“Why, a nobleman, of course, who will make you noble, too. Is that not your aim?”
“Then why did you encourage Mr Fielding to propose to me?”
He laughed. “Should I not have done so? I imagine you gave him short shrift. I cannot see you in a parsonage, somehow.”
She was uncomfortably silent for a moment. “I was rather rude to him, I confess. But if you think I should marry into the nobility, why encourage him at all? You could have sent him packing, as you have done with plenty of others you deemed to be fortune hunters.”
“I take my lead from your stepmother in such matters, Bea. We are moving in her world now, and she knows how to judge these people better than I do. My duty is only to determine a man’s financial position, but she decides who is suitable to encourage and who is not. Who iseligible.”
“But Mr Fielding?”
“I know. He was a sizar at Cambridge. Do you know what that means? He worked his way through university. His lordly friends merely paid to attend, and did not even have to take any examinations to achieve their degrees, whereas he paid a lesser amount and acted as a servant while studying hard for his degree. I admire such perseverance, but your stepmother would not normally approve of such a suitor for you. However, here she tells me that everyone is acceptable since everyone is a friend of the Duke of Wedhampton. So, I felt safe in allowing him to approach you.”
“Even though you knew I would turn him down?”
“You might have been harbouring atendrefor the man, Bea. I live in hope that one day you will discover the joy of falling head over heels in love.”
“Now that would be unforgivably foolish of me,” she said, although it was odd how her thoughts flew instantly to Bertram, and those fiery kisses. “Unless I should happen to fall in love with a man of noble birth.”
But her father did not laugh. “I am serious, Bea. No title, no grand estate, no amount of money will ever outweigh the pleasure of a smile from the person you love most in all the world, or the warmth in your heart as you return it.”
“Mama?” Bea said wonderingly.
“Not this mama, no, although I am very fond of her. It is your true mother of whom I speak. My dear Eloise.” His face softened into a smile, perhaps drawn by some happy memory. “I was very fortunate to have her for a little while, and I do not expect ever to receive such a blessing a second time. I married your stepmother for other reasons, and she too has brought me happiness… of a different kind. Every marriage is unique, unlike any other.”
“But love is not necessary for happiness,” Bea said firmly. “Mama says that love is an illness, and if one catches it, one must endeavour to recover as quickly as possible.”
Her father laughed, but shook his head. “With weak beef tea and regular bleeding, I suppose? Your stepmother is an admirable woman in a multitude of ways, but she does not know everything.”
They were joining the throng approaching the church by this time, so the conversation lapsed, but as they waited for Mama’s carriage to arrive, Bea pondered her father’s words. She had never heard him speak so openly about his two marriages before, although there was nothing that surprised her. She remembered very well his grief after her own mama had died, and her babybrother with her, and she knew precisely why he had married her stepmother — to secure his new position in society as a gentleman, and to provide a chaperon for Bea, so that she could make a good match.A husband worthy of you. But who? If only Bertram—
But such thoughts were fruitless. She had given up Bertram, and must find a different husband. There must be another man in the world who set her afire. Just a few days ago, she would have said that all she looked for in her husband was a title and an income commensurate with his rank, but now, she knew there must be something more.
After the service, the congregation milled about outside the church for some little time, and a great crowd set off for the walk back to Landerby. Bea found Mr Fielding beside her.
“Miss Franklyn,” he began in a low voice, and for an instant she was terrified that he would renew his addresses. But he went on in a humble tone, “You must allow me to thank you for your most gracious letter. Despite my despicable presumption in approaching you—”
“No, no! You must not say such things.”
“Indeed I must, for is it not true? It was insufferably arrogant of me, and I know now that I am not worthy of you… couldneverbe worthy of you, and therefore I cede the field to those better qualified than I. But these few weeks have been the happiest of my life. You have given me an ideal of womanhood, and I shall never forget you. Thank you!”
Before she could reply he melted back into the crowd and was instantly lost to view, while Bertram and his other friends drew forward to her side, as if by prearrangement. They immediately began to rattle away light-heartedly, but she was not in the mood for frivolity. Her thoughts were filled with poor Mr Fielding, who was so besotted with her that he regarded her as an ideal of womanhood! Was ever a man so deluded?
Oh, but to be loved so well! It was gratifying. It was humbling. She recalled her father’s words… something about a smile, and how it warmed the heart, and she wished — oh, how she wished! — that she could love that way and be loved in return. Perhaps her father was right, and a title would mean nothing beside such happiness.
***
Sunday evenings were normally dreary. No music or dancing, no cards, no reading beyond religious tracts and nothing to do beyond desultory conversation, for no one was very lively. The only blessing Bea could see was that she could put aside the hated needlework for one day.
This evening, however, the duchess had a plan for their amusement. Chairs were arranged in the saloon, and when all had taken their places, she stood at the front, beaming at them.
“We will all recite from memory,” she announced. “It does not have to be strictly religious, although passages from the Bible must always be acceptable, but quotations from great literature would be welcome, too. Shakespeare… and similar writers of great merit. The duke will begin… you have a patriotic piece, I believe?”
“It is‘We few, we happy few’. I am sure everyone knows it. From Henry the Fifth.” He struck an attitude, as if he were on a stage, and began his recitation, and if occasionally he muddled the words or needed a prompt from the audience, no one minded, for it was better than sitting about being bored.
Then the duchess recited a pretty little poem, and one by one the company rose to take a turn, in rank order. Only the marquess, whose difficulties with speech rendered him ineligible to participate, was exempt.
As she waited for her turn, Bea pondered what she should recite. She had a number of poems at her disposal, but it was a question of what would best please the company. But then Bertram whispered in her ear.
