by Mira Stables
At which point in her musings she pulled herself up short, a little aghast to realise that she was actually suggesting that Mr. Winfield should find himself an heiress. She—with her views on marrying for money! She made her way back to the housekeeper’s room in a rather subdued frame of mind, though she could not forbear a chuckle at the thought of the intimidating creature whom she had conjured up to be Mr. Winfield’s bride.
Oddly enough, Mr. Winfield himself had been giving some thought to the subject of marriage. His views were a good deal less prosaic than Katherine’s. In fact, in only one respect did his ideas of a suitable bride agree with hers. He wanted a woman of character. The woman he would choose was a gentle creature, diffident and retiring, who reminded him a little of his mother; but for all her shyness she had a will of her own and a delicacy of principle that he respected, even when it caused her to cross his will. Well—he had overborne her on that one occasion, even if he had been obliged to enlist her father’s support to help him to do it. The encounter had left him with a strong desire to establish his mastery over her once and for all. Not that he would dream of bullying or coercing her, except perhaps for a little coercion by way of love play. Once or twice, when they had danced together and she had moved in docile fashion at his bidding, he had wondered how she would react if one day he ventured to steal a kiss. It would be easy to prison the slender wrists in one hand, and to tilt her face to his with the other. She was so small and slight that physically she would be helpless against him. Would those great luminous eyes scorch him with their angry scorn, or would she yield to his embrace and return his kiss?
He would never know, because it was only an idle dream. The devil of it was that after going heart-whole all these years he must needs fall in love with an heiress; one, moreover, who had the lowest opinion of fortune hunters, as he had heard from her own lips. He supposed he might describe himself as a man of modest means—and even that degree of comfort he owed largely to his little love. If she had not chanced upon those jewels it would still be make-and-scrape with him. Even as matters stood, it must be several years—and years of good fortune at that—before he could consider himself safely established. The Priory must be a drag on him for some time to come, since he could not bring himself to initiate the sweeping reforms that Mr. Martenhays recommended at the expense of his poorer tenants. He would introduce them gradually, as opportunity offered, but it might take years, and one could not expect a girl to wait indefinitely to settle her affairs, especially a girl who had been one of the ornaments of London society since her come-out, and who must have received any number of more brilliant offers. Meanwhile, he must endure the growing intimacy that his friendship with her father engendered. It was a bitter-sweet business, having the girl you loved strolling about the house and grounds that you also loved, and telling you just how to set it off to its best advantage if only you had the money to pay for such nonsense. Not that it was nonsense, of course. He would dearly have loved to furbish up the old place just as she suggested, for her tastes marched with his. Then he would have offered it—and himself—for her acceptance.
Well—that was not possible. He had been perfectly frank in his talk, both with the girl and her father. They knew his financial circumstances almost as well as he knew them himself. If he were to offer for her now, who could believe him to be disinterested?
It was not too difficult to see the thing sensibly in the privacy of his library. He must put the thought of Katherine Martenhays from him, for she was above his touch. It was less easy when they were thrown together half a dozen times a week. Katherine had always been one to rate her own attractions very modestly. She knew that in point of looks she was no more than well to pass, her only striking feature being those magnificent eyes. For the rest her charm was the timid appeal of some shy woodland plant, shrinking into insignificance in competition with more flamboyant flowers. The difference now lay in her closer acquaintance with Mr. Winfield. They had come to know each other so easily, so naturally, and they had so many common interests, that she was no longer shy and stiff with him. She had no idea how her innocent confidence in his pleasure at each new meeting, her smile of welcome or the tiny gesture of a slim hand across a crowded room, transformed her normal rather sober bearing to warm young gaiety. No idea, either, how it bewitched the earnest agriculturist who stood so high in Papa’s esteem. Mr. Winfield, whose quiet, stay-at-home ways had made him the despair of all the marriageable maidens in the neighbourhood, fell into the habit of accepting every invitation which gave him the chance of meeting Miss Martenhays, and became adept in calculating which these were. It was not sensible behaviour for a man already deeply in love. Every meeting served to strengthen the attachment, showing him some new aspect of his lady love that enmeshed him more securely. Best of all was the day when she rode up to the Priory with only Jasper in attendance, bringing a message from Papa excusing himself from an engagement that they had made. Mr. Martenhays had taken a slight chill, and since he had a bronchial tendency, it seemed wiser for him to stay indoors. Dermot chanced to be conferring with Hilda in the hall, and persuaded the unexpected visitor to take a glass of sherry wine before she rode back to Hays Park; and the two of them strolled together through rooms that already showed the improvement wrought by assiduous polishing, discussing the sort of furniture that would best replace the pieces removed by the Countess. It was just such a conversation as might have been shared by a betrothed pair planning their new home, and they enjoyed it very much.
But it gave Katherine seriously to think. Dressing for an evening party, happily planning what she would say to Mr. Winfield about the planting of the herb garden, it was suddenly borne in upon her that more and more of her time was becoming involved with that gentleman and his affairs. The more she thought about it the more alarmed she became, for she realised that she had been more absorbed and happy during the past weeks than at any time since she had made her come out. And all that contentment stemmed from one source. Surely she could not be developing a tendre for a gentleman whose behaviour towards her varied from the fraternal to the avuncular? She was not without experience. She knew very well how gentlemen behaved when they wanted to fix their interest with a lady, or even to indulge in less serious gallantries. Mr. Winfield’s behaviour was not in the least like that. Sometimes they discussed things amicably enough, at others they argued or joked each other. But there had never been any hint that he admired her, still less that she stirred his pulses. She was sorely perplexed, not wishing to forfeit her pleasure in his society, but fearful of becoming too deeply involved.
So it was that, when a letter arrived from Aunt Julia begging her to spend a few weeks in Town, she decided to accept. She did not really want to go, but the effort required to tear herself away frightened her even more. At least the visit would give her a short breathing space away from Mr. Winfield’s beguiling influence.
Aunt Julia’s welcome was warm and heartening, and since she had already spread the word of Katherine’s impending visit, there were several invitations awaiting the girl’s attention. There was also a charming posy from Lord Sandiford who had called that very morning to enquire the precise date of her return to civilisation.
“His words, not mine,” added Aunt Julia. “So I daresay we shall have him running in and out of the house at all hours. But it won’t do my love. I have it on good authority that he is all to pieces. A pity, for he is a most likeable creature and extremely well-connected besides; but there it is. Your Papa would never give his consent.”
Katherine said that while she had always found his Lordship an entertaining companion she had never for a moment taken him seriously, a fact of which he was perfectly well aware, and went on to discuss plans for the month ahead.
It proved to be a busy one. Although it was still early in the Season there was no lack of variety in Katherine’s programme, and whether or no Lord Sandiford stood in imminent danger of arrest for debt, as Lady Julia warned, he was still her most assiduous es
cort. He could still provide a very dashing curricle and pair to take her driving in the Park. She rode or walked with him at other times, danced with him at the Assemblies and accepted his invitation to make one of a theatre party. Aunt Julia protested that she was encouraging his attentions beyond what was seemly, but Katherine retorted that Julian was very well aware that she had nothing for him beyond friendship.
“Then to be calling him by his given name shows a degree of intimacy that I cannot approve,” said Lady Julia crossly, and went off to write to ‘Cousin John’, and to pour out her concern over his daughter’s uncharacteristic behaviour.
Her letter annoyed its recipient considerably and produced an unexpected result. Behind the genial frankness of his manners, Mr. Martenhays had a very acute mind. He would have been the first to acknowledge that without it he could never have attained the heights of success that he had achieved in his profession, far less accumulated his immense fortune. And he would have added that there was no need to go about looking gimlet-eyed and tight-lipped in order to convince people of one’s shrewdness. One could be perfectly pleasant and affable, and business dealings went all the better for that, too. Much of his success was founded on a good understanding of his fellow men, and his one weakness, if he had one, was his inability to restrain his impatience when they were slow to accept ideas that he was convinced would benefit them in the long run.
Recently he had begun to fancy himself in the rôle of Eros. Quite early in their acquaintance the idea had occurred to him that young Winfield might be just the man for Katherine. He had been at some pains to pursue the connection—all in the most open and natural way—and his first impressions were confirmed. The lad had a few sentimental notions that prevented him from yielding wholeheartedly to the modern methods of farming that the older man advised, but Mr. Martenhays, himself a kind-hearted man, could understand and sympathise with his reluctance to uproot the frail and elderly. Time would eventually attend to that, and Mr. Martenhays respected his young friend’s decision to leave it so. In every other way he showed promise of being an ideal son-in-law. He was intelligent and hard-working, and did not squander his blunt on gaming or racing. He enjoyed a mug of ale but he was temperate in both eating and drinking. And he was well-born, coming from the same class as Katherine’s long-dead Mama. Mr. Martenhays admitted that, providing everything else was in tune, he would like to see his girl marry into the landed gentry. He did not know how Winfield appeared to feminine eyes, but he was a well set up sort of man, good looking enough in a high-nosed sort of way, and pleasant-mannered with it. Apart from that one tiff over the pendant, he and Katherine had appeared to get along pretty comfortably together. He himself, he felt, had indicated his approval when he had said that he and Winfield ought to go into partnership. If the young man could not accept so broad a hint, he was more of a slow-top than Mr. Martenhays had reckoned for. His daughter he had assessed rather better. He believed that she had gone off to London to make up her mind. After all, even though Winfield and the Priory seemed to her father to offer her precisely the kind of life that would suit her, it was a big decision to make. Marriage lasted a long time. She was wise to draw off for a while to think it over.
But this letter of Julia’s was another pair of shoes. No young rakeshame, however charming, was going to marry his daughter. Had the girl run mad? Or had she and Winfield quarrelled so disastrously that she was seeking any kind of balm for her hurts? It might be sensible to ride over to the Priory and see if he could pick up a hint as to how matters stood.
But although he was Dermot’s master in business affairs, and even in some matters concerning the wise management of land, in matters of the heart he was the merest amateur. Dermot betrayed nothing, save a natural and friendly interest in Miss Martenhays’s sojourn in the Metropolis, expressing the hope that she was enjoying all the amenities that were so sadly lacking in rustic circles. The exchange ended with an exasperated Mr. Martenhays revealing a good deal more than he had intended. The very fact that Mr. Winfield did not press him for his confidence made him more expansive.
“There’s one amenity that I for one could well dispense with,” he grunted savagely. “She seems to be encouraging the attentions of a handsome, useless fribble. According to her aunt’s account, he haunts the place. Young Sandiford. You’ll have heard of him, maybe, though I reckon he’s an older man than you. Been on the Town ever since he was sent down from Oxford, and if there’s any foolish, mischievous prank that he hasn’t tried, it’s because he’s never heard of it. Gaming, racing, boxing the watch, squandering his blunt on any reckless wager that took his fancy, though, to give him his due, he did steer clear of the Hellfire Club. Up to his ears in debt, of course. That goes without saying. And to be making up to my girl! It’s her money he’s after. You can lay your life on that.”
He paused for breath, mopped a heated brow, and realised that he had been more than a little indiscreet.
“Shouldn’t have told you any of this,” he muttered apologetically. “Other people’s troubles a dead bore. ‘Specially when there’s nothing you can do to help. But it has helped, just spilling it all out to you, if that’s any excuse. The thing that puts me all on end is the fellow’s uselessness. I wouldn’t mind that he owed money for the shirt on his back if the back had ever been bent in honest toil. I’ve nothing against a poor man. Often thank God that I was never poor myself, for I was born into the world hosed and shod, as they say, though I make no pretentions to gentle blood. Merchant stock, and comfortable with it. My wife was gently born. Pluck to the backbone, too, or she’d never have stuck to her promise and married me in the face of her parents’ opposition. Katherine is like her in looks. Fragile and gentle. But until now I’ve always thought she resembled me in mind and character. She’s a worker, my Katherine, and shrewd, for a female. Wants to be of some use in the world. What would she do with a smart husband who has no higher ambition than to set a fashion in waistcoats, or the proper tying of a neckcloth, or to kick up foolish larks to vent his superabundant energies? If she imagines that such a one would suit her, she must be all about in her head.”
Dermot suppressed his own deep dismay at this report, and returned a soothing answer. It was years since he had spent a Season in Town, but he well remembered the place as a hotbed of gossip. Small incidents were exaggerated out of all proportion.
“One cannot blame this gentlemen for paying his addresses to Miss Martenhays,” he pointed out. “She is a most attractive young lady, with none of the ridiculous affectations that spoil so many of our fashionable beauties. Small wonder that she is a social success. It is perfectly possible that this Viscount Sandiford is genuinely attached to her, in which case he may be eager and willing to change his way of life.”
“Eager and willing’s one thing. Determined and persevering’s another,” growled Mr. Martenhays. “No doubt he’d be full of fair promises. Probably he’d mean ’em at the time. But once the knot was tied and he could hang up his debts to my account, how long d’you think his good resolutions would last? He’s not a half broke youngster. He’s a man of the world; set in his ways.”
Dermot was silenced. Presently Mr. Martenhays went on more quietly, “It’s not as though I couldn’t stand the nonsense. I’d spend every penny I have to see my girl happy. But she wouldn’t be. She’s a careful, thoughtful girl. Silly at times, of course, as females are. Look at that business with those damned tinkers! But down at heart she’s sensible enough. She’d not like to see my hard-earned money frittered away on the kind of excesses to which young Sandiford is given.”
There was a brief silence. He stood up, finished his wine, and said, with a half reluctant laugh, “I have surely betrayed my merchant blood. Not that I care about it, with you. You work as hard for your incomings as ever I did, so you understand. It’s not the money itself, but the greed for it; in those who do not know what work means. That is what frightens me. That is what I resent.”
Mr. Winfield persuaded him to stay t
o supper, but none of his comforting remarks about the good sense to be expected of Miss Martenhays, or the character of Lord Sandiford, were successful in cheering his guest. He waved him away as dusk was falling, genuinely sorry for as likeable a man as he had ever met.
Chapter Nine
Once the distraction of Mr. Martenhays’s presence was removed, it did not take Dermot long to come to a decision. Never mind the work that he had planned for the next week or two. He would go up to Town and see for himself the style of this Viscount Sandiford who aspired to marry the girl that he loved. He might turn out to be a decent sort of fellow; in which case he, Dermot, would be obliged to resign himself to acceptance of Katherine’s choice. But if he turned out to be the fortune-hunting loose-screw of Mr. Martenhays’s gloomy prognostications, then the girl would have to be protected against herself. He was not quite sure how he would set about it, but somehow he would put a spoke in the fellow’s wheel.
He would have to put up at an hotel, not being possessed of that expensive luxury, a house of his own in Town. Fenton’s would serve. He remembered it as comfortable enough, and in any case, if he meant to follow the social round he would see very little of it! Which reminded him that he must look up one or two old friends and enlist their good offices to get himself invited to some of the ton parties, where he might expect to see Katherine and her beau. He did not anticipate any difficulty there. Though it was some years since he had graced the social scene, there were friends of his mother’s who would give him a kindly welcome for her sake.
