Sally James (5 page)

His voice came close again, breathed into her ear.

“And it is my fault that these were spilled. May I help you and be restored to favour?”

She glanced up to find him half kneeling beside her, his eyes looking into hers from a mere few inches away, a mocking gleam in them. Then he smiled and turned to the task of picking up the pods while Mary recalled Teresa’s comment that he had a way with women. She was quiveringly aware of his charm, and told herself firmly she must not be influenced by it.

At last the peas were all in the basket once more, and Mary smiled briefly.

“Thank you. I will take these to cook. Would you prefer to come inside or sit in the rose arbour?”

“The rose arbour sounds delightful - a more appropriate setting for a fair maiden than a row of pea sticks!”

Mary frowned. He was not going to get round her with false compliments. She indicated the direction with a wave of her hand.

“It is beyond those blackcurrant bushes. I will be back in a moment.”

When she returned he was standing near the stone seat, and had taken off his coat and folded it to make a cushion. He turned and smiled at her.

“Let us sit down, Miss Wyndham. I collect we have much to discuss.”

With some reluctance, for they had necessarily to sit close together on the folded coat, Mary obeyed. Wondering how best to introduce the topic uppermost in her mind, she was startled to hear him laugh again, a low, musical laugh.

“You really must not marry that tedious curate,” he murmured softly.

Mary’s eyes flew to his face, and she opened her mouth to reply, but no words came.

“He would not do for you, any more than Teresa is the right wife for Matthew,” he went on unperturbed. “Both would be ill-assorted matches.”

“Who told you that I was? But I’m not, that is, he hasn’t asked me,” she stammered, her cheeks rosy with mortification.

“I had the pleasure, or should I say privilege, of walking home with Mr Knowle last night,” he said smoothly. “He contrived, oh, most politely, I do assure you, to warn me off what he deemed were his preserves.”

“Oh, this is monstrous!” Mary exclaimed, uncertain of whether to be more angry with him or with Mr Knowle.

“What else was the poor man to think I was here for? He did not know the real reason. But do not accept him when he does pluck up the courage to ask you.”

“I shall do as I choose, and you have no right to interfere! I am not Haymarket ware for men to fight over!” Mary said furiously. “We are discussing Matthew’s marriage, not mine!”

“Oh, but his marriage does not interest me nearly so much as yours, or mine,” he replied blandly.

“Yours may interest you, but mine can be of no concern to you,” she snapped, and again he chuckled.

“Well, then let us discuss Matthew’s. Where are the culprits? Not fleeing for the border, I trust?”

“Teresa has a sick headache, and is prostrate, poor girl. It’s no wonder after all the excitement yesterday! Matthew seldom rises so early.”

“So Teresa is fighting shy of meeting me, is she?”

“She is ill! I have seen her,” Mary protested, annoyed at his insinuation and lack of feeling.

“Oh yes, she is very convincing, I grant you. You have not had the advantage that I have of seeing these headaches develop whenever there is something distasteful to be done. She would recover in a miraculous fashion if you informed her I had departed and there was to be an expedition to some milliner’s shop.”

“I am not surprised Teresa is terrified of you,” Mary commented acidly, having recovered her composure.

“So Teresa has favoured you with her version of my character? I do hope I am never dependent on her veracity in a court of law! I would rate my chances low indeed! The fact remains that I am her legal guardian and I will not permit her to make a fool of herself, which she would be doing by marrying your brother.”

“Matthew is good enough to marry anyone,” his sister declared, and Sir Ingram looked at her in amusement.

“Possibly. That is not what concerns me. Teresa is not fit to marry a boy who could not control her. Come, Miss Wyndham, you must confess you would not like to see him married to a flighty, high-spirited girl who lacks all common sense and would give him not a moment’s peace?”

“If that is the way it would be, no,” Mary admitted. “Yet they maintain they love one another, and surely she would not wish to do anything that might distress him then?”

“She may not wish to, but she is thoughtless, vain, and selfish, having from her earliest years been permitted to do as she wished. When I took over her management two years since, she was almost past redemption.”

“Maybe a husband who loves her would have more success!”

“Agreed, but not if he were himself dazzled by her, and unwilling to bear with her tantrums. Besides, an elopement and the hasty marriage they planned would not look well. I propose sending both Teresa and her mother, who is equally bird witted and lacking in sense, to my father’s Aunt Hermione who lives in Cheltenham. Removed from the temptations of London and guarded by our aunt she may come to thank me in the end.”

“I doubt it. I admit the elopement was not well done, but they were desperate and very much in love. What do you expect them to do?”

“Love is not the only consideration. And as Teresa has declared her undying love for at least a dozen men, you will see why I do not regard that particularly. Fortunately her father knew of this tendency, young as she was, and his will gives me the power to cut off her allowance until she is five and twenty if she marries against my will. I do not intend to allow her to marry a man who cannot support her, and thinks to sponge on her fortune.”

“You must have had undue influence over your uncle! It’s a monstrous provision that makes it almost impossible for the girl to make her own choice, for it is clear you would not approve of anyone other than yourself!”

“So that part of her imagination is working again, is it?” was all he commented. “Teresa first imagined herself in love with one of my footmen, and then it was the painting master at her school. At least while she has been in society the social standing of her lovers has risen, but her constancy has if anything fallen. I would demand proof of a longer-standing attachment than the three weeks or so she has known your brother before consenting to a match.”

“Then you do not forbid them to meet?” Mary said swiftly, recognising that Teresa could not refuse to do as he wished, and hoping to gain some comfort for the pair.

“Unless I kept her a prisoner, how could I prevent it?” he asked calmly. “I am no dragon, however she regards me. I put far greater dependence on her own volatility than on repressive measures. Besides, if I forbade them to meet their elopement would become known, and I cannot wish for that to happen. Will you aid me in my deception?” he asked, leaning closer towards her and laughing down at her.

“I must, and I am grateful for Matthew’s sake that you do not forbid them to meet.”

“They must not meet alone, though, but in Cheltenham Teresa will be strictly chaperoned. I shall give it out that she is exhausted from all her racketing about, and has gone to the country. Thank you for your hospitality, but I will now remove her to the inn, and wait for a message to be taken to Cheltenham, and also send for her mama to join us.”

“Allow her to stay here, if you please. Since papa seems to have known your father, it will be reasonable that she stays with me for a few days.”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “It would be very kind of you. Can you offer her the chaperonage I insist upon when I am not able to undertake that duty?”

Mary grimaced at the idea of being regarded as a chaperone, but nodded.

“Naturally, or I would not have offered.”

Sir Ingram laughed. “Then it is agreed, and I am most grateful to you. All that remains is to inform them.”

He rose and extended his hand to help Mary to her feet, and she had just taken it when Caroline, her children with her, appeared.

“Mary, forgive me for interrupting. Susan said that you were out here, but not that you had a visitor!”

“Oh, I don’t think she knew,” Mary said, withdrawing her hand from Sir Ingram’s in some confusion. “This is Sir Ingram Leigh, and his cousin is staying with us for a few days. Matthew has also come down from London. Sir Ingram’s father knew papa at Oxford. Sir Ingram, my dear friend Caroline Grafton.”

They uttered polite greetings, and Caroline, noting Mary’s heightened colour, and making a swift but approving survey of Sir Ingram, smiled to herself.

“If you are staying here for a while, you must all come to the party my husband and I are giving tomorrow. We are not entirely dull in the country, you know.”

“I would be delighted,” Sir Ingram replied, “and I will accept on my cousin’s behalf too. Teresa will no doubt have recovered from her headache by then,” he said, with a laughing glance at Mary.

“Does she suffer from headaches? I do commiserate,” Caroline replied feelingly, for she had often had severe ones herself recently. “But you will all come, which is delightful. Mary, I really came to deliver a message. I was walking with the children through the village, and Geoffrey Knowle asked me to inform you that he had been called out to a sick parishioner and so would be unable to call this morning.”

Mary could not forbear glancing at Sir Ingram, but he was occupied in shaking out the folds of his coat and putting it on. As she turned back to reply to Caroline, however, his voice, so low that only she could hear it, came from behind her.

“Morning is not the most romantic time for a declaration, I agree.”

When Caroline left to continue her walk, Sir Ingram departed to write his letters, saying that if it was convenient he would call later in the afternoon to speak with Teresa. Going back into the house Mary found that Matthew had descended to the dining room and was gloomily partaking of a hearty meal. He looked up at her with a shamefaced grin, and invited her to scold him for a silly gudgeon.

She laughed. In this mood he was irresistible, and though she chided him for being so thoughtless, she also comforted him with the news that Sir Ingram would not prohibit further meetings with Teresa, and had in fact agreed to her remaining under Mary’s care until arrangements for taking her to Cheltenham could be made.

“How can I follow her there?” he demanded. “I have no money for at least a couple of weeks until quarter day, and I know no one to give me credit in the town.”

“Surely a mere two weeks, less for the time she spends here, will not matter unduly,” she protested, but he shook his head.

“She is so lovely, there will be hordes of other men wanting to pay her attentions.”

“Well, if you think her so fickle that she would desert you so easily, she is not fit to be your wife,” said Mary in exasperation.

“She is young and used to being told what to do. Sir Ingram has permitted her so little freedom,” he excused her, and Mary, deploring his infatuation, left him to go and see how Teresa was.

Smiling bravely at Mary, she appeared to receive Sir Ingram’s edict that she was to go to Cheltenham within a few days with resignation.

“I might have known Matthew and I could not have won,” she murmured. “Now he will do his utmost to part us. Thank you for all you have done, Mary. I shall always be grateful, even if I never see you again. I begin to realise I must not hope to escape him!”

“He will allow Matthew to see you,” Mary said bracingly. “You have no cause for despair yet!”

Sadly Teresa shook her head. “That is what he tells you, but once he has me in his power again it will be different. And Aunt Hermione is a
gorgon,
truly she is! Her house is full of abominable lap dogs, and I have to take them for walks. It is almost the only freedom I get when I am forced to stay with her.”

“Your mama will be there too, so no doubt she will be able to take you out.”      

The prospect did not seem to appeal to Teresa, for she muttered darkly that her mama would be too taken up with her precious Rodney to care what happened to her.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Sir Ingram called and was closeted with Teresa for twenty minutes, but Mary did not discover what had been said. Invited to remain for dinner Sir Ingram excused himself, saying he had discovered that a friend of his lived nearby and he intended to visit him. Teresa stayed in her room, and so for the first time the Wyndhams were alone and Matthew was able to explain to his father the reason for his and Teresa’s unheralded appearance.

Beyond a slight admonishment about the folly of running away to marry, Mr Wyndham did not seem unduly concerned. When Matthew lamented the fact that his impecuniary state would prevent his travelling to Cheltenham, Mr Wyndham offered to advance him the quarter’s allowance at once, saying that Matthew could repay him when the money due to him in a short time was available. With the prospect of being thus equipped to follow his beloved, Matthew’s spirits revived astonishingly quickly, and since Teresa was not there he decided to pay a visit to one of his old cronies in the village.

Left to herself Mary’s thoughts reverted to the conversation that morning with Sir Ingram. Matthew’s affairs had been settled as satisfactorily as could have been expected and he might still win his Teresa, though she was beginning to wonder whether that would be for his ultimate happiness. Sir Ingram might be right in saying that Teresa needed a strong man to control her. But it ought not to be Sir Ingram himself, Mary decided. That would be even less certain to result in happiness for either of them.

She recalled Sir Ingram’s remarks about Mr Knowle and realised she had not given him another thought during the day. It was, she hoped, too late for him to call that evening, and so she would have a further respite before she had to give him an answer. She had no notion of what that answer would be. He could offer her a comfortable life, much the same as she had been living for the past few years, caring for a household. When he obtained his own parish there would be much for her to do. Could that satisfy her? Did she have any feelings towards him that might be deeper than mere friendship, she asked herself. He had indicated he had a warm regard for her, but had given no sign that these feelings went further than this. She could not imagine herself loving and being loved by Mr Knowle as Caroline loved and was loved by Arthur. Would such love develop? There was nothing about Mr Knowle to disgust her. Indeed he was a most handsome man, with polished manners, and came of an excellent family. With his connections he would find easy preferment, and might finish as a bishop. He would be kind always, considerate and generous, and would be a husband many girls would be envious of. Why did Caroline urge her not to accept? Did she place too high an emphasis on romantic love, having known it herself? And why, Mary thought with sudden indignation, had Sir Ingram interfered in what was certainly none of his affair?