by Jane Ashford
Georgina took her time over her meal, using it to regain her composure and rehearse the scene just past. Baron Ellerton had been amusing himself, she decided—not exactly at her expense, but he had meant nothing by it. He had probably thought she would laugh with him, and the next time, she would. And it was probably time that she thought of returning to town. It was obvious that Ellerton would recover completely; indeed, he would soon be able to travel to London himself. She’d repaid Susan’s carelessness to the full, and if in the process she had suited herself, it was now clear that she’d gone far enough. She could no longer trust her emotions, and it would be wise to leave before she made a worse mistake than today.
Having come to this very sensible conclusion, Georgina immediately felt dispirited. She rose from the table determined to walk a little before going back upstairs. She was reluctant to face the baron again. But she’d just gotten her hat and stepped outdoors when she was hailed from the road and turned to find Susan, William, and Tony riding up, grinning and waving.
“Hallo!” called Tony. “We’ve brought you another cargo of books. I don’t know how you get through so many of them so quickly.” A mass of tangled brown fur shot out from behind his horse and raced toward Georgina. “Here, now, Growser,” shouted Tony. “Sunday manners!”
Though this did not stop the dog, he did not, as Georgina expected, throw himself upon her. He merely ran round and round barking joyfully and wriggling with apparent delight at seeing her again.
“We thought he would like the exercise,” said Tony, dismounting nearby. “Here, sir, to me.” Growser jumped up and sought to lick his master’s face, reducing Tony to a desperate defense of his primrose pantaloons.
William and Susan also climbed down, handing all three horses to an ostler. Georgina noticed a basket over Susan’s arm. “You haven’t brought Daisy!” she exclaimed.
Susan looked thunderous, as if she’d heard this before. “Yes. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, don’t take him inside. Baron Ellerton will wring his neck.”
“I should like to see him try!” retorted Susan.
“So should I,” seconded Tony appreciatively.
Susan turned toward the inn, disgusted. Tony followed, keeping a grip on Growser, and Georgina fell in beside William. “How are you?” she said.
“Well,” he replied in a voice that implied the opposite to one who knew him.
“Are you enjoying the Season still?”
“Susan is having a splendid time,” was his evasive answer.
Georgina saw that she would get nothing from him without direct confrontation, and since she couldn’t yet bring herself to this, she let it drop. They came into the inn and the leading pair started for the stairs. “The baron is in this parlor,” said Georgina, stopping before the closed door. “He is much better.”
“He can walk already?” exclaimed William.
“No, he is carried. Let me just see if he has finished…” But as soon as she opened the door, Growser was through it.
They heard, “What the devil?” from inside, and all four hurried after the dog.
Ellerton was alone in the room. Growser stood with his front paws on the sofa cushions, examining him with scientific curiosity. The baron seemed torn between laughter and surprise. “Ah,” he said when they came in, “this, I suppose, is another of Miss Wyndham’s pets. What does he do? Eat one’s waistcoats?”
“Growser is Tony’s dog,” protested Susan.
“Ah,” said Ellerton again.
“And he don’t bite,” Tony assured him. “Though as for waistcoats…” He stopped, seeming to contemplate some past incident.
The baron burst out laughing. “Remove him from my sofa, at least. Have you forgotten I am an invalid?”
As Tony pulled the dog away and pointed him toward the far corner of the room, William said, “You look much better, sir.”
But Ellerton was not attending. His eyes were fixed on the basket over Susan’s arm. “Do not tell me that is—”
“I brought Daisy because he needed some fresh air,” interrupted Susan defiantly. “He is not allowed out in London.” They all watched, fascinated, as she set the basket on the floor and opened the lid. At once, Daisy popped out, then stretched enormously on the parlor carpet.
“At least he didn’t come through his attack on me unscathed,” commented the baron, noticing a number of scratches in the cat’s ginger fur.
Daisy turned his yellow eyes on Ellerton and went very still. The two stared at each other, and Georgina braced herself to move if Daisy leapt. However, after a while, the cat merely turned disdainfully and stalked over to join Growser.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever seen stare him down, Baron,” said Tony.
“I was thinking of my neckcloth,” responded Ellerton gloomily, causing Georgina to laugh.
“Daisy was just frightened,” put in Susan. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“I don’t blame your cat,” answered the baron, fixing her with a stern eye.
Susan straightened and looked resolutely at the wall above his head. “I know it was my doing,” she stated, as if giving a memorized speech. “I was very wrong, and I came today to beg your pardon. I will never do anything like that again.”
“You will never get the chance with me,” responded Ellerton. “But let us forget the whole matter. I accept your apology.”
Susan looked both relieved and annoyed at his manner.
“Why don’t you all sit down,” suggested the baron. “I’m developing a stiff neck looking up at you.” They all quickly found chairs. “And so, how are you getting on? Is the Season up to your expectations?”
Susan chatted for a while about the parties she’d attended and the people she’d met, occasionally seconded by Tony. It gradually became apparent that William was not speaking at all. Ellerton, noticing this, caught Georgina watching the boy with great concern. His incipient boredom dissipated, and his eyes narrowed in thought. At the first pause in the conversation, he asked, “Where is Lady Marianne? Doesn’t she usually accompany you on these visits?” He had heard as much from Georgina.
“Oh, she had another engagement,” answered Susan lightly. “She is very busy.” There was a hint of puzzlement in her voice, and this, combined with her brother’s distinct start when Lady Marianne’s name was mentioned, told Ellerton what he wanted to know.
“She’s always flitting about someplace or other,” added Tony. “We scarcely see her these days.”
“I see her,” protested Susan. She turned to Georgina. “Marianne has done just as you asked. She always invites me to accompany her and her family.”
Georgina nodded, a little surprised that Susan would make a point of reassuring her.
“Well, William and I scarcely see her, though I live in the same house, eh, William?”
“I’m sure Lady Marianne has many important things to do,” answered William, his voice expressionless.
Ellerton, certain now, merely smiled and turned the subject.
The three stayed for nearly an hour, the conversation sustained mainly by Susan and Tony, with questions from Georgina and, rarely, Baron Ellerton. Daisy and Growser lay in remarkable quiet in the corner. When Ellerton marveled at this, Tony simply shrugged, saying, “I don’t understand it.”
Finally Susan rose and said they must go. “I promised to be back at three,” she told Georgina. “I am to have a new ball gown, and I must go for a fitting.”
Tony hooted, but the two young men also stood.
“Do you need anything, Georgina?” asked William.
“No. I shall be returning to town soon, I think, and I have all I need until then.” This was difficult to say, but, she told herself, necessary.
Ellerton turned to stare at her, but his quick movement went unnoticed in the round of farewells. The party was starting
through the doorway when he recalled himself to say, “Wyndham, could I speak to you for a moment?”
They all stopped and turned again, surprised.
“A small private matter,” added the baron, his expression bland.
Looking puzzled, William stayed behind as the others filed out.
“If you would just shut the door,” said Ellerton. Totally bewildered, William did so. “Good. Now, I have something to say to you, which you may not wish to hear from me. Nonetheless, I think you will be grateful for the information.”
“If it is about Susan—” began the younger man.
“It is not.”
William stared at him, unable to imagine what Ellerton could have to say to him that required a closed door and such a serious tone.
“I know of no subtle way of leading up to this,” the baron went on, feeling more awkward than he had expected. “So I will simply say it. You are in love with Lady Marianne MacClain.”
William’s mouth dropped open.
“And she is in love with you.”
The younger man’s blue eyes bulged with disbelief.
“You have had some sort of quarrel. I don’t know the details, and don’t care to. But if you have any sense at all, you will make it up and offer for her. This isn’t a time for pride.”
William made a strangled noise in his throat.
“You may think it odd that I bring up this matter…”
“She…she didn’t tell you?” choked William, aghast at the idea that this elegant near-stranger knew of his lapse.
“I have not spoken to Lady Marianne.”
“But how…?” This seemed to William some sort of magic, and he had not sufficiently gathered his wits to take in what he’d heard.
“That doesn’t matter. Be assured that I am telling you the truth. And don’t, for God’s sake, be a fool. Marry the girl!” Ellerton felt both ridiculous and compassionate. He could fully understand how shaken William must be, yet now that he’d done what he set out to, he wished the boy would leave and put an end to this uncomfortable conversation. Ellerton was not accustomed to the role of mentor, and he did not find it easy.
“Sir,” said William, regaining some measure of his composure, “I have no idea how you—”
“Nor are you likely to,” interrupted the baron, his impatience to have this over now overriding politeness. “I’ve said what I meant to; there’s no more to discuss.”
“But I—”
“In fact, I’m rather tired,” he added cravenly. “If you will excuse me.”
William hadn’t the address to do more than bow and take his leave, but he returned to his friends with his mind in turmoil. The baron’s assurance that Marianne loved him was just sinking in, sweeping aside the mystery of how Ellerton had known anything about this matter. And the possibility was so thrilling that William lost himself in the realms of fantasy, forgetting to bid Georgina good-bye and failing to respond to the remarks Susan and Tony addressed to him. Fortunately, they were soon involved in one of their endless disputes, and took no more notice of William than he of them.
Fourteen
For William, the journey back to town passed in a daze. He went over and over Ellerton’s remarks, pausing always at “she is in love with you.” The phrase made him want to kick his horse to a gallop, whoop his happiness to the skies, and throw his hat into the air. The fact that he could do none of these things without lengthy explanations to his companions reduced him to a state of trembling tension, which transferred to his mount and caused it to shy and toss its head at the least excuse.
He wanted only to find Marianne and speak, yet when he thought of calling on her, some of his former nervousness returned. How could Baron Ellerton really know her feelings? He couldn’t believe the man would have spoken to him if he wasn’t certain. But it remained inexplicable. William had thought Marianne was avoiding him because of his loose conduct. He’d concluded that she was angry, but it now seemed that she might be hurt. This idea goaded him to near-frenzy. He had to see her at once.
They’d reached the streets of London by this time, and were nearing the section where both the Goring and MacClain houses lay. William looked around, then said, “Let us go this way. We will pass Tony’s house and can leave him there.”
Tony looked surprised. “I thought you and I were to go on to Renfield’s lodgings, to see about that horse of his.”
“Oh.” William had forgotten about this previous engagement. “I believe I shall put him off. I’m…a little tired.”
Susan gaped at him. “Are you joking? Besides, I want to get home as soon as possible. It’s shorter that way.” She pointed to a street that indeed led more directly to the Goring house, without passing Marianne’s.
“We must be polite and accompany Tony,” tried William, feeling himself on weak ground.
The other two were predictably amazed. Tony customarily rode home alone from their joint outings. “What’s the matter with you?” asked Tony. “You’ve scarcely said a word the whole day, and now you seem to have gone off your head.”
“There’s nothing the matter,” retorted William, and before they could object further, he turned his horse’s head and moved in his chosen direction.
His friends hesitated, Susan appearing ready to go her own way without him, but finally they followed, shaking their heads and frowning.
It was not far to the MacClain town house. William approached it as he might a five-barred gate on the hunting field, but drew up short when he discovered that Marianne was actually before him, being helped down from a showy carriage by a pink of the ton.
For a moment he was transfixed. Susan and Tony, coming up behind him, greeted Marianne and her escort, whom they had met before. The driver bowed and began an elaborate salutation; Marianne seemed immobile.
“I must speak to you!” blurted William, his blue eyes fixed on Marianne.
Her escort, cut off in mid-phrase, drew himself up and stared.
“It is very important,” added William, conscious of nothing but her.
Susan and Tony were gaping as well by this time.
“As you see,” managed Marianne in an unsteady voice, “I am engaged with Mr. Ottington.”
William turned his gaze on her companion. Ottington, who had been ready to resent this high-handed intrusion, saw something in Wyndham’s eyes that made him shrink back. “Just returning, actually,” he stammered. “Been driving in the park. Harmless, you know. Must be getting on.” He grasped Marianne’s hand before she could offer it, bowed again, and turned to his vehicle. In another moment he was driving away, leaving behind a startled, silent group.
William dismounted. “Would you see Susan home, Tony?” he requested.
“I thought you were escorting me home?” protested his friend, more bewildered than put out.
“Please,” replied William, throwing him a speaking glance.
“Have you gone mad?” said his sister. “I have never seen you behave so oddly in your life.”
William simply made a dismissive gesture, his attention focused on Marianne. Tony bent to take the rein of Susan’s horse. “Come on.”
“But I don’t—”
“Let him be,” advised Tony. He had the sense that something significant was going forward, though he was not clear just what.
Marianne watched the two ride off, and William watched her profile. When they disappeared around a corner, and she turned, he said, “Shall we go inside?”
“This is very inconvenient,” answered Marianne. “I am going out to dinner, and I must change—”
“It won’t take long. Please, Marianne.”
She eyed him. His expression was unsettling. A dreadful suspicion entered her mind. “Where have you been? Have you been talking to your cousin?”
“Georgina? No.” William was surprised by her evident
concern. “We have been visiting the baron, but I barely spoke to Georgina.”
“What do you want?” responded Marianne, more composed.
“To talk with you for five minutes.”
“Go on, then.”
“We cannot talk in the street.”
“Why not? I cannot imagine what you may have to say to me that cannot—”
“Marianne!”
His tone made her stop abruptly, and sent a shiver down her spine. “Very well!” She whirled and rang the bell. The door was opened so quickly that those more capable of observation might have suspected an eavesdropper. But William and Marianne were beyond such considerations. William thrust the reins of his mount into the footman’s hand and strode after her into the library.
“Well, what is it?” she asked when he had shut the door behind him. “I did not think we had anything more to say to each other.”
Now that he had a clear field, William found that his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. She was so beautiful, and so obviously angry with him, that he couldn’t think how to begin. “Shall we sit down?” he managed feebly.
Marianne glared at him, then sat in an armchair before the fireplace. He moved slowly to the chair opposite, marshaling his thoughts. There was a short silence.
“I really must go upstairs,” said Marianne. She was mystified by his reticence, following so soon after his insistence on coming in. When she had first seen him ride up, her heart had begun to pound, and when he had demanded to speak to her, a flame of hope had risen. It had taken all her self-control to assume cool indifference, but she was very glad of it now. Had he come simply to offer another idiotic apology?
“I’m finding it difficult to begin,” said William, “perhaps because I know what a fool I’ve been, and I am afraid to repeat my mistakes.”
This was so interesting that Marianne unconsciously dropped her indifferent pose.
“The other day, on our ride, I…I did behave badly,” he went on.
Marianne stiffened again.
“Partly in giving way to my feelings, and partly in not then telling you of them.” He swallowed. “Frankly, I was a coward. I was afraid to tell you that I love you and wish with all my heart to make you my wife. I thought you would surely refuse.”
