My aunt told me little of what was in his letter, only that the Earl had put him off because he possessed an income of no more than two hundred pounds a year. This news might have provided me with some comfort, had my aunt not delivered it to me with a pinch of spite. “He was disappointed to learn you had nothing entailed upon you,” said she, her face blank of expression. “I believe he thought you were worth more.”
After this, I could never quite fathom what plans she had for me and Pease. Although my uncle had discouraged him, I suppose she had not quite dismissed the possibility that he might take me off their hands. This, I am certain, is the reason why she invited him to dine with us on the evening when Lord Allenham and my uncle were due from London. She wished him to think the door had not completely shut on his ambitions, regardless of what my uncle had led him to conclude. At the time, I was surprised by her actions. It would be a few months still before I would come to understand her motives and to view her in an altogether different light.
The thought that Allenham was on his way to Melmouth was enough to unnerve me, without the promise of Pease’s company as well. I tried all I could not to appear perturbed. I had not slept much the night prior to his arrival and I rose very early that morning. I dressed and went for a lengthy walk through the park. When I returned it was past midday and my absence had worried my aunt. I had been out for so long that I had lost any sense of time.
“Hetty, my dear,” she addressed me with a stern look, “you cannot avoid seeing Mr. Pease or paying him the basic politeness to which he is entitled. You must remain at all times civil while he is our guest.” I bowed my head, dutifully acknowledging my aunt’s concerns. She knew nothing of what genuinely troubled me.
Pease, it turned out, had arrived and was in the library, writing his sermon for Sunday with the assistance of the Earl’s large collection of texts. I managed to avoid this room for the better part of the afternoon. After all, he was not my immediate concern.
It was Lady Catherine and her nervous state that consumed me. She fluttered and flapped much as she had during our stay in Bath. Such was always the way with my cousin; she lived forever in extremes, fits of tears, passions of hatred or the dizziness of ecstasy. Her dressing room was a scene of chaos: a broken porcelain box lay on the floor along with a spilt jar of pomade. While she paced and babbled like a madwoman, Sally crawled around her, attempting to tidy the mess. I recoiled from this, shutting myself into the modest sanctity of the only space I felt to be truly mine: my bedchamber. There I waited.
An announcement came in the late afternoon, shortly before dinner, that the Earl and Lord Allenham had arrived. Lady Catherine was beside herself, like a gun dog whipped into a lather of excitement. She threw herself at me as I emerged from my room.
“Hetty,” she pleaded breathlessly, “you must assist me down the stairs. You must escort me. Take my arm, cousin, or I shall have a fit. I fear I cannot support myself.”
“Hush,” I said, stroking her. “If Lord Allenham inspires this in you now, how might you be when you are his wife? When you have to pass every day in his company? He will think you terribly silly and frivolous.”
At this, she exhaled deeply and attempted a serene, if not haughty smile. I took hold of her arm as she desired. In fact, I was shaking nearly as much as she. The words I had used to soothe her were the very ones I had repeated to myself not a moment earlier.
They awaited us in the blue drawing room. As we neared it, I could hear my uncle’s voice, his discourse on the state of the turnpikes carrying through the enfilade of rooms, as if he were addressing the House of Lords. My cousin and I progressed in fraught silence. Lady Catherine was so consumed by her own nerves that she failed to notice mine. I remained quiet and composed as the door was opened for us.
As a rule, dear reader, I have found it good policy never to look directly at the object of one’s affections upon the moment of reunion.
The meeting of two lovers is always a slightly awkward affair, particularly following a first declaration of attachment. And if the attachment is an illicit one, the strain of concealing the electricity of one’s feelings can be too intense to bear, even for the most practised flirt or hardened
roué
. No, it is always best to look away. Of course, at the time of this incident, I had not the experience or wherewithal to have invented such a plan. It happened quite by accident. I simply could not bring myself to look at Allenham. His mere presence in the room made me gasp for breath. Instead I fixed my attention on Lady Catherine, who quivered and blushed, before dropping a curtsey that was far too deep for the occasion.
Unlike the two of us, the Baron seemed perfectly self-possessed. Gentlemen are so accomplished at this, at tucking their true emotions behind their expressions. They stand tall, their hands folded behind them, their backs so straight that the tails of their coats lie evenly against their breeches. Allenham held his head high; his posture and manners were flawless. He greeted us both graciously.
That evening was an odd one. A spring thunderstorm had risen up from nowhere and let loose like a cannonade over Melmouth. The candles were lit at early evening, as they might have been in winter. As we sat around the table there seemed to be a heaviness present. I cannot say what it was precisely. It did not seem ominous, more expectant, like the sensation that fills a theatre before the commencement of a performance. All who had sat down to dinner knew the reason for their being there. We were the audience and our attention was set on the hero and heroine, who were positioned directly opposite one another.
Conversation did not flow gently. I have not mentioned that Pease was beside me, and across from him, the parish rector Reverend Hammersley and his wife, who had been invited to swell the company and cut the dullness of Pease’s presence. The portly reverend chewed his food with loud relish and turned to address me at any opportunity.
“I am pleased we are no longer upon the road,” said my uncle just as the windows received a lashing of hail.
“I dare say so, my lord,” responded Pease. “The horses would be terribly frightened by such a cacophony. Do you not agree, Miss Ingerton?”
I nodded.
“Horses are such stupid creatures. I declare my own mare, Maisie, bolts at the slightest commotion, though I have no doubt she is in good hands while in Melmouth’s stables, Miss Ingerton.”
Allenham allowed Pease to prattle on in this fashion, permitting him to interrupt his discussion on several occasions; “…
The Recruiting Sergeant
? Oh yes, a capital play, don’t you think, Miss Ingerton?” and “… Mr. Walton says the same about trout fishing in the
Compleat Angler
. Certainly you have read it, Miss Ingerton?” But by the end of the meal, I could see from the way in which Allenham smiled and inhaled that Pease, his constant interjections and attention to me had become unpleasant to witness.
The Baron and I endeavoured not to let our eyes meet. With the exception of one instant, when I turned and from behind the glare of the candles beheld his soft, longing expression, we behaved with the utmost formality. I have since learned that this is the worst tactic to adopt. When wishing to disguise an unspoken passion, no two people will make a greater attempt to ignore one another than those who fear their love may be discovered. But we were not expert at these things and did only what we thought correct in the circumstances.
The night was only to grow more tiresome. The pelting rain prevented a post-prandial stroll, which would have freed the party from its sense of confinement, and from the discomfort of knowing that we were there not to enjoy one another’s company, but merely to fill the hours until the following day, when Allenham might be alone with Lady Catherine and ask for her hand. There seemed to be an endless amount of waiting in all of this, which no one appreciated. We went first to the library and then back to the blue drawing room, where we had tea. Although the fires were unlit, the rooms felt close and hot, as if the grates were blazing. My cousin, who had passed so many hours
in anticipation of this reunion, seemed on the verge of combusting. She was breathy and fidgety; I had never before seen her so agitated when in the company of a suitor. As I listened indifferently to Pease’s chatter, I studied her, sitting beside Allenham. She looked to me strangely vulnerable and tremulous. At that instant my heart ached. Something pulled inside it. It was pity, pity for all of us.
I have mentioned that I did my best not to meet Allenham’s gaze, and indeed, he endeavoured to avoid mine by occupying himself entirely with my cousin. When we moved into the library, that minx Mrs. Hammersley suggested that Lord Allenham “read to us some of the love sonnets from Shakespeare.” He turned away and smiled to himself.
“I do believe a tragedy may be better for the digestion, madam,” he stated, and reached for
Julius Caesar
instead. It was only when he looked up from reading that he would hazard a glance at me.
I did not suspect that he was attempting to communicate something until slightly later, once we had moved back into the drawing room for cards and tea. By then, I could sense in him a growing tension. There was a Boulle clock in that room, a fine object of gilt work and polished wood that struck down each quarter of an hour. Its face seemed to peer over Allenham’s shoulder, and almost as regularly as the clock pinged, he would raise his eyes to me, each glance appearing more urgent than the last. This began to unnerve me, and then to frighten me. I could not make out what the matter might be, or how to respond.
At eleven, supper was served, and the assembled guests rose from their conversations and games of whist. Allenham laid down his hand and with great determination shot me a look of such seriousness that it caused me to start. As the party departed through the doors to the adjoining dining room, I took the opportunity to search out the commode. I discreetly slipped through the jib door and into the corridor. There, in that private moment, I was able to gather my wits. I had been greatly shaken and confused by Allenham’s sudden alteration.
When I emerged back through the drawing room, I was surprised
to see him standing before me in the semi-darkness of the quiet room. He had dropped his mask of pretence, and beneath it lay the expression which he now revealed to me: one of anxiety and pain.
“My dear…” he whispered, advancing towards me. “Forgive me,” he said, reaching out for my hands. He shook his head and seemed unable to find his words. His distress, his candour were so unlike that of the composed gentleman he had been earlier that it made my heart surge with love.
“Please,” he begged of me, “I cannot do what I have come to do…” He fell to his knees and held my tiny frame to him.
Oh Eros! Oh sweet Venus! To be embraced by him! I had never known such a feeling, as if every particle of me might come apart in his arms. He pressed his face to my breast and I, not knowing where to place my shameful hands, rested them upon his shoulders. Although my head was spinning with a sickening mix of forbidden love, desire (which I could not properly put a name to just yet), guilt and unworthiness, I knew I must instruct him—I knew I must instruct myself.
At first I could do little more than inhale but, in doing that, I only drew him closer to me, taking in the aroma of woodsmoke and lavender upon his clothes. I shut my eyes and steadied my thoughts.
“You must,” I managed to whisper. “It is for the best… the best for all concerned.” I felt the strength of his grip, the tightness of his arms around me. “There is no other way. You yourself have written that to me,” I urged him.
His heaving body continued to press into mine, as he held me for what seemed like an age. It is true what they say, that there is no time in a lover’s arms. There are no minutes or hours, no measures, only sensations, heartbeats and breaths.
Very gradually, he released his embrace. He disengaged himself, backing away slightly as he rose to his full height, continuing all the while to hold my gaze.
“It is… I believe, not wrong…” he stated, now in a more assured
tone, “so long as we resolve to live as brother and sister… as friends.” He took another step back, though he looked at me with such intensity that I felt as if I might lose the strength of my legs.
Until that moment, I had never known the true force of love. It is like nothing else on earth. It contains in it all the fierceness of a hurricane, a snowstorm, a volcano. It is the very essence of the sublime, that overwhelming of the emotions which Allenham had attempted to describe. We are helpless in its wake, like ants in a flood.
He stood there, composed and honourable, studying me. “Because of you, I will do what is correct.” He then took my shaking hand in his. “You have granted me the conviction to do it.” In saying that, he slowly raised my palm to his cheek, that gentle, defined place above his jaw, and drew it down along the strong line of his chin. A wave of dizziness passed over me. Were he not holding fast to my hand, I would certainly have lost my footing. He closed his eyes. “Sister,” he breathed. “Friend. That you shall be.” Then he guided my fingers to that place beneath his shoulder, in the middle of his chest, where I could feel the steady beat of his heart. “And for ever mistress of this.”
And so, on the following day, Lord Allenham put his proposal of marriage to my cousin.
Had I been the scheming little hoyden that Lord Dennington suggests, I would not have hidden myself away that morning. Indeed, sir, if my heart is as black as you attest, why had I not eloped with his lordship on the night before, as he had kneeled before me, prepared to pledge his love? No, as I have described, it was on account of my persuasions that he executed his plans, and my actions were guided by only the most virtuous of intentions. It was my pure heart that instructed me to hide myself away on that morning. I went to the top of the house, where I knew I was unlikely to be found. I brought with me my watercolours and brushes and carried them to our former nursery, now quiet and empty. I resolved to absent myself from their company, so that Allenham might be left alone with Lady Catherine and utter those words it was so necessary for him to deliver.