by Rose Pearson
“Galsworthy?”
“Yes, Mama?”
She tipped her head a little, regarding him. “Galsworthy, might I ask you what is wrong?”
Frowning, he sat back in his seat. “I do not understand what you mean, Mama.”
“I mean,” she persisted with a sharpness to her voice that reminded him of how severe she could be. “I mean to ask you why you have not yet proposed to Miss Weston. You had the opportunity to do so at Lord Bridgestone’s dinner but you did not use it.”
His throat tightened but he simply shrugged, trying his best to appear nonchalant. “Mama, I simply did not feel it the most suitable moment. I do not want to propose in public and certainly not when I am pressed to by Lord Bridgestone!”
She frowned but did not immediately respond. Philip prayed that she would accept his excuse, but given the expression on her face, he was quite certain she did not accept one word of it.
“I have done my best to improve my forthright and often demanding ways of late,” his mother said, surprising him with her gentle tone. “I have considered what you said to me, Galsworthy, and have tempered my desire to tell you what to do and when to do it.”
He smiled and reached across to press her hand for a moment. “I am aware of that, Mama, and I am grateful for it.”
A smile crossed her face, softening her eyes. “Thank you, Galsworthy. However, in this matter, I cannot believe that you wish to propose to Miss Weston alone, not when you have not so much as called on her again since that evening.”
Closing his eyes, Philip let out a breath. “Mama, pray, do not press me.”
“I only want to be of assistance to you, Galsworthy!” she exclaimed, sounding rather hurt at his request that she stop her questioning. “Who have you to talk to? Who have you to share with? Who is there to advise you in this matter, other than your own self?”
Philip wanted to keep everything within, telling himself that he did not need his mother’s counsel, only to hear himself begin to speak. His words tumbled from his mouth as he told his mother almost everything that had been on his mind of late. To his surprise, she did not appear astonished or upset, but rather nodded slowly, as if she had been expecting this.
“My dear boy,” she said when he had finally finished speaking. “What a tangle you have made.” Her expression was one of sympathy but Philip could barely acknowledge it, feeling as though he had let himself drain away entirely, given all of his strength and effort into such a simple thing as sharing what was on his mind.
“You must be honest with her, as you have said you will be,” his mother continued as the carriage began to slow. “Tell her all that you have told me.”
Philip recoiled from the idea at once. “Mama, I could not!” The thought of confessing to Miss Weston that he regretted his lack of consideration for her, that he felt utterly foolish at having spoken without careful thought, that he now began to feel something for her that had taken him completely by surprise, sent icy water trickling down his spine. “Besides which, I have already written to her to confess… most of what I have told you.”
His mother shook her head. “Most is not all, Galsworthy. You have not, I surmise, told her your sudden affection for her, your sudden desire to be in her company as often as you can manage it.” She lifted an eyebrow and Philip was forced to look away, knowing that she spoke the truth. “You have not confessed to her your fears that you are much too late, that you might never convince her of your change of heart. Be truthful and honest with her, Galsworthy, in everything. Only then can you find the happiness you are so desperate to have.”
Philip tried to nod but found himself frozen in place, the idea of sharing his very heart with his bride to be making him almost nauseous. Of course, he did want to develop that intimacy which came with being husband and wife, but surely that took time? He could not imagine saying the words, ‘I have been so afraid that I might lose you to another’ to her, his heart quickening with fright at the very thought. Given that he could barely find the words to write a coherent letter to her, he did not think that he would manage to speak to her so.
“You must call on her soon,” his mother warned as the carriage came to a stop in front of the theatre. “And if you are to evidence your intentions, as you have stated, then you must propose to her almost immediately,” she continued, patting his hand as the carriage door swung open. “She is a lovely young lady and I know you will be happy together. You simply have to sort out this tangle first.”
Philip nodded. “I will do, Mama,” he agreed, finding that, were he honest with himself, he had very little hope that he would be successful in doing so.
Chapter Twelve
“Goodness!”
Philip looked up sharply as his mother made her exclamation, having been busy studying the crowd beneath his box. The theatre was always rather busy and there were many society folk about. It was the place to see and to be seen, and very often it appeared as though the ladies of the ton spent most of the performance spying on others through their opera glasses, rather than looking towards the stage! He found no particular joy in studying the ton, but one could not help the occasional once-over.
His mother caught his elbow, her fingers tight. “Galsworthy, your betrothed is sitting with another gentleman! A gentleman that is not her father.”
Philip swallowed hard, his entire body suddenly swirling with dread. “Oh?”
“Wait a moment.”
To his embarrassment, his mother pulled out her opera glasses and immediately trained them on the box to his left, making him cringe with shame.
“It is Lord Henry Redmond!” she stated in a loud, indignant whisper. “Oh, look! They have seen me.” Setting down her opera glasses, she waved over Philip’s shoulder, forcing him to turn his head so that he might incline it in greeting.
Miss Weston was seated at the edge of the box, closest to his own. He could make out her expression clearly, seeing the lack of welcome on her face. There was not so much as a smile but instead a rather tight expression that spoke of tension and fright. Obviously, she had not expected to see him in attendance this evening.
“We must go to speak to them during the intermission,” Lady Galsworthy said matter of factly. “This simply will not do.”
“Mama,” Philip replied, hesitating for a moment. “I do not think that we need to…”
“You leave everything to me,” his mother replied firmly, interrupting him. “I will make sure that you and Miss Weston are seated together for the second half of the performance, and that Lord Henry is nowhere to be seen.”
Philip wanted to argue, wanted to tell his mother that she need not do so, but he held himself back. If he wanted to marry Miss Weston, if he wanted to prove that he was no longer disinclined towards matrimony, then he had to take every opportunity that came his way. He would not propose to her tonight, for it was much too soon after their recent difficulties for that, but he would ask if he could call on her tomorrow, he decided. Yes, that would be the thing. If he could leave the theatre knowing that their courtship was to resume the following day, then he would be pleased with that.
All through the first half of the play – which was, from what Philip saw, a somewhat less than exciting version of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ – he felt himself growing increasingly aware of his bride-to-be and her presence within the theatre. He found his eyes searching for her in the gloom, glancing towards Lord Henry’s box almost every minute as though desperate for her to return his gaze. The intermission came quickly enough and Philip felt his heart quicken as his mother sent a footman to bring both Miss Harriet Weston and Miss Marianne Weston to their box, dispatching another to fetch some champagne. He held himself stiffly, his heart thundering wildly in his chest as he waited for them to arrive.
“Ah, Miss Weston!” His mother rose from her chair almost at once, greeting Miss Harriet Weston whilst Miss Marianne Weston stepped hesitantly towards him.
Goodness, he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
Her hair was held back in a most ornate fashion with only a few wisps escaping around her temples. Her eyes, dark in the shadowy light of the theatre, looked from here to there, never settling on anything for long. More than aware that she was terribly anxious, he stepped forward and took her gloved hand in his.
Her eyes shot to his at once and he held her gaze steadily, almost feeling her tension thrumming through her. “Miss Weston,” he murmured before pressing his lips to her gloved hand. Hearing her catch her breath filled him immediately with a deep, cleansing warmth that sent a smile to his lips which, after a moment, Miss Weston returned, albeit with a good deal of uncertainty.
“Thank you for your letter, Miss Weston,” he managed to say, his eyes catching a glimpse of Lord Henry coming into the box. “It has done me the world of good to read it. I confess that I have been utterly foolish, as you well know. I truly am sorry for the pain my idiocy has caused you.”
She took her hand from his and clasped them together in front of her. “You need not apologize again, Lord Galsworthy,” she replied without any particular tone in her voice. “Your letter already sufficed.”
He did not know what to say to this, seeing how she looked over her shoulder towards her sister and Lord Henry, whom Philip was forced to greet. Thankfully, he also had to greet Miss Harriet Weston, which brought him a little relief. Soon, they all had a glass of refreshing champagne in their hand and were each sitting comfortably – if not a little cramped – in Philip’s box.
“And how do you fare, Lord Henry?” Lady Galsworthy asked with a hint of ice to her words. “Are you to be in London for long?”
The gentleman did not appear put out by the frosty tone and grinned contentedly. “Indeed, I intend to remain in London until the little Season is completed,” he replied with a shrug. “In fact, I am considering purchasing property in Grosvenor Square.”
Philip raised his eyebrows, seeing his astonishment reflected in his mother’s expression. “Do you not already have a townhouse?”
“Yes,” Lord Henry agreed slowly, as though deep in thought. “But I confess that it is not adequate for my needs, or should I say that it will not be adequate for my needs in due course.” On saying this, he shot a glance towards Miss Marianne Weston who looked away immediately, her head lowering just a little, although Philip caught sight of her red cheeks before she could hide them. Anger burst all through him. Lord Henry was making his intentions towards Miss Marianne Weston quite apparent and he simply could not stand for it. The urge to propose to Miss Weston grew steadily and for a moment, Philip considered doing so almost at that very moment, even if only to wipe the simpering, self-satisfied smile from Lord Henry’s face.
Lady Galsworthy was the first to speak. “I see,” she murmured thoughtfully. “I quite understand, Lord Henry.” Clearing her throat a little, she turned towards Miss Marianne and Miss Harriet with a bright smile on her face. “Now, Miss Weston, Miss Weston – might I beg a favour from you?”
The ladies looked a little surprised but nodded.
“But of course,” Miss Marianne Weston said, leaning forward a little in her chair. “What is it, Lady Galsworthy?”
“Oh, it is something you will find quite ridiculous, I am sure,” Lady Galsworthy continued, “And it will put you both quite out of sorts, I am afraid, but this box is, I find, rather draughty.” She put a sad smile on her face and gestured down to her toes hidden beneath her voluminous skirts. “Being of an advanced age, I find myself growing rather cold to the point that I am simply unable to concentrate on the performance. Might I beg of you to sit with Lord Henry in his box?” She did not so much as glance at Lord Henry, as if she did not need his permission and, just as Philip had expected, the two ladies agreed at once. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to see Lord Henry’s disgruntled expression, particularly when Lady Galsworthy rose to her feet and asked him to accompany her back to his own box, informing Lord Henry that she wanted to hear all about the property he was considering.
Philip felt his shoulders slump with relief, his tension draining away as Lord Henry was taken away by Philip’s mother, leaving him alone with Miss Marianne Weston and Miss Harriet Weston. There was not long left of the intermission at this point and so, thinking that they had best decide which seats to take, Philip put the comforts of the box to the ladies’ disposal.
Miss Harriet Weston flashed him a quick look just as the announcement was made that the second half of the performance was about to begin. “I find that I much prefer to sit here at the back of the box,” she said with an innocent smile, walking towards one of the seats. “I confess my weakness is to spy on those who have also come to the theatre this evening, and so I have not paid much attention to the performance itself.”
“Nor have I,” Philip replied with a chuckle. “Are you quite sure, Miss Weston? That is rather far away and I –”
“Do not worry on my account,” Miss Harriet Weston replied, sitting down at once and pulling out her opera glasses. “Although I would beg of you both to sit at the other side of the box so that I might have a clear view of the ton!”
Miss Marianne Weston laughed at this, shaking her head at her sister and Philip found himself joining in. Their eyes met and Miss Marianne’s smile remained on her lips as they sat down together, she seemingly quite willing to be by his side.
“I have done you a great wrong, Miss Weston, and I cannot thank you enough for your willingness to give me another opportunity to prove myself,” Philip began as he sat down opposite her. “I know you stated that my letter was more than enough but I cannot help but feel that I must prove myself to you.”
“And so you must,” she replied without hesitating. “I will not pretend that I have not been quite miserable about the whole thing of late, Lord Galsworthy.”
He was a little taken aback by her honesty but found himself nodding in agreement, knowing that he was the cause of such a thing.
“Might I ask you a direct question, Lord Galsworthy?”
“Of course,” he murmured, seeing the actors return to the stage. “You may ask me anything you wish, Miss Weston. I am at your disposal.”
She did not smile, although her eyes searched his face. Philip felt his heart quicken, his stomach flooding with nerves as he waited, suddenly desperate to reach forward and take her hand in his.
“Why do you wish to marry me?”
The question threw him completely. Staring at her, he felt himself sink into his chair, a wave of freezing water pouring over him as he struggled to find an answer. His limbs were frozen in place, his mouth refusing to move. Even his mind refusing to think of anything coherent.
“Is it simply because we are betrothed?” she asked when he said nothing. “Is that what this is to you, Lord Galsworthy? An agreement that must be honoured?”
“I – I believe that honour is of great value,” he stammered, now feeling heat rising up into his cheeks, forcing his tongue to move. “My word has been given and I will honour it.”
This answer seemed to disappoint her. The light in her eyes began to fade and she seemed to sink into herself. “I see,” she replied softly, looking out towards the stage.
Tell her what is in your heart.
His mother’s words came back to him but Philip could not think of how to begin. He ran over a few sentences in his mind, wincing inwardly at how crass they sounded.
“I – I enjoy your company, Miss Weston,” he eventually managed to say, knowing that this was only the beginning of all that was in his heart.
She turned back to him, her face expressionless. “Is that so, Lord Galsworthy?”
“Yes,” he promised with as much fervour as he could manage. “Yes, it is.”
“And when did you start to enjoy my company?” she asked, arching one eyebrow. “Was it before or after you left for India?”
His heart dropped. “That was before I realized just how I felt,” he said, suddenly desperate to make her understand. “That was foolish of me, Miss Westo
n, and I will own it entirely. I wanted to run away from my responsibilities because I was afraid. This betrothal was thrust upon me without any prior knowledge of it and I –”
“You were not the only one afraid,” she interrupted as the actor on the stage began a passionate speech that seemed to entwine itself with Miss Weston’s impassioned words. “You were not the only one taken completely by surprise by this news, Lord Galsworthy. However, you were the only one able to make such an escape, whilst I remained here in England, not knowing when you were to return.”
Pressing his lips together for a moment, Philip felt the old, familiar guilt begin to creep up on him again. “I am aware of that, Miss Weston,” he admitted quietly. “I ought not to have gone to India. I see that now.” On impulse, he reached for her hand and took it in his, aware of how she visibly startled at the contact. Holding it tightly, he felt a flood of warmth race up his arm, seeing her looking down at their joined hands before slowly raising her eyes to his.
“Your letters mean more to me now than they did then,” he promised, seeing her eyes widen slightly. “I read them often, Miss Weston. They reminded me of home and what I had left behind. I believed myself still reluctant but since I have returned home, an entirely different emotion has filled me. To know that you were, as you said, ‘earnestly awaiting my return’, made me think often about my estate, my family, and my responsibilities. Without them, then I might still be in India, hiding from my duties… and from this. Through your letters, I discovered what I had truly left behind.” On saying this, he sent a pointed look down towards their joined hands, feeling his heart beating faster as he did so. He had laid out as much of his heart as he could, not quite admitting that he felt more for her than he had ever expected but telling her as much of his truth as he could manage. She did not pull her hand away from his but rather continued to look back at him steadily, her eyes fixed on his as though searching for the truth in his gaze.