“I should not imagine so. We have only met a couple of times. As a matter of fact, I think her fancy has already alighted upon a foolish young man with poor prospects.” His lips twisted in an unpleasant smile.
Cassie gave a cry and jumped up. “How can you? You will push him out of the way by virtue of your rank and wealth, which will no doubt weigh heavily with her parents? And she? Will she favour your suit, however superior it may be in worldly terms, to that of a boy her own age with whom she might spend a lifetime of happiness?”
“Why not? I shall not be unkind to her.”
“But she does not love you!”
“She barely knows me – why should she not love me in time? I am neither ugly nor cruel.”
“Because she already loves another and you – you of all people – should know that it is impossible to turn off one’s love by will alone.”
“I cannot conceive what makes you think that. I have turned off the love I once offered another.”
“No, you have not!” she cried. “You have never ceased to love that wretched girl. Every time you have made love to me, you have been thinking of her. I know it and you cannot deny it, can you?”
“I have thought of her from time to time; I cannot see that that is particularly odd since she was, after all, my betrothed but I deny that I still love her.”
“What would you do if you met her again?” she asked and, seeing his face, exclaimed, “You have, have you not? That is what has decided you to marry an innocent child: you wish to spite your long-lost love.”
“I cannot imagine that it will spite her; she is perfectly indifferent to me.”
“Well,” Cassie said, turning the knife in his wound, “In that case, it is perfectly clear that she never felt about you the way you did about her - and still do.”
He shrugged and stood up. “I shall make this house and its contents over to you, as well as the servants, and will settle a sum upon you which, if not squandered frivolously, should keep you in comfort for the rest of your life. I shall not give you a monthly allowance because I wish to sever all connexion with you: not because I am angry with you, nor because I have grown weary of you – what else is there to assure you of so that you will not blame yourself or think you have done or not done aught to displease me? You are not too old; you are still very beautiful. It is merely that I wish to be unencumbered.”
She, distressed almost as much by the patience and restraint with which he spoke as by the content of his words, forgot the pride which should have come to her aid, forgot Prue’s wise advice, and cast herself upon her knees before him, much as she had done at that other when she had been abandoned the first time.
Chapter 11
Sylvia was forced to put aside once more her desire to look at the diamonds while Melissa summoned her maid and instructed her to fetch a bowl of warm water, together with some boracic powder and two bandages. When it came, Melissa dismissed the servant and attended to her governess’s grazed knees herself.
The binding of Sylvia’s knees did not bring Melissa’s presence in her room to an end. The girl proceeded to engage in a protracted enumeration of Mr Harbury’s merits, some of Lord Furzeby’s – those she had had leisure to observe when not hanging upon Mr Harbury’s lips – and, finally, a scornful dismissal of the Duke, stating that she found him vastly ill-natured.
“Well, I daresay he considered me encroaching when he heard that I had somehow inserted myself into your affections to such an extent that you called me a ‘friend’,” Sylvia essayed by way of repairing his grace’s position in her pupil’s eyes.
“He is abominably top-lofty,” Melissa said contemptuously. “I cannot abide such airs.”
“But do you not find him handsome?” Sylvia suggested, tacitly acknowledging that his grace’s manner and conversation had left something to be desired.
“No, I do not. He is quite old and, although I suppose he might be accounted handsome by some, his are not the sort of looks I admire. He is by far too cold and haughty.”
“He is only one and thirty,” Sylvia pointed out.
“That is almost twice as old as I,” Melissa said.
Sylvia nodded and said, “He is very different from Mr Harbury and I suppose that, if his looks appeal to you, you would be unlikely to admire his grace.”
“Do you think him handsome?” Melissa asked.
“Which? Mr Harbury? He is a charming young man with a pair of sparkling eyes and a mouth exceedingly ready to smile: yes, I think him very handsome in the way that young men so often are. The Duke, though, has more classic features, remarkable hair and eyes bluer than any I have ever seen.”
Melissa put her head on one side. “He does have remarkable eyes,” she acknowledged, “but they are excessively hard. I cannot like them; indeed they make me positively nervous.”
“I had the impression,” Sylvia persisted, “that his grace was well on the way to forming an attachment. I know that you find Mr Harbury delightful company – it is only to be expected since he is much the same age as you and is so obviously developing a tendre for you – but I am fairly certain that he is not in a position where he will be able to make you an offer. The Duke, on the other hand, is looking for a wife.”
“He will not find one in me!” Melissa stated loudly. “I do not like him.”
“No. But I believe your mama may consider him a more suitable parti than Mr Harbury. I daresay that, if you were married to him, he would become more amiable in time.”
“Has Mama told you to prosecute his suit with me?” Melissa asked suspiciously.
“She did not need to tell me that both she and your father would be happy if you were to accept an offer from him – if he should make one.”
“Then he must not be allowed to do so,” the girl exclaimed. “Because I know you to be right: if he makes one, Mama will try to bully me into accepting – and I will not. I will run away rather than marry him.”
“You must promise me that you will do nothing so imprudent,” Sylvia said, abandoning any attempt to establish the Duke as a desirable suitor. “I think it unlikely that he will make you an offer immediately. If – when – he does, you must tell me and we will discuss what you should do if you are still set on refusing him.”
“But I am afraid that he will make the offer to Papa because he will know that that is the most certain way to force my hand – and then what shall I do?”
“He will be bound, after clearing it with your papa, to ask you in person. I am sure that, if you tell him quite frankly that you cannot love him, he will accept it. He will not wish to force you to marry him.” As she spoke, Sylvia thought that this was precisely what she feared he would do: hating her, and having resolved to marry her pupil in order to spite her, he would not allow the mere fact of the girl’s dislike to put him off. He was bent on getting his own way this time. She was afraid that, no matter how unhappy his bride might be, the most important factor for him was his wish to make her, Sylvia, unhappy. She did not think he cared a button for anyone else’s feelings.
She leaned forward and took Melissa’s hands. “Pray do not let yourself become distressed about it. There will be something we can do. Nobody, not even your mama, can force you to marry a person you do not wish to marry. Now, it must be nearly time for your drive in the Park and I should like to lie down upon my bed for a little before I write a letter to Mama.”
“Do your knees pain you very much?” Melissa asked as her governess stood up awkwardly and tottered on stiff legs towards her bed.
“A little but it does not signify. Go and put your bonnet on. Which one will you wear today?”
“I have not decided.”
Sylvia had hoped to tempt Melissa to leave the room by mentioning bonnets, but realised, too late, that she had succeeded only in drawing attention to a subject she wished at all costs to avoid when Melissa added, “I wish you will let me buy you the lavender silk. It would look positively ravishing on you.”
“Whenever s
hould I wear such a thing?” Sylvia asked. She kept her eyes fixed on Melissa’s face, determined not to let them stray to the untidy parcel containing the wretched bonnet, for how in the world could she explain how it came to be in her possession without mentioning the Duke - and no doubt doing his reputation yet more damage in her pupil’s eyes?
“Whenever you go out. And did you see that pretty pelisse in the shop just down the road? That would match it exactly and I could lend you – indeed give you – my lavender kid gloves. I shall ask Mama if she will purchase it for you. I could not help noticing how unbearably dowdy you looked amongst the crowds on Bond Street. Oh,” she exclaimed, seeing the corners of Sylvia’s mouth turn down, “I did not mean to cast aspersions upon you, dear Miss Holmdale, for I am sure you were the prettiest woman I saw all day.”
Sylvia laughed as she said, “Dear Melissa, how exceedingly kind of you to say so, but I do not think you noticed anyone in Bond Street other than Mr Harbury. Your eyes barely left his countenance from the moment he jumped out of his curricle. Come and tell me all about whom you met in the Park as soon as you get back.”
Melissa swept the despised pelisse and bonnet off the bed and helped her governess to lie down when she covered her tenderly with the eiderdown. Sylvia wondered, as she had many times before, how such a person as Lady Sullington could possibly have given birth to Melissa.
“I shall see you later, dear Miss Holmdale,” the girl said, depositing a kiss on the older woman’s cheek.
“Yes. I shall look forward to it,” Sylvia promised, closing her eyes and hoping that Melissa would take the hint.
She did and Sylvia lay unmoving while she tried to compose the letter she intended to enclose with the diamonds. The only trouble was that she did not know Lord Marklye’s address, so how, even if she succeeded in thinking of a tactful way of returning the gift, was she to convey it to him?
While she was still agonising over this dilemma, she fell asleep and woke some time later to find her knees so stiff that she could barely move her legs at all. She swung them to the floor and unwound the bandages. Conscious that some considerable time had elapsed since Melissa left, she thought that the first thing she must do – before she could write the letter to Lord Marklye – was to hide the lavender silk bonnet. She could not, however, once she had removed it from its wrappings, resist trying it on again. She carried it to the dressing table and sat down before the mirror. Her hair had come down while she slept and she looked a perfect fright, her cheeks flushed from sleep. ‘Passably pretty’, she thought, remembering the Duke’s contemptuous words. She removed the rest of the pins from her hair and brushed it. This done, she gathered it up and tied it, not very competently, in a more fashionable and softer knot than the one she permitted herself to wear in her guise as a governess. Now she did look pretty – very pretty, she acknowledged without vanity. Her hair was dark, almost black, and made a dramatic contrast with her pale skin and lavender eyes.
The Duke, all those years ago, had likened her to Snow White, the heroine of a story who was almost destroyed by the jealousy of another woman. It had been a new publication at the time. He had promised, teasingly, that he would protect her from the wicked queen. Now she found herself wondering who would protect her from the wicked Duke.
She had momentarily forgotten the diamonds and was wholly concentrating upon the bonnet, bought with such malicious intent that she felt it ought to burn her. It was quite ravishing with a high crown and quantities of lavender flowers, together with narrow grey-green leaves, beautifully fashioned from silk, adorning it. She put it on and tied the ribbons beneath her chin. She looked younger than she did in the horrid clothes and with the ugly hairstyle she normally affected but then, when she had first applied to become a governess, she had been at pains to make herself look older and had, in the years since, seen no reason to change her appearance.
She was still admiring her own face, framed by the bonnet, when the door flew open and Melissa ran in, still in her outdoor clothes.
“Miss Holmdale!” she cried as Sylvia tried to tear the embarrassing hat from her head. “Stop! Pray leave it! It does look ravishing. Did you go out and buy it yourself while I was in the Park?”
For a moment Sylvia thought of pretending that she had but found herself saying, “No. It – someone bought it for me.”
“Who? Lord Furzeby? No, it cannot have been he because he did not meet you until after we had left the shop, did he? Was it the Duke?”
“Yes,” Sylvia replied baldly, at a loss how to explain his action.
“Well!” Melissa said. “And he was so excessively rude to you. I do not understand it – unless his rudeness was a cover for his having fallen head over heels in love with you at first sight, which would not at all surprise me.”
“No, that was most assuredly not the reason he bought it. I believe, indeed I know, that he did so in order to shame me.”
“But how ..?”
“I cannot tell you the ins and outs of it, Melissa. You are too young to understand the depth of malice that he bears me or the reasons why he was so certain that dragging me into that shop and buying the bonnet would distress me. He and I have met before – many years ago – and it is because of something which I did a long time ago that he wishes to punish me now. But,” she added hastily, seeing Melissa’s horrified expression, “in spite of that, I do not believe that, deep down, he is a bad man. If you were to marry him, I am certain that he would treat you well.”
“I am equally certain that he would not. If he can behave cruelly towards you, I am persuaded it would be only a matter of time before he would find some fault in his wife that would justify his behaving unkindly towards her.”
“Perhaps. I do not know and am unable to conjecture how he might behave in the future. All the same, he would be a very good match.”
“In worldly terms, yes, no doubt, but he would make me unhappy. I will not marry him; I vow I will not, so pray do not hold back on my account if you would like him.”
Sylvia smiled. “He would not like me. Whom did you meet in the Park?”
“Oh, everyone – or everyone I know, and that is not a large number. He was there and Mama quite put me to the blush: she positively fawned upon him and he engaged me for two dances at Almack’s on Wednesday. I suppose he cannot hurt me when we are dancing.”
“He will not hurt you at all. Was he with Lord Furzeby and Mr Harbury?”
“No, he was by himself. But we saw Lord Furzeby and Mr Harbury, who is not allowed out by himself so far as I can see. They were with a different man, whose name was Lord Mark … something or other. I do not perfectly recall.”
“Lord Marklye?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“I have had previous dealings with him. You did not, I suppose, discover where he lives?”
Melissa looked puzzled. “I think you are quite a dark horse, Miss Holmdale. The Duke clearly feels strongly about you and you are already acquainted with Lord Marklye. Whom else do you know in town?”
“Nobody, so far as I know, but London is a big place; one can never be sure that one will not meet someone with whom one has or had some connexion in the past. Everyone turns up here sooner or later, I suppose. What was your impression of Lord Marklye?”
“I am not sure. He was perfectly friendly and courteous although I could not help feeling that he was determined to maintain a distance – from Mama in particular. She said that she had never met him before when Lord Furzeby introduced us. As for him, I could not help noticing that he looked vastly more interested when he heard our name; he suggested at once that we should all drive out to Richmond one day for a picnic. Lord Furzeby reiterated his invitation to visit Vauxhall Gardens; he even named a day: Thursday. And he said to Mama, who did not look impressed by it, that, if she thought the weather would not be warm enough, she should send someone else with me. He did not precisely mention you, but I knew that was what he was getting at. Lord Marklye seemed keen on that idea too
and said he rather thought he would make up a party. Do you know, Miss Holmdale, I am certain most of the entertainments these gentlemen are trying to arrange are especially planned so that you can be there because they know, of course, that a governess cannot very well attend a ball – or Almack’s.”
“I am persuaded they are not; why in the world would they be?” Sylvia asked, although she was fairly certain that they were. Lord Marklye, she was convinced, wanted to further his acquaintance with her – and she wanted to speak to him as soon as possible – and Lord Furzeby had taken her under his wing in what she judged to be an avuncular manner. “Did the Duke try to get up a party to do anything?” she enquired with studied innocence.
“No, beyond expressing impatience for the treats in store at Almack’s, as he put it, he suggested nothing else. When we go to Richmond, you must wear the lavender bonnet.”
“Is he to be there too?”
“Oh, yes, I am afraid so, although, if you come, I shall not be afraid. You will not let him take me away from everyone, will you?”
“I should not suppose that he will want to. He is thinking of offering you marriage, Melissa, not planning to abduct you.”
“Oh he must not because Papa would accept! What shall I do?”
“I do not think you can do anything at the moment. You will just have to be polite when you stand up with him, but not at all encouraging.”
“Could not you speak to him for me?”
“What and tell him you will not entertain his suit for a single moment? I should not think he would believe me and he would ascribe the most disagreeable intentions to me. In any event, I daresay I shall not see him again.”
“You will if you come to Vauxhall – and also if you come to Richmond.”
“I shall do neither if your Mama decides to accompany you.” Sylvia removed the bonnet from her head and laid it to one side. “You have been talking to me for an age; are you not going to Lady Acland’s tonight?”
“Oh, yes, I had quite forgot. I had better go. What will you do?”
Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 10
