More foot shuffling. Even Bertram could not quite look her in the eye.
“Whatever is the matter?” she said.
Lord Brockscombe tugged at his neck cloth. “We… wanted to talk to you,” he muttered. “Atherton?”
“You will explain it better,” Bertram said. “Or Medhurst.”
But it was Mr Fielding who stepped forward and said impatiently, “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Miss Franklyn, we are here because we are all concerned for your happiness. You looked so miserable last night, and knowing that it arises from LadyEsther’s prohibition on the learning of Latin, we are here to propose a solution.”
Bea brightened. “You know of some way to convince Mama? I should be very happy to hear of it.”
“Not… not that,” Mr Fielding said, licking his lips. He looked at the others, but none of them seemed inclined to speak, so he went on, “The solution, it seems to us, is for you to marry… and marry someone who will not mind… will encourage you to learn.”
“You, Mr Fielding?” she said gently.
He gave a nervous smile. “There is nothing I should like better, as you know, but… not necessarily me. One of us… any one of us. We would all… be happy to… to…”
“To marry you,” Bertram put in, rather loudly. “You can choose, Bea.”
She gazed round at them, puzzled. What were they saying? What did it mean? Could they reallyallwant to marry her? Even Bertram? No, it was impossible.
“All of you?” she said, her voice rising.
“All of us,” Bertram said.
“Even you, Bertram?”
He flushed, but looked her straight in the eye and nodded.
“Marry any one of us you like,” Lord Thomas said.
“The title of your choice,” Lord Brockscombe said.
“But…?” she floundered. “Are you proposing to me… areallof you proposing because you are sorry that I am not allowed to learn Latin?”
“Not me,” Mr Fielding put in quickly. “I have other reasons. As you know.”
“We have other reasons, too,” Lord Thomas said. “It is notjustthe Latin.”
“Yes, you want the dowry, too,” Mr Fielding said. “You all want the dowry.”
“It is not aboutmoney,” Lord Brockscombe said testily. “Honestly, Fielding, you make it sound so sordid, as if we were nothing but fortune hunters.”
“Well, why do else you want to marry her, if not for that?” Mr Fielding said hotly. “It is not as if youloveher, is it?”
There was a long silence, heavy with tension, as three of the men glared at each other. Lord Thomas’s hands clenched into fists, as if he wanted to hit one or other of his friends. Bertram simply stared at his feet, red faced.
Bea was almost too angry to speak, but then she saw the funny side of the situation, and started to laugh. At once, the tension dissipated, like the popping of a soap bubble, and the men smiled, too.
“You must not fall out over me,” she said. “Or for any reason. You are all very kind but…”
But…? Was she truly going to turn them down…allof them? It was madness. Here was everything she had always wanted, offered to her freely. A respectable marriage, even a title, the summit of her ambition for much of her life, and she could even have Bertram, and those kisses that tormented her dreams. She could be the Countess of Rennington, just as she had always intended. The plum was hers again, and all she had to do was to reach out for it.
No. She could not do it. She knew that Bertram did not wish to marry — not her, not anyone. He had told her so a score of times. He was offering, and his friends were offering too, because of pity, not love, and that was a bad foundation for marriage. There must be love, or at least affection and respect, on both sides.
For once, her head and her heart were in agreement. It would not do.
“I am very sorry, gentlemen, and I thank you most sincerely for the honour you do me, but I cannot marry any of you.”
