“But what did hesay?”
“Very little, for he is not a man who finds talking easy. However, he has given me a letter for Bea. He does not feel himself capable of finding sufficient words in speech, but he is very fluent in the written form. So sit, both of you, and I will read it to you.”
“It is not private, then?” Bea said in a small voice.
“It is addressed to you, but there is nothing of an intimate nature in it. He wishes it to be read aloud.”
They all sat and the letter was produced.
‘My dear Miss Franklyn, Pray forgive me for writing thus to you words which should more properly be spoken, but you will understand the reason for it, and your generous nature will forgive me, I am sure. When I went to Landerby Manor,I had no thought beyond the call of Latin, and the fellowship of men of like mind. My anticipation was keen for our daily discussions, but I dreaded the evenings, when I would be obliged to join a different kind of company. I have never been easy amongst ladies, especially as the circumstance of my birth and destined high rank makes me a target for the ambitions of a certain type of young lady. On this occasion, I was surprised to find one young lady in the company who displayed no such ambition, who treated me only with kindness, and an open-hearted generosity of spirit that I found utterly beguiling. Such beauty and liveliness, such goodness and tenderness in one person inspires me to the greatest heights. I have not the words in English, but in Latin, oh my dear Miss Franklyn, believe me when I say that the words have flowed from my pen unceasingly. I enclose a sample, with translation.”Papa waved a second paper. “Even then, I might have gone away, a little regretful perhaps, but otherwise heart-whole, had you not bestowed upon me that gentle sign of your affection. When you kissed me, my very dear Beatrice, how could I refuse the sentiments you so freely offered me? I knew then I could not contemplate life without you. I have talked to my father, who is perfectly content to leave my choice of bride to me. I come therefore, most humbly to beg you to consent to be my wife. I shall return tomorrow to hear your answer. Yours in deepest affection, Ralph Embleton.’
Silence fell. Bea was too horrified to speak, too agitated to sit still. She jumped up, striding across to the window. She was tempted to cry, but it was too serious for that.
“You kissed him?” Mama said faintly.
“Only a… a sisterly sort of kiss,” Bea said, whirling round. “I never imagined… how could I guess…?”
“A kiss is a kiss,” Mama said firmly. “There is no such thing as asisterlykiss, not with a marquess. You have led him tobelieve you have an attachment to him, and now he very nobly offers you his name. How wonderful, Beatrice! What a clever girl you are. This is so much better than the Athertons and their mere earldom. May I be the very first to wish you joy.”
Bea was thrown into total confusion. Lord Embleton wanting to marry her! She left her parents to gloat and retreated to the library, the marquess’s letter in one hand and his poem in the other, and tried very hard not to cry.
What had she done? She could see her own foolishness all too clearly, in bestowing kisses, even sisterly ones, on men who turned out to be rather susceptible to such behaviour. Even Bertram and his friends had, albeit half-heartedly, offered for her, but that had been private and she had never confessed it to Mama or Papa. But when a marquess came in aristocratic state to formally ask for her hand — there was no hidingthat.
A month ago, even two weeks ago, she would have gloried in such a proposal. She would have accepted Lord Embleton without an instant’s hesitation and married him confident that his rank and position in society were all she wanted. But now, with Bertram, she had glimpsed the possibility of a different kind of marriage, one that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with affection. With passion. Withlove.
She read again his letter, and found it strangely unemotional. The poem… yes, there was certainly some feeling in it, more than the letter, but still, it was… unsatisfactory. It was like Lord Brockscombe’s kiss, pleasant enough but without fire. How could she marry him with no fire? How could she marry anyone with the memory of Bertram’s kiss burning inside her? It was impossible.
Her father came to see her after a little while, pouring wine for them both and then sitting in Bertram’s chair facing her across the desk.
“You do not seem very happy about this, Bea.”
“It is such a shock,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“No? I confess I noticed no particular attentions from him, but you were always surrounded by Atherton and his cronies. That was where we expected your future to lie. Your stepmother was very hopeful of Atherton, but this is beyond her wildest dreams.”
“Is it?” Bea said wanly.
Her father gave her a searching look. “I thought it was whatyouwanted, too. After all, you seem to have played him perfectly — not chasing him openly, like the others, simply treating him as a mere acquaintance, so that he cannot even see the game you are playing, and then sealing the deal with a kiss. No wonder he finds you irresistible.”
“I was not playing agame, Papa, not with Lord Embleton! I felt sorry for him, that was all, and I thought he had no wish to marry at all, so I never even tried to attach him. And the kiss meant nothing, truly. How could I guess he would imagine my affections were engaged?”
“Do you dislike him?”
“No, not at all.”
“Does the speech problem trouble you?”
“Oh,no!He is the most restful man to be with.”
“He will not stop you learning Latin, if that is a concern. He cannot teach you himself, but he would engage a tutor for you.”
“He told you that?”
Her father smiled. “I asked him. Bea, I cannot think you are overwhelmed by the prospect of being a duchess, for you have always had an abundance of confidence in your ability to take on any rôle. So what holds you back?”
“Papa, it is but a few days ago that I decided never to marry.”
Her father shook his head, smiling affectionately at her. “I cannot believe you meant any of that, Bea. Marriage is every woman’s ambition, surely, however much she puts a braveface on spinsterhood. For eight years now, ever since your stepmother came into our lives, you have focused all your hopes on marrying a man with a title. Are you truly asking me to believe that you have given up that ambition irrevocably?”
