“Thing is,”
Rex advised, assuming his wise face, “you can just deny it flat. Say it was all a misunderstanding, and you can be sure the Wanderleys will say the same thing. Who’s to believe it, when you both deny it flat?”
“I can’t take any more humiliation, Rex. Everyone will think I’ve been ditched again. I’m going back to the Abbey, and I’ll
make
her marry me.”
Chapter Eight
The gentlemen arrived back at the Abbey on the very day chosen by Mrs. Homberly for leaving for Bath. She was excessively cross with her son for not being prepared to accompany her on the trip. No lessening of her anger occurred when she learned that he was not only not to accompany her, but had plans to entertain in her house, with half its servants gone and the drawing room in holland covers, a very eligible young Marquis (who was excessively fond of Missie). Rex accepted her tirade calmly, told her not to worry, he and Clay would do fine with the Ruxteds, the couple who were staying behind to look after the house. Finally, to appease her wrath, he told her they would join her at Bath later, though he was pretty sure this formed no part of Claymore’s plans. The Marquis was spared her abuse, as he was upstairs directing his valet to get him some clean linens and press a coat, as he was going to make a call directly.
Within ten minutes of the family’s quarrelsome departure he was downstairs in the Rose Saloon, sitting on a holland cover that had been placed over the “good” rose cut velvet chair, to prevent its becoming dusty. He was rubbing his chin, and rehearsing words designed to soften the heart of a woman who hated him. Unfortunately it was the words “marquis” and “twenty thousand a year” that kept recurring, and he was by no means sure they were the right ones. In his own mind they were the sole advantages he had to offer, for at this moment of truth he was only too aware of his own ugly person, his extravagance, and generally worthless character.
Rex entered, eating a ham sandwich he had procured from Mrs. Ruxted in the kitchen. “You’re all cleaned up,” he said accusingly.
“I can’t make an offer in form in dirty linens and dusty top boots,” Clay returned angrily.
“You’re never going to do it
today!
I thought you’d wait a bit. Soften her up first. Flatter her and so on. Maybe take her for a spin in your curricle.”
“She hates flattery. That is precisely when she began to hate me, when I told her she was prettier than Wanda. I have been reconsidering that whole night, and that is when she first began to glare at me. Yes, and rides in the curricle don’t work either. It was the curricle that turned Wanda on me, the day I took her to Needford. Well forget the flattery and curricle rides and get on with making the offer.”
“Can’t do it on an empty stomach. I’ll have Mrs. Ruxted fix you some bread and meat.”
“I don’t want food. My stomach is churning already. What should I say, Rex?”
“What did you say to Rose?”
“Whatever I said, it was not efficacious. As you may just happen to recall, she turned me down.”
“That’s true,” Rex said, licking a blob of mustard from his thumb. “I’ll tell you what, Clay. Tell her you love her. That ought to do it. You wouldn’t stick at one little white lie, would you? Shouldn’t think so anyway. Been telling enough of ‘em, all over Bath any time this fortnight. Only thing to do. Daresay you’ll come to love her in time. A nice little thing, Ellie.”
“I
do
love her,” Clay said, scowling harder than ever at Rex, who was looking at him in amazement.
“Eh? Love Ellie? Since when?”
“Since ... oh, devil take it, how should I know? But I do love her, Rex. That’s why I don’t know what to say. It was no problem with the Rose, for I don’t think I really cared a hoot whether she had me or not, except for my pride. But I
love
Ellie.”
“Tell her then. That’ll turn the trick. See if it don’t.”
“It won’t if she hates me,” Clay said gloomily.
“Write her a poem,” Rex said, marveling at his ingenuity.
“I don’t know how to write a poem.”
“Used to scribble ‘em off to the Rose. Seen you do it a score of times.”
“Just changing a word here or there in a
real
poem. That won’t work with Ellie. She
reads.”
He arose and said staunchly, “I’m off. The worst she can do is refuse me. She can’t kill me.”
“No, no. Not violent at all. Besides, you’re bigger than she is.” Rex’s reassurance went unheard, as Clay was already heading for the door.
Mrs. Wanderley and Wanda were in the village selecting materials for lingerie—the bride’s clothes proper would be purchased in London, but they had to buy something to entertain themselves. The butler informed Claymore that Mr. Wanderley was in the conservatory. With sinking heart. Clay made his way to the overheated building and found Adam poking his fingers into black soil around a strange-looking plant with thick spreading stems covered with large spines.
“Grandicornis,” Adam told him. “Of the Euphorbia family, all the way from Africa. This soil is too moist. It’s a succulent plant, like cactus. Abel must have watered. It’s going soft around the roots.”
“That’s very interesting, sir,” Claymore told him. “Er, I wish to speak to you on a matter of some importance.”
“Yes, go ahead. I’m listening,” Adam said over his shoulder. If he could hear over the clatter of pots and watering jugs, it would be a miracle.
“About your daughter, sir....”
“Too late. She took Hibbard,” Adam replied offhandedly.
“Not Miss Wanda, sir.
It’s Ellie I hope to offer for, if you don’t dislike the connection.”
“Ellie?” The clatter stopped, and the head came up to attention. “No. Ellie ain’t out yet.”
“Well, I know that, sir, but she
is
eighteen.”
“What do you want her for?” Adam asked bluntly.
His
suspicious eye seemed to suggest the reason could not possibly be a good one.
“Well, I
love
her.”
“How does she feel about you?” Claymore felt no eyes had ever looked so deeply into his soul as those blue eyes that were trained on him now. Almost as if they could read the truth—that Ellie hated him.
“I—I don’t know, exactly. I haven’t spoken to her,
see. Sir.”
“Ho, don’t try to gull me you haven’t been making up to her on the sly. Will she have you?”
“I don’t know.” Clay felt his shirt stick to his back, with the combined heat of discomfort and the conservatory.
“All alike, you London beaux. Young Siderow slithering around behind trees with Joan, saying he didn’t know if she’d have him too, never knowing she told me I was to give my permission two days before. Well, Ellie hasn’t said anything to me. It’s up to her. She has no fortune to speak of, you know. You’ll have to do something handsome for her.”
“I am prepared to do that. I have twenty thousand a year.”
“I know that. Know all about it. Thought it was Wanda you were after, or I’d have hinted you away.”
Claymore looked at him in perplexity. The objection obviously was not to himself, if he was considered good enough for Wanda. Nor did he quite forget, in his state of alarm, that he was a marquis, with twenty thousand a year. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, sir.”
“I’ll make it clear then. Ever since Wanda was two years old she’s had an eye for the fellows. The only thing for a girl like that is to get her buckled up young, and
I’m
not too fussy who gets her. He’ll have his hands full, and no bargain either. Well, the Hibbards are settling ten thousand on Wanda. Ellie is a different matter. She’s young—young-thinking, I mean—not in any hurry to get riveted. She’ll improve with age, as Joanie did. She might have whom she pleases when she gets to town, and I’m in no hurry to give her away.”
“I have agreed to make a settlement.”
“It’s no paltry ten thousand. You understand that?”
“Paltry!”
“Paltry.” The eagle eye glared, and Claymore felt his own eyes fall.
“How much?” he asked.
Adam considered the most prohibitive figure that would still be within the realm of reason, and said in a firm voice, “Twenty-five thousand.”
“Good God!” Clay exclaimed. “I don’t have that much in cash.”
“Get it then. Come back when you have it.”
“It would take years.”
“Haven’t you got any saved up? You get twenty thousand a year. Surely you don’t run through that sum.”
“With my estate in Somerset, and the London residence ... I haven’t more than ten thousand in cash. Bonds that is, and Consols.”
“Set up some arrangement with your man of business. You can cut back your expenses to ten a year and pay off the rest over the next couple of years. Set up a trust fund. I mean to see that Ellie gets twenty-five thousand. That’s what Joan got.” (Or was supposed to get, he said to himself, though after ten years it was still not paid off, and never would be.) “Caroline now, she was like Wanda. Tameson gave her fifteen, and we’d have taken ten. Who’s to say you won’t die young, without a male heir, and there is Ellie out in the cold, with some cousin of yours taking over the estate and leaving her cooped up in some little Dower House. She’s not the type who would be marrying another man in the space of a year or two. Not like that. Someone has to look after her. Twenty-five thousand is the price, take it or leave it.”
Adam turned away, and began pouring some green liquid into a watering pot. He hadn’t a doubt in the world he had gotten rid of Claymore. No one in his right head would fork over twenty-five thousand. The lad didn’t care a hoot for Ellie; had been dangling after Wanda two weeks ago. Still, you couldn’t very well tell a marquis to go take a leap. Let Ellie come out in the usual way. Another year or two she’d know her own mind.
Claymore swallowed twice, during which time the thought flashed through his mind that, as he had suspected all along, the girls were for sale, and at no bargain prices either. “Very well. Twenty-five thousand it is,” he answered hollowly.
Adam jerked around to look at him, his face incredulous. The man was a fool. “You have my permission,” Adam said curtly. “Mind, I bring no pressure to bear on the girl. It’s up to her.”
“I understand,” Claymore said. He reached out and shook hands with Adam, then, brushing the mud from his right hand, he left, in a daze.
He was trembling when he got outdoors in the fresh air. Twenty-five thousand pounds, by God. He’d been made to accept it. Where the devil was he to get his hands on twenty-five thousand pounds? He was angry, offended, and not in the least triumphant at the bargain he had struck. That he, the Marquis of Claymore, should be groveling for the hand of a country gentleman’s daughter, and paying a preposterous sum for her. Twenty-five thousand! What had come over him? If his mother ever found out, she’d kill him. He bet Everleigh hadn’t settled anything like that sum on the Rose, and
he
was old enough he might go popping off any day. He was in no mood to make an offer to Ellie, but he supposed he must now. He was actually relieved when he was told, back at the house, that she was out visiting an aunt in the village. He left a message that he would return the next morning. He wanted a night to consider his folly.
Dinner at the Wanderleys was not attended by any guests that evening, but the table was a lively one for all that. Wanda’s wedding date had been set for the autumn, giving her a whole spring and summer to arrange her bride’s clothes and enjoy her role as the fiancée. She was enjoying it to the hilt. Even more would she enjoy the trip to London for shopping. She and her mama would go very soon, so as to get home before the paralyzing heat of summer struck the city. The date of mid-October for the wedding had been chosen with the convenience of the married sisters in mind, for they were both increasing, and would be delivered in late August. By October they would be able to travel home and take part in the festivities.
The mother and daughters were all full of plans. Ellie was to be bridesmaid, so that she, too, had to participate in the selection of gowns, and as she had not been present for the shopping, she was treated to a long list of necessary items that could very well be purchased right in Needford, and save hauling them from London.
Her papa supposed Ellie’s lack of enthusiasm to be due to pique at being left behind when Wanda married, and he smiled at the news he had for her. He made no mention of it in front of his wife, for if she got ahold of it, Ellie would be bound to have Claymore whether she wanted him or no. He would tell her in private, and if she didn’t want him, he wouldn’t say a word. Twenty-five thousand, though—you could have bowled him over when the lad agreed to it. Must be devilish fond of Ellie to have swallowed such a sum. But a strange turn it was, when he’d made no bones about dangling after Wanda not two weeks before. Something off there. He’d speak to Joan about it. She was the one who was up to every rig in London. If there was something amiss with the fellow, she’d be the one to know.
A smile of contentment settled on his face as he considered Joan. She was his favorite of all his daughters, closely followed by Ellie. He used to worry about that Siderow she married—Polish, and lord only knew whether he was a count or not, as he said he was. But Esterhazy knew him, and he seemed to have the blunt; went everywhere, and was well thought of. Not that he cared about that so long as Joan was happy with him. And she was; not a doubt of it. Be no bad thing for little Ellie to nab herself a marquis. No question about
his
title anyway, for the Claymores were one of the oldest aristocratic families in England.
After dinner Adam and Abel made no motion to remain behind with their port. Adam beckoned Ellie to follow him into his study. This elicited no suspicion from his wife, for Ellie frequently gave Adam a hand with ordering his expensive plants. Or it might be something to do with that history she was writing up. Adam knew more about those things than she knew—or cared.
“I have news for you, Ellie,” Adam said, as he seated himself in his comfortable chair in front of the grate, and lit up his cigar (imported).
“What is it, Papa?” she asked, with no undue interest.