Anna Jacobs (25 page)

It was her turn to catch hold of him. “Oh no! Please, you mustn’t!”

“But you’ve just told me that my suit is hopeless!” he said, still speaking angrily. “Why on earth should I stay here?”

She flushed and avoided his eyes. “Because of Aunt Marguerite. Oh please, please stay for a while longer!”

He threw up his hands in bafflement. “Why? I wish your aunt no harm, but why in heaven’s name should I wish to please a woman whom I’ve only just met? She has no claim upon me. Give me a reason in plain words, if you please, Miss Dencey!”

She took a deep breath and summoned up all her courage. “Because - because she wishes you to marry Eleanor. That’s why she invited you here.”

He stared at her, amazed. “Do you think me so fickle as to change my affections overnight?”

“N-no, but, but she - Eleanor, I mean - she’s superior in every way to me. Once you get to know her, you cannot fail to like her better than me.” She didn’t know how to look him in the face.

“And that would please you?”

“Yes.” But she turned her face away as she spoke.

He was now feeling even more bewildered.

She stole a glance sideways. “I beg you to be kind to my aunt, Mr Serle. She’s growing old, wishes to see Eleanor established and has a great regard - a very great regard - for your family. I must - must follow her wishes in this.”

“That’s quite gothic!” he declared. “I have no intention of marrying to please someone else, especially when my affections are engaged already.” He paused, then added softly, “With you, Beatrice, and only with you.”

She could only stare at him and wish desperately that she could follow the dictates of her own heart.

As the silence continued, she raised her eyes to meet his.

What he saw in them looked like love, he was sure it was love - but it was mingled with despair and - something else. “I think,” he said slowly, “you’re concealing something from me, Beatrice.”

She could only shake her head and turn it away again, knowing that if he looked at her too closely, he would see the tears she was having trouble keeping back.

When she didn’t speak, did not look at him, he realized he could push her no further at this stage, not in such a public situation. “Come, this is fruitless. I suggest we rejoin the others!”

But he would, he vowed, find a way for them to speak more privately. He reached out and pulled her to her feet before she had time to move of her own accord and they stood for a moment, close together, with him still holding her arm while she found her balance. “Beatrice, Beatrice, I don’t understand you at all,” he said pleadingly. “And I wish you would tell me the whole truth.”

She stepped backwards and said in cool tones, “I’ve said all I wish to, Mr Serle. Please better your acquaintance with my niece.” Her voice broke on the last word and she started walking blindly toward the others.

He shook his head in utter bewilderment as he followed her across the grassy hillside.

Eleanor at once noticed the tears trembling in Beatrice’s eyes and managed to stand between her and the others to shield her from their gaze for next few minutes while she fought for self-control.

She was feeling quite exasperated by her aunt’s behaviour and longed to give her a good shaking. Especially when she saw Serle looking equally upset. What could possibly prevent Beatrice from accepting his attentions? From welcoming them? She clearly loved him.

It was almost time for luncheon when they arrived back at Satherby and there was no time to do anything but rush upstairs to wash and change their clothes. She would, Eleanor decided, speak sharply to Serle later. Surely he could see how much Bea loved him? He certainly gave the impression that he loved her? Had he asked her to marry him or not?

* * * *

After the midday meal, Crispin reluctantly left the others to meet with the bailiff, while they went to sit in a pleasant room next to the library.

While the older Smeathleys passed on to Eleanor one or two items of interest from the newspapers which they had been perusing during the morning, Augustus described their outing to the Dowager in glowing terms.

Beatrice sat silently by her aunt’s side, the maltreated embroidery lying untouched on her lap. She said yes and no at intervals, or nodded her head, which was all Mr Smeathley seemed to expect of her. But she had little idea of what he was saying, because she kept seeing Serle’s face, hearing him plead with her to marry him, hearing him say he still cared for her. But every time she saw how frail her aunt was, it made her realize that she mustn’t upset the old lady or deny her this last wish.

She saw the Dowager’s expression became more a little glassy-eyed as Mr Smeathley continued to pontificate about the benefits of healthy and rationale exercise. Her aunt didn’t like to be talked at for too long but was obviously studying Mr Smeathley. Once she rubbed her head, as if it was aching and gradually her expression turned to one of open disapproval.

When Eleanor joined them and started to encourage Augustus to describe the architecture of Wells Cathedral, on the subject of which he had already bored Beatrice to tears, he was allowed to talked about it uninterrupted for about ten minutes. Then, as the Dowager began to grow visibly restless, Eleanor broke into the peroration with an offer to show him the flower gardens.

He rose with an alacrity which left the Dowager frowning. She turned to her niece. “Why didn’t you go with them, Beatrice?”

“I’d rather not. And anyway, I wasn’t asked, was I?”

“Haven’t taken to Smeathley, have you?” her aunt asked abruptly.

“N-no, I’m afraid not. I did try, but ... well...”

“He’s setting his cap for Eleanor, unless I’m much mistaken,” the Dowager said. “The impertinence of it! Who does he think he is?”

“But I don’t think she—surely she wouldn’t...” Beatrice’s voice trailed away, as she remembered the rapt attention with which Eleanor had listened to Mr Smeathley’s no doubt erudite but tedious monologue on church architecture.

The stick quivered as the twisted old hand tightened on it. “He’s good looking, in his own way. And the trouble is, the chit’s not had any experience of men. It’s my fault. I’ve protected her too much. I’ll have to speak to Serle about her before this gets out of hand. Perhaps...” She did not finish her sentence, just fell silent for a moment, then said curtly, “Ask Serle to come and see me in my rooms in a quarter of an hour, if you please. And then go outside and join those two. I’m not leaving Eleanor alone with Smeathley. He won’t do for her and anyway, he’s only interested in her money.”

“Or mine,” Beatrice said, trying to smile, but knowing she’d failed.

“Hmph. Well, as you don’t like him, he’ll not get that, either, will he?” She reached out to pat Beatrice’s hand. “I would never force you into marriage with someone you disliked, child. You should realize that. Now, ring for my footman.”

Beatrice did as she was bidden then moved across to speak to Serle and pass on the Dowager’s request. “Lippings will come to fetch you when Lady Marguerite is ready.” She turned away before he could say anything personal to her and went outside, her emotions in turmoil again. She had only to get close to him to forget all her good resolutions.

Justin watched her go bleakly. Once he’d spoken to the Dowager and explained that he could not accede to her wishes with regard to Eleanor, perhaps he should leave Satherby? It would be the most dignified thing to do.

No sooner had he made that decision than he changed his mind. Why should he not stay and fight for Beatrice’s affection? Why give in so tamely?

His thoughts seesawed from one decision to another in a way he wouldn’t have believed possible a month previously. He’d never been in love before and was finding it a most frustrating experience. Even his own reactions bewildered him, and until now, he’d prided himself on being a rational man.

He was relieved when Lippings arrived to take him to the Dowager.

* * * *

He found the old lady sitting by the window, sunk in thought, and when he moved across to join her, he saw that she was staring at the three people walking up and down in the rose gardens. He cleared his throat and she turned her head.

“Ah, there you are, Mr Serle.”

She must have been very beautiful once, he thought, rather like Eleanor. Her spirit still shone undaunted in her eyes, though her body was clearly failing. “The gardens at Satherby are very beautiful at this time of year,” he said aloud.

“What do I care about gardens,” she snapped. “Sit down, will you, Serle? I can’t abide looking up at people. Now, what do you think of my granddaughter?”

“She’s a nice child,” he said carefully.

“Child? She’s nineteen.”

“She seems a child to me,” he reiterated, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

“I’d rather hoped you’d find her attractive,” she said. “In fact, to be plain, I’d welcome a match between our houses, and that’s why I invited you here.”

There was a moment’s silence, then he shook his head. “I regret to disappoint you, your ladyship, but it’s not possible.”

“Not spoken for, are you? Beatrice said nothing about any other attachments.”

“It’s not generally known. She won’t look at me, anyway.”

“She’s a fool, then!” The Dowager sighed and they both remained silent for a few minutes.

“You look very tired, ma’am,” he ventured after a while, for she was white as a sheet and her hand was trembling visibly on the arm of her chair. “Allow me to send for your maid.”

She sighed again and crumpled forward suddenly.

He caught her before she could fall to the floor, then managed, without letting go of the frail old body, to ring the hand bell that stood on the table beside her. She was as light as an autumn leaf in his arms and her skin had something of the same texture. Her body seemed a dried-out husk with its life juices nearly gone, which made him feel sad and protective.

Lippings came hurrying in and called out, “Oh no!” before examining her mistress with the air of one who knew her business. “Can you carry her through into the bedroom for me, sir?” she asked. “I think she’s just fainted. I thought for a moment that - well, she has a bad heart, you see - but it’s just a faint, I think.”

They got the Dowager onto her bed, then Lippings asked, “Please, sir, don’t tell the other guests about this, just send Miss Beatrice in. She’s the only one who knows how bad her ladyship is. That’s why she was sent to London. Her ladyship was relying on her to...” She broke off and stared at him in horror. “I do beg your pardon, sir.”

“Please don’t stop there,” he said, scenting an answer to his worries. “Why exactly did Miss Dencey go to London?”

“To find a husband for Lady Eleanor, I believe. And for herself as well, if she could, but mainly for Lady Eleanor. Her ladyship gave her a list of suitable families.”

Hope began to dawn again in Justin. “Did she, now?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, sir. It was the shock. Please don’t mention what I said to her ladyship. The slightest upset could kill her. The doctor said she hasn’t long to live now. That’s why she begged Miss Beatrice not to let her down.”

“No, I won’t tell her.” He left the room without seeing anything around him and once he’d fetched Beatrice, made his way instinctively to the peace of his bedroom to think things through. If his darling - and for the first time since his arrival, he called her that in his head with some hope for the future - if his darling knew that her aunt hadn’t long to live, knew that the old lady had set her heart on him marrying Eleanor in order to keep her precious granddaughter safe when she was dead, then she would try to fulfil her aunt’s last wishes - even at her own cost!

He tried to remember his exact conversations with Eleanor and Crispin. Neither of them had actually said Beatrice was in love with Crispin, or he with her. And the figure he’d seen from the bedroom must have been, Eleanor. That was what the minx was plotting about, though he couldn’t think why! If the Dowager wished to see her granddaughter married, surely the heir to Satherby was a good enough match for anyone?

His face brightened and his heart began to thud as he realized that very possibly he had mistaken the whole affair - no, not possibly, probably. Beatrice did love him. She did!

With joy flooding through him, he moved toward the door, intending to confront her with this at once, then he stopped as he realized she would still be with her aunt. After twitching around for a while, he went out for a walk, unable to sit still until he’d spoken to Beatrice.

Chapter 13

The doctor was summoned and pronounced Lady Marguerite to be suffering from exhaustion. Since he’d persuaded the Dowager to take a draught that sent her to sleep, Beatrice was not able to discuss with her aunt what to do about the guests, so she simply told them that their hostess was overtired and must rest.

Justin caught her on her own afterwards. “Do you wish me to tell everyone to leave?”

She stared at him, unable to think clearly. If she said yes, she would get rid of the Smeathleys, but Justin would go too, and if he stayed, her aunt might be happier. And there was also Crispin to think of. He should definitely remain here at this dangerous time, in case ... her thoughts faltered. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Satherby without her aunt.

She realized dimly that someone was supporting her and making her sit down. “Put your head on your knees for a moment, Beatrice!” commanded a firm, but gentle voice. “I think you’re feeling a little faint yourself. It’s probably delayed shock.” She obeyed him because it was easier to do that than argue.

The same voice told Borrill to fetch a glass of brandy for Miss Dencey, who was feeling faint. Then the voice’s owner helped her to sit up and sip it. She found she was once again leaning against Serle’s chest, but hadn’t the strength of will to pull away. Oh, that she might have the right to lean against him every day of her life! Despair filled her.

“Take another sip, if you please, my dear foolish girl, and don’t try to speak for a minute or two.”

Dear girl! He’d called her dear girl. Her heart began to pound. When she ventured to look up at him, he planted a very fleeting kiss on her brow, which sent warm feelings running through her body. She couldn’t help clinging to his hand.