, Lord Darleigh,” she said, “even though I have been looking forward forever to my first Season in London and do not remember ever being happier than I was on the night of my come-out ball. But I know enough about life to understand that I was taken there not just for enjoyment. Mama and Papa have explained what a wonderful opportunity this invitation is for me, as well as for my sisters and brothers. I did not mind coming, truly. Indeed, I came willingly. I understand, you see, and I will not mind one little bit.”
Her fingers squeezed his arm before letting it go.
“You will think I am forward,” she added, “though I am not usually so outspoken. I just thought you needed to know that I do not mind. For perhaps you fear I do.”
It was one of the most excruciatingly embarrassing moments of Vincent’s life, as well as being almost insufferably infuriating. Not that she infuriated him, poor girl. But her parents did, and his mother and grandmother and sisters did. It was quite obvious to him that Miss Dean had been brought here not just as an eligible young lady whom he might get to know with the possibility on both their parts of deepening their acquaintance in the future if they liked each other. No, she had been brought here fully expecting that he would make her an offer before she left. Pressure would have been brought to bear by her parents, but she was a dutiful daughter, it seemed, and accepted her responsibility as the eldest. She would marry him even though he was blind.
She very obviously did mind.
He was angry with his mother and sisters for assuming that mental deficiency was one effect of blindness. He had known they wished him to marry soon. He had known that they would proceed to matchmake for him. What he had not known was that they would choose his bride without a word to him and then practically force him into accepting their choice—and in his own home, moreover.
His house, in fact, was not his own home—that realization came like an epiphany. It never had been. Whose fault that was must be examined at some future date. It was tempting to blame his relatives, but … Well, he would have to think the whole matter over.
He had a niggling suspicion, though, that if he was not master here, the fault lay with him.
But for now he was in an impossible situation. He felt no spark of attraction toward Miss Dean, even though he believed he would very probably like her under different circumstances. It was clear she felt nothing for him but the obligation to marry him. He could not, though, allow both of them to be coerced into doing what neither of them wanted to do.
As soon as they had returned indoors—Miss Dean took his offered arm and then proceeded to steer him along with gentle but firm intent even though he had his cane with him and knew the way perfectly well without any assistance at all—Vincent went to his private sitting room—the only place in the house where he could be assured of being alone and of being himself—and summoned Martin Fisk.
“We are going,” he said abruptly when his valet arrived.
“Are we, sir?” Martin asked cheerfully. “And what clothes will you be needing for the occasion?”
“I will need everything that will fit into the trunk I always take to Penderris,” Vincent said. “You will doubtless decide for yourself what you need.”
A low grunt was followed by silence.
“I am feeling especially stupid today,” Martin said. “You had better explain.”
“We are going,” Vincent said. “Leaving. Putting as much distance between us and Middlebury as we possibly can in order to evade pursuit. Slinking off. Running away. Taking the coward’s way out.”
“The lady does not suit, does she?” Martin asked.
Ha! Even Martin knew why the girl had been brought here.
“Not as a wife,” Vincent told him. “Not as my wife, anyway. Good Lord, Martin, I do not even want to marry. Not yet. And if and when I do want it, I shall choose the lady myself. Very carefully. And I shall make sure that if she says yes, it is not simply because she understands and will not mind.”
“Hmm,” Martin said. “That is what this one said, is it?”
“With the softest, gentlest sweetness,” Vincent said. “She is sweet and gentle, actually. She is prepared to make a martyr of herself for the sake of her family.”
“And we are running away where?” Martin asked.
“Anywhere on earth but here,” Vincent said. “Can we leave tonight? Without anyone’s knowing?”
“I grew up at a smithy,” Martin reminded him. “I think I could manage to attach the horses to the carriage without getting the lines hopelessly tangled up. But presumably I won’t have to risk it. I suppose you will want Handry to drive us? I’ll have a word with him. He knows how to keep his lips sealed. Two o’clock in the morning, shall we say? I’ll come and carry your trunk out and then come back to dress you. We should be well on our way by three.”
“Perfect,” Vincent said.
BY MARY BALOGH
The Sur
vivors’ Club Series
The Proposal
The Mistress Series
More than a Mistress
No Man’s Mistress
The Secret Mistress
The Huxtable Series
First Comes Marriage
Then Comes Seduction
At Last Comes Love
Seducing an Angel
A Secret Affair
The Simply Quartet
Simply Unforgettable
Simply Love
Simply Magic
Simply Perfect
The Slightly Series
Slightly Married
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Dangerous
Beloved Classic Novels
A Summer to Remember
One Night for Love
The Ideal Wife
The Secret Pearl
A Precious Jewel
The Gilded Web
Web of Love
The Devil’s Web
A Christmas Promise
Dark Angel/Lord Carew’s Bride
The Famous Heroine/The Plumed Bonnet
The Temporary Wife/A Promise of Spring
A Christmas Bride/Christmas Beau
A Counterfeit Betrothal/The Notorious Rake