Nell could not help smiling at his indignation. “I daresay that is how she excuses her actions to herself. You are not respectable and therefore she was right to give you up.”
“No, no! Do not be so reasonable,” he cried. “I am not minded to admit to any justice in her cause. She abandoned me to my suffering, without a word to set my mind at ease in all these years.”
“That was very bad of her, but only consider her situation. She was with child — ruined in the eyes of the world, should it become known. Her father whisked her away from you, and only much later, perhaps, discovered the unhappy truth, with no time to make a recover. All they could do was to settle the child as discreetly as possible and make a fresh start in another town. Convincing the lady that you were not worthy of her was undoubtedly part of her family’s strategy to ensure her compliance.”
He said nothing, his head low. Impulsively, she crossed the room to sit beside him on the sofa, taking one of his hands in hers. “I am so sorry, Nathan. Have you been in love with her for all this time?”
At that, he raised his head, and she was shocked at the hopelessness she saw written there. “Oh, no, not that. I was very unhappy for a long while, it is true, but that is not what grieves me now. Nell, I waited for her. I saw myself as bound to her, and… I refused even to consider marrying elsewhere in case… in case she came back one day. There was an obligation, you see. We were betrothed, and she never released me.”
“That was very honourable,” Nell said. His hand rested motionless in hers, warm and heavy.
“Honourable! Ha!” He huffed a quick breath. “Perhaps that was it, but I suspect, if I am being honest, clinging to that old love was my way of protecting my heart from further hurt. Every woman I met was compared with my first love, and found wanting in some way.”
“Ah, that is so true,” Nell said, much struck. “No one can ever compare with the bliss of first love.”
He turned to her with surprise in his eyes. “Do you truly believe that?”
“Indeed I do. There is an all-encompassing intensity to young love that cannot be recreated later. At seventeen, there is nothing in the world so important as the one true love, whereas at six and twenty one can see a score of other considerations to be taken into account.”
He turned away from her in silence, and she worried that she had ventured onto dangerous ground. But he was her friend, and would not take offence, of that she was certain.
“It is true that the practical aspects assume a greater importance as one grows older,” he said slowly, his voice soft. The flickering candles threw a gentle light onto his face. “I could not marry, for instance, without considering Henny’s welfare, just as you must always have regard for Louis. But just because one is older and arguably wiser does not preclude the possibility of falling every bit as desperately in love as in the shining optimism of youth. It is worse, in a way, since one’s youthful self cannot envisage the likelihood of loss or change or the effects of adversity, which are as clear as day to the older self.”
Nell was too discomposed to answer him immediately. Desperately in love? Was this a declaration? Surely he no longer thought of marriage, after all she had said to him on the subject.
Withers came in just then with the brandy, and to cover her confusion, she quickly jumped up and crossed the room to the sideboard where he placed the tray.
“Thank you, Withers. I shall serve Mr Harbottle.”
“Should you care for some supper, sir?” Withers said.
“Oh… that would be very kind. Thank you,” Nathan said.
Nell poured two brandies, a large one for Nathan and a small one for herself. Nathan had risen as she had, and now he took his glass to stand beside the fire, unlit at this time of year. Nell resumed her seat on the sofa, and after a moment he sat again, but on a chair opposite her. She was glad of his tact, for his words had unsettled her and continued nearness would make it difficult for her to appear calm.
Perhaps he felt some discomposure too, for when he spoke again it was with an effort at brightness. “I am glad Withers suggested supper, for I left Marford House too early to taste the delights in store there.”
Taking her cue, she said, “Was the ball enjoyable? I imagine it was rather a squeeze.”
“It was. Your brother was there. I had the pleasure of being introduced to the never-contented Lady Godney,” he said, which made Nell splutter over her brandy. “I am afraid that Sir James has devised another scheme for Louis’ education — a retired tutor in Latin and Greek. He needs the money, apparently, so your brother is fulfilling two charitable missions in one endeavour.”
Nell shook her head in exasperation. “I wish he would leave well alone! Louis has enough changes to which to become accustomed without inflicting an elderly tutor on him. Even if a tutor were wanted, he needs a young man, who can roam the countryside and play cricket with him.”
“And teach him to ride and to shoot and to be a gentleman,” Nathan said.
“You mean that he needs a father,” she said softly.
“Not necessarily. A cousin would do just as well for most purposes, and that is a task I should be delighted to perform, as I am sure you are aware. But your brother is a problem which will not, I fear, go away. He wishes Louis to spend more time at his desk and less roaming the countryside. He feels also that women are inferior creatures to have the responsibility for educating his ward. He will be constantly interfering, and you will have to live with the perpetual threat of Louis being taken away from you.”
“I do not know what I can do about that!” she cried, jumping up and sitting down again at once, so that he would not be obliged to stand. “James is his guardian, after all, and there is only one certain way to replace him, in law, and that is for me to marry again.”
“Which you do not wish to do,” he said at once.
“For myself, no, but for Louis…”
He smiled suddenly. “Yes! You would do it for your son, if not for yourself.” But then he abruptly returned to seriousness. “But you should not be pushed into a situation distasteful to you by concern for your son or in fear of what your brother might do. Sir James is a strange fellow, to maintain the family feud after his father is long dead, and reject you absolutely even after all your troubles. You are his sister — his only sister — after all.”
“James knows nothing of my troubles,” she said. “I had to tell him of my desperate financial state when I was first widowed, but he believes me secure now. Indeed, I am secure, if not rich, even if it cannot be proved that Jude is Felix. As for the rest… the way Jude treated me latterly… I have never spoken of it to anyone but you and Maria. James thinks I was blissfully happy, no doubt.”
“Perhaps if you were to tell him—”
She shuddered. “I could not. It is too shaming a thing to be confessed. One day, I shall be able to tell him of it, or Jack, perhaps, when he is older and it is a little further in the past. Louis must be told one day, as well. But not yet.”
“If Sir James could be brought to understand all that you have suffered and how desperate you would be to lose Louis, he might be less inclined to interfere. Do you not think it might be worth a try?”
She took a deep breath, considered it, shuddered again. “I cannot.”
“Then—”
Withers came in just then with a tray of cold meats, bread and fruit, and they waited in silence until he had withdrawn. Absentmindedly, Nell picked up an apple, then set it down again.
“I have a presumptuous suggestion to offer,” Nathan said slowly, when they were alone again, but he looked conscious.
Her heart sank. Was he about to offer for her again? She had thought, after their conversation in Southampton, that no more would be said on that subject. He had offered for her in a moment of desperation, when she had swooned in despair at the prospect of losing Louis at once. But that threat had receded, and she presumed he had given up the idea. It had been a generous impulse, but he must have thought bette
r of it. Even this evening he had said something… what were his words? ‘You should not be pushed into a situation distasteful to you by concern for your son.’ Surely that meant he had given up the idea?
“If you do not like to speak to Sir James yourself, might I be permitted to speak to him on your behalf? To tell him all the wrongs that have been done to you, and your terror at the prospect of losing Louis. Such information might be more easily imparted by a friend, rather than by you.”
His words took her breath away. “You would do that? You would speak to him for me?”
“If you permit me, I would. As your friend, there is nothing I would not do to make your life more comfortable. You will be easier in your mind if you are not in constant terror that Sir James will take a sudden whim, and whisk Louis away from you. If you will allow me the privilege, I should like to see if I cannot persuade him to agree to leave Louis entirely in your care, at least until he is of an age to go away to school.”
“Nathan, you are such a good friend to me!” Her voice wobbled, for the tears were very near the surface. “Thank you! I do not know if you will be able to convince him — I am not sure than anyone can change his mind once he has fixed on a course — but if anyone can do it, you can.”
29: The Parsonage
Nathan sent a note to Sir James the very next morning requesting the favour of an interview. He was rather surprised to receive a response almost at once, inviting him to call at four o’clock.
The Godneys’ town house was a modest residence in a fashionable square, a compromise between the need to cut a dash in society and the need to rein in extravagance. As Nathan arrived, a line of barouches and stylish town carriages was drawn up outside, the vehicles disgorging an array of young ladies in muslin and demure straw hats, and their silk-clad and befeathered mamas, with just a sprinkling of young men in starched cravats and ostentatiously large hats. However, when Nathan handed in his card, the butler said, “Sir James is expecting you, sir,” and led him away from the crowd into a somewhat disordered study.
“I shall inform Sir James of your arrival, sir,” the butler said.
Left alone, Nathan amused himself by glancing at the desk, littered with opened letters, newspapers and books. On the tables, more books. On the floor, piles of books ten volumes high. The bookcase on one wall was crammed so full of books stuffed in anyhow that he doubted a single sheet of paper could be squeezed in there. In the bay window, a comfortable and well-worn armchair suggested that the baronet passed many pleasant hours there.
The door flew open, and Sir James Godney came in. “You are very prompt, Harbottle,” he said. “Excellent.”
For a moment, Nathan was too surprised to answer. He had seen Godney in a range of moods from sullen to grumpy to outraged, but he had never before seen him in sunny good humour, smiling broadly. He was not sure whether this presaged good or ill. “Thank you for seeing me so soon,” he managed eventually.
“Oh, I am very grateful to you, I assure you,” Godney said. “You are preserving me from the dreadful fate of attendance at one of Julia’s hideous afternoon parties. So many of the best families have already left for the country, but the Marchioness of Carrbridge always holds an afternoon party for the daughters of cits and nabobs, and so Julia must do no less. But now, with you here, I have business to attend to and may lurk in here until the dressing gong. Madeira or Canary?”
“Madeira, thank you. I am very happy to be of service in so noble a cause. I am not enamoured of London society myself, so I have every sympathy with your wish to escape.”
“Oh, I have no objection to good society. I will squire Julia to Marford House as often as she can get cards of invitation, but these daughters of merchants and bankers and nabobs… what is one to say to such people? I know nothing of their lives, nor they of mine. I have nothing in common with those whose fortunes all came from trade or India or the plantations.”
“My own fortune came from the plantations,” Nathan said mildly, accepting a glass of Madeira.
Godney looked askance at him, then said, “But you have sold out now, I take it?”
“My father sold out when he returned to these shores thirty years ago,” he said easily. “It is all invested now, mostly in the Funds”
“Ah well, that is perfectly respectable, but you should get yourself a decent little estate somewhere. A house and park, and some good arable land, not too far from London… that would establish you very well. Then… perhaps a knighthood?”
“I have no desire for honours,” Nathan said, amused. “I might consider an estate, if one should cross my path, but Yorkshire suits me very well.”
“It is a long way from London.”
“Which is precisely why I like it.”
Godney grunted, pulled over a matching armchair to the one in the window, and gestured for Nathan to sit. “I daresay you want to talk about Nell.”
“Mrs Caldicott, yes, amongst other things.”
“Let me guess. You intend to offer for her, and so you apply to me as head of the family for approval.”
Nathan laughed. “You would guess wrong. I have not come to talk about any marriage of mine, but Mrs Caldicott’s, for there is much that you do not know about it. Have you ever wondered why I have taken such an interest in her?”
“She is a beautiful woman. Does any man need another reason?”
“Perhaps not, but she was a married woman when I first met her, and is still in mourning, so she is out of bounds to me. But the first time I saw her, she bore the tell-tale signs of bruises about her face.”
Godney froze, his glass halfway to his lips. Carefully, for his hands shook slightly, he set it down on the nearest table, shifting a pile of books to do so. Then, his voice trembling, he said, “Do you mean to tell me that… that scoundrel hit her? Beat her?” Nathan nodded. “Dear God! But why did she not come to me? Or to my father?”
“Your father was probably dead by the time this happened. It was after his ship sank and they were suddenly poor.”
“That is damnable!” Godney cried, jumping up. “The blackguard! I never liked him, never! Nor did Papa. He was a rotten fortune hunter, no good at all and— I beg your pardon, Harbottle. The fellow is your cousin.”
“Pray do not apologise. I am heartily ashamed to acknowledge him as a part of the family, and believe me, I have called him far worse epithets. His behaviour was unconscionable.”
“But why did she not come to me?” Godney said. “She must have known that I would never—” He stopped, picked up his wine glass again and took a long draught. “Of course she would not know,” he said savagely. “Papa had broken all contact. I never even wrote to her, except for family happenings — births, marriages, deaths — and her letters were infrequent, too. Very formal. Besides, it is hardly something she would put in a letter. ‘The weather is very fine just now and by the way, my husband beats me.’ Damnation! She had to suffer that all alone, at least until you came along. Do you know, Harbottle, I thought you were an encroaching meddler who had designs on my sister. I am happy to acknowledge that I was wrong about you.”
Honesty compelled Nathan to say, “Not entirely wrong, I confess. I have admired Mrs Caldicott since the first day I met her, but she has always made it clear that the last thing she wants is another husband. One can understand such a view, naturally.”
“Of course! After such a bad experience, she would be most reluctant to try again.”
“Quite. But when you came haring up to Yorkshire threatening to take Louis away from her there and then, she was so distressed that I could think of no solution other than to offer her marriage. Fortunately, we were interrupted before she could answer, so—”
“Fortunately? Do you want to marry her or not?”
Nathan hesitated, but he had said too much now to withdraw. “I do, but only when she is willing for her own sake, and not just because she is desperate not to lose Louis.”
“Hmmm.” Godney frowned at him. “But you expect h
er to be willing, sooner or later?”
“I… hope, not expect. She might never be willing.”
She might never be willing. As he spoke the words, he could no longer deny the truth of them. Nell had said, more than once, that she would never marry again, but he had not quite believed it. He was prepared to wait, naturally, for he had no wish to urge his suit on an unwilling recipient, but in his heart he had always been supremely confident that eventually he would win her. How could he not succeed, when he loved her so much? Yet his hopes and wishes had played him false. Now, for the first time, he had to acknowledge the dreadful prospect that she might truly prefer perpetual widowhood to his love. He might never be more than a friend to her.
He took a deep breath. Nell’s happiness was too important for him to waver now. “I will not press her on the subject. She must be allowed to marry or not by her own desire, and not simply to provide Louis with a different guardian who would not send him away from his mother.”
He watched Godney as he absorbed this information. “Louis is my ward in law,” he said slowly. “I must do what I feel is best for him.”
“Naturally, but given the upheavals in his life recently, what he needs most is a settled existence with his mother, and perhaps some assurances from you that he will not be sent off to school until he is a little older.”
“I am not at all convinced that Lady Harbottle is experienced enough to teach a child as quick as Louis. He needs tutors, and a strict regime of lessons for every hour of the day.”
“Certainly. You will find, if you discuss the matter with Lady Harbottle herself, that she already has such a regime, although she includes plenty of excursions around the estate for Louis’ health. If you write to her, she will be very happy to explain her methods, and will naturally be pleased to listen to any suggestions for improvement you care to make.”
Godney nodded vigorously. “Write to her… excellent idea. I shall do that. If I am satisfied with the structure of her teaching, then Louis may stay under her tutelage. And as for Nell and this stupid breach since her marriage…! I can at least set that right, and accept her back into the family fold. Julia will not like it, but when does Julia ever like anything? That should not stop me doing what is right, should it?”
The Widow (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 1) Page 29
