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27 A Betrothal

The whole house was in uproar by the following morning. Even the maid who brought Bea her early morning chocolate twittered and giggled, and nearly tripped over her own feet as she backed out of the bedroom. The prospect of a betrothal affected everyone. Except for Bea herself, who rose unhurriedly, and went to the library, as usual, only to be summoned back to her room by an irate Harper.

"I've to do your hair special this morning. Milady's orders."

Bea sighed, but there was no point in arguing. There would be a far greater argument later, so she would conserve her strength for that one. Occasionally she quailed, knowing that her father would be disappointed, but she could not marry the marquess and that was the end of the matter.

Meekly she submitted to Harper's ministrations, then endured breakfast with her parents, Mama dizzy with excitement and Papa inscrutable, watching her quizzically. After that, she was obliged to sit in the Gold Saloon, awaiting the moment when the marquess would return and her refusal would bring the wrath of her parents down on her head. But she was insistent on not wasting the whole morning on useless stitchery, so, despite her stepmother's protestations, she took a Latin book into the saloon with her.

Eventually, the distant sound of carriage wheels was heard, drawing nearer and then pulling up before the door. Mama had better control of herself today, so there was no rushing to the window. How amusing it would be if it were only Lady Strong or Mrs George Atherton or the Cathcart ladies! But no, for within moments the door was thrown open, and Hobbs was announcing the marquess.

He crept in, with Mr Franklyn behind him, and stood twisting his hands together, an anxious expression on his face. Clearly, Bea was not to be allowed to speak to him alone. It was better so, for that way her parents would know everything that was said and there could be no misunderstanding. It would have been dreadful to refuse him in private and emerge to find her parents full of congratulations. What an awkward explanation would then be needed!

But after bows and curtsies were exchanged, he said nothing, and it was left to Mama, equal to any occasion, no matter how delicate, to take charge.

"Lord Embleton, how delightful. Do come in. Beatrice is quite ready to accept your most obliging offer."

"Thank you, Mama, but I shall answer for myself."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Mama's face, but the marquess moved slowly forward, as if mesmerised, his eyes fixed on Bea's. When he reached her, he gave a worried little smile.

"M-M-Miss F-F-F…" A quick exhalation. "Franklyn?"

"Lord Embleton, you honour me greatly with your proposal, and I am deeply sensible of all your many excellent qualities that would make you a wonderful husband. Your wife will be a most fortunate woman, and in other circumstances… if matters lay otherwise…"

Mama gave a tiny squeak of alarm.

Bea took a deep breath. "I am very sorry to give you pain, but I must regretfully decline."

"Decline?"

"Beatrice…" Mama began.

Calmly, she turned to her stepmother. "Yes, I know this is a disappointment to you and Papa, which is a great sorrow to me, but marriage is a matter that I can only decide for myself, with regard to my own inclinations… my own wishes… my own happiness. Lord Embleton, perhaps we could have been happy together… indeed, I am sure of it… but I cannot enter into marriage with less than whole-hearted enthusiasm, and at present I cannot do that. My interests lie in another direction entirely."

"I-I-I…" he began, but the thought was destined to remain unsaid, for at that moment, the door opened and Bertram walked in.

Even Mama for once was speechless, and for the space of several heartbeats they all stood as if transfixed, unable to speak or move.

"There you are, Bea," Bertram began with a wide smile, but then he noticed the shocked faces, and the stiffness of the tableau before him. His smile faded to bewilderment. "Embleton?"

The marquess's mouth flapped open and closed again soundlessly.

Into the void, the clock struck the hour, making them all jump. Twelve o'clock! Time for her Latin lesson, and now Bea took notice of the pile of books under Bertram's arm. With a squeal of pleasure, she dashed across to him.

"Have you brought it? The Virgil? I cannot wait to get started."

He laughed. "I have, but you are otherwise engaged, I think. I beg your pardon… I intrude. Shall I come back later?"

Lord Embleton crossed the room, and held out his hand to Bertram. "I s-s-see it all now. Con…g-g-gratulations, Atherton."

"Oh… um, thank you," Bertram said, shaking the proffered hand with a bemused expression on his face.

The marquess bowed meticulously to each of them in turn and walked with dignity out of the door.

Papa chuckled. "You are a dark horse, Atherton," he murmured as he followed the marquess.

Mama sighed. "Really, Beatrice, you might have mentioned this."

Then she, too, was gone, the door closed with a soft click and Bea was alone with Bertram.

"Whatever was that all about?" Bertram said, as Bea uttered a low moan of distress.

"Oh, of all the unfortunate things! Lord Embleton very obligingly offered for me and—"

"Embleton? Offered for you?"

"Yes. I kissed him, and he thought I was in love with him. Really, Bertram, you do not need to sound quite so astonished! Gentlemen have been known to offer for me once or twice before, you know."

"Of course! I did so myself, remember?"

"That was not real, though, was it?"

"What do you—?"

"Never mind that! We have very little time. There is the marquess's carriage coming round now. This mess is all my fault, Bertram. I refused Lord Embleton, of course, and—"

"Why ‘of course'?"

"—I made the mistake of saying that I had another interest, and then you walked in and they all assumed we are betrothed."

"Because you seemed so pleased to see me, I suppose." He chuckled. "But what are you doing turning down Embleton, Bea? I thought you wanted a title, and you will never be able to improve on his."

"What does the title matter?" she said crossly. "Who cares about a stupid title, anyway? I meant only that I have discovered Latin, and that is my great love now, but they have misunderstood everything. I shall have to explain, but—"

"No, wait a moment," he said, putting the books down so that he could rest his hands on her shoulders. "Why should we not be betrothed?"

"Because you don't want to!" she spat. "Honestly, Bertram, you have told me a thousand times that you never plan to marry, so stop being silly."

"Nor do you want to marry, do you? So we are in the same position."

"There you are, then."

"There is no need for us to actually marry," he said, laughing.

She stared at him. "What?"

"If we are presumed to be betrothed, or on the point of it, we can protect each other from unwanted suitors, and leave ourselves free to do what we want, without harassment."

Without harassment! That sounded so appealing that for a moment she was overwhelmed.

It was just at that moment that her parents returned, to discover them standing only inches apart, his hands on her shoulders, gazing into each other's eyes. If they had planned the pose as a means of convincing an observer of the existence of an understanding between them, it could not have been bettered.

"Ah, Beatrice! Mr Atherton! This is something of a surprise," Lady Esther said, her well-modulated voice level, but there was a hint of a chill behind it. Naturally, she would be disappointed that Bea was not to be a duchess after all.

"You could have given us a hint," Bea's father said, but his eyes twinkled at them.

"It was all very sudden," Bertram said smoothly.

"So it would seem," Bea's father said. "When do you anticipate making a formal announcement?"

"It is a shade difficult just at present," Bertram said.

"I rather thought it might be."

"The situation at Corland, with my grandmother so ill, and Walter so recently engaged to Winnie Strong… and my own father has barely begun to adapt to his own new position. It is best if we wait a little while."

"How very proper," Lady Esther said approvingly, brightening a little.

"Of course, of course," Bea's father murmured, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eye, as if he were party to some great joke.

Bea could not see it as a joke, nor could she understand why Bertram was so complacent about the situation. He should run a mile from any kind of entanglement with her!

As soon as an opportunity presented itself, she whispered in his ear, "Don't worry, I'll jilt you as soon as I can. I would never hold you to it."

But he only laughed, picking up his books and holding out his arm for her. "Latin, Miss Franklyn? Shall we begin our lesson?"

It was true that they sat either side of the desk for an hour, and it was also true that some Latin was spoken and written and even discussed. It could not properly be called a lesson, however, for Bea remembered nothing of it afterwards. Bertram made no comment, simply pretending that everything was normal, and Papa sat and read the newspaper, laughing occasionally when she mangled her grammar so spectacularly that even he saw the error. And then Bertram was gone, and she could not think, could not move, could not possibly find space in her disordered brain for a single word of Latin.

"I must say, Bea," her father said, folding his newspaper neatly, "you and Atherton are as good as a pantomime. I cannot recall when I was so well entertained. Whose idea was it?"

"If you mean this betrothal, it was his. I was set to tell you that it was all a misunderstanding, but he said it would protect us from harassment and we need not actually get married. Then you came back into the room and it all seemed to be settled. Papa, will you tell him it is all wrong? Because it is, isn't it?"

Her father looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you like him?"

"Bertram? Yes, of course I do."

"Enough to marry him?"

"He does not want to marry."

"Leaving that aside, suppose he came to you and proposed to you in the proper form, like the marquess… would you accept him?"

Bea felt trapped. This was one of those questions, she was sure, where there was no right answer, and whatever she said would be to her detriment. For a long time, therefore, she said nothing.

"Bea?" her father said gently. "You must have an idea whether you wish to marry him or not."

"Papa… I think I do… I might… if he were to offer. But you want me to make you proud, so—"

"Ah, that. I misunderstood you badly, Bea, and that must have made you unhappy. For that I am sorry. I can see now that you know your own mind, at least as far as the marquess is concerned. But Atherton is another matter. If you like him well enough to marry him—"

"But he does not wish it, and I promised him that I would not pursue him, so I cannot even think about it."

"Are you quite sure he does not wish it? For it seems to me that he likes you very well, and since this betrothal idea was his—"

"No! He has told me so many times that he does not want to marry, and I believe him, Papa. It may be that, if these lessons continue, and I am able to reach a degree of fluency in Latin, that he will look at me differently… perhaps. But I do not… I cannot depend upon it. And so you see why I feel uncomfortable with any suggestion of a betrothal between us."

"I understand that, but it was his idea to go along with it, and it did not strike me that there was any reluctance in him. You must know, Bea, that for a man… if he is a gentleman, at least… a betrothal is a matter which cannot honourably be broken. Bertram cannot withdraw, and yet he made no protest — quite the reverse. So do not be too hasty to conclude that he does not wish to marry."

"You think I should simply go along with it?"

"I do."

"He said we need never marry… and it would protect us from harassment."

Papa laughed. "And he is quite right. As the likely heir to an earldom, he is an object to every ambitious mama in Yorkshire, and your fortune has always attracted attention, not always of the right sort. So let this supposed betrothal stand. Your stepmother is very capable of conveying the right degree of vagueness to the business — an understanding, no thought of marriage just yet, his grandmother's imminent demise and so on — and if it comes to a sticking point, you may end it at any time you choose."

"Or whenever he wants to be free," she said thoughtfully.

"Precisely. But do, for pity's sake, pay more attention in your lessons, or all your good work so far will be undone."

He smiled at her with such understanding that she could not resist smiling back. "Oh, Papa, I do get into difficulties, sometimes."

"Of course you do. You are but one and twenty, and still a green girl in many ways. But whatever difficulties you may get into, be assured that I shall always be there to get you out of them… or to deal with the consequences. You are not alone in the world, daughter."

Impulsively, she jumped up and threw her arms around him. "Thank you! I think you are the best papa in the world."

"Which just shows how faulty your judgement is," he said, with a spurt of laughter. "There, now. You get back to your Latin, and I shall try to prevent your stepmother from throwing a grand ball to celebrate your unexpected betrothal."

***

Bertram left Highwood Place in a mellow frame of mind. He was betrothed to Bea, after a fashion, and if that could be left to run on for a while, there would be time for her to understand how well suited they were and come to feel the same attachment for him that he felt for her. She was not serious in her resolve not to marry, of that he was certain. And if her scruples brought her to attempt to end their betrothal, that would be his opportunity to tell her openly how much he loved her. Surely then they would be betrothed in truth.

His only concern was that he might not, after all, inherit the earldom, and he knew how important that was to her, no matter how much she denied it now. He would have to be honest about that. His mother's guest, Mrs Vaughn, was there as a potential new wife for Lord Rennington, and although that did not seem to be going well, his mother had other candidates to bring forward. One of them, no doubt, would suit a man as easy-going as the earl, and then the nursery at Corland Castle would be brought back into use. How strange that would be, to have a new Lady Rennington!

At first, he said nothing of his situation to his family, unsure of whether this odd betrothal was to be acknowledged publicly or not. But he quickly learnt from Bea that Lady Esther was telling all her acquaintances that Bea was shortly to be engaged, so he went to see his father in his study.

"There has been a development with Bea Franklyn," he said, sitting in the opposite chair to his father's beside the fireplace, and removing his spectacles to polish them.

His father marked his place in the book he was reading and closed it, removing his own spectacles with a smile. "A champagne development or a large brandy development?"

"I am not quite sure."

His father chuckled. "That sounds like brandy to me. I shall need one, anyway. Do the honours, will you, and then you can tell me of this development."

Bertram poured two brandies, and then related the whole story, hiding nothing. His father listened without interruption, and only the occasional raising of his eyebrows indicated his thoughts.

When the tale wound to its conclusion, he sipped his brandy, then set the glass down on the table beside his chair. "In my day," he said thoughtfully, "courtship was a straightforward business. One met a young lady, one fell in love, one proposed. One then found oneself betrothed… or possibly not betrothed, but one was left in no doubt as to which it was. This newfangled idea of covert betrothals that might not actually be betrothals is too modern for me. I should not like it very much. Why do you not simply go to the girl and tell her how you feel about her?"

Bertram laughed. "I shall do so, in time, but her situation is very unsettled at present. She has been raised by Lady Esther to view a title as the summit of her ambition, and she is only now realising the emptiness of that principle. Only a short while ago, she was engaged to Walter, with her future settled. I do not want to rush her into a hasty decision, either to marry or not to marry. It seems to me that she needs time to adjust to her new situation and decide what she truly wants. I hope it will be me, in the end, but if not… well, I can still give her Latin lessons."

"I suppose that is what passes for courtship in your head," his father said sadly. "Forget the Latin lessons, Bertram, just kiss her. If you want to win her heart, kiss her. A suitably passionate kiss will reduce the most resistant girl to jelly."

"That did not work at Landerby," he said crossly. "I kissed her and reduced myself to jelly, while she went off and kissed all my friends. And Embleton, seemingly, and reduced him to jelly, too. Kisses are not the answer, Father, not with Bea."

His father sighed. "Perhaps you are right. But one thing is increasingly clear to me — we all need to get to know this girl a great deal better. I shall ask your mother to invite the Franklyns to dinner."

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