“Welwood is so old-fashioned!”
“That is hardly an insuperable problem. Besides, it is not the house that matters, Bea. Eustace Atherton is a man of impeccable lineage, and even if the unfortunate circumstances of his father’s marriage have rendered him illegitimate, he is still an earl’s son, and a gentleman of independent means. With your fortune—”
“I cannot marry Eustace.”
“Why not?”
“He has no title, and is not likely ever to get one.”
“Bea, this obsession with a title at all costs is most unbecoming. Neither title nor wealth nor blood is any guarantee of good character. A title will not make you happy.”
“Marriagewill not make me happy, Papa, for it is merely to exchange one form of servitude for another. The lowliest washer-woman or labourer’s wife may be a Mrs, but I can be a Lady, and I shall, too. Bertram will make me Lady Rennington, Papa, and how can Mrs Eustace Atherton compare with that?”
He sighed. “Very well. I shall send Atherton away.”
“No, no. I shall see him myself. It is only civil to allow a man the opportunity to make his speech.”
“Very well, but be kind to him, Bea.”
“Of course. I am always kind to my rejected suitors.”
Which was a grand parting remark, and allowed her to leave the room with her head held high, but it was sheer bluster, for all that. How many suitors had ever reached the point of a proposal? Eustace, twice — three times, now. That cheeky brewer’s son. A younger son destined for the church and a stammering honourable in her first season. And that was all. No one at all in her second or third season, except for the usual fortune hunters sent packing by Papa. Even Walter had had to be pushed into it — in fact, she had all but proposed to him.
And here was Eustace again, another fortune hunter, but not one who could be easily turned off by Papa. Well, she had no intention of accepting him, but she did not intend to turn him off, either.
He looked rather smart, his boots polished to a high shine and his neck cloth arranged just so. The Atherton men were generally careless of their appearance, but Eustace always made an effort.
“Miss Franklyn.”
So, he was choosing to be formal. He bowed, she curtsied and then, to encourage him just a little, she gave him her hand. He raised it to his lips and dipped the lightest of kisses on it. That was prettily done!
“Here I am again,” he said, with a little laugh. “I thought my goose was cooked after the last time, and naturally I was very happy for Walter when you accepted him but… everything has changed. He has lost everything he expected to inherit and since you are free again, I thought this might be an opportune moment to remind you of my own circumstances, which have not changed. I still have my house. I still have my estate. I still have a good income, more than enough to support a wife. In fact, it has increased somewhat since the last time I approached you. I flatter myself my circumstances are such as to make the offer of my hand not disgusting to you. Bea, I have the sincerest anddeepest attachment to you, and that has not diminished over the years. Will you not make me the happiest of men and become my wife?”
“You are very kind, Eustace. I am flattered and honoured, but these are difficult times for me. When you approached me before, I felt I was too young to make such a momentous decision. Then there was Walter and I felt obliged to accept such a good offer. Now, I am all at sea. My future appeared to be settled, and I have not yet come to terms with the very great change that has been wrought. It is a great comfort to me that your feelings towards me remain unchanged — the one constant in my life at present! Yet I cannot but feel it is too soon to make any decision about my future. I need time to come to terms with all that has occurred. Do you understand?”
“Of course, and I would not for the world importune you. I shall withdraw for the present, but be assured that my offer stands, and you may call on me at any time, whenever you feel ready. I bid you good day, Miss Franklyn. Accept my good wishes for your future, wherever it may lie, and pray convey my regards to Lady Esther.”
He bowed and was gone, leaving Bea to reflect with satisfaction on the interview. Not that she had the least intention of marrying him, oh, the delight of a proper offer! It was a balm to her soul to have such a persistent admirer.
***
Bertram’s days had become rather full. The time was rapidly approaching when he would depart for Landerby Manor in Lincolnshire to present his paper on Horace, and it was as yet only half written. Worse, he had not even completed his reading and formulated his conclusions. Yet he could not deny his father his company, if nothing more, on his mission todiscover the state of the earl’s financial affairs. Each day they rode together to Corland Castle, and sat in the study while the earl looked bemused and Clarke, the land steward, waved his hands vaguely in the air and tried to explain about sheep farming or coal mining or the ownership of canals, while the earl, his brother and his nephew attempted to make sense of it without falling asleep. Bertram had been used to think of himself as a reasonably intelligent man, but Clarke made him feel inexpressibly stupid.
“Why is this so hard?” he said to his father one day, as they rode away from Corland in the now familiar fog of ignorance.
Mr Atherton chuckled. “Imagine yourself explaining the intricacies of… oh,The Aeneid, say, to someone unfamiliar with it. Clarke understands his work very well, but it is so ingrained in him that he finds it difficult to explain. What we need is someone with a more methodical approach to make it simple for us.”
“I suppose we cannot simply leave Clarke to get on with it?” Bertram said. “Do we need to know about sheep farming?”
“We need to know enough to know that Clarke is doing what he should, that is all,” Mr Atherton said. “In the old earl’s day, it was all left to Nicholson and… well, no one knew what was going on. When your uncle inherited, the lawyers insisted on Clarke, and on your uncle taking an interest in his affairs.”
Bertram’s eyebrows rose. “Was there a suspicion that Nicholson was lining his own pockets?”
His father chuckled. “That was precisely the problem, no one knew what he was doing, or whether it was all correct or not. Most of what went on was in his head. At least with Clarke, it is all written down. Or mostly, anyway.”
After three days, however, they were summoned to the old schoolroom, where the investigation into Mr Nicholson’s murder was proceeding. There they were introduced to a lawyer by the name of Willerton-Forbes, a fearsomely fashionable manin the London style, who reminded Bertram of Mr Franklyn, another dandy. Willerton-Forbes, being at a loose end, offered his services to disentangle the earl’s financial affairs, and since his first words were, “Let us make a complete list of all his lordship’s holdings, with all that is known of them, shall we?”, Bertram’s father fell on his neck with delight. In no time, sheets of paper filled in the lawyer’s neat hand grew to a sizeable pile, and Bertram’s father’s frown lifted somewhat.
With his father somewhat happier, Bertram felt easy about returning to the delights of Horace or, for light relief, Virgil. The disadvantage of this plan was soon discovered, when Carter crept into the library and coughed discreetly.
