Beth Andrews Read online

  ‘If it be madness to be deep in love,’ Julian said, ‘then yes, I have taken leave of my senses. For I am very much in love with your daughter.’

  ‘Oh, Julian!’

  That Cassandra was much affected by this declaration was obvious to Rosalind. Her eyes might be sightless, but none could mistake the joy shining from them like a beacon. Her lips trembled and two tears, like cut crystal, dangled on the edge of each pink-tinged cheek. She had never looked so beautiful. It occurred to Rosalind that, in these few weeks, Cassandra had left her girlhood behind her and emerged as a young woman who knew what it was to love and to be loved.

  That Mr Woodford was also much affected was equally plain. Pleasure, however, was not his dominant emotion. He was extremely angry at such brazen boldness. Where Cassandra had turned a delicate shade of pink, his face was bedecked in an unattractive shade of purple. The veins in his neck stood out like ropes, and she feared an attack of apoplexy.

  ‘By God, sir!’ he cried, forgetting his usual eloquence, ‘I’ve a good mind to thrash the life out of you! You dare to come here and ask me — ME — for my daughter’s hand? Get out of my house now, sir, while you still have two sound legs to stand on.’

  ‘I do not wish to offend one whom I hope will someday be my father-in-law,’ Julian answered, standing his ground, ‘but if your daughter loves me, sir, then nothing and nobody shall prevent me from making her my wife.’

  ‘Julian, I do love you!’ Cassandra cried impetuously. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

  At this, the fierce look left the young man’s face, to be replaced by a tenderness which was unmistakable. Whatever his original intentions might have been in paying court to Cassandra, they were long forgotten. His love was real. Rosalind did not doubt it for an instant, incredible though it seemed.

  ‘You are both mad!’ Mr Woodford’s native Yorkshire brogue, which he generally took such pains to suppress, became much more pronounced. ‘Ye’d better mind yourself, me girl. I’ve no patience with such cantrips.’

  Rosalind considered that it was time for her to intervene. What the result might be, she could not guess. But someone had to be rational if there was any chance for a happy resolution to this hobble in which they found themselves.

  ‘Uncle,’ she said calmly, ‘I think that you should consider carefully before you deny Mr Marchmont’s request.’

  ‘Eh?’ Mr Woodford looked both confused and dismayed at what he clearly perceived as an act of betrayal on the part of his niece.

  ‘Only consider, sir,’ she expanded upon her theme, ‘what an advantageous match this must be for Cassandra. Mr Marchmont comes from a family of impeccable lineage, in far more exalted circles than our own. Nor do you need to fear that he is after your daughter’s fortune, since his own is at least as great.’

  A reluctant ‘harrumph’ was all the response she got from her auditor.

  ‘I believe that he is sincere in his devotion to Cassandra despite the inauspicious beginning to their acquaintance.’ She clenched her hands together, moving a step nearer to her uncle and ignoring the other two in the room. ‘She clearly loves him equally well. And should not her happiness be your greatest concern?’

  There was a moment of silence. The two lovers waited breathlessly for his reaction to this.

  ‘But she is just a child!’ The father in him was very much in evidence, reluctant to part with his cherished image of a schoolroom miss at his knees.

  ‘I think not, sir,’ Rosalind told him, gently but firmly.

  ‘And have you forgotten her condition?’ He turned back to Julian. ‘Are you willing to bear the burden of having to care for her for the rest of her life? Can you accept what your friends and family will say?’

  ‘Sir,’ Julian Marchmont answered him without hesitation, ‘I can imagine no greater felicity than to care for and to cherish your daughter as long as we both shall live. My family will undoubtedly adore her, and anyone who would pity me, or slight her, is no friend of mine.’

  ‘It is hard for me to believe that such a man as you can make her happy,’ Mr Woodford protested. If his words lacked diplomacy, they compensated for it with refreshing honesty.

  ‘If I do not marry Julian,’ Cassandra told him, ‘I shall never be happy again. You have given me so much, Papa. Do not deny me the one thing that I want — nay, that I need — most.’

  Julian was about to add his plea to Cassandra’s but stopped abruptly at a telling look from Rosalind. Reining in his passion, he proceeded more sedately.

  ‘I beseech you most humbly, sir,’ he requested, ‘not to take from me the hope that you will at least consider my offer, which I make with all my heart.’

  With the three of them ranged against him, what could the poor man do?

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will think on it tonight, and let you know my decision tomorrow.’

  They wisely refrained from any display of happiness at this victory. It would not do to antagonize the older man. Instead, Julian bowed and withdrew with no more than a loving glance at Cassandra and a smile of gratitude for Rosalind. Those two soon dismissed themselves as well, staying out of Mr Woodford’s way for the rest of the day.

  * * * *

  ‘Oh, thank you, Lindy. Thank you!’ Cassandra embraced her friend as soon as they were alone together. ‘I did not expect you to become our champion.’

  ‘I do believe that he loves you,’ Rosalind admitted, ‘and I was not afraid to say so.’

  ‘But will it serve, do you think? Will Papa really give us his blessing?’

  ‘My uncle is no fool,’ Rosalind reminded her, ‘else he could not have become so wealthy in his business dealings. I think, once he considers the benefits of the match, he will come around.’

  ‘And we shall owe it all to you!’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  ‘I am so happy.’ Cassandra flung herself upon her bed and bounced up and down like a child. ‘I never dreamed that I should ever be married. Can it possibly be true?’

  ‘Miracles do happen, my dear — even today.’

  ‘But what of you?’ she asked, suddenly sober.

  ‘Do not worry about me.’ If her smile went somewhat awry, at least Cassandra could not see it. ‘I shall be an old maid, sitting quietly with my cat, and will make a fond aunt to your children.’

  ‘No.’ Cassandra shook her head decisively. ‘I am sure that you can do better than that.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Rosalind conceded, trying for a lighter note. ‘After all, there may yet be a Mr Plummer in my future.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  In one thing, at least, Rosalind proved to be a reliable judge. On the following day Cassandra’s father summoned Julian to the abbey. He arrived with Mrs Plummer and Richard St George, to whom Mr Woodford was at last properly introduced. He received them with great cordiality, which Rosalind recognized at once as a most auspicious sign. She was almost positive now that he had perceived the good sense of her arguments and was prepared to accept the young man as a prospective son-in-law.

  As confirmation of her suspicions, Mr Woodford soon requested that Mr Marchmont accompany him to his study for a few moments. This left the other four occupants of the room to pass the time in commonplace comments upon the weather, although all of them were almost certainly preoccupied with their own speculations as to the outcome of the discussion taking place within the study walls.

  Cassandra was nervous and distracted, several times having to be called to task by Rosalind for ignoring some question or remark by the others. For her part, Rosalind directed her gaze steadily towards Mrs Plummer, trying unsuccessfully to forget the presence of her nemesis a few feet away.

  ‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’ Rosalind enquired of the lady.

  ‘Quite divine!’ Mrs Plummer was eager as ever to comment upon anything and everything. ‘A perfect day for a picnic — though not, perhaps, by the pond.’

  ‘That might be tempting fate, indeed,’ St George replied. He looked rather sou
r and his tone was more caustic than usual.

  ‘I have spent such an enjoyable visit,’ his cousin rhapsodized. ‘I am quite distressed to think of it ending.’

  ‘You are not leaving so soon?’ Rosalind asked, genuinely surprised.

  ‘Well,’ the older woman shrugged regretfully, ‘St George will be returning to Town tomorrow, and I am, after all, entirely at his disposal.’

  ‘We will miss you greatly,’ Rosalind said, and meant it.

  ‘And how I shall miss my new friends here in Buckinghamshire.’ Mrs Plummer reached across to take her hand. ‘Dear Miss Powell, you cannot guess how little your friendship has meant to me — and Miss Woodford too, of course! I trust that this will not be the first time we see each other again.’

  ‘The day is indeed fine,’ St George said, attempting to stem the flooding tide. ‘A stroll in the garden would not go amiss.’

  ‘An excellent idea!’ Cousin Priscilla rose at once. ‘Alas that it should be our last together. Such larks as we have had….’

  Here she broke off her effusions, for the other two gentlemen had returned. The glow of Julian’s countenance told Rosalind everything she needed to know. Her uncle beamed upon them also, in self-satisfied serenity.

  ‘Cassandra, my dear,’ he announced, ‘I believe that Mr Marchmont wishes to have a word with you in private.’

  ‘Of course!’ She almost flew up from her seat. ‘Shall we use your study, sir?’

  ‘Surely there is no need,’ St George said smoothly. ‘We were just planning to enjoy the gardens, which are quite enticing on such a day. Stay where you are, and we shall remove ourselves forthwith.’

  * * * *

  To the surprise of the quartet which ventured out of doors, the sun was no longer shining. A light breeze had sprung up which, if it did not exactly shake ‘the darling buds of May’, at least ruffled the delicate blooms of August. Low grey clouds spread out across the sky like spilt water on a polished blue table.

  Whether by contrivance or by chance, Rosalind found herself partnered by St George while her uncle was fully engaged with Mrs Plummer. In a very few minutes, St George’s faster pace had separated them a considerable distance from the dilatory tread of the older couple. In fact, they arrived at the cloisters where their very first meeting had taken place. Rosalind wondered whether she would ever behold this particular place without remembering that momentous occasion.

  Thus far they had not spoken. This was unusual enough, for they never met but what they bandied words about like tennis balls. His silence was strangely ominous, threatening a thunderbolt. Never had she seen his brow so darkly furrowed, his eyes so hard and cold. Still he did not speak, and the silence unnerved her so that she felt she must say something — anything! — or go mad.

  ‘So you are leaving the country, then,’ she remarked.

  ‘My reason for being here is now at an end.’

  ‘And what reason was that?’

  ‘Your seduction, of course.’ He did not flinch, did not offer an apology. The words were uttered with complete unconcern.

  ‘You retire in defeat?’ How she got the words out without choking, she did not know.

  ‘I was unaware that you were well informed of our intentions even before we arrived.’

  ‘Julian has told you of his uncle’s letter.’ It was a statement, not a query.

  He did not deny it. ‘It seems,’ he said, with some degree of self-mockery, ‘that while we thought ourselves to be playing a deep game, you and Miss Woodford were playing an even deeper one.’

  ‘Sir Jasper acted somewhat the part of a guardian angel, in fact.’

  ‘I would not impute to him so altruistic a motive.’ His chuckle was not one of amusement, but rather of incredulity.

  ‘What do you mean, sir?’

  In their perambulation, they had now arrived at the small arbor with the armillary where Rosalind had come so perilously near the precipice of her own wayward desires. He drew away from her and stepped around so that once again they faced each other across it. There was no beguiling moonlight now, but only the harsh rays of the sun, interrupted now and then by the passing of clouds overhead and the distant rumble of thunder.

  ‘From what I have heard,’ St George told her, ‘it would appear that Julian’s uncle acquainted you with all the details of our little wager — with one notable exception.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘He neglected to tell you that it was he himself who proposed the wager and told us about the forbidding abbey and its beautiful but mysterious inhabitants.’

  ‘What!’

  Rosalind could not deny that she was both shocked and appalled at this revelation. The man who had represented himself as the defender of their virtue and the upholder of pious morality was himself the one who had helped to bring this calamity upon them. It was incredible! Yet she did not doubt that what St George had told her was the truth. After all, now that she considered the matter, it was certainly odd that they should be using the man’s home for their schemes. Knowing of it, he could easily have forbidden them to stay there. Why had that never occurred to her before? Not that it would have made any difference, she supposed. Their behavior would have been the same in any event.

  ‘So you see, you were not quite so clever after all, my dear dragon - were you?’

  ‘I never pretended to be clever.’ She lifted her chin and looked straight at him. ‘Whatever I said or did was only what I thought best to protect myself and Cassandra from two men who were known to be rakes. That much I would have done even had I never received the letter.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it seems that you had an unfair advantage over us.’

  ‘Instead of the unfair advantage which you and Julian should have had over us?’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘At least, since Sir Jasper was not entirely honest with you, I would imagine that the wager is now forfeit. Though you may have lost, you are not obliged to pay.’

  ‘True.’ His lip curled slightly. ‘Trust a woman to think of such a thing. It had not even crossed my mind.’

  ‘I suppose that you are too wealthy yourself for it to matter.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  There was silence again for several moments. The wind picked up, blowing the ribbons of her bonnet across her throat. She pushed them back, but to no avail. They returned again immediately.

  ‘At least Cassandra has not been hurt,’ she said at last. ‘And Julian seems content with the outcome of his adventure.’

  ‘I wish them both very happy.’ But he did not sound like it.

  ‘His feelings, at least, were not entirely feigned.’ Try as she might, she could not keep the hint of bitterness out of her voice.

  ‘No,’ he confessed. ‘Though none of us, I think, can surpass your own performance.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘That night, here in the garden,’ he reminded her. ‘You were quite superb, you know. Even with my own considerable experience of females, I was convinced that you cared for me. Believe me, Miss Powell, you are quite wasted here. You should be on the stage.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her heart felt as though it had just been trampled under his feet, but she would die rather than let him see it. ‘I did not suspect the extent of my own talents until you came here.’

  ‘It has been a most enlightening experience.’

  ‘I hope that you have learnt something by it.’

  ‘Only that no man can match a woman when it comes to deceit.’

  ‘Of that I am not so certain.’

  * * * *

  Inevitably, their tête-à-tête was interrupted — and, as it happened, by the same voice which had ended their previous encounter.

  ‘There you are!’ Mrs Plummer cried. ‘Mr Woodford is so knowledgeable about agriculture. He was telling me all about cultivating roses. Alas, it is all one to me! But certainly the gardens here are most delightful. I could leave here forever, and never wonder of seeing its tires.’
r />   While the others tried to decipher this last sentence, they all began to move towards the house. They soon made their way back to the drawing-room, where they discovered the couple (who could now be described as officially engaged) seated side by side on the sofa.

  ‘Are congratulations in order?’ St George asked his friend, with a raised brow.

  ‘I am the happiest man alive!’ Julian assured him.

  What followed was the usual round of questions and felicitations. The ladies congregated on one side of the room and the men gathered on the other.

  At last the most interesting subject was exhausted and the party from the lodge took their leave. Standing in the doorway with her uncle and Cassandra, Rosalind watched the barouche drive away. Tomorrow Richard St George would return to London. But certainly this was the last she would ever see of him. He swept out of her life as swiftly as he had swept into it. But how long, she wondered, would it be before she could banish him from her thoughts, or from her heart?

  Chapter Eighteen

  As it happened, Julian requested that Mrs Plummer remain with him at the lodge until the wedding. She would be of great help to both himself and Cassandra during this brief period of their betrothal. Since the family at the abbey did not attend church — one of the things which had helped to fuel the fires of gossip in the village — it was decided not to have the banns published in the usual manner. Instead, Julian would travel to London to obtain a Special Licence.

  The Woodfords had once employed a retired clergyman as their unofficial chaplain, who conducted services in the small lady chapel which was all that remained of the original abbey church. The old man had gone on to his reward some three years previously, and the services had ceased, although Mr Woodford read prayers in the chapel each Sunday when he was at home and the girls would generally choose one or two hymns to sing in honour of the Lord’s Day.

  The strong influence of the Evangelicals did not lead the family to look very kindly upon the Established Church. It was therefore a Herculean task to find anyone to conduct the wedding service for them. After some extensive enquiries round about the neighboring county, Julian eventually discovered a Methodist minister in a nearby town. The Reverend Austen Jenkins listened sympathetically as the young man explained the peculiar circumstances of his bride and her family, and expressed himself as being very pleased to consecrate their vows on a date to be determined by the parties concerned.