The rest of his journey was uncomfortable. The roads were tolerable, the posting inns acceptable, the meals edible, but he could not rid himself of his nagging thoughts of Miss Stafford. It was permissible, by his lights, to extricate himself from her sister's hints and her parents’ encouragement; they were plots, rather too obvious ones, to entrap him into marrying the girl. He could not so easily abandon the girl herself. His original infatuation had disintegrated, but it had been replaced by a brotherly concern which had led him to attempt to help her. He was aware that his attentions to the girl had raised unholy hopes in her sister's breast, which she had obviously shared with her parents. Pontley could easily discount their predatory claims on him; they were all intent on thrusting the girl onto someone else's shoulders. She was a responsibility none of them bore gladly. Selfishly intent on their own pleasures, she symbolized for each a chain which bound them.
Even that Pontley could have walked away from, uneasily. But the girl's devotion to him was another matter entirely. He had been flattered by her admiration of him when they first met; it was very different, after all, from Miss Forbes's unemotional acceptance of him as a prospective husband—and one whom she had wished at sea for the greater part of the time. Pontley had, by his actions, led Miss Stafford to believe that he was attached to her but that his engagement bound him to another. When the engagement was broken she had every right to expect that he would offer for her.
Unfortunately, he had lost the desire to do so when he had seen her erratic and often violent behavior, but his sense of responsibility, as with Miss Forbes, had prompted him not to abandon her. His efforts to teach her to control her temper were unavailing; his attempts to lift her from black moods unprofitable. But his attentions to her had strengthened her affection for him, apparently, and no amount of discussion, perhaps too delicately put (Peter Westlake would have been astonished), could convince the girl that her feelings were not reciprocated in quite the same way. It was incomprehensible to her that he should feel differently than she did herself; that he should not wish to marry her and take her away from the unfeeling people around her. And although Pontley recognized her genuine affection for him, he was not convinced as she seemed to be that it was a deep and abiding love. In her unconscious selfishness she clung to the one person who showed an interest in her.
Pontley's arrival at Lockwood did not relieve him of these thoughts, and his aunt summoned him to the dower house almost before he had time to change. Irritated with the imperiousness of the message, he sent word that he would wait on her the following morning and hoped she was in good health. There were matters to be attended to on the estate, and his leg had begun to ache with fatigue. He was in no mood to sustain her bitter recriminations.
Owing to the experience he had gained at Huntley and Manner, he was able to discuss matters more intelligently with the Lockwood agent. Since there had been no more heavy drains on the estate since his cousin had died, affairs were prospering and Pontley reminded himself to thank his aunt for her overseeing of the estate. It was high time he settled there and involved himself with its management.
At dinner he gazed out the window over the manicured lawns to the distant gentle hills and for the first time experienced a real feeling for the place. He could not, in this room, deny those thoughts of Miss Forbes which he had forced from him since he left Manner. It was uselessly idle to reflect on the meal they had shared here at Lockwood, or to dwell on the emotion which had seized him a few days previously. He drained the brandy glass, set it down with a sharp clink and rose to pace across to the windows. She was intent on having her first love, the exquisitely dressed Mr. Westlake, and there was nothing he could do about it. Her choice, he thought, was a poor one, and he would not have expected it of her, with her calm capability, her mature vitality, her ridiculous puffy cheeks. He turned away from the view he was no longer regarding and made his way to the stables.
* * * *
“I have had a most distressing letter from Jennifer this morning,” Lady Pontley informed him the moment he entered her sitting room.
“Have you indeed? Is something amiss with Miss Stafford?"
“Her parents had just arrived and informed her that they met you en route. Jennifer was shocked that you did not intend to return to Huntley as you had promised her.” Her cold eyes raked him, to no avail.
“I should not have called it a promise, Aunt Gertrude, and I have written to inform Lord Morris of my intention to spend some time at Lockwood. There are matters here which I should attend to."
“You are not equipped to take care of anything here, as I should think you would know by now, and did better to leave matters in my hands."
“Nonetheless, I do not intend to, though I thank you most sincerely for your continued interest in the estate. Smitt will be showing me about in an hour's time. I take it there is some problem with the winter wheat in the north field."
The dowager pointed a bony finger at him which shook with her agitation. “You are acting dishonorably, Pontley."
A muscle twitched at the corner of his firmly closed mouth, but he stretched his aching leg before answering her. “I am not aware of it, ma'am. Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain."
“You have led my poor niece to believe that you intend to marry her, yet my brother writes that you gave no such assurance to him. He believes that you have been trifling with the girl's affections, and Lady Stafford is so overwrought that they find they cannot continue their journey to Leicestershire."
A vision of the procession he had encountered on the road to Taunton arose in Pontley's mind and he could not blame Lady Stafford for shrinking from shepherding such an assemblage, but he would not evade the issue. “When I was interested in marrying your niece, I was previously engaged, my dear aunt. By the time I was free from my betrothal, I had learned that I no longer wished to do so. I have spoken with Miss Stafford concerning my feelings on the subject, but she is not able to comprehend my meaning."
“My niece is not half-witted, Pontley. You have been a constant visitor at Cromer and in frequent attendance upon her. Lady Morris assures me that your attentions have been most particular to the girl and she is at a loss to understand why you have not come up to scratch."
“Let us be frank, Aunt. Miss Jennifer Stafford is a charming, bright and very beautiful young lady. She is also unbalanced. Her father may say that she needs a firm hand to guide her, her mother that she needs the responsibilities of matrimony, and her sister that she is an ingenuous sprite, but the truth of the matter is that she is disturbed. Her temper is uncontrollable; I should know, I have tried. She changes in an instant from the heights of alt to the deepest depression. These are not matters which encourage me to offer for her."
“How dare you accuse my niece of being mentally unstable? She is little more than a child, though perhaps a trifle wild. I cautioned my brother years ago that he should not allow her the freedom he did, but I was not heeded, of course.” Her glare did not discompose him, but her next words were more successful. “In any case, you have led the girl to believe that you would marry her, and you are bound to act on your honor."
“I have given considerable thought to the matter, Aunt Gertrude. Had I been dealing with a normal woman, I would not find myself in this hobble. Miss Stafford, however, refuses to acknowledge what I have explained to her several times, which is that I should like to be her friend, but not her husband. I have endeavored to make a change in her behavior, to find whether she can maintain a certain stability, but the effort was wasted."
“You will have more control as her husband, Pontley. The child writes desperately of her attachment to you, of your promises to her. No gentleman would trifle with a child's affections as you have done."
“The problem is, my dear aunt, that she is a child and is like to remain a child, no matter what her age. Her mother has only a limited grasp on reality, I should say from my short acquaintance with her; Miss Stafford has essentially none. She does preci
sely what she wishes, when she wishes, and if she is crossed flies into a rage. It is unfortunate that I did not have the opportunity to observe her for longer when I was first at Huntley."
“Unfortunate, yes, but irremediable now, Pontley. You must marry the girl.” His aunt, who had sneered at his honor where Miss Forbes was involved, was prepared now to use it to her advantage. After all, this was her niece, and, from his description, a young lady enough like her widgeon mother that Lady Pontley did not doubt she would be able to bring Jennifer under her control with a minimum of effort. She had had some inkling that there was more to Jennifer's story than the tale of being high strung, but it made little difference to her. Lady Pontley envisaged a chance to retain some influence at Lockwood through her niece. Her lips curled sardonically and her voice grated as she proclaimed, “I shall invite her to visit me, and you may offer for her while she is here. You have no choice, Pontley. In her letter she has resorted to the wildest accusations, and who can blame her in her heartbroken state? A few such letters would damage your reputation beyond repair, and surely you, knowing her as you do, cannot believe that she would be inhibited from sending them far and wide."
He should have known that Miss Stafford would not be able to handle his apparent rejection in not returning to Huntley, but he had not really thought of that angle. With a sigh he acquiesced to his aunt's plan; he would probably have felt it necessary to marry the child in any case. He would have to make the best of it, married to an unruly child who could be entertaining as well as exasperating, but he was aware that he was not a particularly patient man. In many ways he had tried to spare her as well as himself, for he knew he would not make her a comfortable husband. She ought to have someone indulgent, who would be amused by her flights of fancy and tolerant of her fitful moods. Although Pontley wished the girl well, he was too practical a man to deceive himself that he would be happy with her. She would be a constant burden and a source of pain, but he would do his best to see that she did not suffer for his unwillingness.
“Very well, have her come to you, aunt. She should have an opportunity to become familiar with Lockwood.” Her smug satisfaction piqued him, and he added coldly, “No doubt you will appreciate the opportunity to become reacquainted with her. Miss Stafford informed me that she had not seen you since she was ten. I should warn you, perhaps, that she is fond of dressing up as a boy.” With this parting shot, he bowed and headed for the door.
“She will not do so in my house,” the old woman retorted.
Pontley merely smiled at her.
Chapter 11
As November progressed Glenna had the satisfaction of watching the kitchen change from a depressing hole into a useful modern area. Betsey managed throughout the work to provide her usual standard of fare, and Mrs. Morgan wept when she saw the new range.
As soon as Glenna's ordinary countenance reappeared, Peter began to press his suit. “I know it is not six months since your father died, my dear, but I am sure he would have been delighted to see you married. There is no need, I am persuaded, to wait until you are out of black gloves."
“No, of course not, but we are only now getting to know one another again, Peter."
“It did not take you so long to decide the first time,” he laughed.
“We were so young then. I have changed, you know, and am become very set in my ways.” Glenna reluctantly closed the account books she had been studying and attempted to give him her whole attention.
“Pooh! You have been hibernating. Just wait until you are in London, my love. There is nothing in Hastings, and certainly not here, to hold you for a moment. No assemblies or routs, no card parties or musical evenings. I wonder you can bear it. And you shall play the harp for our friends. Do you not remember how impressed all of London was with your playing?"
“Yes, my dear, but I was a sort of prodigy then because of my youth, a claim which hardly holds true now,” she replied dryly. “And I do not know anyone in London."
“Well, you will like my friends,” he said dubiously. “At least, young Spears married last August and his wife is very elegant. I have heaps of cousins, too—young ladies who would be delighted to show you about. My sister Julia is on the verge of marrying and I think they plan to establish in the city. I should hope so, since his seat is somewhere in Scotland or Ireland or some such place. So you see, there will be plenty of people for you to go about with."
“I take it you had no intention of hanging about me yourself'?"
Peter looked truly appalled. “It's hardly the thing, Glenna. I mean, of course I would be about and escort you occasionally to the theatre or the opera. But you would be invited to join other parties when I was off at Brooks's or ... somewhere or other."
“I see. Peter, do you really wish to marry?” she asked curiously.
He drew himself up stiffly as though his word had been impugned. “Why ever would you ask such a question? Have I not been begging you to marry me? Offering you inducements to do so?"
“Were those inducements?” she asked faintly.
“Well, of course they are! Are you not forever prosing on about being too independent to marry? I am showing you that it is possible to go your own way after you are hitched. We would have a very comfortable arrangement. My father has settled a neat little property on me, and my godfather, bless his soul, made it possible for me to enjoy all the elegancies of life. There will be no need for you to pinch pennies, as you have all your life, I don't doubt. I enjoy gambling but I never lose my head over it, so you needn't fear we would land in the basket on that score."
“I am relieved to hear it.” Her eyes danced with laughter, but he waved aside such levity.
“I am serious, Glenna. There is something more, too.” He appeared to hesitate, and rose to pace about the room so that he need not meet her inquiring eyes. “I would not keep you forever breeding, as my older brothers do their wives. Why, those poor ladies have hardly had a chance to wear clothes with some shape since they married. I should like an heir, of course, but I have no real interest in having a parcel of brats about, forever throwing up on my coats and tugging my pantaloons out of shape. You should see Roger after he's spent an hour with his brood! Well, never mind, but I thought you might like to know,” he finished lamely.
Glenna was hard pressed not to laugh; the vision of Peter staring horror-stricken at a befouled coat was strong indeed. “I—I appreciate your consideration, Peter."
“There, now,” he sighed, “I know it is not a proper matter to raise but I thought I should just tell you how I felt."
“I am glad you did."
“And will you marry me, Glenna?"
“I should like a few days to think on it, please, Peter. You have been very kind to be so open with me, and I assure you that I have a better idea now of what you offer me. My own recommendations are few, as you know. It surprises me that your family would be willing to condone such an alliance."
“Nonsense. My mother is fond of you, and she has always had a special soft spot for me, don't you know. I should like to take you home with me, and I must be leaving in a few days. Mother enclosed an invitation for you in the letter I received today.” He patted his pockets and finally withdrew the appropriate item.
“Here, see for yourself. It would give you a chance to meet the whole of the family, for everyone comes to the castle for Christmas."
Glenna received the gilded sheet from him and, from years of experience, quickly deciphered the scratchings thereon. Lady Garth indeed extended her hospitality and had no doubt that there would be good tidings brought with the young couple. Glenna sighed and slipped the letter into the desk drawer. “You shall have an answer in three days, Peter."
With a shrug he accepted this as the best he could do for the moment, but he made sure, during his allotted time, that he rode frequently with her. On these occasions he was witty and complimentary, and he even attempted once to kiss her. He was not particularly successful, but it was his own fault, as he chose to
execute this feat when they were both astride nervously prancing horses, and he did not repeat the attempt.
On the day Glenna was to answer him Phoebe burst into her room while she was still sipping her chocolate in bed, one of the few luxuries she allowed herself. Phoebe plumped herself down on the counterpane and said provocatively, “You will never guess what Mama sent me."
“No, I dare say I won't, goose. Give me a hint."
“Well it is an item from the London paper."
“And of concern to you?"
“Not to me, precisely, but I thought it would be of interest to you."
Glenna felt a shiver go through her. “An announcement of Lord Pontley's engagement to Miss Stafford?” she hazarded, determinedly keeping her face neutral.
“I can see I gave you too good a hint,” Phoebe pouted. “Here, you can read it for yourself. He hasn't written you, has he?"
“No, I have not heard from him since he left. There was no need to communicate with him when the work was progressing so well. I had intended to write when it was complete.” She scanned the brief announcement and returned it to her friend. “I shall write to congratulate him, of course, and send your good wishes."
“Yes, do, for no matter how gruff he is I cannot help but like him. Will it change your situation here?"
“Oh, no. I intend to leave when the renovation is complete, though he said I need not hurry away. Does your family want you home for Christmas?"
“I have been meaning to speak with you about that. Papa insists that I come and bring you ... unless you have other plans.” She regarded Glenna closely, but her friend made no attempt to reply. “Will you be ready to leave in a few weeks?"
The Nomad Harp Page 10
