by Vanessa Gray
Richard, shocked, grew stern. “To see you? It’s not possible.”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but you see —”
He said, “Stoddard is a gambler — a man of very little account. Why?”
He realized there was no easy way to say what was on his mind. Why would Julian Stoddard, an habitué of some of the lower forms of London entertainment, a notorious gambler, come to see this quiet lady, of great charm, discernable only to the few who could appreciate such a refined treasure. But Chloe seemed not to mind his sudden silence. “I know it seems impossible,” she said earnestly, “but you see I am an heiress now.”
Richard, still struggling to make sense of all the ideas that presented themselves to his unwilling scrutiny, said, “I believe your stepmother mentioned something of the sort. I confess, I paid her little heed.”
Chloe explained. “I have inherited a legacy from my great uncle, but I should not wish you to think I am overweeningly vain about it. It is only that Francis has come down from London, and I have been told he seeks to marry me. Believe me, it is a surprise to me, but Edward told me as much. And now, Mr. Stoddard has arrived, and truly I see no other explanation. Especially since Francis and Julian Stoddard have become quite good friends of late, you know.”
To Richard’s sympathetic eye, she looked beset. She was clearly not able to deal with her sudden popularity, if that was what it could be called. Suddenly, she turned to him and dumbfounded him. “How grateful I am to you, Richard!” she exclaimed. “You are the one person I know who cares nothing for my inheritance. You, and believe me I do appreciate it, did not mention marriage at all. You have proven to me how worthy you are of trust. I am so grateful to you! I am so fortunate in my one Great Friend.”
In an impulse, she grasped his hands and he lifted them to his lips, while the shards of his proposal of marriage lay around his Hoby-shod feet.
Richard was in a situation that puzzled him. While he had not thought it clearly through, yet he was obscurely aware that he had not met with many defeats in his life. Blessed with fortune, a pleasing countenance, and an amiable disposition, he had found his way smooth before him. His first impulse, at the unaccountable behavior of Chloe, was to blame her for what was, after all, a slight.
He found that he was not annoyed with her for refusing his offer of marriage, for after all it had not escaped his lips. Nor would it, under her strong representations that it would be unwelcome to her. No, the slight that Chloe had put upon him was entirely unwitting on her part. It was simply that he disliked being put in the same category as that idiot Hensley and the gambler Stoddard. He was not a fortune hunter, and there was no reason why Chloe should think he was. But it was a blemish on his character if he did not stand apart from those two that she held in such loathing.
So, she had put him fairly out of the running for her hand in marriage. He should have been cast down, for she had, after all, talked his future into a cocked hat. But yet he was conscious more of anger than of resignation. Striving to be impersonally analytical, and stemming the rising tide of emotion, he tried to tell himself that if Chloe didn’t want him — there were those who did.
His vigorous stride down the gravel drive, hurrying away from the site of his defeat, had the effect of vanquishing his indignation. He could think now only about Chloe’s unhappy face tilted up to his. Her air of wistful resignation wrung at his heart, and he remembered then her surprisingly strong hold on his hands. The sight of Julian Stoddard had certainly unnerved her. Grasping Richard’s hands, she had clung to them in a strong grip, reminiscent of a drowning person. By the time he reached the foot of the drive, his strong intellect had provided him with an eminently logical solution. He could not drop Chloe from his thoughts, nor did he want to, until he was possessed of a greater understanding of her than he now had. He had not thought her capable of strong emotion, envisioning his marriage to her as a pleasant shallow stream with amusing ripples, and a certain understanding. Now, however, his ideas were subtly changing. The legacy did not matter, to him at least. But what did matter was that he believed Chloe was too kind, too soft-hearted, even too inexperienced to deal with what looked very much like fortune hunters. Try as he might, he could not conceive of Chloe married to either of the two who were filling the stage at the moment.
Nor, to be honest, could he envision himself married to anyone else. The fleeting thought that had come to him, at the moment of indignation when she turned him down — that his life had not been permanently shattered for there were certain ladies in London who could mend it easily — that thought was gone. He had not even noticed when the possibility of marrying someone else had left him. All the London diamonds of the first water were now as nothing to him. He did not even trouble to decide why each of them would not suit him.
Now, after she had turned him down, he realized that Chloe was filling his thoughts as never before. He had not envisioned a refusal. But now, he knew that he had been stirred to his depths. All he wanted in his future was Chloe, her speaking gray eyes, the mischievous dimple that flickered high on her left cheek when she was amused.
But Chloe, he told himself sternly, wanted him only as a Great Friend. She had said so, in no uncertain terms. She had stressed her gratitude that he had not mentioned marriage. Faced with a challenge that he had never before faced, Richard felt stirring in him an emotion that he did not quite recognize. He hoped he was not so ill-bred as to deal with Chloe only on the basis of a challenge. That would be shabby indeed. In essence, he wanted Chloe as his wife, and before he was through, he would have her.
“Great Friend” was a promising beginning for wedded bliss, he told himself quite rightly. Friendship lasts a lifetime, whereas any grander emotion flares and dies. If he were to be her Great Friend, he would certainly bend his efforts in that direction. What would a Great Friend do?
He gave a thought to his providential luck. He had nearly ruined everything, back there in the Green Room. He had almost thrown himself at her feet, with the probable result that she would have scorned him then and forever. Stoddard fortunately had arrived before Richard had spoiled his chances.
It was clear that Stoddard came for the fortune he had heard of. Stoddard and Rothwell had nothing in common, and, in fact, Richard was surprised that they had even met. Hensley, being kin to Lady Rothwell, was more understandable.
Richard, considering these new developments, fixed upon Chloe’s basic trials. Her agonized words, as she had clung to his hands, threw a bright light upon the situation at Rothwell Manor. Her family was clearly not protecting her against these circling jackals. Any family, no matter how disaffectionate one with the other, would have built up the campfire for mutual protection. But the Rothwells, he thought — mixing his metaphors with abandon — had opened the door and let in the wolves.
The anger that Richard had felt upon quitting Rothwell Manor was now transferred against the Rothwells en masse. He entered his own front door, still bemused by his strenuous thinking. If he were to be Chloe’s Great Friend, he would protect her against these others, wouldn’t he?
A few lines of poetry entered his head — was it Lochinvar who “staid not for brake, and stopped not for stone,” in his pursuit of fair Ellen? Richard stood, arrested, in his foyer. A smile glimmered and then spread over his features. Now he knew the best way to outflank his rivals. It was only one way, but it was a start. He moved into his book room, sat down at his desk, and began a letter of instructions to his man in London.
8
Meanwhile, at Rothwell Manor, Julian Stoddard was interviewing Lord Rothwell. Edward, hastily summoned to receive the unexpected guest, sat behind his desk in the book room, his fingers playing on the empty desk top.
Stoddard, bending his considerable charm upon Lord Rothwell, whom he had begun to despise, was explaining his visit.
“I was passing through on my way to Brighton. The Prince Regent has gone down, you know, to escape the fatigues of his court, and he’s asked a few o
f us — and I’m proud to say I am one — to keep him company. I had a few things to take care of in town, so I was not able to travel with Prinny.”
“If you’re late,” said Edward, “then I do not see why you made this detour to Rothwell.”
“I remembered meeting Miss Rothwell several years ago,” said Stoddard, wearing an expression of innocence, “and at that time she had spoken so much about her home that I vowed then to make your acquaintance as soon as I could. But I have been traveling, and the years have just gone by.”
“Abroad?” questioned Edward. “I should like to hear of your travels. You must stay to dinner!”
Meeting Chloe at dinner, Stoddard paid her flattering attention. She scarcely lifted her eyes from her plate. It was going to be uphill work, he decided. He had thought that he could fix his interest in a short time, but it looked like a long siege. Curse Hensley, anyway!
Francis Hensley was, in fact, not overjoyed to see him. Stoddard gave him a meaningful glance and then turned his attention to his hostess. Lady Rothwell, never one to conceal her emotions, was very nearly rude.
“I wonder that you can tear yourself away from your companions,” she said, “for I had not expected that anyone from London knew where we lived.”
Julian replied gracefully, and Lydia, fastening her eyes upon him, began to ask questions. Stoddard began his practiced series of anecdotes, tempering them to the young ears of his audience. Before long, he was gratified to notice that Chloe too was watching him, and he allowed himself without caution to embroider the tales of adventures on the continent, in most of which he played a leading, if unrealistic role.
At length, judging the moment nicely, he tore himself away from the Rothwells. Edward, having enjoyed his company and congratulating himself that for one meal at least he did not have to listen to his idiot cousin, told Julian Stoddard that if he could see his way clear to coming back, at a future time, Rothwell Manor would welcome him. The invitation was not seconded by Lady Rothwell, nor did Chloe do more than bid Stoddard a civil farewell.
The door had scarcely closed behind Julian Stoddard when Lady Rothwell rounded on her son. “What is that man doing here? Why did he come?”
Edward, trying to mollify her, said, “I found him good company. At least for once we didn’t sit around the table chewing over the same conversation.”
Lady Rothwell, anger rising, cried, “So, our discourse bores you. It is better than whatever lies that rake put out!”
Edward, wounded, said, “I found him interesting. And I hope I may invite whom I wish to my table?”
Lady Rothwell, ignoring the signs of trouble, continued. “I do not like my daughters to be exposed to such false tinsel values as held by that man. Coming in on a family he had never met! That is outside of enough.”
Edward, trying to stem the tide, said, “He said he had met Chloe in London. And of course he must know Francis.”
“Francis is not the host here,” pointed out Lady Rothwell with more accuracy than tact. “If Francis had invited him ...” Her voice trailed away and she fixed her nephew with a smoldering eye.
Then, aware that she was being indiscreet, she looked around quickly. “Where is Chloe?”
Sophy said, “She said she had a headache and went to bed.”
Her helpfulness was unfortunate, for it brought Lady Rothwell’s attention to her. “What are you doing down here? You should have been in your bed long ago. Off with you at once.”
At that moment the tea cart was brought in. Surprisingly meekly, Sophy took three small cakes and made her way out of the room. After Field had left, Lady Rothwell’s complaints continued. Turning to her nephew, she said, “You brought him here.”
Francis exclaimed indignantly. “You think that I can pull Julian Stoddard around on leading strings?”
“You told Stoddard about Chloe!” Lady Rothwell, piling her plate high with dainty cookies, continued. “You didn’t know enough to keep your mouth shut about Chloe’s legacy. Surely you must have expected all the fortune hunters in the capital to come down to try to fix their interest with her.”
Francis, although inarticulate, was not entirely stupid. He knew that he was as much a fortune hunter as any of them, but he salved his conscience by telling himself that at least he liked Chloe, which was more than the rest of them did.
“I wish you may not have ruined your chances,” Lady Rothwell pointed out.
Francis, struggling for words, finally found them. “What’s a man supposed to tell his friends,” he asked with reason, “when a man’s mother tells him to leave town?” He labored under a sense of real injury, and wished with all his heart that he had never come down to Rothwell.
Lady Rothwell said, “You could have made up some story that would have been better than this!”
Francis, shocked, said, “That’s lying!”
Edward, feeling it time to intervene, said, “I must commend you, cousin, on your moral stand. It is not often that one finds such honesty. I entirely approve of telling the truth. If Stoddard came because you told him about Chloe’s good fortune, you have your own good conscience to justify you.”
Francis looked at Edward much like a small dog that was unused to praise, and hardly knew what to think of the hand stroking his head. But then, he spoiled it. “It’s not honesty,” he said painfully, “it’s only that I can’t remember what I say, and I get all tangled up. Best to tell the truth, and then I don’t have to worry.”
With an exclamation of disgust, Edward turned to the tea table and pointed out to his mother that she had eaten the last of the cakes.
Sophy, licking crumbs from her fingertips, straightened up from her position outside the door and decided it was time to make her retreat. Far from ascending to her bedroom, as she had been bidden, she had lingered outside the door of the salon. The discussion within, while not exciting, was the best there was in the house. Thoughtfully, she climbed the stairs. At the door of her bedroom she hesitated, and then, changing her mind, hurried down the corridor to Chloe’s room.
She had entirely forgotten that Chloe had given the excuse of a splitting headache when she had left the assembly downstairs. But to give Sophy her due, even had she remembered, it would have made no difference. Now, without knocking, she slipped into Chloe’s room. Pausing a moment to let her eyes get accustomed to the darkness, she could hear Chloe’s heavy breathing and knew she was already asleep. What a nuisance!
She crossed to the bed. She shook Chloe’s shoulder under the comforter to rouse her. Chloe did not awaken at once, and Sophy wondered whether she had taken a sleeping draught. But at last her effects were rewarded and Chloe murmured, “Go away.”
Sophy whispered urgently, “Wake up, Chloe. Come on, wake up!”
At length Chloe rose from the depths of her sleep, and with a huge sigh said, “Oh, it’s you, Sophy. What do you want? What’s wrong?”
“There’s a great row going on downstairs.”
“And they sent you upstairs to tell me?”
“No, they don’t know I heard it.”
“I wish you hadn’t. Why aren’t you in bed? What time is it?”
Sophy, quite rightly, ignored her and launched on her narrative. “Mother is totally angry with Francis! She says that he brought Stoddard here, but I don’t really mind because he was so interesting.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Well, I listened. How else? And don’t tell me that I shouldn’t listen. I’ve heard that before. But nobody ever tells me anything, so how can I learn if I don’t listen?”
Her logic was impeccable, to her. “And Francis says he didn’t tell Stoddard or at least didn’t tell him much. And Edward says Stoddard can come back, and Mama says Francis is a fool. I thought everybody knew that, but Mama had to tell him again.”
Chloe sat up in bed and pushed the pillows behind her. She pulled the comforter up around her shoulders, against the night chill, and said, “Sophy, what difference does all this make?”
“How exciting is must be to be sought after! It’s a new experience for you, isn’t it, Chloe? Imagine having two men waiting to marry you!”
Chloe’s response was inarticulate.
“Don’t get married, don’t even get betrothed, until after you take Lydia to London,” Sophy begged. “It would spoil everything if she didn’t go.”
Chloe said, faintly, “I’m not going to London.”
Sophy told her, comfortingly, “Just because your head aches. You’ll feel better in the morning, after a good night’s sleep.”
Sophy, having carried the day, removed herself. The rest of the night, Chloe was wakeful. She fought her headache, refusing to take the drops of laudanum that would have sent her to blessed sleep because she knew there were only a few drops left in the bottle. But even the laudanum would not have helped her low spirits.
There were three choices left to her. One was to marry Francis. Her stepmother would be delighted, but Chloe was not sure about Francis. She was sure that if she said the word Francis would live up to her expectations of marriage, but she herself was not overjoyed at the prospect. She liked Francis well enough, but a lifetime of listening to his struggling for words, his inarticulate expressions, would drive her to the brink of insanity. She had stayed after dinner long enough to hear her stepmother’s assessment of Julian Stoddard’s visit. It was inconceivable that Stoddard would come after her on the basis of her legacy. She remembered that she had told Richard that in the morning, but now she remembered that as though it had happened a week ago.
Stoddard as a husband was out of the question also, but she could refuse both and stay at Rothwell Manor, her own home, where she had been born.
In the cold gray light of morning, the thought came to her that Rothwell Manor could not be her home for the rest of her life. When Edward married, as he would, being a dutiful head of his family, what then?
Surely she could not stay in a house with a new mistress. In the ordinary way, the ladies of the house would remove to the dower house. Lady Rothwell would quite likely protest, for it was much smaller than the manor. But there would be no choice, and Chloe dreaded to move into smaller quarters with her stepmother and her two sisters.
