“Do you not? I think I have been but I am solidifying, like metal cooling, even as we speak.”
“Pray do not!” she repeated. “Is there nothing I can say that will stop you?”
“No; I do not think so although the temptation is great. What would you be prepared to offer?” He was smiling, rather cynically, but tenderly withal.
“Anything – everything!”
“My dearest darling,” he said softly. “Of all the things that make me want to kill the man, the one for which I cannot forgive him is that he has made it impossible for you and me to be happy.”
She blinked. “I do not mind being poor,” she said in a low voice. “I am quite accustomed to it.”
“I know – but you deserve so much better, which is why I urged you to marry Danehill. I do not now. Would you – would you truly be prepared to throw in your lot with mine and risk living in a hovel for ever?”
“You know I would.”
“You think so now – that the world would be well lost for love – but, in honour, I cannot ask it of you.”
“Well, I wish you would allow me to make up my own mind. Do you really suppose that I would be better off living with some fractious old lady – most are bound to be far more exacting than your mother – whilst being paid the most dismal wage and doomed to dream forever of the time when I – when I hoped, nay almost believed, that happiness could be mine?”
“No; when you put it like that, I can see that living with me in a hovel would be very paradise in comparison. But still I must remind you that love is unlikely to survive even one year of living in such dispiriting conditions. It would be irresponsible of me to ask it of you, not least because I may be slain by your noble suitor.”
“How fortunate then that you have not done so,” she shot at him, getting to her feet and preparing to leave the room. “For, if you will insist on fighting him, I would find myself forced to refuse.”
“Would you make me choose between honour and love?”
“That’s a ridiculous thing to say. How would it be proper if I were to encourage you to risk your life at the hands of a scoundrel?”
“Because the honour of my family is involved. I will try not to die. I am a reasonably good shot and was used to be quick with the sword but I fear I would not be much of a match for him now. I hope he’ll choose pistols although, if he wants to despatch me, he will no doubt choose swords. Will you not give me your permission?”
“If I withhold it, will you not challenge him?”
“No, I cannot, can I? I have foolishly given you the choice and cannot honourably withdraw it.”
“There seems to be a great deal of perfectly absurd honour involved,” she retorted. “But forbidding you to do what you believe to be right would likely blight our happiness. You would always hold it against me that I had prevented you from avenging your father.”
“I promise I would not; indeed, to tell the truth, I would probably be relieved, but I would have to think of another way of dealing with him.”
Chapter 33
Louisa went home by no means comforted by her visit to the cottage. It seemed to her that, although she had done her best to convince Agnes that she not only bore her no ill will for snapping up Lord Danehill but had positively encouraged her to accept him, her friend had not been as delighted – or as grateful – as she would have liked.
She had not grasped the olive branch which Louisa had held out and, although she had, with a great show of reluctance, accepted the invitation to attend the ball, Louisa doubted that she would.
It had been a strange, and somewhat unnerving, experience to meet Sir John Armitage again. He had not been Sir John when she had last seen him but she did not suppose that his elevation to the Baronetcy was the reason for the profound change in him. She did not know how much, or indeed whether, this alteration was one affecting his character or was limited to his appearance but, in spite of bearing the marks of recent severe ill-health, he looked better than she remembered although the unsteadiness of his gait resembled that of a man thirty years older.
When she had known him in London she had found him astoundingly handsome in spite of the incipient ruin of his face; now that most of the damage had been reversed, she no longer found him attractive. She wondered why. Was it because she had once wished to save him, or was it because her heart beat to a different tune now? Had she lost interest in the Baronet because she had another man in her sights?
She could not look at the Marquess without wishing that he would take her hand, hold her in his arms, press his lips to hers? She was both shocked and outraged that she could feel thus, particularly when he clearly had no desire to do any of those things to her but dreamed only of Agnes, who did not want him. Did she only desire a man when she perceived him to be in want of something, even if that something was her friend, or was she doomed to hanker after a man – any man perhaps – who did not want her?
She recalled her mother’s knowing look when she had said that her daughter would change her mind about men - and marriage – when she fell in love. She knew that her mother had fallen violently in love with her father and had indeed defied her parents to marry him. But such, it seemed to Louisa, was unlikely to be her fate.
She could have married Sir John, had indeed hoped that by rejecting him she could force him to think of her in a more personal manner, make love to her as opposed to her fortune. Now she was glad she had not for she no longer wanted him.
She did, however, want the Marquess – and she could not have him either, unless he could be induced to accept that Agnes did not care for him and that his best bet would be to switch the object of his pursuit and focus once more upon acquiring a fortune. She did not think that this time she would reject a suitor merely because he did not evince the right sort of passion; no, this time, if only he could be persuaded to do so, she would take him, even knowing that he loved her friend.
And what of Agnes? Would she hold out against Danehill ‘because she did not love him’ in spite of the bleak future which awaited her if she let him escape? Knowing now that Agnes’s heart belonged to the Baronet, Louisa understood her previously incomprehensible rejection of the Marquess and all that he had to offer but, since she could not marry Sir John, might she not in the end decide in favour of Danehill?
Coming to a dead end in her reasoning at this point, Louisa was able, briefly, to see the absurdity of her desire for the man who wanted Agnes and Agnes’s for a man she could not have on account of his – and her – almost complete lack of funds.
Moving to the next stage in her cogitations – looking for a solution – it occurred to her that there was one which would surely answer Agnes’s difficulties at least – and might, as a consequence, open the way to her, Louisa, getting what she wanted.
The answer entered her head like a blinding light: she could give Agnes a sum of money – a dowry – ten thousand perhaps. She guessed that, although Sir John had sought her tens of thousands, he would very likely settle for a round ten with Agnes. Indeed, the more she thought about it, and the more she recalled his expression when his eyes rested on her friend’s face, the more she realised that he returned Agnes’s sentiments; certainly Agnes seemed to believe that he did and she was by no means the sort of female who believed every man to be in love with her. In any event, he was clearly developing a tendre, which would surely grow into a lasting attachment with the added sweetener of ten thousand pounds.
She thought this was probably the greatest favour she could do her friend – and herself – for, once Agnes was safely shackled to Sir John, the Marquess would be forced to abandon his pursuit and might then turn his eyes towards Louisa and her thousands.
Having decided that this was the way to resolve many of the obstacles which had arisen over the last few days, she applied her mind to the practical matter of how to achieve it for, even at her most managing and certain, Louisa was well aware that it would not be easy to persuade Agnes to accept a large sum of money. P
erhaps she could offer it in payment for a portrait? But Agnes, inclined to be modest about her own abilities, would be unlikely to believe her pictures worth so much and would, in any event, be reluctant to take a single penny from her friend.
Of course there was one more impediment – possibly the greatest of all - and that was that Louisa did not have access to her fortune; it was not hers to spend or distribute until she was married and her father had settled it upon her. In fact, even then, it would belong to her husband and it might prove difficult to persuade him to hand over ten thousand pounds to her friend.
How annoying people were! They stood upon their dignity and stubbornly refused to see where their best interests lay.
Since she could not wait until she was married to pay Agnes off - for she could see little likelihood that she would be able to persuade Danehill to marry her until Agnes was safely tied to another – she must persuade her father to provide a portion for her friend and, while he showed no sign of resenting the young woman living at his expense for a considerable length of time, giving her a substantial dowry to remove her from his daughter’s path might prove an expense too far.
Her father was generous to his family but paying off another woman to enable his daughter to have the man she wanted would surely stick in his throat. The only person who could – and frequently did – persuade him to open his purse for wildly extravagant expenditure was her mother; and she, far more than her father, longed for her daughter to become a Marchioness. She did not think he cared tuppence about such a thing; all he wanted was her happiness; but her mother greatly desired the high title, the proud return to the nobility, which she had herself thrown away for love. In addition, Mrs Newbolt, knowing about the force of love and what a woman will sacrifice in pursuit of it, would surely understand and do her best to help her daughter.
As for the Marquess: he would grow to love her, she decided, clenching her fists with determination; she would make him and it would surely not be difficult once he realised that gentle little Agnes was not the wife for him. Disgusted with Agnes’s refusal to be swayed by his elevated position, he would look for a different sort of woman, one who could match him for spirit and force, one who would grace her position as his wife whereas Agnes, if he were to think about it a little more, might prove to be a trifle too retiring. He believed, she was convinced, that Agnes needed looking after; that, after all, was why he had stood up with her that first evening but would he not soon find her boring?
Having come to this conclusion and convinced that she had found a solution, Louisa was able to change for dinner in a more optimistic frame of mind. She must not, she decided, look down in the mouth nor must she make an obvious play for the Marquess because it was understandable that, just at first, his rejection still raw, he would not be looking for a substitute.
She thought that perhaps she would encourage the Viscount a little more, although he too had shown a distressing predilection for Agnes. Perhaps she should encourage Mr Armitage for he was only marked out to be Agnes’s brother-in-law and would not – surely could not – be pursuing her for himself?
She was seated between the Marquess and the Viscount at dinner, as she had been every night, and divided her attention equally between them. There was no outward sign that Danehill had suffered a setback of any kind; he was too experienced an operator to allow his disappointment to affect his manner.
After dinner they played charades and Louisa was encouraged by Danehill’s evident admiration for her wit. Almost drunk with her confidence that she could turn things around in just the way she wished, she was at her best: lively, amusing and, she believed, in looks.
Afterwards, when she was preparing for bed, she was on the point of going to her mother’s room and beginning the process of persuading Mrs Newbolt to put the ten thousand dowry idea to her father when there was a knock upon the door.
On being invited to enter, the person who came into the room was none other than Mrs Newbolt. She had taken off her evening dress, let down her hair and was swathed in a becoming silk wrapper.
Annie was still in the room, in the process of undoing her mistress’s buttons but Mrs Newbolt waved her away, saying, “I can do that. You go to bed now, Annie.”
“Shall I not do Miss Louisa’s hair?” Annie asked.
“No. I don’t suppose it is beyond me to do that too,” Mrs Newbolt said, opening the door.
“I was about to come to you, Mama,” Louisa said as her mother returned, undid the last buttons and helped her daughter to put on her wrapper.
“Fancy our both thinking the same thing at the same time!” Mrs Newbolt exclaimed with an assumption of artlessness. “Sit down, my dear, and let us review the results of the house party. Your father tells me that none of our guests has spoken to him yet but it would not surprise me to learn that one or two gentlemen may already have spoken to you. Manners are so much more free these days than when I was young.”
“No,” Louisa replied baldly. “If you mean by that elliptical comment, has anyone made me an offer, the answer is no. Did you suppose someone might have done and, if so, who?”
“I have been watching very closely,” Mrs Newbolt admitted, not at all to Louisa’s surprise. “I thought at first that Lord Danehill must have come here with the intention of making you an offer - and he was very attentive this evening - but nothing yet. Perhaps he is waiting for the ball to make a grand romantic gesture?”
“You thought at first?” Louisa asked, clasping her hands together tightly to control an incipient tremble that had begun now that the moment for begging was almost upon her.
“Yes; but then, it seemed to me – of course I may be quite wrong – but he seemed rather to favour Agnes Helman. I cannot think why but who can account for gentlemen’s tastes?”
“Who indeed? Mama ...” She stopped and her face twisted tragically.
“Have you fallen in love with him?” her mother asked, reading the girl’s expression accurately.
“Yes – and he does not love me, Mama. He has made Agnes an offer.”
“Good God! The man must be entering his dotage – why, in Heaven’s name? She has nothing and is not even particularly pretty, as we observed before any of these tiresome people descended upon us.”
“I do not know; I think perhaps he wants to protect her – and she is pretty, Mama; very likely she is just the sort of precious little flower that appeals to a man like him.”
“Oh, dear! Will that be the end of your friendship, do you think, when she is lording it over you as the Marchioness?”
“I cannot imagine Agnes doing any ‘lording’ but, in any event, she will not for she does not intend to become a Marchioness. She has refused him; that’s why she has left.”
“Refused him? Is she mad too?”
“No, I think she’s in love with Sir John Armitage.”
“Good God!” Mrs Newbolt exclaimed, now really shocked. “How can she possibly love that reprobate? Why, she is the purest, most virtuous little thing I ever met – what in the world does she see in him?”
“Perhaps she wants to reform him. I do not know, Mama, but I do know that she will not marry Danehill.”
“Well, the reprobate won’t marry her; he can’t afford to.”
“No; but, Mama, I think he loves her and, if she could – were to – marry him, Danehill would be free and might look at me again!”
“Possibly, but I don’t see how it can be achieved.”
“It can - if Agnes could be provided with a dowry,” Louisa suggested, beginning to make the run-up to her objective.
“No doubt, but both her parents are dead and, so far as anyone knows, she has no fading aunts about to leave her anything, has she?”
“No. Mama, I wondered, could we give her something?”
“We? Give her a dowry?”
“Yes. Papa has plenty of money, has he not? Could he not give her a small portion of what he intends to provide for me so that she could marry Sir John?”
&nbs
p; “Buy her off?” Mrs Newbolt suddenly looked every inch a Viscount’s daughter, raising her brows with haughty disdain.
“It is not buying her off,” Louisa reminded her. “She has not asked for it and she has already rejected Danehill in favour of finding another job as a companion. But he might hang around in the hope of winning her for years – because she cannot marry Sir John, as you say, unless one of them comes by some money. If we can enable her to marry the Baronet, she will be out of reach and Danehill will have to look elsewhere.”
“There’s no certainty he would look at you though,” her mother reminded her.
“No, but he came here because he was thinking of me,” Louisa pointed out. “He must have been or he would not have come, would he?”
“That was what I supposed,” Lady Newbolt admitted. “But we cannot do that, even if your father could be persuaded, for Agnes Helman is, to my mind, above corruption. She would not accept.”
“I don’t see what is corrupting about it, Mama. She is my dearest friend and I simply wish her to be happy.”
“Yes, very generous, I’m sure, but she’s a proud girl.”
“But she wants me to be happy too so that, if she thought that this way Danehill might be persuaded to turn his attention to me, I believe she would accept. Also, there is no other likelihood of her being able to marry Sir John.”
“Is it, do you suppose, the action of a good friend to encourage her to marry the reprobate though?” Mrs Newbolt asked, perceiving a glimmer of humour in the situation.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t think he is a reprobate any more, Mama. He has no money, he’s spent it all, and the family is in the most dire financial straits, but I think he is a reformed character, probably on account of falling in love with Agnes. Really, Mama, she is quite transformative.”
“Evidently. But do you really want to marry Danehill when he is in love with someone else and, even if he could be persuaded, is clearly more interested in your fortune than your character?”
Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship Page 28
