by Mary Balogh
“I will accompany you, if I may,” Arthur said. “Would you care to dismiss your maid and your carriage and walk home, since it is such a lovely morning although rather cold?” He smiled.
“Yes, please,” Rose said, “if it is not out of your way, sir.”
Soon they were strolling along, Rose’s arm drawn through Arthur’s, and agreeing that it was neither a lovely day nor particularly cold.
“Did you enjoy the concert last evening?” Arthur asked.
“Yes, it was pleasant,” Rose said. And then in a rush, “Oh, not really very much. But I must confess to preferring a musical evening at home when the neighbors play the pianoforte and the violin and sing and sometimes make mistakes or do not sound quite as they ought. I am very silly, and I would not tell Daisy, who was in transports of delight when we returned home.”
“But you may tell me,” Arthur said, patting her hand. “You are too kind to hurt your sister by telling the truth, but you may pour out your heart to me.”
“Oh,” Rose said, “that must be burdensome for you, sir. It will be burdensome when you have half the people in your parish coming to confide in you.”
“No, no,” he said. “It is a great privilege to find oneself trusted enough that people will confide their deepest thoughts to one. And a great honor. People need to be able to tell the plain truth to at least one other person. And sometimes God is not quite enough, because when one talks to God, it perhaps seems that one is talking to oneself. It is wonderful indeed to stand in the place of God for a short time.”
Rose smiled at him. “What a lovely idea,” she said. “And to whom do you talk, Reverend Fairhaven?”
He smiled back at her and said nothing for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
“You said everybody has the need,” Rose said. “Do you not? Is there not someone very close and special to whom you can confide your thoughts and problems?”
“I had not thought about it,” he said after a pause. “Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps not everybody needs a father confessor.”
“Are you completely happy, then?” Rose asked. “Is there nothing that irks you? Nothing that frustrates you?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “There are a number of things. Many things. I have always been gentle Arthur, everyone’s favorite. It is wonderful to be the darling of one’s family, the one no one ever upbraids or speaks sharply to or treats unfairly. It is also unspeakably annoying. Everyone looks conscious if they slip and use an obscenity in my hearing or speak on a topic that they think my ears too innocent to hear. And they all think it wonderfully sweet and typical of me to become a clergyman and to refuse the portion that my father wanted to give me. They picture me, I do believe, smiling beatifically at the poor and patting them on the head and winning instant conversion.”
Rose was gazing up at him, her eyes wide with amazement.
“They do not know,” he said, “the squalor, the tough mental attitudes, the evil, the ridicule, the raw exposure to the most basic and sordid elements of life that are my daily portion. They do not know that my joy comes from doing our Lord’s work in a very small, sometimes invisible way, from planting the mustard seed. They do not know. They see only gentle, innocent Arthur. And how can I tell them? How can I ruin the joy they have in their image of me?”
Rose swallowed. “I am sorry,” she said. “I have seen you that way too. And liked you a great deal. Now I admire you very much more. And, yes, you are right. It is a privilege, is it not?”
He looked down at her and flushed. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice full of remorse. “Do forgive me, Miss Morrison. I have never said that to anyone before. Indeed, I did not even know that that resentment was in me. How ungrateful I am. I have the best and most loving of families.”
“As do I,” said Rose. “And so we can understand each other in our reluctance to do anything that might hurt them.”
“But we must be true to ourselves too, dear,” he said, laying a hand over hers again for a brief moment. “I hurt my father by rejecting his desire to provide for me. I know I did, but I had to do it because I could not have lived with myself if I had not become what I have become. You must be careful, Rose, that you do not lose yourself in your eagerness to make your sister happy. My father would have been unhappy to see me fretting in the life of an idle gentleman. Now, a few years after our arguments, he delights in seeing me as a gentle, harmless clergyman.” He smiled. “Daisy will be happy in a few years’ time to see you contented, whatever it is that you will find to bring you happiness.”
“Yes,” Rose said. “Yes. It is just so hard now. Daisy has had this dream for me for a long time.”
“Here we are at Hetty’s already,” Arthur said in some surprise. “Did you steer us here, Miss Morrison? I have not even been conscious of the streets we have walked along.”
“Neither have I,” Rose said.
“Well, then,” he said, “we must have been guided. I will not come inside or Hetty will be wanting me to stay for luncheon. And I have a busy afternoon planned. I will see you tomorrow at Julia’s, I daresay.”
“Yes,” Rose said.
“Good day to you, then, my father confessor,” Arthur said with a smile as he bent to kiss her gently on the cheek, just as he was accustomed to do with Julia and Judith. He looked surprised after he had done it.
It would be hard to say whether Rose or Arthur was blushing the redder as she climbed the steps to the front door and he turned back to the gateway.
Lord Kincade helped Judith choose a new fan and paid for it, though she insisted that their father had left her quite enough pin money. He suggested that they go to Gunter’s for an ice.
“What? Twice in as many days, Giles?” she said, turning a delighted face up to his.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“Oh.” Her smile faded. “You are going to play the substitute father again just when I thought you had left off being so stuffy. I wish Papa would come home to be my father. I would far prefer you as a brother, Giles. I always loved you dearly when you were merely my brother.”
“Yes, well,” he said, “I have discovered that being a parent is no unalloyed delight, Jude. I think I will put off being a father to an almost grown-up lady for at least twenty years, thank you. But it is not a scold I am going to give, so you may plan to enjoy your ice.”
Judith smiled at him and linked her arm through his, clutching the package containing her new fan in her free hand. “I always like to walk with you, Giles,” she said. “You are so very tall and handsome. I like to watch other ladies who do not know you are my brother look at me with envy.”
“Wretch!” he said. “There are doubtless as many men who would like to be in my place right now.”
Judith laughed. “Are you going to marry Daisy soon?” she asked. “I do hope so. She is a great deal of fun. Do you love her dreadfully, Giles?”
“Can one love dreadfully?” he asked. “But perhaps it is the best description of all for my feelings about Daisy. And what about you, Jude? Do you have any feelings for Colonel Appleby?”
He was seating her at a table in Gunter’s. Judith looked up at him in some surprise. “I like him,” she said. “He has a great deal of character.”
“Hardly surprising in one who has distinguished himself so well in battle,” Lord Kincade said. “He is offering for you, you know.”
Judith turned pink. “No, I do not know,” she said.
“He came to me yesterday,” Lord Kincade said, “to ask if I thought it would be quite inappropriate for him to post down to Bath to talk to Papa.”
Judith’s jaw had dropped. “What did you say?” she asked, and waited impatiently while her brother ordered their ices.
“I said I thought it quite appropriate,” he said, “though I could not speak for you. But he decided that he would speak with Papa before making his offer to you. I believe he has left already.”
Judith stared.
“How do you fee
l about it?” he asked.
“He wants to marry me?” Judith said. “But he is a hero!”
“I suppose heroes can fall in love as well as be heroic,” Lord Kincade said with a grin. “Do you love him, Jude? Or feel any affection for him? Or is it unfair of me to ask?”
“I think I do,” she said. “I think I do, Giles. I am not quite sure yet. I...”
“Powers?” he said tentatively, and watched her color up.
“He thinks I love him,” she said in a small voice, “and he loves me dreadfully, Giles. And he wants me to meet him at Vauxhall and stay with him for a time so that Papa will be forced to let me marry him.” The words came rushing from her mouth.
Lord Kincade watched her grimly. “Can’t you see, Jude,” he said, “that it is your fortune he is after? Love? That man does not know the meaning of the word.”
“But he is reformed,” Judith said, tears in her eyes. “And I don't want to hurt him, Giles. I have been so thoughtless.”
“Listen, Jude,” her brother said, “your Lord Powers and his father between them love you so much that they saw to it that I did not reach Bath two weeks ago. And if Daisy had not intervened, they would have seen to it that I was otherwise unable to interfere with their plans for you too.”
Judith looked stricken. “It is not true,” she said. “Oh, it is not true, Giles. His father does not even like him. He is as rich as Croesus and will not even help his own son.”
“The marquess is so far in debt,” Lord Kincade said, “that he is like to spend his future years in debtors’ prison, Jude, unless the family fortunes are somehow restored. Marriage to an heiress is the quickest and surest way of doing that.”
Judith stared at him and then at her ice, which she had been eating without even realizing the fact. "I don't know what to believe,” she said, “or what to do.”
“Leave it to me,” her brother said. “Just leave it all to me, Jude, will you?”
“You will not hurt him?” she asked.
Lord Kincade hesitated. “Not unless I have to,” he promised. “Jude, tell me you will have nothing more to do with him. I don’t want to watch you like a jailer or distrust you. Yet I must, if I think that a misguided sense of obligation might put you in that man’s clutches for the rest of your life. Can you reassure me?”
“I shall write to him today,” Judith told her ice, “and tell him that I cannot love him and cannot marry him and must release him from all obligation to me.”
“And if he answers, Jude?”
“Then I shall read his letter,” she said. “But I will have nothing more to do with him after that, Giles.”
“Good girl,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You have made a decision worthy of the girl I have watched grow into womanhood for the last few years.”
“Flatterer!” she said, looking up at him through her lashes, pleased.
Chapter 15
The morning after the concert Daisy chose to walk early in the park, declining all company except that of a maid. Rain kept her at home the next day, though she was back for more exercise and more fresh air the day after, the same day as had been appointed for the visit to Vauxhall.
On the first morning she acquired an aged and infirm aunt in Scotland, widowed and without child, very rich, of course, and equally inevitably holding Daisy in deep affection. Daisy was not at all sure that the aunt would not will her fortune to all of her three surviving relatives: Daisy, Rose, and their mother. But Mama was quite convinced that all would be left to Daisy. Not that she wished the aunt to pass on soon, of course, and not that she was greedy for the fortune, considering the fact that her own was large enough to keep her in considerable luxury for the rest of her life. But, still, it was pleasant to know oneself loved.
Daisy had still not mastered the trick of producing excess water from her eyes, but she had learned the almost equally satisfactory trick of dabbing a lace handkerchief against her nose and sniffing delicately.
On the second morning, the rainy one, Judith received a reply to her letter, in which Lord Powers expressed his deep sorrow at her decision to see him no more, swore his undying love and devotion, and chivalrously renounced all claim to her affections, since that appeared to be her wish. He remained et cetera, et cetera before affixing his signature with a flourish.
On the third morning, the day of the Vauxhall visit, Daisy asked advice of the gentleman she had coincidentally met in the park twice within a week. Not that she usually asked advice of anyone, being a woman of independent character. But sometimes the burdens of life bore down on one’s shoulders so that one felt almost bowed to the ground.
“Would it be very improper,” she concluded, “and very wrong of me to end my betrothal, do you think?” But her kid gloves covered her mouth almost before the words had escaped it and she gazed in dismay up at Lord Powers. “Oh, my lord,” she almost whispered, “please disregard those words. I have no right to ask such a thing of a virtual stranger. You have been so kind to me that I sometimes forget that in fact you are scarcely more than that.”
Lord Powers stopped walking and turned to her, deep concern in his eyes. He took the hand closer to him in one of his and covered it with the other. “Indeed, my dear ma’am,” he said, “I am more honored than I can say to find that you trust me so. And I beg you not to concern yourself about the burden you have put upon me. It is a sweet burden when it comes from a lady whose esteem it is an honor to cultivate.”
Daisy allowed her eyes to drop to his chin and then bravely forced them to look into his again. She applied just a touch of pressure to the hand beneath her own.
“Your betrothal has been a mistake?” he asked gently. “I own I am not altogether surprised, ma’am. The Fairhavens are all high in the instep. For all that he must covet your wealth, I will wager that it weighs heavily with Kincade to know that your father was in trade. Indeed, I would not for the world distress you, but I heard him say as much in White’s a mere few days ago.”
Daisy gulped. “Oh,” she said, reaching with her free hand for her lace handkerchief.
“Break your engagement,” Lord Powers said with fierce impulse. “Oh, ma’am, I have said nothing in the past few days because I have felt it dishonorable to do so. But I would lay all my devotion, all my love at your feet. And I can see now that you are unhappy. Allow me to be of service to you. End this betrothal, which is no less than an insult to you. And allow me to protect you from all gossip and scandal. Marry me, and I will take you away from here.”
“Oh, my lord,” Daisy said. “I am overwhelmed. I am speechless. I could not possibly so impose upon your good nature.”
“Good nature!” he cried, possessing himself of her other hand and holding both against his coat. “I am confoundedly selfish, ma’am. I see the chance of gaining what in the past days I have dreamed of and convinced myself is far beyond my reach. I see the chance of winning your esteem and—dare I hope?— your love. There will be those, of course, and many of them, who will say that I too am merely interested in your fortune, but I will trust to your better judgment of me to perceive the truth. I wish you might be penniless so that you would know the purity of my devotion to your person.”
“Oh, my lord,” Daisy said. “But, no, it cannot be. The scandal would be too great. For you as well as for me.” She laughed a little shakily. “You have given me a glimpse of heaven, sir, but we are on earth. It is impossible. I must ask you to release my hands.” But she leaned forward and rested her forehead very briefly against those hands and his.
“Do you think I care,” he asked fiercely, “what the world says about me? I would gladly exchange my reputation and even my honor, ma’am, for your love and—oh, happiness beyond imagining—your hand in marriage. But of course, your honor must be protected from permanent taint. Let me think for a moment.”
Daisy obediently gave him that moment, hanging her head and making no attempt to force him to grant her request to release her hands.
“You said you are going to Vauxhall tonight?” Lord Powers asked at last.
Daisy looked up at him, hope in her eyes, and nodded. She could not recall telling him any such thing.
“Very well, then,” he said, pressing her hands closer to his heart. “You must meet me there. It must appear that you have wandered away by accident rather than design. And I shall take you away for an hour or two—not long enough to completely destroy your honor, ma’am, but long enough that your reputation will be called into question and Lord Kincade made anxious to be rid of you. All the blame will be on me, of course. You will receive a great deal of sympathy, but all the highest sticklers will agree that it is only fitting that you marry me.”
“But”—Daisy looked earnestly up into his eyes and moved a step closer—“you will be seen as a rogue, my lord. Perhaps his lordship will even challenge you to a duel. I cannot ask such a thing of you.”
He laughed softly down at her before releasing her hands suddenly and taking a step back as a maid walking a dog almost as large as herself came into view at the end of the path they were standing on. “I am known as a rogue anyway, Miss Morrison,” he said, drawing her arm within his and beginning to walk again. “I am afraid I have lived a wild life. But it is amazing how love can smite one quite unawares and transform one. One more wild deed, ma’am—I shall kidnap you for an hour this evening—and then a lifetime of love and service to the lady of my dreams.” He squeezed her arm against his side and smiled warmly down into her eyes.
Daisy found it as impossible to induce a blush as to force tears. She contented herself with a worshipful look and a murmured “Oh, my lord!”
Daisy’s own maid, who had been sent on a shopping errand for the second morning that week, also appeared a few minutes later, but not before a time and a place for a rendezvous that evening had been set. Altogether, Daisy decided as she walked briskly home a few paces ahead of Penny, life had been made a great deal safer for that silly Judith, who surely had not realized in how much danger she had placed her virtue and her happiness.
