Lord Thomas frowned. “Are you sure? Why not think about it?”
But Bertram said, “Miss Franklyn has spoken, Medhurst. Pray respect her decision.”
“Indeed, that was a very settled no,” Lord Brockscombe said, but he smiled at her, as if he were relieved.
Bertram gave her a watery smile, too, and heaved a deep sigh, as though he had completed a difficult assignment and was now free of duties for the rest of the day. Yes, she had done right to refuse them. Never had she encountered such reluctant suitors! They filed out silently, and, shaking her head in bemusement, she sat down at the table and opened her writing box.
But for a long time she sat and stared into space. This was what they thought of her — what even Bertram thought of her, as an object of pity. She was so pathetic a creature in his eyes that he would even overcome all his own scruples and offer to marry her. It was humiliating.
Hot tears dropped unheeded onto the paper in front of her. It was too much to bear. How could she hold her head up in public anymore? She was nothing… nobody. Not her father’s daughter, and not even worthy of respect from an honest man, never mind a lord. No wonder she had never found a husband in town. Only fortune hunters, or Walter, too lazy to object, or Latin scholars who pitied her.
How had she come to this position? And what on earth was she to do with her life now?
***
Bertram was elated. He had declared himself, after a fashion, and Bea could be in no doubt that he was willing to marry her. She had not accepted him, but at least she had not accepted any of the others, either, which would have been a severe blow.He could not quite say how it had happened, but by degrees he had come to think of her as his own, and would have taken her loss badly.
With their time at Landerby almost over, there was very little time left for anyone to sweep in and scoop her up. Grayling had taken Franklyn’s covert warning to heart and had avoided Bea ever since the tournament, and there were no other rivals. Bertram and the Franklyns would return to the North Riding, and he then had all the time in the world to court Bea properly and win her hand.
This plan received an unexpected boost at breakfast, when Franklyn came to sit beside him. “What are your plans for the homeward journey, Atherton? You have no carriage here, I notice.”
“I have a post-chaise ordered for Thursday, sir.”
“We travel on Thursday, too. Would you care to take up the last seat in our carriage? There will be room for your man in the luggage coach.”
Two whole days in Bea’s company! What better start to his campaign for her heart and hand could there be? But perhaps this was an impulsive offer that would be squashed by Lady Esther.
“How very kind you are, sir, but I should not wish to inconvenience the ladies at all. If the Lady Esther should dislike the plan—”
“Not the least inconvenience in the world. It was my wife’s idea, and your company will be most welcome.”
“In that case, I gladly accept. I will send word to cancel the post-chaise. My groom can ride ahead to ensure our accommodation is ready.”
Two days later, after an early breakfast, Bertram found himself seated in the Franklyns’ palatial carriage, directly opposite Bea. He had armed himself with a book to read so thathe would not be tempted to look at her continuously, but it was not easy to read when she was so close to him. It was fortunate that he was not especially tall, or their knees would have bumped together with every lurch of the carriage, but every time he raised his eyes from the page, there she was.
He tried to recall a time when he had not noticed her at all, but he could not. His earliest impressions of her when she had first moved to Birchall as a girl of sixteen had not been favourable, but he could not now understand why. He had thought her liveliness too forward, perhaps. The mass of lovely curls that surrounded her face distracted from her delicate beauty. One noticed the richness of her clothes rather than the elegance of her dress or her well-formed figure.
And then she had quickly attached herself to Walter and had hardly been seen at Westwick after that, apart from the minimum that politeness dictated. Lucas had called her a leech, and Bertram could understand that, for her pursuit of Walter had been relentless. Bertram had seen little of her, and had scarcely thought of her from one month to the next. Now he thought of little else. He looked up from his book surreptitiously now and then, just to see the curve of her cheek, or those luscious curls bouncing with the movement of the carriage. He could not see her eyes, for mostly her head was turned away from him, gazing out of the window at the passing scenery, and the sides of her bonnet hid much of her face. But every time she spoke, she turned back a little, and then he could see the whole of her lovely face, if he dared to look.
Not that she spoke often. Nor did her father speak, for no sooner had the carriage rolled away down the overgrown drive of Landerby Manor than he removed his hat, leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes. It was Lady Esther who carried the conversation, more or less single-handedly, starting with a summary of all that had happened at Landerby, as if they hadnot all been there and experienced these events for themselves. The monologue then moved forward to encompass the journey home, mentioning, with wearying detail, every single inn, village, town and way point of interest.
None of this required much participation from her captive audience, but Bea threw in a‘Yes, Mama’or a‘No, Mama’from time to time. Lady Esther came eventually to their return to Highwood Place, and the letters she expected to be awaiting her there, and here she turned more directly to Bea.
“I have written to Charity Ramsey to press her on the matter of our visit there this autumn, for she did promise… well, perhaps it was not quite a promise. Something about expecting us there. Do you remember her exact words, Beatrice?”
“I believe she said that she expected to be entertaining at Brandlebury this autumn, so that Marshfields would be quieter for his grace.”
“Ah yes, although Papa may be quiet enough if he stays in his own apartments. One does not have to clear the whole house just because one member of it may be indisposed.”
“But the music… the constant noise,” Bea said. “You said that you all had to creep about, for fear of disturbing him.”
“Of course, but that was some weeks ago, and he is much better now. Besides, the ballroom is a great distance from the Old Tower. Still, one must humour a duke, so I do not blame Charity for that, although Brandlebury is considerably smaller. I do not know how she will fit us all in, but I have written to remind her that she invited us… or at least, that sheoughtto invite us. I do not care for myself, but time is marching on for you, Beatrice. I should like to get you settled before the spring. So if Charity fails us, we shall go to Bath.”
“Must we, Mama?” Bea said. “Is it not very unfashionable to be seen there now?”
Lady Esther hesitated, then went on smoothly, “It has not the superior society to be found in London, certainly, but it is very elegant, and so much smaller that one may make a splash more readily.”
“Is it essential that we make a splash? Perhaps we could have a quiet time at home, for a change.”
