‘No, indeed!’ said Elinor. ‘I am sure we had none of us any reason to expect such solicitude. It is wretched for you, Nicky, and if you like to return with me to Highnoons I shall be very happy to accept your escort.’
‘Well, I will!’ said Nicky.
John encountered his elder brother’s eye, and grasped Nicky’s arm. ‘Oh, no, you will not!’ he said. ‘You will come up to bed, and no more of this nonsense. I’ll attend to him, Ned.’
Nicky, who was indeed extremely weary, said: ‘Oh, very well, but I am not a baby! I do not need to be put to bed! Good night, Cousin Elinor: I shall be riding over to collect my gear in the morning, I dare say. Come, Bouncer!’
John shook hands with the widow. ‘I must say good-bye, ma’am, for I set out for London to-morrow, and do not know when I may be in Sussex again. I hope when I see you next you will be comfortably settled at Highnoons, with no more secret entrances discovered! But Ned will look after you!’
She returned some answer, and he then marched Nicky off. Carlyon had fetched her hat and pelisse to Elinor, and she put them on, and let him usher her out to where the carriage was already waiting. ‘I wish you will not put yourself to this trouble, my lord!’ she said, as he handed her in. ‘Indeed, I am not at all afraid to go alone!’
‘But I wish to go with you,’ he replied, spreading a fur rug over her knees, and taking his place beside her.
The carriage moved forward. Mrs Cheviot said: ‘I do trust Nicky may not be found to have done his shoulder an injury!’
‘I do not think it.’
There was a pause.
‘Well, it will seem strange not to be going in terror of my life any more!’ remarked Elinor. ‘So much has happened this week that there has been no opportunity for me to discuss with you what next I must do. But this must now be thought of, my lord, as I am persuaded you must realise.’
‘There is little that you can do until probate has been granted,’ Carlyon replied.
‘You mean to keep me at Highnoons until then?’
‘Surely that was agreed between us?’
‘Was it?’ she said doubtfully.
‘Certainly. You are to sell Highnoons, and we must hope that my cousin’s debts will not swallow all the purchase price.’
She turned, but could only dimly discern his face in the darkness. ‘My lord, that is no matter to me! I could not reconcile it with my conscience to benefit by that dreadful marriage! Please to understand that I mean that!’
‘As you wish,’ he said indifferently.
She was surprised, for she had expected him to argue the matter, and had braced herself to resist his persuasions. After another slight pause, she said: ‘I do beg you will agree to let me leave Highnoons at once, sir. You are aware of my situation; I must look about me for an eligible engagement, and it will not do for me to be lingering on in this way.’
‘Mrs Macclesfield,’ he murmured. ‘I thought we should return to her.’
She laughed. ‘No, alas! I fear my credit with Mrs Macclesfield cannot be high! But do be serious, sir! I dare say it may be many months before a purchaser is found for Highnoons, and then what shall I do, with so much time wasted?’
‘I have considered that, ma’am, and if you should not like to return for a space to your own relatives I think it would be an excellent scheme for you to go on a visit to my sister, Lady Hartlepool. You will like her, I fancy. She has a sweetness of disposition which must always please. I do not suggest that you should go to Lady Flint, for she is expecting to be confined. And my sister Augusta is for ever racketing about town in a way that would hardly be proper for you during the period of your mourning. My sister Elizabeth will be visiting me shortly, and if I may do so I will bring her to make your acquaintance.’
‘But – but does Lady Hartlepool require a governess?’ asked Elinor.
‘Oh, no! Her children are all still in the nursery.’
‘Then – My lord, I do not know what scheme you may have in your head, but –’
‘I hope you will think better of this determination to seek another post as governess.’
‘Well, I shall not, I assure you, sir! I told you once before that I would not become your pensioner, and I beg of you to believe that I meant it!’
‘I hope that you will become my wife,’ he replied, with all his usual calm.
She was stricken to silence, and was aware of nothing but the hammering of her heart in her chest.
He continued after a moment. ‘I should not be making such a declaration to you yet, but I think my sentiments cannot be unknown to you.’
‘Quite – quite unknown, my lord!’ she said, in a voice which did not seem to be her own.
‘I have tried to conceal them. It is too soon, and I would not upon any account embarrass you. But when the period of your strict mourning is over it is my very ardent desire to be permitted to pay my addresses to you.’
She could only say: ‘It is absurd! I am persuaded this is one of your whimsical turns, my lord!’
‘My whimsical turns! No, indeed! I was never more serious in my life. You are the only woman I could think of asking to be my wife. You must be aware, at least, that I have found no common delight in your company.’
‘No! No, no, I had not the least notion – Oh, pray do not, my lord! This is some chivalrous conceit! You cannot mean it!’
He sounded amused. ‘My dear child, when have you ever known me indulge in such romantic folly as a chivalrous conceit? Indeed, my fear is that my overbearing, self-willed ways may have given you a distaste of me which not all my future efforts may serve to eradicate. Is it so?’
‘No,’ said Elinor. ‘Oh, no! But –’
He found her hand, and raised it to his lips. ‘Well, I have used you quite abominably, but I will not do so any more. I mean to take the greatest care of you, if you will let me.’
She was obliged to hunt hurriedly in her reticule for her handkerchief. Trying to speak in a collected way, she said: ‘It will not do! You are so very obliging, my lord, but do, pray, consider!’
‘I have already considered, and it is absurd to say that I am obliging.’
‘Oh, stop, stop! It is madness! Only think of your sisters. What would they say? You to marry one who is nothing but a penniless governess!’
‘What in the world is this new flummery? Do you forget that until a week ago you were Miss Rochdale of Feldenhall?’
‘No, I do not forget it, but I think you must forget the circumstances of – of my father’s death!’
‘I remember them perfectly, but what they have to do with you, will, I fear, always remain a mystery to me.’
She was silenced, but after a moment managed to say: ‘I am persuaded your sisters would not say as much. Only think what a shock it would be to them to learn of such tidings as your betrothal to me!’
‘If I know anything of my sister Georgy,’ he responded, ‘she has already written to tell both Eliza and Gussie, and very likely Harry too, that Ned has fallen head over ears in love at last.’
She blushed rosily in the darkness. ‘Oh, no! do not say so! She cannot have thought such a thing!’
‘Well, she said I was very sly, but that she would not tease me.’
‘I must not listen to you!’ Elinor said, much shaken. ‘Oh, it is the most ridiculous thing! You only met me a week ago, and then you constrained me to marry your horrid cousin!’
‘It is a fortunate thing that I did not know you better, for if I had I should certainly never have done so.’
She uttered a laugh that broke in the middle. ‘Odious, odious man!’
‘I depend on you to teach me to be less odious. I shall be very happy to learn of you.’
Elinor gathered her forces together. ‘Lord Carlyon!’ she began.
He interrupted. ‘Do you know, it has of late become an ambitio
n of mine to hear my name on your lips instead of my title?’
‘Certainly not!’ said Elinor, with resolution.
He was silent.
‘And when I think of the hateful way you have of calling me Mrs Cheviot, when you know I dislike it,’ added the widow, quite ruining her effect, ‘I wonder that you should ask it of me!’
‘Very well. When we meet in public, I will call you cousin, as Nicky does. But here, in the privacy of my carriage, I need not scruple to say, Elinor, I have fallen very deep in love with you, and I beg that you will honour me with your hand in marriage.’
‘You are talking a great deal of nonsense, and you will thank me one day for not attending to you!’ said Elinor, in a scolding tone.
‘Now you are being uncivil,’ he said imperturbably. ‘I shall have to teach you how to reply to a declaration with more propriety, my little love.’
She trembled. ‘Oh, no! pray – Oh, will you only think for one moment! If you were to marry me, everyone would say you had done it to obtain possession of Highnoons!’
‘Certainly not. You are going to sell Highnoons, and we shall not trouble ourselves to put it into any but reasonable order. It will go for a song, I dare say. If any money is left when Eustace Cheviot’s debts have been paid, you will buy your bride-clothes with it, and so we shall be rid of the whole concern. Have you any other objections to put forward?’
‘Oh, if only I knew what I ought to do!’ Elinor cried.
‘You had better let yourself be guided by me, for I have no doubts at all on that subject.’
‘Oh, my lord, how can I help believing that you have made me this offer because of some nonsense I have talked – the merest raillery! – of your having ruined all my prospects?’
Carlyon moved, and firmly pulled the agitated widow into his arms. ‘You know, I never thought you could be such a simpleton!’ he said, and kissed her.
Elinor tried rather half-heartedly to thrust him away, but finding this an impossibility, appeared to resign herself, merely saying, when she could say anything at all: ‘Oh, Edward, no!’
‘Elinor, I have spent a great deal of my life in listening patiently to much folly. In my sisters I can support it with tolerable equanimity; in you I neither can nor will! Will you accept of my hand in marriage, or will you not?’
Recognizing that his lordship’s disordered intellect was beyond mending, the widow abandoned the attempt to reclaim his wits, leaned her cheek thankfully against his shoulder, and said with the utmost meekness: ‘Yes, Edward, if you please! I would like it of all things!’
About the Author
Author of over fifty books, Georgette Heyer is one of the best-known and best-loved of all historical novelists, making the Regency period her own. Her first novel, The Black Moth, published in 1921, was written at the age of fifteen to amuse her convalescent brother; her last was My Lord John. Although most famous for her historical novels, she also wrote twelve detective stories. Georgette Heyer died in 1974 at the age of seventy-one.
Georgette Heyer, The Reluctant Widow
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