“No! That's not the way it is at all."
Kilbane reached out a hand to tilt up the down-turned face. “How is it, Jennifer?"
“Oh, I can't tell you! You will hate me!"
“I could never hate you,” he said helplessly. “Are your parents forcing you to marry him?"
Her voice was a bare thread of sound. "I am forcing him to marry me.” She could not meet his eyes, but she knew by the swift intake of breath that she had shocked him, and she kicked her mare into movement. Pontley was approaching them now, and she rode over to him, her face pale and anguished.
“Do you feel all right, Jennifer?” he asked with concern.
“No, I think I shall go back to the house, Philip. Please, there is no need for you to accompany me. I'll be fine."
“As you wish, my dear. Send for me if I can do anything for you.” Thoughtfully he watched her canter the mare across the meadow toward the stables, her body huddled forward over the mare's neck.
Kilbane's face, when he drew rein beside Pontley, was also pale. “Perhaps we should go with her."
“She wished to go alone. We can see that she makes it safely from here.” They watched while she dismounted, a tiny figure in the distance, and then saw her walk swiftly to the dower house, which was much closer to the stables than the main house was. Satisfied, Pontley swung his horse's head about, but Kilbane continued to stare across at the closed door.
“You don't look so well yourself, Kilbane. I had thought to show you Pennystone farm, but we can do that another day."
Without turning, Kilbane spoke. “She said she was forcing you to marry her."
“Did she? She exaggerates sometimes."
“I know, but I don't think she was this time.” When Pontley did not reply, Kilbane moved to face him. “I cannot think what she means—unless you have taken advantage of her."
Pontley took into consideration the young man's age and distress, but he had a strong desire to thrash him. “Set your mind at rest. I have not and haven't the slightest desire to take advantage of the child.” His brown eyes flashed with annoyance.
“Forgive me if I implied such a thing,” Kilbane gasped. “I didn't think what I was saying."
“Please do so in future. I am not a patient man and I have my hands full."
“Yes, of course. I—I will leave immediately. I cannot think how I came to say such a thing."
“Don't be a gudgeon. There is no need to leave. I assure you I enjoy your company when you have your head about you.” Pontley rode on with Kilbane beside him, the latter too miserable to pursue the subject further, and afraid where his tongue might lead him.
Pontley made sure that it was another two days before Kilbane had a chance to speak alone with Jennifer. The date of her parents’ arrival was fast approaching, and he considered the more tension allowed her the better. It would not harm Kilbane, either, to imagine the wildest things before the simple truth was revealed to him, and as long as he made no attempt to return to university there was time enough.
But Pontley was not indifferent to the point where uneasiness became suffering for the young people, and, after sticking to them like court plaster for two days, he suddenly excused himself on urgent business to leave them entirely alone in the library at Lockwood.
When the door closed behind him, Jennifer nervously plucked at the skirt of her walking dress and stared out the window. Gently, Kilbane placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Please tell me what you meant, Jennifer. How are you forcing Lord Pontley to marry you?"
Broken by shuddering sobs, her tale was all but incoherent for several minutes, and Kilbane rocked her in his arms until she was quieter. Then it all poured out: how Pontley had come and been attracted to her, how he had returned and continued to pay attention, but in a different manner. “He no longer wanted to marry me. But, Kilbane, I had started to depend on it. To get away from my sister and my parents. He was kind to me and he had thought of marrying me, I know he had. But when he saw me strike the groom ... Oh, I don't blame him! I was so anxious that day; my sister was pestering me to attach him when he returned. Everyone just wanted to shuffle me around and have me out of their way. I wanted a home of my own!"
She gulped down a sob. “Don't you see, Kilbane? He was kinder to me than anyone had ever been and I refused to believe that he was not still attracted to me. I know that is vain, but I felt quite desperate. My sister kept pinching at me to bring him to the sticking point, and she even urged my parents to stop at her home on the way north so that they might force him to offer for me. We didn't tell him they were coming and suddenly he had to go to his place in Somerset, but he said he would be back. And he didn't come and they all pounced on me and...” Jennifer could not continue for the sobs which racked her.
“It's all right now, Jennifer. I am here and I will take care of you. Hush, my love. I understand."
“No, you can't understand! No one can. I was so angry with him for deserting me and leaving me at their mercy, forever harping about how foolish I was to think he would marry me. No one would ever marry me, my sister said. So I decided to prove they were wrong. I—I wrote to my aunt because I knew Philip was here, and I accused him of making promises to me which he had no intention of keeping. I cannot remember precisely what I wrote, but I said some very wicked things, and after all he had no choice but to marry me."
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “You may hate me if you will, Kilbane. I am sorry I did it, but that does not say I would not do it again. In fact, if my aunt were not so horrid and ... and"—her voice dropped to a whisper—"if I had not met you, I would not be so very wretched here."
Kilbane shook his head unhappily. “But, Jennifer love, it is not fair to Lord Pontley. He has been kind to you and you have repaid him by trapping him into a marriage you know he does not desire.” It was obvious to him that such an argument would not hold much weight with this self-centered child-woman. Even knowing that she was indeed unlikely to change, Kilbane could not resist his love for her. And she needed someone to love her—not the hard-won tolerance of her fiancé, but the deep understanding of a kindred spirit.
Kilbane responded to the wild elfin charm and he was willing to accept the fact that together with the exotic heights of unfettered freedom, he would have to endure the depths of willful destruction. There was really no choice in the matter at all for him; if he could have her, he would take her, with all her problems, with all her delights.
“Never mind, my love. Let me take care of you, let me treasure you. I think we could be happy together, and that you would like Ireland. Say you will marry me and we can make everything right with Lord Pontley."
Jennifer bit her lips to keep them from trembling. “You wish to marry me when you know everything I have done?"
“Yes, Jennifer. I love you."
“And I love you, Kilbane. I didn't know that until I realized that I want to have you like me. It hasn't really mattered before. But even though I love you, I can't seem to behave as I ought. My aunt says I am unstable."
“To hell with your aunt! You need never set eyes on her again if you will marry me."
“She would be very pleased, I think,” Jennifer giggled nervously.
“Good. Then she can plead our case with your parents. Will you marry me, Jennifer?"
“I should tell you that I am very expensive, Kilbane. Philip, I know, is worried that I will ruin him. I don't want to ruin you."
“You won't ruin me, Jennifer,” he said with laughing exasperation. “I have enough for even so expensive a lady. Will you marry me?"
She swallowed a last little hiccup of a sob and nodded. “Oh, yes, please, Kilbane. And will you take me away from all my dreadful relations?"
“Just so long as you don't tell them they are dreadful, young lady. Oh, even then I would, my love, but I would be pleased if you would refrain from antagonizing them until I gain their consent."
“Yes, I see. I shan't mind living in Ireland, you
know, and I will help you plant potatoes,” she offered magnanimously.
Thoroughly provoked, Kilbane caught her to him and kissed her. “I don't actually plant my own potatoes,” he confessed, “but never tell anyone."
They went together to seek out Pontley and found him with his agent in his study. Kilbane thought they should wait for a more propitious moment, but Jennifer wanted the matter settled and asked if they might speak alone with the viscount. The agent was willingly dismissed and they were asked to seat themselves. Jennifer did so, but Kilbane remained standing beside her chair.
“What can I do for you, my dear?” Pontley asked, torn between amusement and relief at the superbly solemn countenance she presented.
“If you please, Philip, I should like to marry Kilbane instead of you."
“And is Kilbane willing?” Pontley asked with gentle irony.
The Irishman flushed at the implication, though he knew it would not occur to Jennifer. “Yes, sir. Jennifer has explained to me the circumstances of your engagement, and I am hopeful that you will not consider my suit as an impudence."
“Not at all. I believe you are well enough acquainted with Jennifer to offer for her with your eyes open and that is the only basis on which I could object. Her parents are due in three days and you must raise the matter with them. I think you will find that the Dowager Lady Pontley will support you if you make an effort to gain her approval.” He transferred his gaze to Jennifer. “I sincerely hope you will be happy, my dear."
“Thank you, Philip.” With a shy glance at Kilbane she continued, “I am sorry if I caused you trouble."
Jennifer's temper did not always stay so meek during the wait for her parents, and they were several days late in arriving, but her behavior was no longer Pontley's concern, and Kilbane did appear to exercise a beneficial effect on her. Sir George and Lady Stafford, however, were nonplussed when they heard the new arrangement; apparently it was the last straw for them.
Taking them into her private parlor, the dowager made them see the light. She paid not the least attention to her sister-in-law's tears or threats to expire on the scene, nor to Sir George's repeated, “I won't have it.” No solution could possibly have presented itself which was more satisfactory, to the dowager's mind.
“The child is a spoiled brat, if not definitely unhinged. I tell you I have been hard put these last weeks not to see her to the door. Pontley doesn't want her and was forced into accepting her.” She glared at them as though she had had nothing to do with this circumstance.
“Think of the advantages of her marrying Lord Kilbane—the chief of which is that he will take her off to Ireland where she can shame herself to her heart's content without our being any the wiser. If she is on our doorstep the scandal will be perpetual and mortifying. She's landed herself an Irish peer, well off to boot, who is well aware of her idiosyncrasies. Insofar as she is capable of loving anyone but herself, she loves him and makes at least a half-hearted effort to behave for him. Lord, you could not ask for more!"
“But it will seem so odd,” groaned Lady Stafford. “She has been engaged for some time now to the viscount, and suddenly an announcement will appear that she has married someone else.” She allowed her husband to wave the vinaigrette under her twitching nose.
“Stuff! It will only seem very romantic to the fools, and I doubt there is the least gossip to be made from it by the malicious, since we have all been stuck off here in the country. The only Londoners we have seen recently were at that idiotic play, and they will proclaim from the rooftops that they saw it coming, for she clung to Kilbane the whole of the evening and didn't even dimple for them,” the dowager returned scornfully.
“Lord Kilbane might bring her to London,” Sir George suggested.
“He might; he probably will one day, but under his influence you are not likely to see her dressed like a courtesan or imitating the Young Roscius in the park,” she snapped.
“Did—did Jennifer do those things?” Lady Stafford asked faintly.
“She did, and we were only there a few days. I shudder to think what mischief she would have been up to had we stayed longer. Let her marry the Irishman, for God's sake, and be thankful someone wants her. The Irish are all half-mad and will think very little of her antics."
Sir George stood firm on only one point, and that was that the banns must be properly read. There would be no special license to suggest unseemly haste. The dowager stoically tolerated the overflowing household this imposed on her; Pontley's offer to house the Staffords was politely, and with horror, rejected by Sir George. Jennifer chafed under the wait, but Kilbane could only thank his lucky stars that the Staffords had agreed. It did not disturb him that he was abandoning his university career, which had begun to seem pointless in any case.
The most impatient party was Pontley himself, as he received Glenna's note long before the marriage took place. He felt it incumbent on himself to remain to see the couple properly married, so that there would be no cause for gossip on that score, but the brevity of the note and the information that she had taken a position with such a man alarmed him. Would not an M.P. be just the sort of party to provide her the kind of marriage she had originally sought with him? Frequently in London for months at a time, embroiled in a political scene which would distract him from his home life, Mr. Banfield seemed a likely candidate.
Only one detail provided solace to the viscount. When his servants had returned from the schoolhouse bearing the props from the play, the backdrop had been discarded against his express wishes. He had thought to have it kept in the schoolroom at the top of the house for future generations of Hobarts to use in their dramatics.
“I'm sorry, milord, but there were pieces cut from it. In that condition it could be of no use to anyone."
So Pontley had the harp shipped with instructions for the greatest care, and departed from Lockwood the day after the happy couple was pronounced man and wife.
Chapter 21
Glenna was enjoying her duties at Grinston Manor, though it was trying at times to tolerate Cousin Banfield's annoying assumption that all women were fools or worse. His aunt was an ineffective but dear old lady who was so grateful to have Glenna relieve her of any responsibilities that she spent her days seeing solely to Glenna's comfort. The evening meal, usually attended by only the three of them, consisted largely of Cousin Banfield extolling the virtues of his party and finding some means to lay the country's problems at the feet of its female residents. Aunt Julia murmured consoling platitudes, and Glenna laughed at him. “I hope you do not give such speeches in the House."
Banfield glared at her. “You know nothing of such matters, Cousin Forbes. I speak only rarely in the House, but my speeches have been received with the proper appreciation."
“No, have they? I had no idea the members felt so strongly about the havoc females create."
“I do not express such views in the House, as you must well realize. There is a certain chivalry which must be maintained, even at the expense of a full disclosure of truth."
“Come now, Cousin Banfield. If you really adhered to such views you would be a menace to the country. It is the men who run things, so you may be sure it is they who get us into our muddles. Now if you were to give women some say in things..."
His face clearly betrayed that he thought she spoke heresy, and he refused to continue the conversation, maintaining an angry silence for the duration of the meal. But he had no fault to find with her management of the household, hard as he tried, and the entertainments she organized were beyond his limited expectations. Glenna enjoyed the company and made no secret of her delight in meeting her neighbors and conversing with them on their interests and concerns.
Banfield had never been able to put his guests at their ease, since they were couples—one half of which he scorned. But under Glenna's domain they were well fed, charmed by her open friendliness and, when the harp arrived, enchanted with her performance.
The fact that the harp arrived wi
thout any note from Pontley cast her into a lowness of spirits which she had been able to keep at arm's length by involving herself with her new duties. Of course he would not have a chance to write at such a time, she chided herself. No doubt he was even away from Lockwood on his honeymoon and Mrs. Ruffing had been instructed to see to the shipment of the harp if a message came from her.
Assured that Cousin Forbes could see to her job competently, Banfield was at last preparing to leave for London, having already missed the opening of the session. There were several petitioners in the anteroom waiting to see him at this last opportunity when Pontley arrived at Grinston Manor. He handed his card to the butler before noticing the small group through the open door of the anteroom, and asked, “Have I come at an inconvenient time?"
“Oh, no, milord. Those are petitioners waiting to see Mr. Banfield, but I feel sure he will be pleased to see you first."
“No, I wish to see Miss Forbes. Would you just tell her it is a petitioner?"
“As you wish, milord."
When Glenn was informed of the caller she pushed back a stray hair from her forehead. “A petitioner who wishes to see me? But Cousin Banfield is still here, is he not?"
“Yes, ma'am."
“Oh, very well, show him in."
Her office was tidy and spartan but she had enlivened it by having the water colors framed and hung on the walls. Cousin Banfield had seen no point in providing her with comfortable furniture beyond her own chair and a spacious desk, but there were several straight-backed seats for her interviews with the household staff. She rose as the door opened to admit Pontley and suffered a violent wrench to her heart at the sight of him.
Unable to speak, she stood and stared, dumbfounded, and then, panic-stricken, her eyes flew to the paintings which seemed suddenly to take on enormous proportions. Her face flooded with color.
His eyes followed hers and a slow grin spread over his face.
The Nomad Harp Page 20