He was amazed at the difference in his home since Delilah had left. Nothing seemed quite as pretty or comfortable. There were no flower arrangements to decorate the rooms, no comfortable conversations in the evening, no life or movement about the house.
Everything in Mrs Cavendish’s little cottage appeared warm and cosy. The fire blazed in the hearth and the air was scented from the bowls of pot-pourri placed about the room.
The squire sighed and stretched his feet out to the blaze. He thought fondly of Miss Amy Tribble, who had taken away a lot of his shyness and fear of women. Earlier that evening, he had felt that shyness return, but now he was here, he knew it was going to be all right. He looked affectionately at Mrs Cavendish’s round and pleasant face and felt at home.
Mrs Cavendish bustled about, serving tea, and sending up prayers that no one else would call.
They then talked in their usual way about the gossip of the village.
‘And how is Delilah?’ asked Mrs Cavendish at last. ‘I suppose it’s too early yet for you to have received a letter.’
‘Yes, but I feel a great responsibility has been taken off my shoulders,’ said Mr Wraxall. ‘How competent and wise Miss Amy is, Mrs Cavendish.’
‘So you have said many, many times,’ said Mrs Cavendish. ‘More cake?’
‘Yes, I thank you. I must confess I was worried when I learned that Sir Charles, too, is in London, but it’s a big place. Perhaps they will not meet.’
Mrs Cavendish felt guilty. She had received a letter from Sir Charles only that day in which he had said that the Tribble sisters were a trifle eccentric, but good ton. Unfortunately, he had not described Miss Amy. He wrote that they had a reputation for schooling awkward ladies and could no doubt be trusted to do their best with Delilah. He added he was sure Delilah would be soon wed as her beauty was exceptional, even set against such beauties as there were in London.
It had been, reflected Mrs Cavendish, a depressing letter, depressing in that it heralded a squire soon to be free of the cares of parenthood. It also meant that Mrs Cavendish was somehow going to have to tell the squire she had sent Sir Charles to spy out the land. And what reason could she possibly give?
To say she was not sure of the Tribbles would be to question the squire’s judgement. To say she hoped to bring Sir Charles and Delilah together looked like interference. The very truth that she was wildly jealous of Miss Amy Tribble could not be said.
‘It is a pity about Sir Charles and Miss Wraxall,’ she said. ‘I always thought them very much suited.’
‘He was too old for her then,’ sighed the squire. ‘He is not now. You know how it is. The older one gets, the less the age difference.’
They fell silent. Mrs Cavendish decided she really must say something about having sent Sir Charles to the Tribbles. The words trembled on her lips. She leaned forward.
‘I have something to say to you, Mrs Cavendish,’ said the squire, putting down his cup. ‘Something very serious . . . very important.’
He has found out about Sir Charles’s going to the Tribbles, thought Mrs Cavendish.
‘It is about Miss Amy Tribble,’ said the squire and Mrs Cavendish reflected dismally that she would rather it had been about her sending Sir Charles.
‘Since my wife died,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I have become awkward and shy in the company of women. I married, as you know, when I was just eighteen. My wife, Lucinda, was very frail, and we thought we would not have any children until, after some years, we were blessed with Delilah. I do not know, had she lived, if my dear wife would have known how to cope with Delilah. She was timid, retiring, and always ill. After her death, I found myself more at ease in the company of men. That was, until I met Miss Amy.’
Damn her, thought Mrs Cavendish, and blinked her eyes rapidly and prayed she would not cry.
‘She is so straightforward, so easy to get along with. We talked for hours and hours. She brought me to the realization that there was one lady in my life I could marry, one lady I felt at home with, one lady I loved.’
Now I am going to cry, thought poor Mrs Cavendish, fighting with the hard lump which had risen in her throat.
The squire rose and got down on one knee in front of her.
‘You are that lady, Mrs Cavendish. Will you marry me?’
Mrs Cavendish turned quite white. It was a heady rush up from hell to heaven all in one moment.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I will, Simon. Oh, yes, please.’
He rose and leaned over her chair and kissed her very gently on the lips. ‘I shall send an express tomorrow and tell Delilah our good news,’ he said.
The party of young people set out next day. Sir Charles was regretting his decision to go and had prayed for rain, but the Indian summer had returned and the streets of London were bathed in gold light and the weather was warm and balmy.
He disapproved of Delilah’s pale-green muslin gown and pelisse. It was cut in wickedly simple lines and made her figure more seductive and her eyes green. She was driving in an open carriage ahead of him with Lord Andrew. He himself was alone, since no one had expected him to come.
Although Lord Andrew was roughly the same age as he, the rest of the party were younger. He felt old and cross and grumpy listening to the gales of laughter coming from the other carriages.
He wished he had not come. He was not hungry and hated eating in the middle of the afternoon. He looked again at the sky. There was a milky veil covering the sun but no sign of rain.
It was unthinkable that such fashionable people should actually go to the effort of serving their own food, so there was a coachload of servants tagging along behind.
As soon as they arrived at a pleasant field, the ladies and gentlemen strolled about while the servants unpacked hampers and spread rugs and cushions on the grass. Sir Charles found he was taking care of Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere. Mr Tommy Otterley, Lord Henry and Lord Andrew were all clustered about Delilah, hanging on her every word.
Delilah had forgotten her resolution to behave correctly. It was important that Sir Charles should see how popular she was, how desired. She teased and flirted, walking with first one and then another, seeming at one moment to favour Lord Andrew and then, the next instance, one of the other two gentlemen.
They were just sitting down to their picnic when there came a threatening rumble of thunder. Sir Charles looked up in surprise at the massed purple and black thunder-clouds which were rapidly covering the sun. His prayers were about to be answered.
There were squeals of dismay. Lord Andrew suggested they move to a nearby posting-house and take their refreshment there. Off they went while the servants were left to pack everything up again.
Sir Charles tried to point out that the posting-house was not a good idea. If they delayed their journey, then they might get soaked on the road home. Everyone else seemed determined to go.
He followed the party, trying to think of a way to get his revenge on Delilah. He was sure her disgraceful flirtatious behaviour was for his benefit. When they reached the posting-house, however, there seemed to be little he could do. They were all seated around a large table in the coffee room. Lord Andrew was calling for champagne and cakes and the ladies were determinedly trying to outshine Delilah but without any success at all.
Sir Charles felt he could not bear these chattering, laughing idiots any more. He muttered an excuse and made his way through to the tap in order to have a little time to himself.
And then there at a table in the bay window, he saw a group of young bloods playing dice. He stood for a few moments watching the play.
One of them finally stood up and pushed his chair back. ‘Care to take my place, sir?’ he asked Sir Charles. ‘My pockets are to let.’
‘No,’ said Sir Charles. ‘But I think I know some gentlemen who would.’
He strolled back to the coffee room. Lord Andrew was toasting Delilah’s beauty, loudly echoed by Mr Otterley and Lord Henry.
‘There’s a bun
ch of flats in the tap,’ Sir Charles said when he could make himself heard. ‘They are playing dice. Felt like showing them a thing or two.’
Lord Andrew slowly lowered his glass. His eyes gleamed. ‘In the tap, you say? Might just have a look.’
Mr Otterley and Lord Henry exchanged glances. As Lord Andrew opened the door of the coffee room, they could clearly hear the seductive rattle of dice.
‘Perhaps we had better just go after him and see he does not get into any trouble,’ said Mr Otterley. He and Lord Henry left as well.
Sir Charles ignored Delilah’s fulminating look and turned his attention to Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere and proceeded to show Miss Delilah Wraxall a lesson in the art of flirtation. While Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wriggled and pouted and giggled, Delilah sat ignored by all.
There was a flash of lightning, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. The rain began to drum down outside.
‘We are going to be trapped here for some time,’ said Sir Charles cheerfully.
‘I am tired of all this,’ said Delilah. ‘I wish to go home.’
‘I do not have a closed carriage, so you will just need to have patience and wait until the rain has stopped,’ said Sir Charles sweetly.
Delilah glared at him and walked out.
He waited, amused, for her return. But after a quarter of an hour had passed and there was no sign of her, he made his excuses to the two ladies and went to look for her, only to find that she had rented a closed carriage and left for London.
Miss Pretty-Follip and Lady Devere wondered what had happened to their gallant cavalier. A handsome, flirtatious man had left the room in search of Miss Wraxall, and an angry, stiff, and formal gentleman had returned. Sir Charles tried to console himself with the thought that he had done what he had set out to do. He was very sure that Delilah would not speak to Lord Andrew again.
He could now get down to the business of looking for a wife for himself. He thought the thundery weather must be affecting his spleen, he felt so low and bored at the very thought of wife-hunting.
5
Say what you will, ’tis better to be left, than never to have been loved.
William Congreve
Although Effy was dismayed when Delilah confessed to having written an express to her father, demanding that he come to Town and give her an immediate explanation as to why he had placed her with the Tribbles, Amy was delighted. She would see the squire again. The sisters had received a polite letter from Mr Haddon saying he expected to be back in London soon. Amy wanted to secure her triumph before his return. It was only just that Mr Haddon should be brought to a speedy appreciation of the prize that he had missed securing for himself.
Delilah continued her lessons on the pianoforte. She was now a passable dancer of the quadrille. She begged the Tribbles to dispense with the Italian and French tutors as she could not bring herself to follow the fashion by speaking in either of those languages. Delilah considered such a practice affected and would have none of it.
Amy dismissed the Italian teacher, but Effy insisted on retaining the French tutor, saying she wished to become fluent in that language herself. The French master, Monsieur Duclos, was quite attractive, a fact that the squire-besotted Amy failed to notice. He was a slim man in his early forties, with a sallow face, only slightly pock-marked. He had a good figure and a sparkling pair of liquid brown eyes in a thin and clever face.
Effy justified the luxury of French lessons by hiring him for only two hours a week, thus being able to persuade herself it was not a very great expense.
She had just finished one of her lessons when the squire was announced. Amy was out walking with Delilah. Effy soothed the squire’s troubles by explaining that Delilah had initially been most upset to find they, the Tribbles, were not old friends at all, but merely earning their living, but that, once the initial row was over, Delilah appeared to have settled down.
The squire’s face cleared. ‘Then I can count myself the happiest man in England. I owe a great debt of gratitude to Miss Amy. I am to be married.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Effy faintly. ‘Does my sister know of this?’
‘I am looking forward to telling her,’ said Mr Wraxall.
Effy felt quite sick. So Amy was to be married. What on earth would she do now? She would be very lonely without Amy.
‘Are you sure you are making the right decision, Mr Wraxall?’ said Effy. ‘Surely no one can take the place of your beloved wife. And then, would it not be better to wait until Delilah has set up her own household?’
‘Delilah will understand. I thought I should never feel at ease with a lady again,’ said the squire, ‘but Miss Amy changed all that.’
Effy felt like crying. Amy would not care. Amy would be so happy and excited she would leave the house in Holles Street without a backward glance. It was terrible that Amy, plain Amy, should be the first of them to get married after all these years.
Delilah and Amy entered the room at that moment. Delilah flew into her father’s arms. Amy and Effy tactfully withdrew to leave them alone.
As Effy had already explained, Delilah had lost all her initial fury at finding the Tribbles were being paid for their services, but she could not help asking plaintively, ‘Am I so very bad, Papa?’
‘No, my chuck. But I am deeply concerned for you. I would like to see my grandchildren before I die. I cannot help feeling your continuing independence is in part my fault. I should have encouraged you more to find a suitable partner.’
‘It has been borne in on me I am judged to be a heart-breaker, Papa. My only quarrel with you is that you might have told me sooner what everyone was saying about me.’
‘What people say about you does not matter to me,’ said the squire, ‘and I confess, for a long time I put such gossip down to jealousy. But if you are content with your home life and if the idea of marriage is really repugnant to you, then you may return with me this day.’
Delilah found to her surprise that she did not want to return . . . yet. She was enjoying her life in London. Besides, she had not seen Sir Charles since the day of the picnic, and it was important that she see him again to show him how indifferent she was to him.
‘Perhaps another month,’ she said. ‘Who knows? I may find a beau yet.’
‘Have you anyone in mind?’
Delilah laughed. ‘I thought I had. There is a certain Lord Andrew Bergrave who was courting me, but it appears he is a hardened gambler and so I have been trying to keep out of his way. I suppose he is a hardened gambler, but I cannot help feeling that it was Sir Charles who went out of his way to make him appear so.’
‘Perhaps Sir Charles was concerned for your welfare.’
‘Not he.’
‘I think you do him an injustice. It is not that he is enamoured of you, rather that he feels a loyalty to someone from our village. I, too, would feel compelled to step in if I met a young lady from Hoppleton and thought she was about to plunge into a bad match.’
‘I detest Sir Charles. He has too high an opinion of his attractions.’
‘People might say the same about you.’
‘Why do you always defend him?’
‘I think you are too hard on him. He is a level-headed and sensible young man.’
‘Hardly young!’ exclaimed Delilah.
‘You will soon be wearing caps yourself,’ pointed out the squire brutally.
‘Pooh! There is no need to try to frighten me into marriage,’ said Delilah.
‘Now, listen to me,’ said the squire. ‘I have great news. I am to be married!’
‘Well, it is not so much of a surprise,’ said Delilah. She had grown to like Amy, but she had to admit she did not relish the idea of surrendering the reins of household government to anyone else.
‘You knew of my affection?’ cried the squire. ‘It is only I who was blind. It took Miss Amy to open my eyes.’
‘Does Miss Amy know?’ asked Delilah. ‘Have you . . . ?’
&nb
sp; ‘Not yet,’ said the squire.
‘Then I shall fetch her.’
Delilah soon returned with Amy. ‘But bring Miss Effy here as well,’ said the squire. ‘I want everyone to hear this.’
Looking surprised, Delilah went to fetch Effy. Amy curtsied to the squire, blushed slightly and went and sat down, trying to look demure and modest.
Effy came in. She had a sudden premonition that Amy had made a terrible mistake and went to stand behind her sister and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.
‘I have great pleasure in announcing my forthcoming marriage,’ said the squire. ‘It is thanks to you, Miss Amy, that I have found happiness.’
Effy relaxed her grip on Amy’s shoulder. But it was an odd sort of way of making a proposal.
‘You may be assured, Mr Wraxall, that the lady is delighted to accept you,’ said Amy.
‘Well,’ laughed the squire, ‘that was indeed the case, but I did not expect to be so lucky. I had long enjoyed the company of Mrs Cavendish without being aware of it. I was frightened and shy in the company of ladies. Then I met you, Miss Amy, so direct, so honest, such a good chap that somehow it put my fears to rest. Yes, I proposed to Mrs Cavendish, a widow in our village, ladies, and she accepted.’
Delilah looked at Amy’s stricken face. She had been about to cry out ‘Mrs Cavendish!’ but that look on Amy’s face stopped her. For Amy’s sake, the news must be accepted without surprise.
Amy rose to her feet. Effy put an arm around her sister’s waist. ‘I am pleased and I congratulate you,’ said Amy. ‘I wish you and Mrs Cavendish well. Pray excuse us. We are sure you have much to discuss.’
Effy and Amy walked from the room.
Delilah listened until she was sure they were well out of earshot and then she rounded on her father. ‘Men!’ she cried. ‘Did you or did you not tell Miss Amy she had made you think of marriage?’
‘Of course I did. Have I not explained? It was she who made me feel at ease with women again.’
‘And you call me a heart-breaker!’ said Delilah bitterly. ‘You led that poor lady to believe you meant to propose marriage to her.’
Enlightening Delilah Page 8
