A Season at Brighton

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A Season at Brighton Page 19

by Alice Chetwynd Ley


  “Then you take too much for granted, sir!” she retorted, tartly.

  “Oh, yes, I realize that. I would have to be far more conceited than I hope I am, to feel that you had ever offered me the slightest encouragement. On the contrary, you have frequently told me that you detest me, and never wish to see my face again.”

  “And you deserved it, when I said those things!” she answered, in a censorious tone.

  “I do not deny it,” he replied, humbly — almost too humbly, she felt, looking suspiciously at him to see if a smile was lurking in his eyes.

  “Oh, very well,” she said, “I forgive you, and I acknowledge that your odious spying upon me turned out for my own good, in the end. But do not take too much upon yourself, sir!”

  “I promise that I won’t. But all the same, I have great hopes of persuading you to marry me. You see, I rely upon your devotion to your sisters, which I have so often noticed in the past.”

  She turned towards him with wide opened eyes. “My devotion to my sisters —?”

  “Allow me to explain. Do you recall that on the occasion of our first meeting I told you that I was related to a Bishop, to establish my bona fides, as it were?” She nodded, still looking puzzled. “Well, I have just offered your friend Seaton a comfortable living which is vacant in my uncle’s See.”

  Her face lit up at once, and she placed her hand impulsively on his arm.

  “Oh, no, truly? How splendid — how very, very kind of you! This will mean that Oliver can wed Lou at last — how happy they will be!”

  “So I thought myself, but there’s a slight hitch,” he said, solemnly.

  “Why, whatever could that be? If Oliver only has a comfortable income of his own — and you did say it was a good living —”

  “A most wealthy one, in fact,” he affirmed. “That is not the cause of the trouble. The fact is, your friend Seaton is a very independent man, and cannot bring himself to accept what he chooses to think of as a favour from someone with whom he is little more than acquainted.”

  “Oh, if that isn’t just like Oliver!” she exclaimed in disgust. “He is so proper, it’s quite incredible!”

  “But there is a way round his difficulty, you see,” explained Pamyngton, looking into her eyes. “And that is what I meant when I spoke of relying on your sisterly devotion. If Seaton and I were connected by marriage, for instance —”

  A slow smile was spreading over her face.

  “You see how it is, Katie. You will be obliged to sacrifice yourself for your sister Louisa’s sake.”

  “What was it Mr. Eversley called you?” she asked. “A smooth customer — how right he was!”

  Her hand had dropped away from his arm, but he found it with his left one, keeping the reins in his right.

  “I know my faults are legion, but will you take me, in spite of them?” he asked, in a quiet, serious tone.

  She turned her head away, unable to answer for the moment.

  “Forgive me,” he said, in a contrite tone, “after all you have suffered today, the last thing you must be wanting to hear is a declaration of love.”

  Catherine could think of nothing she would rather hear from Pamyngton, at any rate, but she did not mean to say so. She puzzled her wits for some way of encouraging him to continue without revealing her intense interest in the subject.

  He mistook her silence for agreement, and said no more, but sighed gently and released her hand. They continued for some time in this way, sitting side by side without speaking. Occasionally he would steal a glance at her face, and then he would sigh again. At last, she decided to take pity on him.

  “You know,” she said, reflectively, “I was quite certain that you were falling in love with Lou.”

  “No, how could you possibly think that?” he asked, in amazement.

  “I was not the only one to have that impression,” she reminded him. “You did take her hand in a most amorous way in full view of everyone at the Pavilion musical party, after all.”

  “But that was merely a gesture of comfort,” he protested. “Your sister was upset by the song — I should have been a brute indeed not to have responded to such distress, especially as I myself knew —”

  He broke off, reluctant to finish what he had been about to say.

  “You would say,” she concluded for him, “that you knew what it was to be unhappy in love?”

  He nodded. “I felt deeply for your sister, as anyone must who has ever suffered from a like cause.”

  “So it was no more than sympathy? But she was always singing your praises, you know. I told Oliver of it, and that’s what made him so concerned to discover exactly what your intentions towards her might be.”

  “My intentions — towards your sister? Upon my word, in my anxiety not to wear my heart upon my sleeve, I seem to have created a totally false impression all round! As for her praising me, I think it sprang from that fellow feeling between us which I have mentioned. She guessed what my feelings were for you, and hoped to change your hostile attitude towards me. No one who knew Miss Louisa could ever doubt her unswerving attachment to Seaton.”

  “And what about you?” She had not meant to say this, but some little flicker of jealousy flared up for a brief moment. “You, too, once had an unswerving attachment. Yet now you say that I have taken her place —”

  He turned quickly towards her, his eyes deep with feeling. She caught her breath; and suddenly they both knew that there could be no more pretence.

  “No,” he said, quietly. “You have your own place in my heart. It never has, and never could, belong to anyone else. I love you, Katie, and want you for my wife.”

  “But how can you, after all I hear about her?” she asked, in unaccustomed humility. “She was an acknowledged belle, a famous horsewoman, and I don’t know what besides! Whereas I” — she smiled reminiscently — “oh, you know I can’t even stay on the back of a donkey for five minutes; and what’s worse, I am for ever getting myself into some stupid scrape or other.”

  “That’s why I love you, dearest. Georgiana was a strong-minded woman, who had no real need of me. But even if you can’t bring yourself to love me,” he said, with a smile, “at least I can occasionally be of use to you by standing by to help you out of scrapes.”

  “When did you first know that — you loved me?” she asked, shyly.

  “Why, when you told me that it was all planned for you to marry me, of course!” he replied, laughing.

  “Oh!” She wrinkled her nose at him. “You are too bad, to remind me of that!”

  Reluctantly, he gave his attention to the road for a moment. When he turned to her again, his expression was serious once more.

  “Is my case quite hopeless?” he asked, diffidently. “If I wait —”

  She smiled up at him, her expressive eyes soft and glowing.

  “Oh, you must know by now I can never wait for anything! Besides, I’ve waited quite long enough — ever since you sent me those roses, I have known that I meant to have you — dear Pamyngton.”

  She spoke the last words in a whisper.

  It was fortunate that the horses were not fresh, otherwise they might have taken advantage of the sudden slackening of their normally expert driver’s control.

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