Bless Thine Inheritance

by Sophia Holloway

  ‘I see. Thank you.’ Lord Deben could scarcely go up and knock upon her door. He withdrew, and went along the passageway towards a small saloon where he might think without being disturbed, and it was then that he caught sight of a bedraggled figure sat upon the terrace. Without considering either coat or hat for himself, he went immediately to the door that gave access to the outside of the house upon the southern aspect.

  She sat there, the rain soaking into her cloak, dripping off the poke of her oldest bonnet. Her face was cold and wet, tears and rain meeting, melding in her misery. So lost was she in her despondency that Sarah did not hear the footsteps.

  ‘Miss Clandon. What on earth are you doing out in this?’ He saw her cheeks. ‘You have not had some bad news concerning your brother, I hope?’

  She shook her head, but did not look at him. It took one worry from him, for had she been bereaved he was not sure how he could make her feel any better. She was very wet.

  ‘You will be soaked to the skin and catch some fatal inflammation of the lungs.’ Lord Deben was horrified. ‘Really, dear girl, I had an aunt who looked as fit as a flea and shuffled off this mortal coil in ten days flat from such a condition.’ He tried to sound light-hearted to conceal his concern.

  ‘I do not think, sir, that at this moment such an eventuality sounds unwelcome.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Lord Deben discarded any pretence, and sat beside her on the wet bench, ignoring the cold wetness seeping into his breeches.

  ‘Then consider me, for there could be nothing more unwelcome.’ He reached out a hand, and laid it upon one of hers. ‘Nothing.’

  She turned her face to him, her eyes reddened and puffed, a loose strand of hair plastered down one white cheek. In that moment there was no doubt in him, only a deep certainty.

  ‘I know it must seem foolish, after such a short acquaintance, but the thought of being without you …’ He took a deep breath. ‘I want you to be happy, and more than that, I want you to be happy with me. Is there anything I can do to …’

  She said not a word, but he read her response in her eyes. His free hand went to her cheek, and he leaned slowly towards her and kissed her, softly. She trembled, both from emotion and the cold, and his arms went about her.

  ‘Come indoors and get dry and warm. I have much I wish to say to you, need to say, but not whilst we drown. Please?’

  She nodded into his shoulder and they rose as one. He placed her hand upon his arm and led her indoors. The warmth within made her even more aware of how cold she felt, and she shuddered.

  ‘Dry clothes, and …’ Lord Deben felt the need for brandy, but doubted young ladies would share the inclination, ‘… tea. Hot, sweet tea. That’s the thing. Upstairs with you.’

  ‘But what about …’

  ‘No more words until you have obeyed my commands, Miss Clandon.’ He sounded firm, but smiled at her.

  She lifted the sodden hem of her skirts and almost ran up the stairs. Lord Deben, decidedly wet about the nether regions, followed once she was out of view. He needed to think. He had not gone outside intending to make Miss Clandon a declaration. In his heart he knew it was what he wanted to do, but she had somehow withdrawn from him these last few days. He had gone from certainty to uncertainty, and his head had not quite worked out how he might propose to a young lady who might not want to hear what he had to say. There were considerations, problems even, but seeing her there, bedraggled and miserable, he had cast all else aside. Now he had to be sensible, for her sake as well as his own. He would have to go to her father, and persuade the colonel that in barely more than three weeks he had reached the momentous decision that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his daughter. That might not be easy. He also needed to speak with the object of his affections without his teeth chattering, and ascertain that what he thought she meant was what she meant, because he meant what … Lord Deben laughed, much to the consternation of his valet.

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘Do I look mad to you, Stockley?’

  ‘No, no, my lord,’ averred the valet. ‘Though to have gone out without a suitable coat in this weather was … reckless, if I may dare to say so.’

  ‘Reckless indeed, Stockley, but you see, I was rescuing a damsel in distress.’

  ‘Ah, I see, my lord.’ Stockley saw rather more than his employer might have thought.

  *

  Half an hour later, and with his hair dry and his person as neat as a new pin, Lord Deben went in search of his host. He found him, rather inconveniently, enjoying a good burgundy and discussing the wheat harvest with Lord Corfemullen. That peer, with great insight, conjured up an entirely spurious reason to absent himself, seeing ‘a young man burdened’, as he later said to Lord Mardham.

  Lord Mardham took up the decanter.

  ‘Would you care for a glass, my boy?’ Lord Mardham thought Deben looked as if he needed it.

  ‘Er, no, or rather, yes. Thank you, sir.’ It felt like one of those interviews Lord Deben could recall from school, minus the threat of the cane. He accepted the proffered glass but did not drink. ‘Thing is, sir, I was hoping for … I mean …’

  ‘Advice perhaps? In loco patris?’

  ‘Exactly so, sir.’ Deben looked relieved.

  ‘Then sit down, my boy.’

  Lord Deben sat, rather upright, and on the edge of his chair.

  ‘I find myself in a sort of predicament, you see.’

  ‘I rather thought that to be the case.’

  ‘You did?’ Deben wondered how his host could be so perspicacious. ‘Well, I am at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed. You see …’ He explained his situation to Lord Mardham, who listened with a suitably serious expression, even when it all became a bit muddled.

  ‘In essence, then, you want to be absolutely clear that Miss Clandon reciprocates your affection before repairing to her sire, and wish to be closeted alone with her for that purpose, and you fear that he might not take your declaration of perpetual devotion to his daughter seriously, based upon the brevity of the acquaintanceship.’

  ‘Yes, sir. In a nutshell.’

  ‘Well, upon the first point, nobody expects you to make a declaration in public. Damned embarrassing if you did. I will speak to Lady Mardham, and she will arrange that you and Miss Clandon may have a private interview.’ He did not say that he might have to throw a jug of water over his wife first, if she threatened hysterics at the news. ‘As to the second point, I cannot guess Colonel Clandon’s response, but you are not a Hereandthereian type of young man, and I am sure he will judge you fairly. He might well suggest that you pay your addresses in form, and that no announcement be made for a month or two, but I should think he would be delighted, dear boy, quite delighted.’ Lord Mardham did not add that he would be relieved also. ‘There is no money, of course, but you do not look as if your pockets are to let, and the Clandons are a good family, with connections. Lady Eskdale may sigh a little, for mamas always seem to dream of “brilliant matches”, but you have found yourself a thoroughly nice young woman, and I, for one, wish you well.’ With which Lord Mardham held out his hand and shook Deben’s with some vigour.

  *

  The jug of water was not required, not quite. Lady Mardham certainly made loud clucking noises, which reminded her spouse of a very angry hen, and asked, rhetorically, what she had done to deserve This Disaster, but agreed to letting Sarah speak privately with Lord Deben. She then went to find The Poor Relation and sent her to wait in the crimson saloon. Shortly thereafter, a footman was sent to request Lord Deben’s attendance. It could not be said that he found his hostess as enthusiastic as his host, but after warning that he was most likely to break his mama’s heart and health by the step he was about to take, and that ‘desperate young women will accept any offer they receive’, she sent him to the crimson saloon. She then went to write a letter to Cousin Cora, with the implication that it was entirely through her altruism and good offices that the match had prospered. Once she ha
d told herself this a few times it was easy to believe it, and it made her feel a little better.

  Lord Deben felt a little battered, but when he stepped into the room and Miss Clandon turned and smiled shyly at him, everything else was forgotten.

  ‘I am sorry. I should not have gone outside, but I was feeling very low and … You were very kind.’ A voice in her head told Sarah she must still grant Lord Deben the chance to escape, though her heart did not doubt, could not bear to doubt.

  ‘I was very impertinent, kissing you as I did. It just … happened.’

  ‘I understand.’ Her heart missed a beat. Was he escaping after all? ‘You wish to forget it, and …’

  ‘No. No, I want to remember it always, want to … repeat it.’ He came close, close enough to take both her hands and kiss them. He looked at her, his smile awry. ‘I have not got a way with words, not like Wombwell, and I am going to get this all wrong, but I have to make you believe that it is possible to fall in love, properly in love, in three weeks.’

  ‘I do believe. Indeed, I know it to be true.’ She blushed, a soft pink suffusing her cheeks.

  ‘You do?’ His hold upon her hands tightened.

  ‘Yes. For it is what I have done also.’

  He had prepared sentences, rather a lot of them, ready to persuade, entreat, beg, promise. He forgot them all. He swallowed convulsively, and managed three words.

  ‘Marry me, please.’

  Sarah could not master even the single affirmative, and simply nodded, her eyes very wide and now thankfully rather less red. He let go of her hands to pull her gently into his embrace, and hugged her. Mr Wombwell, had he seen this mode of seduction would have laughed derisively, but Mr Wombwell had never actually been in love. Lord Deben found hugging very much to his liking, for Miss Clandon was soft and yielding, and when he laid his cheek to hers her skin was peach-soft and there was a hint of some floral perfume in her hair.

  ‘I must go to your father, and do this in form. I hope he will say yes,’ he murmured, somewhere about her left ear.

  ‘Papa has always said he wants my happiness, so he must say yes.’ Sarah sighed. ‘I never thought I would feel this happy, ever.’

  The only possible response to this was a kiss, and this kiss was not cautious or consoling. It was a kiss that claimed, promised, and even demanded. Lord Deben was not possessed of more than average understanding, but the slightly bumbling air owed much to his desire to rub along well with his fellows and even more to a lack of purpose in his life. Now he had a purpose, a responsibility, and he embraced it as joyously as he did her body.

  *

  It would have been impossible for the putatively betrothed couple to have acted as if nothing had occurred. When they joined the other members of the party before dinner it took an effort of will for each to drag their eyes from the other. Lord Deben wanted everyone to be as happy as he was, though of course that must be impossible, and so he announced that he and Miss Clandon had ‘come to an understanding’ and that he would be seeking permission to pay his addresses as soon as possible.

  The majority of his auditors were delighted by the news, and for a few minutes there was much hand-shaking and expressions of congratulation. Lady Mardham was, however, resigned, Sir Marcus Cotgrave disappointed, Mr Wombwell totally indifferent, and Miss Darwen shocked. She looked daggers at Sarah Clandon. Lord Deben meant nothing to her, but she regarded the match as insulting. Miss Clandon was her junior by a year, was a Nobody who would never have made a London come out, and yet here she was, ensnaring a husband and the long-term prospect of being a countess.

  Marianne Burton was all emotion, her eyes misted, clasping Sarah to her as if she were her best friend in the world, and exclaiming how wonderful and ‘desperately romantic’ it was. Celia was even more pleased, but less demonstrative. She leaned to kiss her cousin’s cheek and whispered that she must come to her room and tell all later. Lavinia Darwen shook Sarah’s hand, and smiled acidly.

  ‘You must consider yourself very fortunate.’ Somehow the implication was not that Sarah was fortunate to have found love and a decent young man, but that she had found any man at all to offer for her. Sarah ignored the insult, being upon a cloud of happiness that the barb could not reach. Any further comment was prevented by Copthorne announcing that dinner was served.

  *

  The buoyant air continued through dinner, although Mr Wombwell, seated next to Miss Clandon, maintained his attitude that she was essentially invisible, and all but ignored her. Lord Deben was seated upon the other side of the table, however, and not so far away that glancing at him would mean leaning, and turning her head to an obvious degree. Sarah tried to ration herself, and failed. When their eyes met there was the memory of that first evening, when he had tried to show that she was not insignificant by offering her various dishes. Then there had been kindness in his eyes, now there was warmth, and it was all he could do not to beam at her. She could not say what she ate, nor afterwards recall what Lord Levedale, seated to her right, said to her.

  The ladies withdrew, leaving Lord Deben to a little light-hearted joshing from his friends. Lord Levedale was more of an observer, conscious of a sense of guilt because he felt jealous. Deben had fallen in love with a girl, she with him, and there seemed no obstacles that would prevent their very happy union. He was delighted for them both, but reflected that it was so much less complicated than the cobble in which he found himself. He was in love with Celia Mardham, desperately so, and he had indications that she was far from averse to him, but he had been paying his attentions to Marianne Burton for the better part of three weeks, and that young lady might feel justifiably hurt if he now made her friend an offer. He did not think Miss Burton was in hourly expectation of a declaration, nor that her heart would be broken, but it was an ungentlemanly thing to pay court to a young woman without any intentions in that direction, and it made him feel a cur. It was the behaviour of men like Wombwell, of men of his brother Laurence’s set.

  *

  The ladies, with the gentlemen absent, were keen to hear all about the romance, although Sarah Clandon was reluctant to do more than express her feeling that she was the luckiest of young women.

  ‘Fortunate indeed, for you will have rank and wealth, but let us be honest, Lord Deben is scarcely more than a fool.’ Miss Darwen had been seething all through dinner, and her temper was now unleashed.

  The other ladies looked shocked. Lady Mardham pursed her lips, and Lady Corfemullen shook her head, mentally vowing that if any daughter of hers were as ill-mannered she would have the governess take a slipper to her. Miss Clandon did not look shocked. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, but then she smiled serenely.

  ‘I doubt Lord Deben is bookish, Miss Darwen, but in many ways he has a remarkable understanding, and has qualities you are clearly unable to recognise, not possessing them yourself. He is kind, generous of spirit, and seeks the happiness of those about him. I am supremely fortunate to be loved by such a man, a man who will undoubtedly make me extremely happy, as I hope to make him.’

  Marianne Burton so forgot herself as to clap her hands together in approbation of this short speech. Miss Darwen turned puce, which was a most unbecoming shade, especially when combined with the necklace of garnets about her throat.

  ‘You are saying … How dare you! You are Nobody, Nothing, a mere …’

  ‘”Poor Relation”? I am, in terms of wealth. But you see, Miss Darwen, I am no longer poor because I have been given something of far greater value than wealth, though title and wealth comes in its wake. I have been given the love and affection of a man of heart and character. I am not altogether sure you would either recognise those qualities or think them important.’ Sarah’s smile lengthened, knowing the other ladies in the room would agree with her. ‘So it is I who pity you, “poor” Miss Darwen, for all your London Season, and your air of superiority.’

  Celia wondered if it were possible for a woman to explode through sheer chagrin. Lavinia Darwen drew herse
lf up to her full height, by means of sticking up her chin defiantly, and thus lengthening her neck, announced that she had the headache, and requested permission to retire before the gentlemen joined them. Lady Mardham assented with relief.

  ‘Oh bravo, Sarah,’ giggled Celia, as the door closed behind Miss Darwen. ‘That left her with nowhere to go but her bedchamber.’

  ‘I am sorry, ma’am,’ Sarah looked to Lady Mardham, ‘but I could not bear her to insult Lord Deben.’

  ‘I understand, my dear. In the circumstances, and you have had a very enervating day, it is entirely forgivable. I am only sorry I ever invited that wretched girl. I disliked her in the schoolroom, but assumed she had been improved for her Season. How wrong I was, to be sure.’ Lady Mardham was still tutting quietly to herself when the gentlemen entered.

  *

  ‘So?’ Celia dismissed her maid, sat upon the edge of her bed, and looked at her friend.

  ‘Oh Celia, pinch me. I cannot truly believe this afternoon, this evening, are real.’ Sarah heaved a great sigh, and, seeing Celia pat the bedcover, sat down beside her.

  ‘I say again — So?’

  ‘So I thought I would simply have to accept Sir Marcus, and be practical, but it made me so very low, Celia, that I went out and sat alone in the rain.’

  ‘I am not sure getting wet would have helped, you know.’

  ‘Ah, but in a way, it did. You see, Lord Deben espied me outside, and came to find out why, and to urge me to come within doors, and … And I discovered he had not just been “being polite”, as your Mama thought.’

  ‘Mama?’

  ‘Yes, you see I asked her advice, when I thought perhaps Lord Deben was being a little particular in his attentions. She said he was just a very polite and thoughtful young man, which is true, and that I must not seem to encourage him, because it would make things awkward for him, and I did not want that. So I tried not to look at him, or speak too much with him, and … he looked confused, and I felt miserable. Then Sir Marcus began to single me out and … but it is all over, and he loves me.’ Sarah blushed. ‘He kissed me, Celia, once upon the terrace in the rain, and then again when he proposed. It was … exciting. Do you think it wicked of me to think so?’