But then he startled her even more. “Shall we sit? That bench over there, perhaps… it is quite sheltered from the wind, but still in clear view of my mother, who is watching us anxiously from the terrace.”
“Is she? But why?”
“In case I thoughtlessly allow you to grow chilled, for that leads to inflammation of the lungs, you see, and then a putrid fever, whereupon you will certainly be dead within three days. A cool breeze is invariably fatal in Mother’s eyes. So we will not stretch her nerves for too long, but there is something I should like to talk about.”
“Oh. Not an offer, I suppose?” she said teasingly, as she sat on the bench he indicated.
He settled himself beside her, his long legs stretched out before him. “I am afraid not, but it is on that subject, in a way. I should like to understand your mind fully. When you set out to marry first Walter and then me, is it the particular title to which we are heir that attracts you, or would another title do as well? Or is it Corland Castle that entices you?”
This was plain speaking indeed, but she very much liked such a direct approach. “Not the castle, no — such a great echoing place, and so cold! Highwood is not exactly cosy, but at least one is not chilled to the bone all year round. And I do not care about that title in particular.”
“So you would be happy with another title… any title? You want to be noble?”
“I want to be aLady, Bertram. I am so tired of being plain Miss Franklyn whose father was an attorney and whose fortune came from iron foundries. There is something terribly dispiriting and… well,industrialabout iron foundries, do you not think?”
“What does it matter where the money came from?” he said.
“Oh, believe me, it matters! When Papa inherited all his money, all our friends in Newcastle drew away from us. They thought we were too far above them now. So when Papa married Mama, I thought we would find a level amongst her people. But no, they are too grand to admit the likes of us to their ranks. They not only despise Papa and me, they despise Mama, too,because she married beneath her. She married a commoner, you see. So I decided that I would marry a nobleman and then they wouldhaveto acknowledge me and treat me with respect. And when we moved here, you… all the Athertons were kind to us, and never made us feel inferior. So that is why I chose Walter first, and then you, because you don’t despise me and will make me a Lady.”
“Suppose,” he said, slowly, smiling his gentle smile, “that I could find you another nobleman to marry? One who could make you a Lady straight away and not at some indeterminate point in the future?”
“Can you do that?”
“I can try. I shall be spending a month at Landerby Manor, which will be full of noblemen, particular friends of mine, and two of them at least I know for a fact are looking to marry.”
“Truly? And they already have titles?”
“They do. The brother of a duke, and a viscount. And, as an outside possibility, what would you say to the heir to a dukedom? Should you like to be a duchess?”
Her heart beat a little faster. “Oh, Bertram!” she whispered. “I should outrank Mama.”
He laughed. “So you would. How very gratifying that would be, and I can ensure that you are invited to Landerby, but there is one condition.”
“Ah. I knew there would be a catch.”
“You must promise me you will stop pursuing me, and not just at Landerby — forever, Bea.”
“But nothing may come of it.”
“Then I shall find some other way to help you achieve your ambition, but I have no intention of marrying, and I do not wish you to waste your time on a project doomed to failure. Will you promise? If I obtain an invitation for you to Landerby, you will leave me alone forthwith?”
“I will.”
“Then let us go and put the idea to your mama.”
8: On The Road To Lincolnshire
The Franklyns were two days on the road to Landerby Manor in Lincolnshire, and with every mile that passed Lady Esther’s smile widened a fraction. An invitation from the Duchess of Wedhampton was exactly calculated to set her in a benign mood, for she was returning to her rightful place amongst the nobility.
Bea’s father, who had elected to join them on the visit, was not of noble blood, but he looked so very much the part that he might as well have been. His well-fitting, expensive clothes and patrician air were impressive, and he was still fit and active, despite being beyond forty years of age.
Only Bea herself was out of place, for she was neither elegant nor especially ladylike. Her stepmother reprimanded her at regular intervals for her slouching deportment or excessive boisterousness. “A lady is restrained at all times,” she said loftily. But Bea preferred to remember the way Bertram had described her.‘Full of energy. Enthusiastic. Animated, and let me tell you, that is a great deal better than being spiritless anddrooping, like so many fashionable young ladies.’Spiritless and drooping! How dreadful that sounded. So even as she obediently straightened her back and lowered her head and suppressed her instinct to point out every landmark they passed, she kept the flame of her enthusiasm burning within her.
She had not enlightened her stepmother about the real reason for this visit. Bertram had said only that the Duchess of Wedhampton had asked them all to bring young ladies along, to lighten the otherwise heavily male atmosphere of the gathering, and he had thought it might amuse Bea. Lady Esther had agreed to it instantly, added herself and Papa to the invitation, and set a date, the whole being decided within no more than ten minutes. But nothing at all had been said about finding a suitor for her, or about her pact with Bertram.
Bertram… she could not make up her mind about him. On the one hand, his immovable resistance to the very idea of marriage was disappointing, but on the other, he had very kindly arranged this visit so that she might meet other, less reluctant, gentlemen. Two of his friends, he had said, were actively looking to marry, both able to give her the place in society she craved. Perhaps she would never fly so high as her stepmother, but no one could sneer at her if she were a Lady… not openly, at least.
Mama was always slow in dressing in the mornings, so Bea and her father waited patiently in their parlour at the George Inn at Selby. Her father had buried himself in a local newspaper, but Bea sat by the window, her legs tucked under her, gazing down at the market square below. There was no market today, but there were a few carts selling fresh vegetables and cheese, wagons and riders passing by, a bustle of people scurrying about and a fine view of Selby Abbey. After the emptiness surrounding Highwood Place, it was delightful to watch the endless motion and ever-changing sights of town.
