"Perhaps you were taken in by the viscount's town bronze, as was I," Juliana chattered on, returning to her speculations about the gentlemen. "I held hopes of an offer from Mr. Matherton. I thought him the epitome of elegance and that I should have captured the attention of such a decoration of the ton overwhelmed my commonsense. I believed every flirtatious, flattering word he spoke, and so too did Mama. But finally I realized what a fool I had been, and thank goodness, John was kind enough to forgive me."
Dinah shook her head as if, by doing so, she might clear it of its confusion. "Matherton was handsome and well-spoken and seemed sincere. The fault was not yours, but shame to him," she managed to say. Her mind could not compass the fact that Bernard Humberstone truly thought that she might be persuaded to wed him.
"Oh I believe Matherton less guilty than you think, for he made no promises, offered nothing, really said nothing. I was gulled by phrases any society lady would have recognized as the merest gallantries. I think the viscount was not as flirtatious, however, and I am surprised to hear of his departure. John told me of his illness."
"He is apparently recovered. And sent farewell messages via John to the family. Oh, Juliana, he offered for me," Dinah admitted in a fraught undertone. She decided to confide in her friend, for though her perception might be faulted, Juliana's observations could be sound.
"Lord Holly made you an offer? And you rejected him?"
Dinah winced as the incredulity in her friend's voice. "He offered and I rejected him," she confirmed. "Juliana, I really thought the gap between us was too great. How should I go on at his great house with the servants judging me, and his friends sneering and his family..."
"I thought he had no family." Juliana seemed to recover her equanimity. Her fair eyebrows drew together in frowning consideration of the phenomenon presented to her.
"Well no he has not, and that was brought home to me during his illness. I wanted so much to go to him..."
"You love him?"
"I think-- No, I know, that I do," Dinah said the words aloud for the first time. "I love him."
Juliana was briefly silent, absorbing this revelation. Then she said, "I think he needed you, Dinah. Oh not necessarily while he was ill. But I think despite all that he has, he is lonely. And certainly, he is alone. I think he needed your family."
Dinah could not accept her friend's insight without argument. "They frightened him to death."
"Oh perhaps at first. But he had come to care for everyone. Remember how he sat with Hamilton when he had the fever. And read to Harriet when her eyes were too tired to stare at the news sheet's small printing. He told me himself of his respect for your mama and papa. I think, Dinah, that it is you who are afraid."
"I am not! I..." Dinah thought of the feelings she had experienced when she learned of Holly Court's magnificence. "I could..." She recalled how she felt when confronted by Sebastian's friends from Temple Newsam. "I could not...I am. Great heavens, it is I who am afraid."
"And you should not be. For if you love and trust him, you must trust that he knows what will suit him best, and that he believes you will suit him above all things. I expect he has decided that servants and friends and acquaintances who will not accept you may terminate their connection with him."
"You are so wise," Dinah managed to say around gathering tears.
"Not at all. For I saw no further than Humberstone for you, and Matherton for me. But I have done a great deal of thinking these past few weeks."
The men of the party entered the drawing room, bringing laughter and jocularity to the quiet conversation of the ladies. John joined his sister and his betrothed in their corner. His look was intent upon Juliana and he lost no time in possessing her hand. She went to him happily and stood within the circle of his arm.
"And you have made wise decisions," Dinah managed to say. She knew that her brother must see the tears caught in her lashes, and could only hope he thought they were tears of joy for his happiness.
"I shall be going to London in a month's time for business meetings. Did you know it, Dinah?" he said. "It may be that I shall see Holly." John's words indicated that he was not unaware of the causes of her sadness.
She looked at him with hope dawning in her eyes.
"Well, Holly is our business partner, if you recall. If I do attend upon him, shall I remember you to him? Will you send a message?"
More tears trembled on her lashes. She recalled Sebastian's interest in all her projects, his unfailing kindness to her dependents, his play with Hamilton, his discussions with Harriet, his patience with Joseph's radical politics. And she recalled her cruel dismissal of him.
With wide, tear-drowned sherry brown eyes, she stared at her brother and her soon-to-be sister-in-law. "Oh yes, please. I've made such a terrible mistake. Whatever shall I do?"
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sebastian departed Leeds in utter dejection of spirit. The sun was shining on a crisp, chill north country day; its cheerful gleam was a mockery of his mood. He passed each landmark--the Moot Hall, St. Peter's Church, the York Road--as if it was a sad milestone on the turnpike to a desolate future. He could not remember a time when he had been so blue-deviled, even in his lonely childhood. He was losing a family--again--as well as his inamorata.
As the coach turned on to the Selby turnpike Skelmer, who had anxiously noted his master's depressed spirits, assured him that his melancholy was the result of the fever he had suffered. Sebastian wished that it were true. But he knew with certainty that his despondency stemmed from Dinah's rejection of his offer of marriage.
Had she been a coquettish London society miss, he should have known how to proceed. Her protestations would have been a game, her refusal an obstacle to be overcome with sweet words, tantalizing kisses and expensive trifles. But Dinah's rejection he could only regard as absolute. She had never been anything but genuine with him; her every statement had been transparently honest. She might love him--he thought she did--but she would not marry him. In her view, there were too many negative aspects to a future as Lady Holly, and she had no intention of attempting to overcome them.
So he sat, bundled in a hired post-chaise on his way to Holly Court, sustained with every comfort Skelmer could obtain. Wink followed, driving the curricle, assisted by an extra groom hired to ensure the well-being of Merry and Challenger, tied on behind. In good health, Sebastian would have disdained this procession, laughed at its pretensions, but low in spirits and weakened by coughing, he paid it no heed.
He stared from the chaise mile after mile, reviewing his whole acquaintance with Dinah, while Skelmer kept surreptitious watch over him from the other seat. Through Doncaster and Grantham, Stamford and Buckden, they were silent. Sebastian was polite as was his nature, and solicitous of his servants' well-being, but he noticed nothing of the inns at which they halted, the postboy changes, the other travelers or the sometimes deplorable condition of the roads.
When they left the Great North Road at Buckden, and headed across the familiar countryside of Suffolk for Cambridge, Sebastian felt his tension ease. He thanked God that the Newmarket races were over. The friends who were used to his hospitality at Holly Court during the races would have dispersed without opportunity to reproach him for his absence.
When they passed through Haverhill and crossed the Stour, home--Holly Court--beckoned. Two miles beyond Clare and there it was. Gleaming in the weakened October sun, set among the oak and ash of an ancient wood, was the neo-classically designed house that his great-grandfather had caused to be built. He felt stronger by the minute. For the first time since Dinah had refused his offer, he felt that he might go on.
His reception when he arrived enhanced that encouraging feeling. His housekeeper, who had been his nurse and was the repository of all his family's history greeted him with dignity and affection. She exclaimed with dismay over his pale face, and the slight cough he still retained. His butler beamed at him and his steward, who had wished immediately to discuss
estate business with him, put off his importunities after one sight of Sebastian's weary, troubled expression.
It was good to be home; he was conscious that he had been away too long. But every vista from the Court's windows, every familiar treasure of porcelain, art and tapestry set Sebastian to wondering how Dinah would have liked it. Even as he regained his strength day by day, he developed a restless anxiety. He wondered how Harriet would like his library, whether Hamilton would enjoy cricket on the west lawn, and if Geoffrey would ride every horse in his stable within a week. He thought of having John and Joseph--if Joseph would come--to visit his progressive estate, and longed to entertain Mr. and Mrs. Driffield.
With each passing day now, he comprehended his loneliness. Having grown up alone, gone into society alone, experienced Christmas, New Year and birthdays without family, he had never before realized what he had missed. Now he recognized it all too well; he was lonely with a heart-breaking emptiness that required rectification. And he feared he would be satisfied only if Dinah Driffield remedied the matter.
After two weeks of solitary dinners and unaccompanied rides about his land, his home no longer held unmitigated pleasure for him. Restored to physical health, he attended to all the business of the estate that had been neglected. Hoping to divert his mind from thoughts of Dinah, he visited with neighbours and tenants informally. He refused the invitations that appeared however, having neither the energy nor the patience for social niceties. Finally he took himself off to London for a few days, to be in the company of friends.
Sebastian found Burleigh Matherton eager, in his clumsy way, to make amends for his folly. He found young ladies willing to dance, or walk, or drive out with him. He found matchmaking mamas delighted to send him invitations, older noblemen pleased to discuss politics with him, opera dancers and demi-mondaines keen to catch his eye. It all displeased him, and still he carried loneliness with him.
At the end of a week he knew that London society could not answer his needs any more than had Holly Court. At his handsome house in Bruton Street, after a fine dinner served by his excellent staff, equally as devoted as that at Holly Court, he retired to his snug library to mull over his future. He pulled off his neckcloth with impatient fingers and stared into the flaring fire.
His London butler interrupted his introspection. After a respectful tap, the superior servant opened the door. "A visitor, my lord. A Mr. John Driffield," he said, while eyeing his master's open collar with disapproval.
Sebastian shot to his feet. "John, here? Bring him in, man, bring him in." He shoved his long fingers through his hair, and twitched his superfine tailcoat. John would not care that he wore no neckcloth.
The stocky figure of his friend filled the doorway. John Driffield looked about the pleasant, book-lined chamber with something like approval.
Sebastian leapt forward to wring John's broad hand.
"You look better than the last time I saw you; you were a needy-mizzler a month ago," Driffield said, by way of greeting, with a wry grin.
Sebastian thought his friend's manner held a touch of relief, as if he had not been certain of his welcome. He waved John to a chair and poured him a glass of brandy.
"That catarrh pulled me down; I knew how the youngsters felt after that. Lord, it's good to see you. What news of your family? Mr. and Mrs. Driffield are well I hope. I have read in the newspapers that the Luddites have reduced their activity. And what are you doing in London?" He stifled his inclination to immediately ask after Dinah.
"My parents are very well, I thank you. And the Luddites have taken to sitting by their fires these cold evenings I think. Let me see...I have commissions from the children for they were certain I should find you. Harriet asks will you please to send her the newest Annual Register so soon as it may be published. And Hamilton wonders if Mr. Lord has printed any information on his new cricket ground."
"I shall discover it if he has, and I shall fulfill both requests so soon as may be." Holly could not restrain his smile.
"Adelaide sends her best wishes, Juliana the same--I think you do not know that we are betrothed--and Joseph sent you no message whatsoever."
Sebastian now could not forbear to laugh aloud. But he seized upon the good news immediately. "Betrothed! Congratulations, John. You will be a happy man. I should have hesitated to ask after Miss Hesler for fear of the damage done by Matherton, but you set my mind at ease."
"Matherton's stupidity turned out to do us a service," John assured him. "It clarified everything remarkably, and we are to wed before Christmas. The banns will be first read the twenty-second of November."
Holly could scarce credit his own cowardice, but he could not ask news of Dinah. Rather, he said, "And you are come to London on business?"
"I am. I thought it had been mentioned to you that I would be in town this month. I've a half dozen meetings and several contracts to sign."
"You may have mentioned it when I lay hacking and blowing in the King's Arms, but my memories are poor at best of that miserable week. But when did you arrive? You are not racked up at an inn?"
"I arrived yesterday. I am at Limmer's. I'd a notion that you might be settled at Holly Court."
"It was too damned quiet," Sebastian admitted. "But I protest your racking up at an hotel--you must come to stay here with me. I hold bachelor's hall, and I will not take a negative answer." He read a pleased acceptance in John's amiable countenance, and flinging open the door, set up a shout for the footman. He gave instructions that Mr. Driffield's shot at Limmer's was to be paid and his traps removed to Bruton Street.
When the footman had departed, Driffield protested. "Here, I can pay my own bill, Holly."
"Of course, you can," Sebastian soothed, aware of the need not to offend. "We'll get an accounting. It had only the benefit of simplicity." He poked up the fire and flung a shovel of coal on it. An icy rain could be heard to beat upon the windows behind the closed curtains of plum damask. "A vile evening," he said, before subsiding into a winged chair near his friend's.
"Vile," John agreed, savouring his brandy.
A little silence fell. It was friendly but edged about with uneasiness.
"You will not ask after Dinah?" Driffield said finally, taking pity on his host.
"I have not the right. And I think I have not the courage." Sebastian managed a travesty of a smile.
John had no comment to make on that, but said, "Dinah has spent a month of misery, I think. She is become very quiet and thoughtful, unlike her bustling, busy self. Humberstone has taken to calling every day; I weary of tripping over him."
"And are we to wish them happiness?"
"I hope not. I think not, not in the face of the message Dinah has bid me relay to you."
Holly shot upright and fixed his friend with a stern glare. "You fiend! You carry a message from Dinah for me, and sit there drinking my brandy saying nothing! You may return to Limmer's--after you tell me." He was able to jest, all the while daring to hope that she remembered him with kindness, or that even she missed him.
John cleared his throat. "Dinah bid me say--now how was it she spoke?--'Tell the viscount that I fear I have been very foolish, and that in fact I think I have made a great mistake. If he wishes to discuss the matter, I would have him return to Leeds.'"
Sebastian covered his eyes with an upflung hand, and knew a tide of colour washed his cheeks.
John said nothing for several moments. "This is happy news, I take it?" he said, at last.
Sebastian leapt to his feet, and wrung John's hand. "The best. The very best in all the world. I thought my future bleak, but now--now--" Words failed him, but only for a moment. "How did you come from Leeds?
"We shall return tomorrow. No, that is Sunday; let's set forth tonight." Once more he flung open the door, this time calling for Skelmer.
"You madman!" John was laughing. "I refuse to set out tonight. Listen to the rain for pity's sake. The roads will be mired unless it freezes. Besides I've to finish my business."
Holly's valet had limped down the hall to the door.
"Then I'll go without you," Sebastian said. "Pack my valise, Skelmer. We are returning to Leeds."
Skelmer beamed. "This is good news indeed, my lord." He bowed respectfully to John.
"A day or two cannot matter, Holly," John said. He nodded at the valet in a friendly fashion. "Give me two days to finish my business, and perhaps it will freeze. I came by the stagecoach; we could return by the same. Save your coach, and your horses, from likely desperate roads. And think how highly Joseph will view your egalitarianism."
"Damn Joseph, and damn you, for making good sense!" Sebastian's grin belied his harsh words. "Very well, we shall leave on Wednesday by the stagecoach." He was aware of a joy that threatened to overwhelm him. "Skelmer, you and Wink pack up and head for Holly Court. There pick up Thomas Coachman and the light traveling chariot, and make for Leeds."
"Park Square, Skelmer," John directed. "My mother instructed me to inform you that you shall not stay elsewhere but in our guest quarters, Holly."
Sebastian dismissed his valet, and meeting his friend's--his prospective brother-in-law's--gaze he burst out laughing. He snatched his glass of brandy from the table and lifted it in a toast.
"To December weddings!"
* * * *
Dinah spent the weeks following Sebastian's departure in misery. She had little hope of his continued regard. She thought it entirely possibly that she had given him such a disgust of her that he would have completely withdrawn his esteem.
She thought of writing to him, but what to say? She found herself unable to consign her questions to paper. Would he forgive her? Did he still love her? Would he renew his offer of marriage? How could she ask such things?
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