Elizabeth Mansfield (23 page)

“Why not? You lived here on Clement’s charity, didn’t you?”

Caro winced. “Yes, I suppose I did. But I was much younger then. And Uncle Clement was... was ...”

“Much older?”

Her cheeks grew hot, and she threw her aunt a guilty glance. “Yes, I suppose the fact that Kit... His Lordship ... is so much closer to my age has something to do with it.”

“You needn’t blush, girl,” Martha said, not unkindly. “Do you think me so naive that I don’t know how unseemly it would be for you to live here as the ‘guest’ of a virile young man? Why do you suppose Letty moved here?”

Caro’s eyes widened with shock. “Good God! Is
that
why she came? To ensure that the
proprieties
are observed? I don’t believe it!”

“You may
well
believe it, for it’s true. She and I discussed the matter thoroughly before she made her decision.”

“I thought she came for Gil’s sake.”

“So she did. And for her own sake, too.
All
those reasons entered into her decision. But top of the list was what you call the ‘proprieties.’ Moreover, if you don’t believe that those proprieties were in
Kit’s
mind, too, when he invited her, you’re fair and far off.”

“That’s... that’s ridiculous!” Caro sputtered. “I hadn’t even decided to come here then.”

“He knew you would, someday. If only to visit your brother.”

“Yes, of course. You must be right.” She bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden awareness of how much her welfare had been of concern to others. But then she stiffened. “Aunt Martha, I’m afraid that none of that matters. Even with Letty living here, I can’t remain here as a guest. I can’t live on Kit Meredith’s charity. I just can’t!”

Martha put down her hairbrush and turned to face the younger woman. “That’s
it,
you know,” she declared. “That’s the
real
difficulty, my girl.”

“What is?”

“Your pride. Your blasted pride.”

“I suppose so,” the girl admitted in a tearful voice. “But I can’t help it. My pride is all I have.”

“I know.” Martha sighed in discouragement and turned her face away. “It’s a flaw from which I suffer myself,” she murmured in a low voice.

Caro leaned her forehead against the bedpost. “Then what on earth am I to do?” she asked brokenly.

Martha rose from the dressing table and crossed the room to the bed. “I’ve been thinking about something all evening,” she said, suddenly brisk. She sat down beside the stricken girl and patted her shoulder. “Do you realize that the vicar—what is his name ... Layton? Langston?”

“Lutton. Henry Lutton.”

“Yes. Lutton. Do you realize he’s quite taken with you?”

Caro regarded her aunt curiously. “Well, yes. I ... we ... Why do you ask?”

“He may be the solution to this problem. He seems quite an acceptable young man.”

“Acceptable?” Caro echoed, her eyebrows raised.

“Yes. He has polish and presence. He seems well informed. And evidently the parish provides a comfortable living. If he were to come up to scratch, and you accepted him, you would have a respectable place in society, a decent life, and a residence here in surroundings where you and your brothers feel so much at home.”

“Yes,” Caro said dubiously, “but, Aunt Martha, it would not be a ... a love match. You and my uncle Whitlow were such a loving pair. How is it that you are recommending something quite different for me?”

“You’re not a green girl, Caro. If you’ve not yet fallen in love at your age, perhaps it’s time to compromise.”

“Compromise?” Caro’s eyes fell. “What an unromantic word.”

“The results of compromise are not necessarily unromantic, my dear.” Martha took one of Caro’s hands in hers and squeezed it sympathetically. “There are many cases, you know, where love comes later, after the wedding has been consummated.”

Caro lifted her head and stared out into the middle distance, her eyes pained and unseeing. “I’ll think about it, Aunt,” she said in a small voice. “If I’m making everyone uncomfortable going on in this way, I shall have to make a change. So I’ll think about your suggestion. I’ll think very hard.”

THIRTY-TWO

After searching for Caro through the nether regions, an area of the house with which Kit was completely unfamiliar (and which he determined needed as much improvement as the upper part of the house), Kit found her at her desk in her little office adjoining the servants’ hall, bent over an account book. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said politely, tapping on the door, “do I disturb you?”

She looked up, blushed, and jumped to her feet. “N-no, of course not,” she stammered, taken by surprise. “I’m just working on the kitchen accounts.”

“I won’t keep you long. I only wish to ask if you’ll join me tomorrow on my visit to the cottages.”

“Tomorrow? Yes, of course. But you didn’t have to come all this way down to find me. You could have sent for me.”

“Could I indeed?” He raised a scornful eyebrow. “I’ve permitted you to bully me in many ways, my dear,” he warned, “but don’t go too far.”

“I don’t see how you can call it bullying, my lord. Any man in your position has a right to expect his housekeeper—”

“I’ve gone along with most of your ridiculous demands, Miss Whitlow,” he cut her off icily, “but you know quite well that you are no ‘housekeeper’ to me. To expect me to order you to come running at my beck and call is the outside of enough.”

Caro, remembering Martha’s words of a week before, dropped her eyes from his face. She
had
gone too far. “I beg your pardon,” she said, her high color deepening.

“Very well, ma’am. Let’s say no more on the subject.”

“On the matter of the visit to the cottages,” she said, hurriedly returning to a safer subject, “shall I prepare some baskets of food for you to give to the cottagers?”

“Why, yes! That’s a fine idea. Thank you. I hadn’t thought of that”

“It’s not always done, but it should be. The cottagers will be grateful.”

“Good,” he said, starting away. “The bailiff will join us, and I’ll take Mr. Mickley, too.” He took a few strides away from her and then abruptly turned back. “I hope to make Mickley my land agent one day soon,” he said in a confiding tone, his eyes suddenly taking on a gleam of amusement.

“Indeed?” Caro had no idea why he was giving her mat information. “How fortunate for him.”

“Yes, for a very good income will go along with the position.” He paused for a moment and then grinned. “You might mention it to that upstairs maid with the blond braids.”

“What?” Caro gaped up at him blankly. “Are you speaking of Betty? Betty Rhys?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I think a land agent might easily compete with an innkeeper in a girl’s eyes, don’t you?”

Caro, after a moment of complete incomprehension, suddenly had a burst of understanding. She gave a gurgling laugh. “Yes, I suppose he might very well compete. I’ll be sure to mention it.”

“Thank you,” Kit said, walking off.

“Mickley told
me
he found her too plump and saucy,” she called after him. “Honestly! Men!”

Kit’s only answer was a snort of laughter.

The next morning, when the group going to the cottages assembled, Caro studied Mickley’s face to see if her hint to Betty had done him any good, but though the fellow seemed cheerful enough, she could not be sure. This was not the time to make inquiries, however, for the men all had other matters on their minds. They set off without ado, Kit taking Caro and her food baskets up in the curricle, and Mickley and the bailiff riding alongside on horseback.

At each cottage door, the women welcomed Caro in, while the men walked about outside, observing the condition of the buildings and taking notes of needed repairs. Caro noticed that the viscount was usually greeted with polite coolness, as if the cottagers were still suspicious of his nature and intentions. “See, Miss Caroline,” one old woman explained to Caro, “the ol’ viscount was a real good sort, but even ‘e never did get round t’ fixin’ the roof. So why should we think this’n will?”

“But he will,” Caro assured her. “The viscount is young, you know, and much more energetic than the old Lord Crittenden. What’s more, if he promises to do a thing, he’ll do it. I’ve never known him to break his word.”

The woman, Mrs. Jemima Griggs, who’d lived on the property for more than four decades and knew all the gossip, cocked her head and peered at Caro like a curious bird. “Treatin’
ye
pretty well, is ‘e?” she asked. “I ‘eard he keeps ye belowstairs like a slavey.”

“That’s not at all true, Mrs. Griggs,” Caro replied earnestly. “You know how wrong these gossips can be. I’m treated with more respect than ever in my life. I couldn’t be happier. I hope you’ll tell everyone what I said.”

Mrs. Griggs evidendy did her work well, for by late afternoon the viscount was being greeted with eager friendliness. “I don’t know how you accomplished it, ma’am,” Kit told Caro when they were riding back home, “but your being with me evidently dispelled their animosity. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” she said absentiy. “I only did what I was hired to do.” Her mind was not on the cottagers anymore, for she had something important to tell His Lordship, and she wasn’t sure how to go about it. But since Mickley and the bailiff had ridden on ahead, this moment of privacy was a good time to do it.

She’d been thinking about the matter for days, ever since she’d taken Martha’s advice about Henry Lutton. Once she’d made the decision that Martha’s advice was sound, Caro had not waited long to speak to the vicar. Only two days after her conversation with Martha, she’d waited for him outside the schoolroom after Gil’s lessons and, without roundaboutation, told him that she’d reconsidered ... that she was now ready to wed him, if he was still of a mind.

The conversation had not been easy. At first both she and Henry had been quite awkward with each other, but by the time she’d finished explaining that she now believed she could be content with the “arrangement” they’d discussed before, the tension had eased.

“Do you
mean
it, my dear?” Henry Lutton had asked, his eyes alight. “You said, when you refused me the last time, that you didn’t think a marriage of convenience would be, in your word, honest”

“I’ve thought about that, Henry,” she’d replied, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that what matters is that we arc honest with each other. The rest of the world may believe what they choose about us.”

“And do you now believe, as I do, that so long as we are honest with each other, we are honest with God?”

“Yes,” she’d said softly, but in her heart she wasn’t sure that her answer was true. Would God forgive her for the small deceit of saying “I will” when directed to “cleave unto him”? There would be no “cleave” in their marriage. There would be companionship, tenderness, respect good works—much that was honorable and good. Life with Henry Lutton might turn out to be both pleasant and worthwhile. One could, she supposed, learn to live with the inner ache caused by the “compromise” of one’s dreams. She was giving up all prospect of love, of passion, of the joy of bearing children, but these were all selfish wishes. Surely she would be forgiven for solving her problem by self-sacrifice.

But Henry Lutton had no such qualms. He’d taken her hand and kissed it “You’ve made me more happy than I can say,” he’d murmured, and the look on his face showed that he was utterly sincere.

So the matter was concluded, and she was betrothed. Now she had to tell Kit. She glanced over at him. He was looking straight ahead at the road, his face calm, the reins held lightly in his hands. He had the look of a man satisfied with his day’s work, content with his life. She wondered if her news would disturb that look.
Will he care at all?
she asked herself.
Or will he merely be relieved that he no longer has to feel responsibility for me?

She couldn’t help wondering what marriage might have been like with him. There would have been many quarrels, she was sure, but beside the conflict there would have been laughter, passion, and perhaps the lively noise of children. Kit would have made a wonderful father, she thought. Despite what she’d said to him outside Gil’s bedroom that night, she’d really preferred his Black Bart way of teaching arithmetic to the humorless way that Henry had. That thought was disloyal to her betrothed, however, and she tried to stifle it. Her throat tightened with the effort, however, and a little gurgle of pain escaped her.

Kit swung about at the sound and peered down at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

She gulped. “No. It’s just ... I have something to tell you.” She took a deep breath. “I must... give you notice.”

“
Notice?
” He gave her a look of bewilderment. “What ... ?”

“Isn’t that what one does when one leaves a post? Gives notice? I’m giving you a month.”

He stiffened. “Are you trying to tell me that you plan to
leave
the
Grange?
”

She lowered her head so that her bonnet hid her face. “Yes. You see, I’m to be married. To Mr. Lutton.”

There was a long, long silence. After a while it was more than she could bear. She turned her head so that she could take a look at him. He was staring down at her, his mouth set, his eyes glittering but unreadable. The only sign that he’d received a blow was the pallor of his cheeks. “You needn’t be upset, you know,” she said, babbling foolishly to cover the uncomfortable silence. “We will surely find you a competent housekeeper in that time.”