Golden Barrier

by Mira Stables

  It turned out to be better than she had expected. No gathering from which Dermot was absent could be completely satisfactory, but the party was a very successful one, given by one of Society’s most popular hostesses. A normal healthy girl could not wholly resist the lilt of the music, the smiling faces of her friends, the careless greetings exchanged with passing couples. She had plenty of partners, too, in spite of Mrs. Swann’s gloomy warning. The blue dress suited her to admiration, and if her expression was a little lacking in animation she held her head high and behaved with her usual pretty dignity. There were plenty of gentlemen happy enough to secure so pleasant a partner, and one or two who even wondered if she might turn her eyes towards them, now that Sandiford was out of the running.

  These burgeoning hopes were doomed to disappointment. It was fortunate that Katherine had just reached the bottom of the set before she recognised the tall familiar figure bowing over his hostess’s hand. She was able to notice that he spent a few minutes in conversation with that lady—apologising, perhaps, for his tardy arrival—without losing her place in the figures; but try as she would she could no longer focus all her attention on either her partner or the demands of the dance. She got through the rest of it mechanically, her eyes ever alert for the whereabouts of the beloved figure. Would he ask her to dance? She was promised for the next two dances. The most that she could hope for was that he and his partner might join the same set, and that gave little opportunity for conversation.

  The dance ended. She thanked her partner for the pleasure it had given her, and permitted him to restore her to Lady Julia’s side, and to supply her with a glass of champagne cup. He stayed chatting with them for a few moments before going off in search of his new partner. Mr. Winfield bowed before Katherine. Since he had approached from behind the rows of chairs where the chaperones had established themselves, she had not seen him coming, and her colour rose in betraying fashion. He greeted Lady Julia before turning his attention to her charge.

  “May I venture to hope that I am not come too late to claim the privilege of dancing with Miss Martenhays?” he said gently.

  Katherine replied suitably, her voice steady, though her hands shook a little. They settled it that they would dance the first quadrille together.

  “And perhaps you would sup with me,” continued Dermot smoothly. “I am told that supper will be served during both sets of quadrilles; so if you are not yet engaged for the second set, we could recover from our exertions while we sup.”

  Lady Julia raised a delicate eyebrow. The first quadrille and supper to follow. It was not precisely fast, but such attentions were distinctly marked. He must mean to come to the point. Well—she was all in favour. She made no demur when Katherine said in a breathless little voice that that would be very agreeable.

  So far as Katherine was concerned the next two dances were dream-like. The rigid training of the years stood her in good stead, for she played her part competently enough, even though her heart seemed to be beating somewhere in her throat, and her mind to be a confusion of hope and doubt. Perhaps the champagne cup helped, too, for she chattered gaily, if inconsequentially, with her partners, and never had she been in better looks. Even her jealous critics admitted that blue became her. It seemed to make her eyes look larger and more brilliant; while the pretty colour coming and going in her cheeks made her seem more softly feminine.

  She and her partner performed the first quadrille, with due attention paid to the figures. This apparently left them with little scope for conversation, for they exchanged only one or two brief remarks. Dermot was a little more talkative over supper, telling her of his visit to the Priory, and reporting that he had left her father in good health and spirits. Oddly enough, he forgot to mention that he had left him in Arlington Street and not at Hays Park. Neither the lady nor the gentleman appeared to have much appetite for the delicious viands that were spread before them, Katherine nibbling languidly at a chicken patty and apricot tartlets; Dermot saying that having dined late he was not in the least hungry. Presently he suggested that his companion might care to stroll in the conservatory for a while. Surely there, he thought, he might find a secluded corner where he could talk to the girl without fear of interruption. There would be other people about, it was true, but with the second set of quadrilles in progress and the supper room fairly crowded, they would not be very many. Katherine, agreeing in a stiff little voice that the notion was a good one, rose to accompany him.

  After the brilliant illuminations in the ballroom and supper room, the conservatory seemed quite dark, though even here coloured lanterns had been disposed about the banks of greenery, to give a soft glow of light. Dermot suggested that Katherine should take his arm lest she stumble in the uncertain light. She did so, and the touch of that soft little hand suddenly revived his impatience and frustration. He laid his free hand over it, and said abruptly, “Miss Martenhays—Katherine, dear Katherine. I cannot say all that is in my heart, for someone is bound to come and interrupt us before I have half done. Only let me say that it is my most earnest desire to marry you. I have your father’s permission to approach you on this head. This must come as a great shock to you, for no doubt you have thought of me only as a friend and neighbour—if you thought about me at all. I cannot say when my own feelings changed from liking to love. It happened so naturally that I was swept away before I realised. If I had realised, I must have tried to set a sterner guard upon my feelings, since I already knew how you felt about marriages between persons of disproportionate fortune. You told me of your views, you may recall, when we were talking of Emma Dorsey; and on several occasions since then, you have shown only too plainly how you felt about fortune hunters. Small use to say that I do not want your fortune, though it would be true. It is true also to say that you are the only girl with whom I can happily contemplate spending the rest of my life. But could you so contemplate spending all your days with me? As you know, the Priory is no more than a modest manor. Could you face life as the wife of a plain landowner, with neither wealth, title nor splendid estates, but only a great deal of hard work and making shift to stretch every penny to the utmost?”

  The small hand turned confidingly under his, so that their fingers interlaced, “You offer me a kingdom that I never dreamed to possess,” said Katherine steadily. “I ask for nothing better than to work beside you, and to help stretch the pence. All my life I have only had to ask for anything that I desired. Things too easily won are little valued. Happiness is not won that way. Working together, helping each other, I think that we shall be well content. I accept your offer, sir, and will be proud and happy to become your wife.”

  Dermot would have folded her in his arms and kissed the soft appealing mouth, but at that moment another couple strolled towards them. He could only crush the slender fingers entrusted to his, in a speaking fashion that left them tingling for a quarter of an hour; and suggest politely that they should return to the ballroom.

  The rest of the evening passed in a haze of happiness for Katherine. She danced, chatted, laughed, and glowed with happiness, so that Lady Julia smiled contentedly, and awaited, with the deepest interest, the revelations that would be forthcoming after the ball. Mr. Winfield, restoring her charge to her side after the supper interlude, had said only that he would do himself the honour of waiting upon her next day; and she could scarcely embark on a confidential talk with Katherine in the middle of a crowded ballroom, but she was convinced in her own mind that all was now happily settled. She wondered if Mr. Winfield had taken the precaution of asking Cousin John’s consent before approaching his daughter. She thought it most probable that he had. For all his easy ways he was something of a stickler for convention. In a matter so important as a marriage he would be likely to observe all the proper forms.

  Katherine was able to set her mind at rest on this and any other doubtful points, as they drove back from the party. Aunt Julia’s curiosity could no longer be restrained, and the dim interior of the carriage was a tacit invit
ation to confidences. A deeply happy Katherine was eager to pour out all the details of the future that she and her betrothed were planning. It sounded surprisingly spartan to Lady Julia, but no doubt the lovers were in that frame of mind that thinks the world and all its luxuries well lost for love. She raised no objections. In the girl’s present mood it would be a waste of breath. Once the knot was fairly tied, Cousin John would see to it that his daughter’s husband came down from his high ropes, when it was a question of financial backing. She would have found it inconceivable that Cousin John not only knew all about Mr. Winfield’s scruples, but actually liked him the better for them; or that that wily man of affairs had his own notions of the best way of dealing with a stiff-necked, high-principled son-in-law. A hint that he was growing older; that he could use the services and energies of a younger man to support him in his many dealings—and the partnership that he had mentioned once or twice would be fairly launched. It would not be easy. Dermot Winfield was no fool. But if Mr. Martenhays did not over-play his part or try to hurry things too much, the trick should hold.

  Katherine woke early next day, even though she had not sought her bed until three o’clock. She woke to that sense of delight that promises something pleasant in the immediate future, even before one is fully awake, and stretched luxuriously beneath the covers as she recalled the conversation with Dermot on the previous evening, but she felt much too full of life and energy to play slug-a-bed. She rang for her maid and proceeded to dress, choosing a plain morning gown of figured muslin, made high to the throat and trimmed with a single ruffle, and round her neck she clasped the sapphire pendant. It was not at all the thing to wear jewellery in the morning, but for once she was prepared to defy convention. Soon, perhaps, she thought joyously, she would wear Dermot’s betrothal ring. Until then she would wear his pendant.

  She loitered over her breakfast in an attempt to fill in the time of waiting; arranged fresh bowls of flowers for the hall and drawing room, and tried to interest herself in a new novel from the circulating library, but the very minutes seemed endless. Eventually, even the sympathetic Lady Julia was fretted by her fidgets and asked if she could not find some needlework to occupy her restless fingers. And when the long awaited visitor was announced, both ladies were surprised. For he was not alone. Mr. Martenhays came with him, smiling broadly at their startled faces, bestowing a crushing hug on his daughter as he stooped to kiss her cheek, and informing her, before she regained breath enough to welcome him, that she was a good little puss and that he was very well pleased with her. In case she was in any doubt as to the source of his satisfaction, he then slapped Dermot on the shoulder and added bluntly, “I never did care for that spendthrift Sandiford, let alone his scandalous behaviour towards you last week. Yes, I know all about it, and whom I have to thank that you came off safely and without talk. I’ve small use for all these romantic tales that you females set such store by, but it seems to me only right and proper that your rescuer should receive your hand in marriage. However, he tells me that it’s no such thing. He was tail over top in love with you—has been these six months past—and only the thought of your money-bags put him off. Which I must say is a new come-out in my experience. However, I’ve assured him that I don’t mean to pop off the hooks for years to come, and that if he wants you he must take you with just the allowance that I settled on you when you came of age. I hope I did right, child. At least it appeased his scruples and gave him the courage to pop the question.”

  The speaker’s careless joviality was masterly. No one hearing him could have discerned the first steps in his campaign to overcome Dermot’s prejudice against fortune hunting. Katherine was not sufficiently awake to the time of day to realise that her generous allowance had never actually been settled on her. She would never think to question it, and Dermot would accept her acceptance. He must make a point of getting the whole thing neatly tied up the very next day, decided Mr. Martenhays. Meanwhile his listeners appeared to have swallowed his pretty fable without a blink.

  He was careful not to labour the point, going on to speak at length of his pleasure in the betrothal, and his hope that the wedding would not be too long delayed.

  Modesty compelled Katherine to restrain the suggestion that it could not be too soon. Dermot was eager to claim his bride, Lady Julia concerned with all the preparations that would be necessary for a fashionable wedding. Katherine and her father were unanimous in their rejection of this proposal. After some lively discussion, all four agreed on a September wedding in the village church where Katherine had been baptised. It was small—but they were not planning a large function with hordes of guests who meant nothing to either of the contracting parties.

  “Plenty of room for our real friends and for the folk from the estates,” pronounced Mr. Martenhays. And Lady Julia was brought to agree that September was a very good month for a farmer to marry—if the harvest weather had been favourable—and that the village church was conveniently situated, both for Hays Park and the Priory.

  That settled, Mr. Martenhays turned to Lady Julia. “Do you think, while I am here, that you could lay your hand on the lease of this house? A rumour has reached me that it may be possible to buy the freehold. I would like to do so, but first I must check the details in the lease. Particularly how many years are left to run.”

  Lady Julia assured him that she could do so without delay. He opened the door for her and followed her out of the room. It was careless of him not to assure himself that the latch had clicked home; so that the betrothed pair were perfectly well able to hear him say, “No particular hurry, my dear. Just wanted to give them a few minutes on their own. The boy tells me he proposed to her last night during the supper interval. Can’t even have had a chance to kiss her—and after all these months of waiting. Give them quarter of an hour together.”

  The two listeners exchanged startled glances. Then Katherine’s lips quivered into irresistible laughter. She held out both hands. Dermot swept her into his arms and proceeded to carry out the senior partner’s instructions, with a devotion to duty that was quite admirable. Presently Katherine, rosy and breathless, pushed him away a little and said unsteadily, “And you don’t think my father tight-fished to grudging when he says that I shall have only my allowance?”

  “I was never more grateful to any one in my life,” returned Dermot frankly. “His wealth was the one great barrier that stood between us. You, I was aware, dreaded being courted for your wealth. I, I confess, was too proud to accept the stigma of fortune hunting. As your father has arranged things we shall do very well. We shall have a full and busy life, which will suit both of us, and money sufficient for our modest needs.”

  She nodded vigorously, whereat he kissed her again and drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa, his arm about her shoulders, while they discussed that topic of such vital interest to lovers—the exact point in their acquaintance when each had realised the attraction of the other. Katherine declared that she had known her own mind these weeks past; that she had, in fact, fled Hays Park and come up to Town in an attempt to put him out of her thoughts.

  “For you never showed any particular preference for me,” she accused, “and I was determined that I would not wear the willow for you.”

  “I had not, at that time, persuaded myself that I was a fit match for you,” he explained. “Nor have I yet. I only know that I cannot do without you, so you must just make the best of your bad bargain.”

  “You are the one who is getting the bad bargain,” she said soberly. “I’m neither pretty nor gifted, and, if it had not been for you, I should not even have a fair reputation left to me. And I have never thanked you properly for rescuing me from that horrid inn.”

  His hold tightened at this reminder of the danger in which she had stood, but before he could speak she went on, “I can’t think why you should make me an offer after that foolish escapade.”

  He tilted her chin gently, so that she was obliged to lift her face to his, and he realised from he
r sober expression that she was in deadly earnest.

  “I’ll not have you say such things about my promised wife,” he told her, mock-severe. “You cannot judge of your own looks, for you do not see your face when it is animated. You will say that I am prejudiced, but it is the kind of face that a man wants to live with. It has warmth and charm, and when you are happy it is beautiful. Don’t repine because it is not a painted pink and white mask. As for gifts”—he hugged her and laughed—“you oblige me to disclose my guilty secret. I can honestly declare that I was not interested in your father’s money. But I did covet his daughter’s companionship. Whenever I came to Hays Park, I was instantly at home. You never fussed or seemed put out, however odd the hour or the demands that your father and I made on your hospitality. And when you came to the Priory and helped me to plan the repairs and decorations you always seemed to be really interested, and your ideas were fresh and sensible. Economical, too. You have a gift for home making, my girl. It doesn’t sound very romantic, does it? But I can assure you that it is a hundred times better than being able to play the harp or paint in water colours. You’ll make your husband a contented man as well as a proud one. But don’t be thinking that I only want you for your domestic talents. I want all of you. Your love and your tenderness. The impulsive generosity that even extends to a pack of useless tinkers. The comradeship that I have seen between you and your father—the way you share his interests even though they are not the kind that one would expect to appeal to a woman. Until you came into my life I did not know how lonely I was. Now I want to keep you with me all the time. You must always be there for me to come home to. It’s not a fashionable marriage that I’m offering you, my little love, with both of us free to go our own ways, so think well before you surrender your freedom. I shall be a possessive husband, though not, I trust, a wholly selfish one.”