Her father laid down his newspaper and folded it neatly. “Have you heard anything of how Walter Atherton is going on in London?”
Without turning away from the window, Bea said, “No. Why should I have?”
“I should have thought it a matter of interest to you. After all, you almost married him. Had his grandmother not been so ill, you would have been married by now.”
She looked at him, then said with a sigh, “I suppose I should have asked. I saw Lady Strong not two days since, and she would have known. No doubt Winnie is an assiduous correspondent. But his name was not mentioned, and I did not think to ask.” Another sigh, and she turned fully to face him, swinging her legs to the floor. “You think me unfeeling, I am sure, and perhaps I am. Did you expect me to go into a decline? Or to marry him anyway, even though he is not the man I betrothed myself to?”
“I expected you to show some sign of distress, yes,” he said. “After all, you showed a marked preference for him right from the start, and that was five years ago. Can all of that be set aside so easily? Surely you must feel some… not regret, perhaps, but pangs of loss. He was a fine young man, after all — handsome, charming, well-mannered.”
“And entirely indifferent to me, Papa,” she said, with a sudden spurt of anger. “He made it very clear that he cared as little for me as I did for him. It was a matter of convenience to both of us. He got himself a wealthy wife without exerting himself in the slightest, and I—”
“You got a title,” he said softly.
“Yes!Lady Birtwell, and eventually Lady Rennington, but without that, Walter is just another lazy, arrogant aristocrat. If he has to work for a living now, it will do him a great deal of good and perhaps teach him a little humility.”
Her father’s eyebrows arched a fraction. “If you despise him so much, I wonder you wished to marry him at all, title or no.”
“I do not despise him, I merely see him as he is, Papa. Would you think better of me if I had been in love with him? What good would that have done?”
“Love is not a prerequisite for a contented marriage,” her father said slowly. “Not love… but one must at the very leastrespectone’s partner in life, and if you did not respect Mr Walter Atherton, it is better that you should not marry him. And if you do not respect Mr Bertram Atherton, you should not marry him, either. Marriage is a bond for life, Bea, and that can be a very long time with a spouse for whom you feel nothing but contempt.”
“I shall respect my husband well enough when I have his ring on my finger, you may be sure,” she said with a gurgle of laughter. “I understand the rules of the game, Papa. You have taught me well that I must marry for advantage above all else.”
He shifted uneasily. “It is true that both my marriages were advantageous, the first for my career and the second socially, but that was not the reason for them… not thesolereason. I had an affection for both my wives before I married them.”
“And would you have married either of them if they had not been advantageous?” Bea said.
“Certainly! Well… possibly… who can say? The situation did not arise. My principal reason for marrying was to provide myself with the comfort of my own family. For a man, female companionship and a pleasant home are powerful inducements. For a woman… well, you have no need to marry at all, Bea. I understand why you refused Walter Atherton in the end, but this rush to replace him, and with a member of the nobility at all costs…” He shifted again, folding and then unfolding his arms. “I do not interfere with how you and your mother address your marital prospects. My task is only to ensure that the man youchoose is financially sound and not a scoundrel. However, I hope you will not marry without the most careful thought. A hasty marriage…” He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “Well, I do not wish you to regret it, that is all I have to say on the matter.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Time is passing. I shall go and see what is delaying Lady Esther. Ah, here she is at last!” The relief in his voice was palpable. “Now we shall be soon on the road again.”
Bea was glad to be on her way again, too. A whole evening confined to an inn parlour with her parents reminded her forcibly of the long-ago time when her father was a mere attorney and the two of them lived in perfect contentment, sitting one each side of the fire with their books after dinner, not needing the company of any third person. Or so she had thought.
Then her father had unexpectedly inherited his fortune, bought a larger house, become a man of fashion and set out to distance himself from his humble roots. Lady Esther had come into their lives soon afterwards, and although Bea was very glad of the wider society the daughter of a duke could offer, she could not but regret the loss of those long, companionable evenings. Books were set aside now in favour of elegant embroidery or tapestry or music, and if she were allowed to read at all, it must be an improving work suitable for young ladies. Nor was she left to read even such dull material in peace, but was exhorted to read certain passages aloud, or questioned closely to ensure she had understood the moral. It was all very well for her father to advise her not to marry in haste, but another summer under her stepmother’s tutelage would surely have her fit only for the asylum.
Of course she must marry! And soon, for she was one and twenty already, practically an old maid. There was an urgency about the matter that had not been there before. Three seasons in London with the humiliation of no betrothal… not even asensible offer. But Walter had always been there, always in her orbit, just waiting for her to bring him to the point. And when one is only seventeen… eighteen… nineteen, oh, there is all the time in the world.
No longer. She must find herself a husband and a title before the winter, or she would have failed utterly. But if Eustace and Walter would not do, and Bertram would not surrender, then she must take whatever opportunities presented themselves. She had a month to find a husband from amongst Bertram’s noble friends.
Here she quailed a little. A month! So little time to find the right one and bring him around her thumb. How would she know? With the Atherton men, she had known them now for several years and had a very good idea of their characters. How could she meet a man for the first time and decide instantly whether he would do or not?
But then she reminded herself that the men she would meet at Landerby Manor were aristocratic, and therefore they would all be gentlemen. They were not like some of the men she had met in London, whose only interest was in her fortune, or those in Newcastle who had unwelcome designs on her person. A gentleman had no need of her fortune and would respect her person, so she need only find one who appeared responsive to her overtures. Surely she had decision and will enough to bring this off? She would be betrothed within the month or her name was not Beatrice Franklyn.
***
Nothing occurred to delay the journey and by the middle of the afternoon the Franklyns’ two carriages turned aside from the turnpike onto a narrow, badly rutted track. Two small villages came and went, children and geese and dogsscattering before the horses and then running excitedly after the carriages until exhaustion or boredom or the clouds of dust overcame them. Bea let down the window, leaned out and waved enthusiastically to them, until her mama chided her.
They came to a long, moss-covered wall, crumbling in places, and eventually two stone gate posts, one of them leaning slightly. The gates stood wide open, so they drove through at a smart pace onto a carriage drive liberally coated with weeds, and shaded by elderly lime trees in rigid lines. The avenue was short, and very soon they reached the house. Bea had seen many imposing houses while visiting her stepmother’s relations, but there was something unspeakably sad about the decaying splendour of Landerby Manor. The stonework was stained from overflowing rainwater pipes, the high mullioned windows showed cracked panes stuffed with sacking, and monstrous untrimmed shrubs loomed menacingly over the lower windows. And yet beneath the neglect lay a fine Tudor house.
Lady Esther sniffed. “I hope the interior is in better condition, or we shall be most uncomfortable.”
The great wooden front doors, bleached almost white by the sun, slowly opened and a stream of liveried footmen poured down the steps, supervised by a most superior butler. Lady Esther’s face brightened. Barely had they decanted from the carriage than a small figure, dwarfed by the great doors, emerged from within and raced down the steps, holding her skirts high enough to reveal shapely ankles.
“Lady Esther! Lady Esther!” the figure cried, slithering to a halt so late that she almost crashed into them. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for coming. I doubt you remember me, but we met several times in town three years ago, and I so admired your elegance… your deportment… oh, everything about you! Of course you will not remember, for I was merely Lady George Medhurst then, and George had no expectation ofthe title. Why, no one ever thought of it, least of all me! But here we are, and here I am with not the least idea how to go on, and no mother-in-law to advise me, and my own mother simply throws up her hands and sayssheknows nothing about it, but you were brought up in a ducal household, you see. Oh, is this your daughter? So pretty! Such lovely hair you have, my dear. Are those curls natural? How lucky you are! And Mr Franklyn — welcome, sir, welcome! You are all welcome.”
She paused for breath, and Lady Esther, who had long since made her curtsy, now said in faint tones, with just the hint of a question at the end, “Your Grace.”
Bea was trying very hard not to laugh at this most unregal duchess. She caught her father’s eye, and saw the unholy amusement therein, and that almost undid her. Fortunately, she managed to turn her laugh into a cough, and Lady Esther, never over-endowed with a sense of humour and certainly not when it involved a duchess, had taken charge of the situation.
“We are honoured to be here, Your Grace. Such a fine residence! So imposing. Shall we go inside?”
