He stared at her for one brief moment and then went on more briskly, “I did, I know, some quite unforgiveable things, but then I do not wish to be forgiven. I cannot say I’m sorry for what I’ve done. How can I feel remorse when had I not done it, you would not be here with me now? And I cannot turn back the clock. I can hardly go back to your aunt and Cousin Harry, and bow, and say, “By and by, I was lying, I have never touched Regina at
all. I am, after all, only a blackguard.” No, I cannot. And I don’t think I would want to. You didn’t belong with them, you know. And I can’t stop Miss Bekins on the high seas and pirate her back to her pitiful little school in Canterbury. But I can make restitution. For you see, Regina, a good friend of mine,” he paused and laughed and went on, “But I exaggerate even now. Rather say, my one good friend recently reminded me of another wager I once made. A wager in which the winning was far more bitter than the losing. I think I am done with wagers for a space. Regina, our game is canceled. I have not won, but neither have you lost. I shall give you a certain sum of money, and you may do as you please with it. You will be free. And somewhat wealthy. So you can finally discover what it is you want of life, and what it is life wants of you. There, it is done in a stroke. All done. But curiously, unlike what the preachers all say, I do not feel instantly cleansed, or one whit better. But it is done. I am the rulemaker of this game. And I have ended it as a draw. You can establish your own school, or travel and join your Miss Bekins. Or become a patron of lost causes. Or even go back and take over little Lucy’s job. Whatever you wish. You will be completely free.”
But Regina, looking at the pale and tormented face before her, only felt dizzy with the realization that had suddenly come to her. That all along she had felt drawn to him. That each time she encountered him she felt truly alive. That his mocking face had intruded on all her thoughts, awake or asleep, since she had met him.
She looked at him and wanted to be close in his arms again. She wanted to hear him rage, and mock, and discourse. She wanted to laugh and cry with him. He had entered her life and brought with him life, and she had the feeling that if he left now, he would take with him part of her life. She no more understood him than she understood herself, but now, in the heightened state of awareness that she had reached through turmoil and weariness, only her instincts still worked for her. And she knew that she did not want to leave him.
She walked close to him. “I do not want your money,” she said slowly, “nor do I accept your charity. I consider that I have lost the game. I accept only that.”
“Damn you!” he said savagely, and drew her close to him. “What are you trying to do to me, Regina? What other new defense are you breaching now? How far will you go before you destroy me entirely? You are leaving me nothing, you know,” he breathed into her hair. She felt his body shudder, and then he spoke softly again.
“Then you will have to marry me, Regina. You could do worse, but I don’t see how.”
All her exhaustion suddenly vanished, and she pulled away from him.
“Marry you?” she cried.
“Yes, it is not Sinjin’s ‘offer,’ you know. I make you a true offer. Marry me.”
“So that you can complete your degradation!” she cried to his astounded look. “So that you can finally prove to all and sundry that you have no care for your rank or name? So that you can snap you fingers and say, ‘See what I have done now? See how I am married to a nothing, to a no one, to a nonentity?’ Oh no, you shall not use me thus.”
“No, no, Regina,” he said, his voice between laughter and tears. “What sort of nonsense is this? If I wished to marry for that reason, I assure you…oh, I assure you that there are others far more suitable to those purposes than you. Others of my much more intimate acquaintance, Regina.”
“But I am not a lady,” Regina protested.
“But you will be a Duchess,” he smiled, “and if I wished to find someone unsuitable…oh Regina, you have no idea of how many unsuitable females I have managed to know. You, at least, can speak, and read, and write, and reason. You have not lived in the gutter. Oh, if I wanted to astound the world with a wife, I could do far better than you. But you are wrong, Regina, you
are
a lady, you know.”
“But Sinjin said,” she began, “that if I married…him, I would be sneered at, snubbed, avoided…it would be a scandal.”
“Oh,” he laughed, holding her close again and rocking her. “It will be a scandal, my love, to see how many, how very many will trip over themselves to become acquainted with you, to issue invitations, to include you in their every affair of consequence. For you will have a title, but more than that, you will have money and power. It is marvelous what a social equalizer that is. Oh you will be accepted. That is, if you wish to be. But I somehow doubt that it will be important to you. But if it is, you will have that. My birth, if not my worth, will give that to you, if you want it. And as for me, why I never cared about my acceptance and, strangely enough, neither has the world. And for those others who insist on being high sticklers, why, you wouldn’t like them anyway. But for your children, love, why distance lends acceptability—they will be as acceptable socially as golden guineas, I assure you.”
“Why do you ask me to marry you,” she asked, holding him tightly, “when I have already agreed to your bargain?”
“Because it is best for you,” he said, giving her a light kiss for each reply, “because I have a softness for green eyes, because you are lovely, because I wish to be envied, because I want to.”
“No, why?” she asked again.
“Would you unman me entirely?” he smiled. “Would you win all, sweep up all the winnings and leave me without a cent in my pocket? Ah, Regina, you grow greedy.”
“But I must know,” she protested.
“First answer me,” he said. “First give me your answer. For unlike Sinjin, I do not take your silence for ‘yes.’ Oh no, your silences are too loud for that. First answer—but know now,” he said, “I do not offer you a marriage of convenience. I am too selfish for that. If you take me, you must take me completely. My money and my life, you little highwayman, for it would be a real marriage, of mind and body. Now answer, just one syllable, but answer,” he said. And then prevented any answer by covering her lips with his own. She clung to him, staggered by her avid response to him, as though through no will of her own, as though her body had more wisdom than her brain. Here at last, she felt warm, protected, and at peace. Yet his lips, his clever hands, and the taut strength of his body brought her everything but peace. And then, when she felt she must somehow get even closer to him although she did not know how that could be achieved when she was locked to him already, he raised his head suddenly, seemingly to listen. He drew away from her, and walked to the window and stood staring out. His shoulders seemed to slump. She stood wavering, feeling bereft, as though a part of herself had gone with him.
Now that he had left her and she could admit the world again, she too heard the muted stampings of horses, the rattle of a vehicle, the sound of voices, the inn doors opening, the sounds of fresh activity.
“You are saved again,” he said wearily, still looking out of the window. “For see, enter the deus ex machina. Comes the conquering hero. The shining knight. Again, Regina, you are saved from me. Perhaps it is best,” he mused, almost to himself. “It was a mad idea at any rate. It was not remotely noble. I was only taking advantage again. It is poetic justice, it is deserved.”
He swung about from the window.
“Come in, Sinjin,” he called pleasantly as the knock came upon the door, “We await your pleasure.”
XVII
St. John stood in the doorway. He saw Regina immediately. Her pallor, her exhaustion, the state of her dress, still crushed and damp from the rain and her travels, and her wide green eyes a little frantic, struck him to the heart. Ignoring the Duke’s low bow, he strode to her side.
“Regina,” he said, “you are all right? You are safe?”
“Untouched,” Torquay laughed. “Ah, but you arrive in a good time. In but a moment more, she would have been foully ravished. Cruelly used. Lancelot, you arrive in time. In a good hour.”
“I am well, Sinjin,” Regina replied, and looked up at him with disbelief. “Why did you follow me here?”
“But I had to,” he said urgently. “I had to find you and speak with you. You were right, Regina. Right to leave when you did. It was the best thing you could have done. It…confirmed all that I felt about you. Regina, look at me, I must speak with you.”
“But take off your coat, Sinjin,” the Duke said lightly, “for you are dripping rain all over Regina, and I have only just dried her out.”
“Leave us alone, Torquay,” St. John said roughly, casting off his dripping cloak and staring down at Regina.
“So that I do not awaken love’s young dream? Yes, I am
de trop
now, obviously,” the Duke said, walking toward the door.
“No,” cried Regina. “Do not leave, Your Grace, please, please stay here.”
“But Regina,” St. John said in a deep low voice, “I must speak with you…alone.”
“His Grace has the right to hear anything that you might say to me. Is he not a player in your game?” Regina insisted with unfamiliar harshness. “Please stay,” she asked again of the Duke, who stood by the door.
He smiled, and shrugged, and closed the door. He stationed himself by the window, watching her with a bemused expression.
“Regina,” said St. John, taking both of her hands in his, “it was wrong of me to presume both upon your innocence and the situation that you found yourself in. When I read your note, I had already realized that fact. I came home from London to tell you so. I have been following your traces since you left us. I have inquired at every inn along the route. I have been frantic. Amelia is with me. She is just outside the door. She…she berated me too, Regina,” he said, remembering the cold fury with which Amelia had greeted him, the contempt in her voice, the icy quiet that she had maintained throughout the days of their journey. And the curious thing that she had said when she had handed him the note Regina had left for him. “It was a cruel thing to do, St. John, no, more than cruel, it was unforgiveable. But at least I think you have set me free.” But his search for Regina had been so desperate that he had not had time to think further about Amelia’s strange remark. “She has come along with me so that you might be…adequately chaperoned on our return trip. For you are coming home with me, Regina. You are returning with me. To be my wife. It cannot be otherwise.”
“An embarrassment of riches,” the Duke laughed from his position at the window.
“You,” St. John said through gritted teeth, “you are the author of all these difficulties. You are in no position to comment on this. No, Torquay, you shall not have her.”
“You are almost as bad a loser as I am,” the Duke said, “but you are right, I shall not have her. I only mention the curious fact that she finds herself in the unique position of being offered the name and fortune of two noblemen within the hour. What a lovely pair she has to choose from! A dissipated Duke, and a slightly used Marquis. What a noble pair! And what a demand there seems to be for your hand today, Regina. Are you using a new scent? You see, Sinjin, I made her the same offer myself, only moments ago.”
“You?” St. John exclaimed, giving a short ugly laugh. “You married to her? Must you try to contaminate everything you touch? Is there no thing you hold in honor? No matter, Regina, you are safe now, from him, and from me.”
“Yet remember, Regina,” the Duke said quickly, “I did make you yet another offer, another choice. You can go completely and the devil take the pair of us. You can go completely free of us.”
“Never free from me, I swear it,” Sinjin said furiously.
Regina looked from one man to the other.
“But Sinjin,” she asked, “what of the social suicide that you spoke of? How can you now offer me what you said was impossible before?”
“That is the news I bring you,” Sinjin smiled, “for I have discovered that it is easily enough solved. We can get around it, Regina.”
St. John took a packet of beribboned papers from his pocket and spread them out on a table before her. They were creased, and in some cases dirty and tattered parchments, but he handled them with great care, as though they were priceless.
“I spent many long hours with my solicitor in London, before I came here. He is a canny and, surprisingly, very socially correct man. I confided in him, and I am glad of it. For he has devised a simple plan for us to win free of our problem, Regina. There are many émigrés now, from across the channel. People of birth and title and rank but who have been separated from their fortune and lands, penniless but considering themselves lucky to have not been separated from their heads, by Madame Guillotine. There are those willing to sell their titles, for a consideration. We will have papers—take your pick. Choose a name. Choose a rank. You can have any, or all.” He laughed in delight.
“We will put it about that you are an émigré who has been educated in this country, that would explain your lack of an accent. No one has really ever known you, Regina. Even at the Squire’s ball, you remained incognito. It will do. It will serve. You must see that.”
“Oh I shall keep mum,” the Duke drawled. “Never fear that I shall divulge the truth,” he said, intercepting Regina’s quick glance toward him. “It is a neat solution. Remember I told you, Regina, that most people will sell anything in order to find comfort in life, even their birthright.”