Читать книгу A Dangerous Undertaking - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 6

‘THANK you,’ Margaret said quietly. ‘It was kind of you.’

‘No, it was not!’ Roland sounded almost angry. ‘I am not kind, I am just the reverse. My motives were purely selfish.’

‘Oh,’ she said, understanding. ‘You told him…’

‘That we were to be married, yes.’ His tone had moderated; it would not do to take his anger out on her.

‘Why?’

‘He insisted he was your legal guardian and could force you to return to him. I could not let you go back to him, could I?’ That was true; he could no more have handed her back to that debauched old man than he could have drowned a kitten, and she was homeless and penniless, but did that mean he had the right to coerce her into marrying him?

‘Thank you, but did you need to go to such lengths?’ She looked at him with her wide violet eyes and made him feel a hundred times worse. ‘Now it is not only your grandmother who is being deceived, but my uncle too.’

‘There need be no deception. You said you would think about my proposal…’

‘I have considered it very carefully, my lord, and I am very conscious of the honour you do me, but the answer must be no.’

‘Why? Are you nursing dreams of falling in love, Mistress Donnington? I assure you it is a fantasy that only marriages based on love are successful.’ He paused, hardening his heart. ‘Do you want me to hand you over to your great-uncle? I believe he has plans for you…’

‘What kind of plans?’

‘Need I go into detail? You saw his paramour and his guests…’ He shrugged, leaving her to imagine the worst. ‘The choice is yours.’

‘I can go back where I came from.’

‘Do you have enough money to pay the coach fare, find lodgings and keep yourself until you find work suitable for a gentlewoman?’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I wonder, would you be kind enough to lend me——?’

‘No, it will not serve.’

‘You are despicable!’

He laughed. She was angry again, but anger became her, made her eyes sparkle and colour flood her cheeks. He had to grit his teeth to go on. ‘No, simply practical. Don’t you see, it would be the answer to both our dilemmas? I promise you I will do everything to make your life here as agreeable as possible.’ He meant that, every word of it. ‘Is such a prospect so dreadful?’

She did not answer immediately because a little imp inside her was telling her that she could grow to like the idea. He was handsome and courteous, if you ignored his bouts of ill-humour, and they soon passed. And maybe it was simply that he could not understand her reluctance. Why was she so reluctant? Could it be that he was right and she had been fantasising about falling in love? She ought to know better than that; she had not been so carefully nurtured that she did not know anything about the real world. You could not live and work in London and remain ignorant of it. She should be glad she did not have to return to that world, where she might end up like Nellie, desperate enough to consent to anything.

Seeing her hesitation, he gave a twisted smile. ‘I promised to free you at the end of a year and, God willing we both survive, I shall keep that promise. And I will make sure you have a dowry, enough to seek out the man you believe you are destined to fall in love with. I will not stand in your way.’

‘Why a year?’ she asked, curious in spite of herself.

‘It will soon pass,’ he said, evading her question. ‘And I will not trouble you with my presence. I have to go back to London almost immediately and shall not return except very occasionally, when I come home to see that all is well and pay my respects to Grandmama.’

‘Why?’ she asked again.

‘I have my reasons.’ His tone was clipped.

She turned to look into his face, dimly lit by the lamp he held, trying to search out answers he did not seem to be able to voice. What sort of man was he, that he could so cold-bloodedly talk of ending a marriage before it had even begun? Unfeeling in the extreme, she decided, a man with no warmth. And yet there were times when there was a light in his eyes which revealed humour and vitality, and there was about him a suppressed energy which excited her. She could so easily fall under his spell.

He returned her gaze, hating himself. She was helpless, forced to ponder on the imponderable because of her circumstances. And she was beautiful, something which had not been evident when he had first seen her in the White Hart; she had a clear skin which had never been spoilt by paint, huge, expressive eyes which seemed to bore into his very soul, a mouth made for kissing, and a determined chin. Life with her would not be dull. If she had been anyone but a Capitain, he would have retracted, given her money to go wherever she wished and put her from his mind. It was all Charles’s fault. No, he chided himself, he should not blame Charles. He had done nothing but put the idea into his head. Charles had not been the one to lead Lady Pargeter to believe he would marry Margaret; he had done it himself. Lies! Could she see that in his eyes?

‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘I accept your terms.’

‘Good.’ He smiled briefly as he took her arm to guide her along the gallery.

She was not sure if it was the touch of his hand or a feeling of foreboding which made her shudder. She did not know why she should be apprehensive—perhaps it was because marriage was something she had not even been considering forty-eight hours before, perhaps it was the cavernous entrance hall with its upper gallery and dark corners where no lamp could reach, or perhaps it was just the weather, which imprisoned everyone, whether they willed it or not.

‘You are shivering,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

He put the lamp on a chair and took off his coat to drape it round her shoulders. His touch was gentle and his breath was warm on her cheek as he bent to draw the coat close under her chin. She looked up and their eyes met and held, his dark and brooding, hers bright with tears which she did not know why she was shedding. It was as if both were searching for knowledge, for reassurance, for hope. He lowered his head, drawing closer, his mouth only inches from hers. She waited, trembling like a frightened bird beneath his hands.

‘No,’ he murmured, and drew away.

‘No?’ She could hardly speak for the tumult in her breast.

‘You are cold. I think we should postpone the rest of our tour for another time.’

‘Yes,’ she said, bewildered by his strange behaviour. He had proposed, in the coldest fashion possible, a marriage of convenience and then had warmed sufficiently to behave like a prospective husband and kiss her, and then decided against it. Ice; he was made of ice. And fire.

He picked up the lamp again and escorted her to her chamber door. ‘Goodnight, Mistress Donnington.’ He took her hand and bowed over it but he did not lift it to his lips. It was almost as if he was afraid to do so.

She went to bed, her insides churned up by the knowledge that she had wanted him to kiss her, which was foolish in the extreme. She had agreed to his terms and they took no account of feelings, either his or hers. It was not a love-match. Then why was she crying?

He returned downstairs to join Charles and Kate in a childish game of cards which caused them great hilarity but failed to lighten his mood. Kate soon lost patience with him and declared her intention of going to bed. ‘One would think Mistress Donnington had rejected you,’ she said.

‘On the contrary, Mistress Donnington—Margaret—has done me the honour of accepting.’

‘Then smile, for heaven’s sake,’ she said. ‘It should make you happy.’

‘Yes, cheer up, man,’ Charles said. ‘Think of the future.’

Yes, he decided, forcing a smile for their benefit, it was only thinking of Susan and their future that kept him sane.

Kate retired and the men went into the library, where a decanter of good French brandy and glasses had been put out on a small table by the window.

‘There is something you forgot when you thought of this diabolical plan,’ Roland said, pouring drinks. "Marry a complete stranger", you said, but you forgot that when two people are together for any length of time they cannot remain strangers. Even after one day, I have come to know Margaret a little. She is brave and independent and she has a sense of humour that is refreshing. I am sure she can read my guilt in my eyes.’

‘Then stay away from her until the wedding. You are leaving immediately after it, aren’t you?’

‘I had planned to.’

‘What do you mean, planned to? Have you changed your mind?’

‘The weather may prevent it.’ How could he explain to his friend what he did not understand himself, his remorse, so strong that he had been almost tempted to tell Margaret the truth? The only reason he had not done so was because he would lose any respect she might have had for him, and he was surprised to discover how much that mattered to him. He told himself he wanted to see her comfortable and happy in her new home before he left it.

‘It was only an idea, to help you out.’ Charles’s voice broke in on his brooding. ‘You didn’t have to do it.’

‘No, and do you know what decided me? It wasn’t my own predicament; it wasn’t thinking of Susan; it was the sight of that depraved villain, Capitain, standing in my vestibule demanding to have her back. I was furious.’

‘Whatever the reason, it’s done now. If you have any twinges of conscience, just remind yourself of the benefits.’

‘To me, but not to Margaret.’

‘She will have a year of being Lady Pargeter, a year of plenty that most young ladies would give their teeth for, and what she doesn’t know cannot hurt her, can it?’ He paused to take a mouthful of brandy, smiling over his glass at his friend. ‘Besides, she may survive the year. After all, you do not love her and she does not love you, so it won’t count, will it? Nothing will happen. It will all come right in the end and no harm done to anyone. But you really must look happier at the prospect, my friend, or questions will be asked.’

‘I must go to Derbyshire and explain to Susan.’

‘No.’ Charles spoke sharply. ‘It will look decidedly odd.’

‘It will look even odder if I don’t, particularly to her parents. I am sure they were expecting me to offer for her before I left.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. The time didn’t seem propitious.’

Charles laughed. ‘You mean you were not sure of your feelings?’

‘Of course I am sure.’

‘Then wait,’ Charles said implacably. ‘The roads are impassable and, you never know, by the spring…’ He stopped and surveyed his friend. ‘Harden your heart, Roland, harden your heart. Think of your true love, think of the Capitains. Don’t all Capitains deserve your hatred?’

‘Yes, by God. If it weren’t for a Capitain, I wouldn’t be in this fix. Here’s a pox to all Capitains.’ He tipped the contents of his glass down his throat and poured himself another and then another, followed by several more until the bottle was empty.

He did not remember staggering up to bed, but he woke in his own room next morning with a blacksmith’s shop in his head. He groaned and sat up. Johnson had laid out a double-breasted velvet coat and buff breeches and there was hot water in the washing bowl. He ignored the clothes, washed, and went to the wardrobe where he found warm wool breeches and thick stockings. He scrambled into them, put on a huge black overcoat which came almost to his ankles, and went downstairs. He passed the open door of the morning-room, where the table bore witness to the fact that everyone else had already breakfasted, and went out into the snow. Perhaps the biting cold would knock some sense into him.

The village, with a few large trees surrounding its green, stood on ground a little higher than the surrounding fen, which meant the inhabitants were rarely troubled by flooding except in very severe weather. There had been fresh falls of snow during the night, which might cause problems when a thaw set in. He dug into the snow with his cane to assess its depth and the amount of water they might expect, then looked back at the house, which was two hundred yards from the cut and about ten feet above its present level. Was ten feet enough if the cut became swollen with melting snow from the hills away to the west? And what about the village itself? The men ought to begin building a barrier now, not waiting until disaster struck.

Putting aside his headache and his impending nuptials, he tramped off over the snow towards the group of clay-lump cottages which stood close to the church.

Unlike Roland, Margaret could not put the forthcoming wedding from her mind. Kate would not cease chattering about it, laughing and making plans, oblivious to the fact that Margaret was not joining in.

‘When is it to be?’ Kate asked as they sat together in one of the smaller sitting-rooms, which was easier to keep warm than the huge drawing-room and had some comfortable upholstered chairs. She had some embroidery in her lap, but she had done no work on it since Margaret had joined her.

‘The twenty-first, four days before Christmas. Her ladyship wants no delay and his lor—Roland agrees with her.’

‘But that’s less than a week away! How can you possibly be ready by then?’

‘It is not difficult. I have no family except Great-Uncle Henry, and there will be no invitations issued, although Roland has said he will invite the villagers to attend the service. They will help to fill the church.’

‘Don’t you mind? A wedding should be a grand affair, a cause for celebration. It is almost as if you are ashamed to have it known.’

‘No, not at all. You forget, I am in mourning.’

‘Oh, yes, I am sorry, Margaret, how thoughtless of me. Does that mean there will be no wedding-trip either?’

Margaret gave a light laugh and was surprised that it sounded so natural. ‘We’ll go nowhere while this weather holds, but later, perhaps, we may go to London. Roland tells me he has business there.’

‘Business!’ Kate gave a grimace of disgust. ‘You know, he really is the dullest man.’

‘Not at all,’ Margaret said, and meant it. Whatever she thought of Roland, she did not find him dull. If only he were not so tense, as if he was deliberately holding himself aloof, he would be an entertaining and charming man. She began to wonder if the fault was with her, but if he found her not to his liking, why had he asked her to marry him? ‘We can combine business with pleasure, surely?’

‘Yes. There will be routs and balls, and no doubt Roland will present you at court. Have you decided what you are going to wear?’

‘To court?’

‘No.’ Kate laughed. ‘At your wedding.’

‘Roland has insisted on buying me a gown. Is there anyone in Ely who could make me one? Nothing extravagant, of course.’

‘There is a dressmaker, but I have rarely been to her.’ Kate sounded doubtful. ‘I usually buy all I need when we are in London.’

‘There is no time for that. I am a good needlewoman, so if it isn’t to my liking I can alter it.’

No wheeled vehicle could use the roads so they went into Ely by sled, drawn by a sturdy little pony, with one of the grooms at its head wearing huge flat snow-shoes and Roland and Charles riding alongside. Wrapped up in fur cloaks and muffs and with several sheepskins around their knees, the two girls enjoyed the ride. The sun sparkled on the snow and icicles hung from the hedges, and for a time Margaret forgot to be sad. It was good to be outside, to breathe the icy air; it made her tingle with new life. She looked up at Roland, riding so easily alongside, his hands loosely on the reins; there was no doubt he was a very handsome man and she had made quite a catch. If only they had met in different circumstances; if only… He glanced towards her, almost as if he had read her thoughts, and their eyes met briefly, reminding her of the kiss that never was, before he turned back to negotiate an ice-covered pot-hole.

‘We should be able to skate tomorrow,’ Kate was saying. ‘Not on the river, of course—that’s too dangerous—but on the fen. There is a shallow stretch of water which is flooded every winter and is perfectly safe. Would you like that?’

Margaret pulled herself together. ‘I would certainly like to try, though whether I can stay upright remains to be seen.’

Kate laughed. ‘If the ice holds we’ll go tomorrow, and then we shall see.’

The Isle of Ely was a surprisingly small place, considering the size of the cathedral, and its roads were no more than muddy lanes, made slippery by frozen snow. Set on a small hill which had been an island in the days before the fens were drained, it had the usual quota of basket-makers, candle-makers, butchers, dairies, fish-sellers, blacksmiths, carriage-makers, coopers and the like, besides more than its fair share of inns and taverns. There was, as Kate had said, a dressmaker and, because it was a place of learning, a bookshop, tucked in the ancient walls close to the cathedral.

Once Margaret and Kate had been delivered at the door of the dressmaker’s tiny establishment, the two men went off on business of their own, promising to return in an hour. The dressmaker, a tiny little woman in a plain grey wool dress which did not fill Kate with confidence, dashed around laying out patterns and materials, talking the whole time to cover the fact that she was flustered to receive such illustrious customers. ‘If only I had known you were coming,’ she said. ‘I could have ordered more samples. Would you like me to send for some?’

‘No, I am afraid there is no time,’ Margaret said, deciding not to tell the woman that the gown was intended for her wedding; she was not sure if the dressmaker was capable of anything elaborate. If her mother, who was a first-class seamstress, had been alive, she would have had a wedding-dress the envy of the world. She sighed. If her mother had been alive, she would not have been in Ely choosing a wedding-gown in the first place. ‘I need something simple.’ She picked up a swatch of pale lilac taffeta. ‘This, I think.’

‘Margaret, it’s too plain!’ Kate exclaimed.

‘It can be trimmed with satin ribbon bows and lace in the neck and sleeves. I am in mourning, after all, and I don’t want anything too bright.’

Roland returned at that point to fetch them and Kate turned to appeal to him. ‘Look at this,’ she said, holding the swatch out to him. ‘Margaret wants to wear this.’

‘She may have whatever she chooses,’ he said, barely glancing at the material. ‘I am sure whatever she wears will look very well.’

There was no more argument and, having been promised that the gown would be ready in time, they joined Charles for nuncheon at the White Hart.

Kate chatted happily to the men and no one seemed to notice that Margaret was very quiet. She was thinking of the last time she had been there. Was it only two days before? So much had happened since then and her life had been turned round in a way she could never have foreseen. Was it for the good? Or had she put her head in a snare of her own making? If she had been able to see into the future, would she have ever left London? It was a question she could not answer.

Kate was laughing and talking about her own wedding, fixed for early spring. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she said, looking at Charles. ‘Can you?’

He reached across and put his hand on hers. ‘No, and I see no reason why we should. Shall we bring it forward? Shall we have a double wedding?’

‘Could we?’ Kate’s eyes were bright. ‘What do you think, Roland? After all, I am in mourning for Papa.’

‘Your father approved the match,’ Charles said. ‘He would not have objected.’ He turned to Roland with a boyish grin. ‘What do you say?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Roland lifted an enquiring eyebrow in Margaret’s direction. ‘Would you like that?’

‘I think I should like it very much,’ she said, then to Kate, ‘But are you sure? Were you not thinking of a grand occasion with a great many friends and a big banquet?’

‘If you can go without that, then so can we. My gown is ready and has been hanging in my closet for weeks. It is red taffeta, embroidered with pearls and scarlet ribbons.’ She jumped up excitedly. ‘Oh, let’s go back and break the news to Grandmama.’

Five minutes later, they were once again tucked up under the sheepskins on the sled and on their way back. Kate’s obvious happiness and the fact that she was known and liked locally would ensure that the dual wedding was a joyful occasion and might divert attention from Margaret herself who, try as she might, could not bring herself to rejoice. She was being thoroughly nonsensical, she told herself; she should not be sad. Many a young girl had gone to her wedding without being in love and it had turned out well in the end. Love was not a prerequisite for a successful marriage, never had been, never would be; what was important was to respect and admire the man you were to marry and know that you would be treated with courtesy and kindness. And it was not difficult to admire him, though she certainly did not understand him. He was riding alongside now, deep in thought, as if he were struggling with some weighty mathematical problem.

When they arrived back at the Manor, they were told that a package had arrived for Mistress Donnington, which had been put in her room.

‘A package?’ Margaret queried. ‘But no one knows I’m here.’

‘Someone evidently does,’ Kate said, hurrying upstairs, leaving Margaret to follow more sedately. She was puzzled. No one knew where she was except the people at the Manor and Great-Uncle Henry, and she could not imagine him taking the trouble to wrap anything and send it to her. She entered her chamber to find that Kate had flung off her heavy cloak and draped it across a chair and was standing by the bed gazing down at a rather large box, tied with ribbon.

‘Oh, do hurry and open it,’ she said. ‘Is there a message?’

Margaret suppressed her own curiosity in order to take off her coat and boots and put them tidily away as she always did; servants or no, it was a habit she would find hard to break. Then she carefully untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box and pulled aside its cotton lining. ‘Oh!’ Carefully she drew out a magnificent open-skirted gown in a heavy ivory satin. The bodice was square-necked with three-quarter sleeves which ended in a froth of pleated lace. The hem and neckline and the stiffened stomacher were heavily beaded in a rose pattern. ‘Oh, it is exquisite!’

‘A wedding-gown,’ Kate whispered in awe, while Margaret delved into the box and drew out a piece of paper, half expecting a note from Roland saying he had decided against the gown she had chosen in Ely. It would explain his cursory glance at the material. But why had he not said anything at the time? And where could he have come by such a lavish creation? She found herself wondering if it had been meant for someone else, but she pushed the thought from her; she did not want to think about that.

‘What does it say?’ Kate asked eagerly.

‘It is from Great-Uncle Henry,’ Margaret said, stifling her disappointment that it had not come from her groom. ‘He says my mother was to have worn it at her wedding, but there was no wedding, not in Winterford at any rate. I didn’t know that; she never told me. Oh, poor Mama! He says it has been in a trunk in a box-room at Sedge House all these years. He sends it with his felicitations.’

‘Oh, how romantical! Try it on, do! Does it have a petticoat?’

Margaret looked in the box. There was a white silk petticoat and a bonnet of matching slipper-satin, trimmed with ribbon. She slipped out of her clothes and put them all on. They fitted perfectly, as she had known they would. She and her mother had been very alike, both in looks and figure. She stood before the long pier-glass, swaying this way and that, admiring the richness of the fabric and noticing the brightness of her eyes and the colour the cold air had put into her cheeks. Suddenly she felt happy. How could anyone clothed in such a wedding-dress not be happy?

‘Oh, let’s go and find Roland and tell him,’ Kate said.

‘No!’ Margaret said suddenly. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’

‘Oh, what a lovely idea! I won’t say a word, I promise.’

Margaret took the finery off and hung it carefully in the mahogany wardrobe and dressed again in her simple blue merino; then they went downstairs to find that Roland had put the idea of a double wedding to Lady Pargeter and obtained her agreement. What he would not countenance was that Henry Capitain should be invited to the ceremony.

‘But he is my only relative,’ Margaret said, feeling that the least she could do was to allow her great-uncle to see her in the gown. ‘Surely it cannot do any harm?’

‘I am surprised you can suggest it,’ he said. ‘You know what he is like.’

‘I know he is a little ill-groomed, but I am sure he would dress suitably for such an occasion.’

‘And bring his doxy with him, I don’t doubt.’

‘You could ask him not to.’

‘No,’ Roland said, so firmly that Margaret knew further argument was useless. She said no more, but made up her mind to write a little thank-you note and have it sent to Sedge House.

She saw little of Roland in the next few days because he was busy directing the digging of a new drain and the building of a flood barrier, but he did return to accompany Charles and the girls skating.

The huge field was two or three miles away and the girls went in the sled, while the two men rode. The narrow roads were crowded as everyone from miles around converged on the area which had been set aside for the skating. Men with brooms had been out sweeping it free of debris and already there were people on the ice, young and old, competent and novice. There were friends of Roland’s there, who came over to speak to him, asking him if he intended to enter for the championship.

‘I’m a little rusty,’ he said, laughing. ‘But why not?’ Then, turning to take Margaret’s hand, he asked, ‘May I present you to Mistress Donnington, who is staying at the Manor with us and is shortly to become my wife?’