Bertram inched his way back to some state of normality as the evening progressed. Perhaps not normality — that was not quite the word for it, but he could function again. If addressed, he could answer with at least the appearance of coherence. He was barely aware of what was said or what he ate or drank, but he hoped his disordered mind was not too obvious.
He was acutely aware of Bea, however. Even without looking, he knew precisely where she was. He knew when she entered the saloon, watched as Fielding escorted her into dinner, heard her voice amongst the babble of chatter around the table. It was odd, for she spoke no more loudly than anyone else, but her voice was instantly identifiable to him. There was some resonance to which he was acutely attuned.
When he returned to the saloon, he was immediately conscious of her, sitting quietly beside her stepmother who was talking to the duchess. He longed to go to her, and yet dared not. Would she be embarrassed if he approached her? And what could he possibly say to her? He could not bring himself to talk about the weather after such a momentous event in his life.
Naturally he saw her jump up as soon as the idea of a walk was mooted. Bertram rose, too — perhaps he could walk with her? But Brockscombe put paid to that idea, and Bertram suffered the anguish of seeing Bea walk away happily with his friend. Would she find an opportunity to kiss him? Surely she would, and how could he resist? No man could resist Bea at her most open and artless.
Why did that distress him so much? It was an odd thing, but he felt extraordinarily proprietorial towards her now. That kiss had made her his in some strange way, even though she was destined to marry elsewhere, even though there was no attachment between them beyond the gentle affection offriendship. As he wandered aimlessly about the gardens, the thought that she might at that very moment be wrapped in Brockscombe’s unworthy arms gave him extraordinary pain.
Abruptly, he spun on his heel and strode back to the house, unable to endure even one second more of the evening. He retreated to his room and buried himself in Horace until the light grew too dim to see the page. He cast the book to the floor in disgust, stretched out his legs on the window seat and leaned his head against the pane. Tomorrow… he would be better tomorrow. This strange excess of sensibility would leave him and he would be well again.
His friends returned shortly before midnight, Brockscombe in buoyant mood, Medhurst thoughtful, Fielding sullen. The latter said accusingly to Brockscombe, “You kissed her!”
Brockscombe looked sheepish. “How do you know that?”
“Wait! There has been kissing? Who? Not Miss Franklyn!” Medhurst said.
“Of course Miss Franklyn. There is no one else here worth kissing, after all. See? I have here the proof.” He drew forth a hairpin and waved it around in glee.
“You and your hairpins,” Fielding said in disgusted tones.
“Yes, I wish you would not do that,” Medhurst said. “It is disrespectful to the lady to inflict yourself upon her person merely to steal a hairpin. How did you get her alone? This garden, I suppose. It is a wilderness.”
Brockscombe chuckled. “Most conveniently overgrown. It is all too easy to hide away. I thought we were very discreet, but somehow Fielding knows all my secrets. How did you manage it?”
“I followed you, naturally. It is the sworn duty of a younger son to learn to creep about unnoticed, the better to spy on one’s older brothers, and such a talent never deserts one. I followed you all the way to your private little nook, watched you try andfail to kiss her, saw you finally get it right, and then hid in the bushes as you passed me by on your return.”
“You sneaky little—”
“Never mind that,” Fielding said. “Does this mean you are courting her seriously, Brockscombe? I suppose you will expect us all to stand aside for you now.”
“Well, I—”
“No need for that,” Bertram said quickly. “Until there is a proposal accepted, Miss Franklyn is as free as a bird, and any of us may try to attach her.”
“Who are you to be the arbiter?” Brockscombe said testily. “You have no interest in that direction yourself, so you have no right to interfere. Fielding is right — he should stand aside. She let me kiss her and that is a sign — it means she will accept me if I offer for her.”
“If?” Fielding said, snatching at the most hopeful part of this. “Then you have not yet decided?”
“Well… not entirely, no. It is a momentous decision to take, and one must be absolutely sure. But I do not think we should be falling out over this. I have made the most progress with her, so I should have the first shot at her.”
“I do not see that at all,” Medhurst said. “Suppose she dislikes you, and would prefer me… or even Fielding here, for some unfathomable reason. Why should we step aside? She might think we have no interest in her, and accept you merely because yours is the only offer she receives. We should give her the widest possible choice.”
“I have no intention of stepping aside,” Fielding said, lifting his chin a little. “I already have her father’s approval to court her.”
Three faces turned on him in astonishment. “You have talked to herfather?”Brockscombe said incredulously. “Already?”
“You are not even eligible to marry a lady with forty thousand pounds,” Medhurst said.
Fielding shrugged. “That is what I thought at first, but when I considered a little more deeply, it does not seem to me that my situation is so very ineligible. I may be a younger son, but my family is perfectly respectable and not poor or wrapped in scandal or anything of that nature. I have a very comfortable income… No, no, it is not vast, but six hundred a year is not negligible, and I shall have another two hundred a year from my great-uncle. I can well afford to marry, and even to install a curate if my wife should not care for the parsonage. So I asked Mr Franklyn what he thought. Is anyone ever going to pour the brandy? Atherton, you are unaffected by these deliberations. Will you do the honours?”
Silently, Bertram poured and handed round glasses, hoping the others would not notice how badly his hands shook. What was the matter with him?
“So what did Franklyn say? He did not show you the door, presumably,” Brockscombe said.
“Not a bit of it. He said he could hardly object since my family is more respectable than he is — his words, not mine. He was an attorney before he inherited his fortune, did you know that? And it all came from iron foundries, so for all his fine clothes, he is only a hairsbreadth away from trade. Then he said that Miss Franklyn was a lady of decided views and would choose for herself who to marry, so he would do nothing either to promote or to hinder my suit, but for himself, he wished me well with the endeavour. So you see…”
“That means that any of us may try for her, kisses or no kisses,” Medhurst said. “I wonder if she would kissme, if I asked. She might, for she is an amiable little creature, and as cosy an armful as any man could wish for. I should very much like to put it to the test.”
