The Random Gentleman (13 page)
“When I tried to discuss the matter of the arranged marriage with you in London, sir, my domineering sister took over the conversation. This time it is your belligerent granddaughter who has interrupted our argument. What has become of gentle, conformable womanhood? Can we men
never
be permitted to conduct a quarrel in peace?”
The old soldier was much struck by this point of view, and after a stunned moment, was understood to agree that a debate between gentlemen should not be interrupted by even well-meaning females. This remark was naturally highly resented by the one female present, who took instant exception to such a fanatical, rude, overbearing, and unfair decision.
The Duke’s patience, which had been sorely tried, snapped. Turning his shoulder to Belinda, he faced her grandfather with icy courtesy. “It may be possible to continue our conversation at a later date,” he said repressively. “In the meantime, sir, I have the honor to bid you good-day—and my compliments to Miss Belinda.”
Without a single glance at the girl, the Duke turned and strode to the door. This was swung open for his exit, Dittisham having been on the listen to the exciting goings-on within the bookroom.
A small silence followed the Duke’s departure. Then the Earl, pale and frowning, turned upon his granddaughter.
“
Belinda!
” he began in a voice of doom.
But the girl was not listening to him. Whirling, she ran into the hall and up the great staircase to her room, the door of which she slammed with extreme violence.
The footmen exchanged worried looks. Dittisham could not find it in his heart to rebuke them.
Belinda stood just inside the door of her room, fighting back the tears that burned in her eyes. How dared he stride from the library, deny her the opportunity to share in the discussion? Did it not concern her own future? She was at once angry, remorseful, and miserably unhappy—such a woeful mixture of emotions as she had never experienced before. Overriding all else was the fear that she had lost her chance of happiness with the Duke by her intransigent behavior. What had he said? That first his sister and then Belinda herself had interrupted him when he was trying to resolve the problem of the arranged marriage. Could she ever forget the look on his face when he protested, “—can we men never be permitted to conduct a quarrel in peace?”
The sense of what he had said suddenly struck her, and she began to laugh hysterically. Then, wiping her eyes, she set herself to thinking rationally about the hornet’s nest she had stirred up. Even if the Duke and her grandfather reached some sort of agreement over the proposed marriage, it seemed to the girl that she had tarnished the shining beauty of the occasion beyond repair. Could she ever restore the warmth and sweetness of his smile as he asked for her forgiveness and said she was charming and beautiful? With a bitter sob Belinda began to consider what she could do to reverse the situation.
Of course, after two such dismissals as she had given him, she might well have lost the Duke’s affection forever. Still, he had said he might talk to her grandfather later, had he not? Surely that meant he was willing to give the Sayres,
grandpère et petite-fille
, another chance?
It is to be feared that her chagrin at the heavy-handed manner in which she had dealt with the Duke’s peace overtures caused Belinda to lose some of her newly found maturity. It had been an object with her not to allow the Duke to see how powerfully he affected her, yet she knew now that she must at all costs avoid further wounds to his pride, however her own suffered. How could she give him a hint that she cared deeply, that she regretted her foolish comments about his
nom-de-chemin?
Hastily she tried to recall all she had been told about her prospective husband. He was intelligent, brave, a great negotiator, and very proud. Having already deeply insulted his pride, to which other facet of his nature could she best appeal?
Unbidden, the memory returned of the gentleness of his hands as they groomed her for the meeting with the gypsies. She had not chosen to think about that, for the close personal contact had been disturbing to her, suggesting as it did the actions of a lover or bridegroom. For a moment she allowed herself to consider how delightful it would be to receive and provide such intimate personal attention . . . on a regular basis.
She was forced to take herself firmly in hand. Stop daydreaming, Belinda! If you do not come up with a successful recover, you will have lost all chance of becoming the wife of His Grace the Duke of Romsdale. He is not the man to accept humiliating dismissals in stride. Not twice!
What then? Could she go to him at the Climbing Man and beg him to forgive her, to carry out the contract? She thought about that for a long time. The plan had a simplicity which appealed, and yet it was so
final!
For if he rejected her appeal, it was the end of the negotiations. It would be mortifying, also, even if he did not refuse her. Was her pride to weigh heavier in the scales than her life’s happiness? Getting up, Belinda paced nervously around her room. There was the matter of the attitude her action would create between them, the tone of their future relationship which would be set by her humble confession and appeal. Would the Duke value her less or more because of it? Belinda clasped her hands together in fierce anxiety. The most important thing in her life, and she had foolishly marred it! Could she set all to rights?
She sat down before her mirror and stared at the girl’s face within it. How could she seek to know so complex and sophisticated a man as Osric Dane when she did not even know her own heart and nature after eighteen years? She only understood, in this dark moment, that she could never outthink or outmaneuver this brilliant, worldly-wise man. Her appeal, if she dared to make one, must be on a level far more primitive than argument, pleading, or negotiation.
What then was left? Emotion. The heart’s true speech. Emotions changed, perhaps, but they were powerful if honestly acknowledged. Yet how could she go to this twice-rejected man and tell him she loved him? Would he not consider her a “schoolroom chit” who did not know her own heart from one day to the next. Worse, might he be correct in that evaluation?
Belinda squared her shoulders. An announcement of
her
feelings could be misunderstood or disregarded. What else had she to fight with?
The answer came to her as clearly as though someone had spoken to her.
She had the Duke’s emotions
. If in very truth what he felt for her was love, then it was to that emotion she must appeal. If love was there, it must be made to declare itself. But how? Surely she couldn’t just ask him if he loved her? Not after what had already happened, and not, surely, to a man of the Duke’s worldly experience. He could easily lie, to save her face or to salve his own pride. Either way would be so much less than the shining truth she sought. What then?
The Duke was a brave man, a man of action and daring. She must appeal to his chivalry, allow him to act as his character dictated. So: in what way could she arouse his protective feeling for her—if he had any? Hastily she ran over the precarious situations in which she might be able to embroil herself with some way of informing His Grace of her plight. A runaway horse would not only be out of character (she was an excellent rider), but difficult to warn him of in advance. Images of fire, flood, and earthquake appeared, only to be rejected. It was too much to hope that man or Nature would cooperate in such ways—and again the chief objection—how to inform the Duke that Miss Sayre was in danger of being burnt, drowned, or swallowed up in time for him to recruit his forces, find, and rescue her? It would be in keeping with the image he undoubtedly held of her if she were to run away again, yet how could she do so in a way which would ensure the Duke following her? At this point he would be more likely to consider it a good riddance!
And then the perfect scheme presented itself. A wide smile broke across the girl’s face.
Of course!
She got up, washed her face in cold water to remove the signs of tears, changed hastily into Prudence Oliphant’s cleaned and mended gray gown, and prepared to leave her room. At the door she paused, considered, and returned to pick up her reticule. She stuffed it with a bundle of notes from her drawer and at the last moment snatched up a crayon and a piece of paper. Then she slipped out of the house and headed for the Home Woods, praying that the gypsies had not yet left.
The Duke had returned to The Climbing Man in no pleasant frame of mind. Pliss, his valet, was surprised, though of course he did not show it, to see his master returning so early from the visit to Sayre Court. Excellent servant that he was, he knew what his master had been about that morning and expected that the acknowledged suitor for Miss Belinda’s hand would be invited to remain for a leisurely luncheon with his future wife’s family.
The valet read the signs clearly as his grim-faced master stamped into the sitting room of the private suite. Pliss was prepared to receive a blistering order to pack for an immediate departure. To his surprise, no such order was given. His master threw himself down into a chair and stared grimly at nothing. Pliss tenderly rescued the elegant chapeau and gloves from the table on which the Duke had thrown them and retired quietly to order a glass of brandy for His Grace.
Dane found himself in a quandary. For the first time in a very successful career he felt at a complete standstill—
point-non-plus. Damn the girl!
Why did he have to fall in love, like any greensick youth, with a hoity-toity, hot-at-hand little beauty whose temper was as nasty as her grandfather’s?
You will be properly under the cat’s foot if you pursue this female,
he warned himself.
No need to rejoin the army! Your life will be a continued battle, day and night, with the warlike Belinda.
She should have been named Boadicea, or Matilda, the mighty Battle-Maid, he thought sourly. He told himself he was ready to forget the chit, return to London, and put the matter in the hands of his solicitors. If the Sayres were so unwilling to ally themselves with his family, by God they would whistle for him!
Strangely enough, the Duke made no move to implement this most reasonable decision, but moodily accepted a glass of brandy the invaluable Pliss was silently proffering. After a few moments the warming comfort of the wine a little restored his temper, so that when he became aware of the bustle of a coach arriving in front of the Climbing Man, and a few minutes later heard a knock on his sitting-room door, and the voice of one of the inn servants informing Pliss that a lady had arrived below who wished to be brought up to the gentleman’s chambers, he even found himself grinning a little. So she’d come after him, had she? The Duke squared his shoulders and prepared to be magnanimous.
To the Duke’s intense dissatisfaction, Pliss opened the door a few moments later to Lady Freya Goncourt. Dane rose to his feet, frowning. “Freya! What brings
you
here?”
“I am glad to see you, too, brother,” chuckled Freya, permitting Pliss to take her cloak and bonnet. “My luggage is being brought up,” she advised the valet. “Will you help my maid to prepare a chamber for me?” Then she turned to scan her brother’s face. “Not successful, then? Too depressing for you, dear Dane.”
“Freya!” gritted her brother, then, meeting her guileless smile, his clouded countenance broke reluctantly into a smile. “I might have known you couldn’t keep your fingers out of it! I suppose I dare not ask what shatter-brained scheme you have in mind to set all to rights!” Then, taking in her appearance, he gave a smile of genuine pleasure. “
En grande tenue!
” He made her a sweeping bow. “You should teach other ladies how to travel in a coach for days and arrive looking as though they had just stepped from the hands of their dressers.”
Freya smiled in response. “I thank you, brother-diplomat, but you shall not put me off with compliments, however delightful. I apprehend you have failed to persuade the little Sayre that you are the answer to her maidenly dreams?”
“How the devil did you know I had come here to do just that?” wondered her brother. “Say rather, however, that I’ve retreated temporarily from the battlefield to lick my wounds and count my losses.”
“As bad as that?”
“She’s a redoubtable little lass, the one our father chose for me,” admitted Dane wryly. I thought I had her secure, but her mischievous, ill-timed levity, her grandfather’s vile temper—to say nothing of my own!—put us into a fresh brangle,” the Duke confessed.
Freya’s eyes were quick to read his expression. A sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips. “You are—reconciled, then, to the marriage?”
The Duke strode to the window and stood staring out into the street below. “Reconciled? I begin to believe I must put it a good deal higher than that. You see, I met the girl with both of us playing Incognito—” and he proceeded to tell his sister the story of his pilgrimage.
When he had finished, Freya nodded with deep satisfaction. “Well done, brother! You’ve won the child’s heart as yourself rather than because of your title and wealth! ’Tis what I’d hoped for—”
“Do not crow too soon,” the Duke advised her. “At the moment, the state of the battle may be considered a temporary cease-fire, nothing more! And I am not sure I wish to resume so onerous a contest!”