“Claymore was here this afternoon.” He looked closely at her as he delivered this news, noticing that she turned a shade paler. It was the only change that did occur, though. He could tell nothing positive from it.
“Oh, what did he want?” she asked.
“He wanted permission to offer for you.”
“What!” She stared. Adam stared, too, at her, and there was no doubt in the world she was amazed. So, there had been nothing between them. At least the fellow had told the truth about that. “You—you must have misunderstood, Papa. It was Wanda he liked, and he knows she is engaged, for he came to offer his congratulations before going to Bath.”
“There is no mistake. He spoke of Wanda as well. It is you he wants to marry.”
“I don’t believe it. It is a joke,” she said, and if she considered it a joke, she was not amused.
“No joke. I told him it was all right with me. But it is for you to decide.”
“I don’t understand. Is it a marriage of convenience he has in mind?”
Her father smiled. “Convenient for
us.”
He laughed, remembering the settlement. “No, he says he loves you.”
It had been my intention to offer for you .....
She looked dazed, but a hint of a smile was beginning to play at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t believe it,” she said, with great truth and simplicity.
“Still, it’s true. He comes back tomorrow morning. Think about it. I didn’t tell your mother . . .” He let it hang, but what was unsaid was perfectly clear to his daughter.
“Oh, I—I suppose I ought to accept such an advantageous offer,” she said rather diffidently.
“Not if you don’t like him, Ellie. You are young. Next year you will be presented, meet all sorts of young gentlemen. . . .”
“Yes, I will think about it, Papa,” she replied. From the happy smile on her face, he didn’t think she would be long in making up her mind. So, she loved him. That was good then. She was hardly likely to do better, no matter how many Seasons she had in London. A marquis, twenty thousand a year. Odd about his fancying Wanda before, though. Well, nothing in that. Wanda appeared prettier at first; once he got a taste of her uppity ways and flirting, he would see Ellie was worth ten of her, if he had a brain in his head.
Ellie wandered from the room, as though in a trance, and went up to her chamber, unwilling to share her precious secret till she had squeezed every drop of romance and glory from it in private first.
It had been my intention to offer for you....
And now he was going to do it, in spite of the horrid things she had said to him. She had thought she had ruined her chances completely that night in the garden when she had said all manner of rude and insulting things to him. Whatever had induced him to change his mind? Oh, what did it matter? She was to marry him! And he loved her—had told Papa so. Many times she relived her first proposal, received in her nightdress through her bedroom window; then she went mentally through their entire acquaintance, trying to spot the exact moment when he had decided he loved her. They had not been often together, and when they had, it was mostly Wanda he was paying attention to. So when had he fallen in love with herself? It was really only at the dance that they had had any private conversation, and it was hardly of a nature to endear her to him. Yet even before that night, he must have begun to love her. The recurrent phrase that had been spinning through her head for weeks replayed itself.
It had been my intention to offer for you....
Her mind ran back further ... the first night he had dined they had had a few words in the library, but there had been nothing in that. She decided, in some doubt and confusion, that the magic moment must have occurred while Clay was at Bath, absence, apparently, having made his heart grow fonder.
Later in the evening she went belowstairs a few moments with her mama and Wanda, but she could not sit still, or bear to give up her secret so soon. She went back up to her room, and it was very late before she slept. Still, in spite of her late night, she was up early the next morning. She spent a long time in choosing a dress, wishing that she had in the past taken more concern for her wardrobe. There was nothing here worthy of receiving a proposal in. She chose the same sprigged muslin she had worn to Needford and, not having thought to do her hair up in papers the night before, she pulled it back in its usual fashion. She never wore any makeup, but anticipation lent a sparkle to her eyes, and a blush to her cheeks. She could not eat breakfast. She had two cups of tea, and then returned to her room to wait, and was sick.
It seemed an age she waited, alternately sitting on the edge of her bed, then pacing about the room, then going to the window and looking down the road for a sign of his coming. Would he come in his curricle, or on horseback? He didn’t come at all. All the morning long she waited—ten-thirty, eleven, eleven forty-five, and still he did not come. There was ample time to imagine it had all been a cruel hoax, a revenge. He had been drunk again—only Papa had not said so. He had changed his mind, had met someone else he liked better. He was as fickle as fate—had dangled after Wanda first, and only because the Rose had spurned him. He was a known philanderer. And why didn’t he
come!
It was just lacking ten minutes of noon when she was called down to the Green Saloon, and confronted with the nervous Marquis, who was biting his lips and silently reminding himself that after Everleigh, he was the best catch in England. He looked at Ellie as she entered, and the first thought that popped into his head was, “Good God, did I offer twenty-five thousand for
her?”
She smiled nervously, licked her lips, and said, “Good morning, my lord.”
He surveyed the washerwoman hair, the pale cheeks, blanched from the strain of waiting, the dreary gown, and an image of the Golden Rose arose before his eyes, laughing, teasing, delightful. Rex had told him that Everleigh had settled only fifteen thousand on the Rose.
“Good morning, Miss Ellie,” he replied woodenly. They stood assessing each other, almost like combatants. It was he who finally said, “Well, shall we sit down and be comfortable?”
She sank gratefully onto the closest chair, but no one could be comfortable hanging off the very edge of it, as she was. “I—I didn’t know you planned to return to the Abbey from Bath,” she said, to fill the resounding silence that thundered around their ears.
“No, I didn’t. That is—it was not my intention.”
It had been my intention to offer for you....
“That’s what I thought,” she returned.
“Yes, well I suppose you know why I am come?”
He
tried to sound hearty, but succeeded only in sounding loud, loud and reverberating in the large saloon.
“Yes, Papa told me.” He could hardly hear her reply, so softly she spoke.
From the strained expression on her white face. Claymore suddenly conceived the notion that she was going to refuse him. He had not thought of this as a possible reprieve.
Of course, she had already as well as refused him!
“What do I do now?” he asked, rather giddy with relief. “Do I go down on my knee and beg your hand?”
“No, you needn’t do that, Lord Claymore.”
“My name, you know, is Giles. Giles Darrow,” he said, as her words began to take on a wonderful significance. “You needn’t do that...” It was to be a refusal!
“Is it?” she asked blankly. “Fancy that.”
“Well, what is your answer?” he asked genially.
“You haven’t asked a question yet, my lord,” she reproved gently. Her first—her only—proposal. She had to have more than this.
“Will you do me the honor to be my wife?”
“Yes, I will marry you, Giles.”
He looked, blinked, and said, “What?”
“I said yes, I will marry you,” she repeated in a loud firm voice, fearing that he had not heard her the first time.
“That’s what I thought you said,” he replied stupidly, his heart sinking. He stared hard at her, comparing her unfavorably with the Rose, and wondering what folly he had committed now. He forgot for the moment that he had already leaked word of his engagement, and a refusal would have resulted in great shame. He remembered only that she had as well as
promised
she would not have him, and here she was, snatching at the title and fortune the minute he offered them. “Well, that’s good then,” he heard some liar say (the words seemed to come from his own mouth). “That’s fine, Ellie.” Some unknown force was pulling him to his feet.
“Shall we tell Mama?” she asked.
“Yes, certainly. Let us go and tell your parents.” He felt the noose tighten about his neck and gulped.
He looked so strange, so stricken, that she felt sorry for him. “Would you like
me
to tell her? Perhaps you will want a breath of air.”
“Yes, air. That’s the thing,” he rattled inanely, suddenly overcome by a pressing need for air, freedom, for getting away.
“You will return for dinner this evening?” she pressed on.
“Yes. Return for dinner.” He turned on his heel and fled as though the hordes of Boney were after him. Ellie sat, alone, thinking. It was an excessively odd proposal. She had preferred the first one, even if he had been drunk. “Drunk with love for you, my pretty,” he had said. She smiled wistfully at the memory. Well, she supposed it had been a great strain for him. For herself, she had twice that morning been sick while awaiting his arrival. No doubt he had, too, for he acted so very strange. Hardly happy at all that she had accepted him. Almost disappointed, in fact.
She went in search of her mama, and found her in the morning room with Wanda, pouring over fashion magazines from London.
“I have something to tell you. Mama,” she said.
“Yes, love. What is it?” her mother asked over her shoulder.
“I have had an offer from Claymore.”
“What? Is he back? And what does he wish of you, Ellie?” The books dropped, and her full attention turned on her elder daughter.
“Lord Claymore has made me an offer of
marriage,
and I have accepted.”
“Ellie! He never! Surely not an offer ... Wanda, did you hear that?”
Wanda heard, and her pretty little face became rigid. “You’re lying,” she spat angrily.
“No, he did. Just now. He is coming for dinner.”
“Ellie! Wanda!” Mrs. Wanderley was on her feet, turning this way and that, looking at her daughters, while she digested the wonderful news. “Are you
sure?
But how wonderful! How delightful. A marquis, with goodness knows how much money ... we must ask Joan, she will know.”
“I know, Mama. It is twenty thousand a year,” Ellie said.
“Twenty thousand! Did you hear that, Wanda? Rich as a nabob. And a title. And Ellie never even brought out.”
“It’s not true,” Wanda said, noticing the strange expression on Ellie’s face. She would be happier than that if she had really had an offer from Claymore.
“Don’t be so absurd,” her mother snapped. “Of course, it is true. I must tell Adam. So strange that he didn’t speak to your papa first. He ought to have ...”
“He did. Yesterday.”
“And he never said a word to me! Such a man, really. You have had the sense to accept, so it is no mind. And he comes to dinner, you say. We must have something special. What does he like, Ellie?”
“I don’t know.” Ellie suddenly realized that she knew virtually nothing about him, except that he had very nice brown eyes, and she felt jumpy when he was near her, worse when he was not. She thought it was love; she hoped she wasn’t mistaken.
“Ho, you don’t know a thing about him,” Wanda threw in. “I don’t believe he offered for you either. You are only jealous because I am to be married before you.”
“Now, really, Wanda,” her mother expostulated angrily. “When is the wedding to be, Ellie?”
“We have not decided yet, Mama.”
“It can’t be till after Wanda’s, for we will want a large do—a marquis, after all.”
“Did he really offer for you?” Wanda asked.
“Yes, of course he did,” Ellie replied, not even offended. The shock to her was not that Wanda did not believe it, but that her mother did.
“He only did it because of
my
accepting George, so you needn’t think he loves you. Yes, and he didn’t love me either. It is only that he was jilted by Rose, and he would take
anyone
rather than go back to London single. He is excessively proud and rude and
fast,
for he kissed me at the assembly at Needford.”
“Wanda!” her mother turned on her in wrath. “Really, that is too bad of you. What would George say if he heard of this?”
“He already knows. He saw us;
I
made sure of that.”
Ellie looked at her sister with a black hatred rising in her bosom. “It is nothing to brag about, Wanda. He would not have kissed you if you had not encouraged him.”
“Pooh!
He likes me better than he likes you. I could have him today if I wanted him. Lucky for you I don’t.”
“This is the greatest nonsense, Wanda, and I wish you would stop making a goose of yourself. You are engaged to George, and there will be no more of this talk of kissing. I am excessively displeased with you. Even Caroline was not so fast as that.”
“He would not have offered for me if he liked you,” Ellie said, concealing her uncertainty under a thin veneer of sarcasm. Of course he had always preferred Wanda, and it was only after her engagement that he had offered for herself.
“Yes, and I don’t think you care for him either,” Wanda shot back. “You are only marrying a title. I would never be so crass.”
“Well, and what if she is?” Mrs. Wanderley took up the cudgels. “You might have done better than plain
Mr.
Hibbard yourself, my dear. The other girls both got a title.”
“Pooh, a phony Polish count,” Wanda replied.
“There is nothing in the least phony about Siderow.
He
is accepted everywhere. And so will Ellie be. The Marchioness of Claymore—just think of it.”
“That is not why I am marrying him,” Ellie said sternly.
“No, I suppose you are
madly
in love with him,” Wanda jeered. “You never spared him a glance or even fixed yourself to look decent to nab him, so don’t try to con us it is a love match. He is not nearly so handsome as George, and he is insincere, mouthing all sorts of compliments that he doesn’t mean in the least. A desperate flirt—that’s all he is, only trying to nab
someone,
some poor credulous creature, so that he may flaunt her in front of the Rose.
I
wasn’t so taken in. Little credit
you
will do him in London, in any case. I am surprised he was so desperate as this.”