Regency Sting (7 page)

“Yes, but you needn't have worried about her. She would not think it strange that Arthur Claybridge chances to drop by when you are with me. After all, you are here so often, and Arthur is such a very good friend—”

“I know. You're quite right. I'm behaving like a confirmed ninny-hammer.” The two girls walked down the hall to the Laverstoke drawing room. “It's only that I cannot like meeting Arthur in this surreptitious way.”

“I find it
very
romantical,” Cherry sighed enviously.

“Oh, Cherry, you are such a goose! I very much fear that the only reason for this ‘romantical' meeting is … well, I hate to say it, but it's the only thing I can think of … Arthur's
cowardice
!”

“Cowardice! Anne, how
can
you think such a thing!”

“What else am I to think? Why must he suddenly find it necessary to meet me
here
? Why can't he stand up to his mother and see me openly?”

Cherry drew off Anne's pelisse, picked up her gloves and bonnet and threw them all on a chair. Then, seating herself next to Anne on the sofa, she looked earnestly at her friend, her wide eyes clouded with sympathetic concern. “Don't think ill of poor Arthur, dearest. I'm sure he'll explain it all when he comes. You mustn't jump to conclusions—you're undoubtedly misjudging him shamefully. Just give him this chance to explain.”

“But that's why I'm here, is it not?”

Cherry patted her hand. “Good. Everything will be fine, you'll see. In the meantime, I'll go to see about a tea tray. How long shall I leave you with him? Do you think half-an-hour—?”

“No, Cherry, you're not to go at all. You're the best friend I have in the world—as Arthur knows perfectly well—and there's nothing he can say to me that can't be said in your presence.”

“No!” Cherry said with surprising firmness. “I
can't
stay here! Arthur won't be able to speak freely … and I'd find the circumstances most uncomfortable. It's really out of the question to expect me to remain …”

“Honestly, Cherry, you vex me. If the situation were reversed, and it was
you
who were meeting a man clandestinely in
my
drawing room—”

Cherry smiled, her wide eyes suddenly glowing in pleasure at the imaginary scene that Anne's words had conjured up before her. Clasping her hands together at her breast, like an actress at Drury Lane, she breathed, “Oh, Anne, if
only
it would happen! What an absolutely
thrilling
conjecture!” Then, putting aside the vision firmly, she said, “If it
were
to happen, I should certainly expect you to leave me and my … er …
gallant
to ourselves. And for as long as possible!”

Anne couldn't help giggling. “Cherry, what a
goosecap
you are! Sometimes I think your brain has been addled by too much reading of romantic novels. It's Fanny Burney—she's bad for you. I'm convinced of it.”

“Just because I've read her
Evalina
two or three times?”

“Two or three times? What a bouncer! You practically know it by heart!”

The question of Cherry's presence or absence during the forthcoming meeting was forgotten in the badinage over Miss Burney's novel, and Arthur arrived before the issue was settled. Arthur's appearance on his entrance into the drawing room was every bit as romantic as Cherry had anticipated. His hair was windblown, his eyes troubled, his manner agitated and his voice breathless. “I've kept you waiting, haven't I?” he asked in a tone of severe self-censure. “I'm most terribly sorry. I could not leave the house as early as I had planned.”

Although the apology had been addressed to Anne, Cherry could not help replying. “But you are not late at all,” she assured him gently as she took his hat, picked up Anne's outer garments from the chair and started out of the room.

“Cherry, you needn't bother to remove our things,” Anne said with a meaningful glare. “Call for the butler.”

Cherry met the glare with a mischievous smile. “I'll only be a moment,” she murmured and slipped from the room.

The lovers were alone. Arthur seized his opportunity and crossed promptly to Anne's side, sitting down beside her on the sofa and grasping both her hands. “Anne, my dearest girl, I am in the greatest despair! I don't know what to do!”

Anne looked down at his lowered head, his tousled curls and his posture of dejection and was conscious of a feeling of impatience. She had not the capacity for sympathy that Cherry had, she suddenly realized. Cherry would have murmured something endearing and stroked his hair. But Anne was so strongly overwhelmed with curiosity about the
reasons
for his unhappiness that she was unwilling to spend any time or effort to soothe his pain. “What is this all about, Arthur?” she asked abruptly.

Arthur looked up at her. “I've had a terrible row with my mother. I haven't wanted to trouble you with this before, but I've known for some time that the family's finances are hopelessly tangled. I've been doing what I can to straighten matters out, but I'm not greatly talented in matters of business management. And now Mama feels that it is my place to … to …” He could not go on but lowered his head again.

“To make an advantageous match,” Anne finished for him drily.

He looked up in surprise. “Yes, that's
it
. How did you guess—?”

“I've been hearing the same thing ever since Lord Mainwaring died and Mama realized that Peter would not be the heir.”

Arthur was horrified. “Do you mean that Lady Harriet wants
you
to … to marry for convenience? My God! Why haven't you
told
me?”

“I don't know. I hoped something might happen …”

Arthur jumped up and began to pace about the room. “This is worse than I thought! Good God, to think of … of your being pushed into wedlock with … with who knows what sort of creature! And merely for his wealth! It makes me
ill
! This is insupportable! I cannot—will not—give you up!”

“Give me up?” Anne stiffened. “Is
that
what you have come to tell me? That you've decided to give me up?”

“No, no! How can you ask such a thing? I admit that my mother desires me to do so, but I am not a helpless child, but a grown man … the head of my family …”

“Exactly. The head of your family. Your mother has not the authority to make such demands of you.”

He turned away, sagging in despair. “But Anne, I can no longer bear the life I lead at home … the endless quarreling and nagging to which I'm subjected. I must do
something
…”

She met his eyes and, as always, the intensity of his gaze, the twitch of the muscle in his cheek, the lock of hair that fell so appealingly over his forehead caused her heart to contract. She beckoned him to sit down beside her and, surrendering to an impulse, she brushed back the unruly lock from his forehead and let her hand rest for a moment on his cheek. With a groan, he took the hand and pressed it to his lips. “What are we to do?” he asked miserably.

“I don't know,” she whispered in equal unhappiness. “Have you thought of anything … anything at all?”

“Yes, I have,” he answered suddenly, sitting up with a purposeful set of his shoulders, as if he were making up his mind to something. “Gretna.”

“
Gretria
? A runaway marriage?” This time it was Anne's turn to rise and pace the room. “I haven't wanted … I've never liked it. All that dissembling and dishonesty. The secrecy, the furtiveness … as if we'd done something of which we were ashamed.”

“I know. I've thought of that, too. But I see no other way—”

“But Arthur, it would solve nothing! Where would we go afterwards? Where would we live? And
how
?”

“I
have
thought of that, my dear. I am not completely impractical. There is a living about to become available at a vicarage in Shropshire. I have a family connection there. The income is not great, but there is a house. And if I sell the family estate in Devonshire, which my business agent has been suggesting, my mother and sister might contrive tolerably well in their life here in London without my support.”

Anne stopped in her tracks and stared at Arthur as if she'd never seen him before. “Do you mean … are you saying that you would take
holy orders
?”

He smiled at her air of stupefaction. “Yes, of course. I would
have
to, wouldn't I? Don't look so dismayed. I am qualified. I've often thought that, if circumstances had been different … if my family were not so well placed in society, or if I were not the only son … that I might have been quite content to take that path.”

Anne could not help staring at him. No gentleman of her acquaintance had ever shown the slightest interest in entering the clergy. Members of the
ton
were usually either uninterested in religious matters or, at best, casual in their observances. That anyone in her circle would consider taking holy orders was almost unthinkable. “But should you
enjoy
such a life?” she asked, aghast.

“Yes, I think I would,” he answered. “But
my
enjoyment is not the point. It is
you
I am thinking of. I would enjoy
any
life that made it possible for you to be my wife.”

Anne, whose mind had been dwelling on the picture of herself in a little cottage in Shropshire, the wife of a country vicar, did not realize, for a moment, what she'd just heard. “What did you say?” she asked, a smile dawning at the corners of her mouth.

“I said I would enjoy any life that made it possible for you to be my wife.”

“Oh, dear,” she said, a mock expression of dismay on her face, “I've missed it. What a disappointment!”

“Disappointment?” Arthur asked, blinking in confusion.

“Yes. I think that I've had a
proposal of marriage
, and it was made in so casual a fashion that I almost failed to notice it.”

Arthur's puzzled look remained frozen on his face for a moment and then changed to discomfiture. “Of course!” he muttered. “I should have done it properly. I've botched it, haven't I?”

“Don't be silly, Arthur,” she responded, sitting down beside him again. “I was only joking.”

“But you are quite right,” he insisted. “Is it too late for me to get down on my knees and make a formal proposal?”

Anne laughed. “Sometimes I think you're as gooseish as Cherry. I would only giggle if you went down on your knees.”

“But I haven't yet told you that you are the most beautiful, wonderful, delightful girl I've ever known, that I love you most devotedly, and all the other things a man should say when he asks a woman to be his wife.”

“Well, you've told them to me now. And very nicely, too.”

Arthur smiled at her in some relief. “Have I? Very well, then, I suppose we may dispense with the kneeling.” There was a pause while he watched her expectantly. But Anne, a smile still lingering on her lips, was looking down abstractedly at her hands folded in her lap. “Haven't you anything to say to
me
?” Arthur prodded. “It's
your
turn now.”

“My turn?” She blinked and forced herself to attention. “What do you mean?”

“I've asked you to marry me, my dear. You're supposed to give me some response, you know.”

Anne's smile faded. “You know I love you, Arthur. With all my heart. But a Gretna marriage … a vicarage in Shropshire … it's all a bit …”

“Sudden?” Arthur supplied.

“Yes, sudden.” All at once, she shook her head, stared at him a moment, and then a peal of laughter escaped her.

Arthur stared. “What is it? What has amused you so?”

Anne was laughing too hard to manage an answer. At that moment, there was a discreet knock at the door, and Cherry entered, followed by the butler with a tea tray.

Cherry had envisioned a number of tableaus which she might have discovered on her entrance into the drawing room: Anne and Arthur at opposite ends of the room, staring at each other in white-lipped anger; Anne and Arthur locked in a passionate embrace; Anne seated on the sofa, hands folded, and Arthur kneeling beside her; Anne sobbing miserably in Arthur's arms. What she
never
imagined was that Anne would be laughing uncontrollably, and Arthur would be gaping at her in bewilderment. “What on earth is making her so merry?” Cherry asked Arthur curiously.

Arthur shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he muttered.

After the butler had left, Anne caught her breath with an effort and endeavored to explain. “Forgive me, but it's so
funny
! I had determined, years ago, that when a gentleman made me an offer, the one thing I would
never
say was ‘Oh, sir, this is so sudden!' And just now, quite without realizing it,
I said those very words
!”

Cherry giggled briefly, but then her mouth dropped open. “But … but that means …!” She looked from one to the other with shining eyes. “Arthur! You've
offered
for her!”

Arthur nodded, smiling at Cherry's delight. “Yes, but I've not yet had an answer, beyond ‘this is so sudden,' of course.”

“Oh, dear,” Cherry said in chagrin, “I came in too soon! I'll go out again and give you more time—”

“No, Cherry, it's not necessary,” Anne cut in. “Please stay and serve Arthur some tea.”

“But … Anne, are you not going to give him an answer?” Cherry asked, perplexed.

“No. I must go home and think. Arthur knows how much I wish to marry him, don't you Arthur? But your plan is so unexpected that it leaves me quite astounded. I must have time to consider it calmly …”

“What plan?” Cherry asked, curiosity taking precedence over good manners.

“Arthur will tell you about it over tea. I must go. Don't disturb yourself, Cherry. The butler will get my things.” And giving Arthur's hand an affectionate squeeze, she went to the door. “Tell me, Arthur,” she inquired, pausing in the doorway and turning to him, “would you not prefer to be married and return here in London if it could be arranged, rather than go off to Shropshire?”