29 Lady Esther Has A Plan

"Latin again, Bea?" her father said, the instant they had made their farewells and the carriage was rumbling down the drive.

"Never mind that!" her stepmother said. "Did you see that woman?"

"Which woman was that, my dear?" her husband said equably.

"Miss Hand. Do you know why she is here?"

"She is an old friend of Jane Atherton's," he said.

"Yes, but she is here for Lord Rennington!"

"Indeed? She is an old friend of his, also?" There was a puzzled tone in his voice.

"No, no! She has never met him, but she is here to marry him."

Mr Franklyn only laughed, but his wife tutted at him.

"It is no laughing matter, I assure you. It is a disaster for Bea. Here she is, betrothed — after a fashion — to the heir to the earldom, and now we discover that the earl is not, after all, going to remarry Lady Rennington. He is planning to marry again and have legitimate sons, and then Bertram and his father will be cut out. That is why Lady Rennington went away, do you see? Jane Atherton planned it all, the scheming witch, and of course Lord Rennington is such a weak sort of man he will do whatever he is told."

"I do not see that it is such a disaster," Mr Franklyn said mildly. "Bertram is heir to Westwick, after all, with an income of three thousand a year."

"But no title!" Lady Esther said despairingly. "I did not mind Beatrice refusing Lord Embleton… not very much, anyway, when I imagined she had an understanding of some sort with a future earl, but to turn down a marquess — a duke, one day — for a commoner, no matter his income, is beyond all reason. Fortunately, this betrothal is not yet publicly known. I have merely hinted to one or two good friends that we expect an announcement very soon, and it could as well be one as the other."

"Mama, what are you planning?" Bea said in some alarm. "I shall not marry the marquess, I assure you."

"No, no, although perhaps that could have been revived… but no. We must aim for the original target, I believe, and since the heir is now uncertain, it would be safest to look to the current holder of the title."

"You cannot mean—?" Bea cried in horror.

"Tomorrow we shall call upon Lord Rennington," her stepmother said triumphantly. "He will not look at this Miss Hand when you are in the room. In fact, he will not look at any of Jane Atherton's suggestions. All older women — some widows, even. Men far prefer youth and freshness." She chuckled. "I wonder it did not occur to me before. You will be the Countess of Rennington before the year is out, Beatrice, you mark my words."

Bea sat in appalled silence as the carriage slowly made its way through the night.

***

An hour of reflection brought Bea to a calmer frame of mind. She could not be forced to marry Lord Rennington, or anyone else, no matter how her stepmother schemed. Visiting him would do no harm, and it might even be amusing to observe Miss Hand's attempts to capture his interest.

But breakfast brought a difficulty. Her stepmother was early, for once, full of excitement about her new plans.

"I have drafted a letter for you to send to Bertram Atherton," she said, placing a paper in front of Bea. "You may copy it in a fair hand, just as it is. There is no need to belabour the point. He will understand."

"A letter?"

"Ending this betrothal of yours. It was never a proper betrothal anyway, and this way you will not have the awkwardness of an interview."

"But I shall see him later today for my Latin lesson," Bea said, with a sinking heart, knowing what was coming.

"That will all have to stop, naturally. Your father will give him the letter when he arrives at noon today, but we shall be on our way to Corland Castle by then. Everything is arranged."

"Mama, I am not going to marry Lord Rennington. He is old enough to be my grandfather."

Lady Esther laughed. "Not unless he was extremely precocious."

"Well, my father, then."

"What has that to say to anything? Such marriages are perfectly common in the higher ranks, and it is not as if the earl were in his dotage. He is still perfectly healthy, and a little stoutness is only to be expected in a man of his age. Really, Beatrice, you are become most ungrateful for the opportunities which come your way. You baulked at the marquess, and perhaps you are not quite the right person to be a duchess, for it is a daunting task, so I understood that, and you already had an alternative. But Bertram is out of the question now, so—"

"No, Mama."

Lady Esther pursed her lips, and tapped the letter. "Write it out in a fair hand."

So saying, she rose and left the breakfast parlour.

Bea read the letter in growing disgust. ‘Dear Mr Atherton, Pray accept my good wishes for your health and future happiness, but I cannot marry you or accept any more Latin lessons from you. Beatrice Franklyn.'

"Not even an apology," she said sadly. "She cannot seriously expect me to send this… can she?"

"There is no knowing what she expects," her father said with a gentle smile. "She is as adamant, in her way, as you are, but the question of a husband is a matter for you alone to decide."

"Not entirely," she said miserably. "It is also for him to decide."

"True. So why not use this as an opportunity to find out what he wants? You have always said that you intended to put an end to this betrothal, so here is your chance. Send this letter, exactly as it is, with no hint of softness about it. If he heaves a sigh of relief and disappears back to his books, you will know where you stand. But if he has any affection for you at all, he will try to win you back."

"Or he might simply accept his dismissal, assuming I care nothing for him. If only I could talk to him, Papa! If only I could explain to him…"

"Why do you not?"

"Because I promised! I gave my word that I would not set my cap at him."

"Then of course you must keep to that," her father said. "But remember, Bea, he lives just three miles away, and you will meet often. He rarely leaves home, so he will always be there. You have endless time to win his heart. All is not lost if you set him free now."

"It feels like it," she said glumly.

***

Bertram rode Catullus that morning, glad to have his own horse under him once more, and as fit and full of energy as ever. He laughed as he thought of John Whyte jumping him over the toll-gate and making a mull of it, the horse determined that he would jump and the rider trying to dissuade him. That never worked! Once a horse has taken it into his head to jump, he was best left to get on with it. All things considered, Whyte had done a good job to get him over the gate at all.

Jumping was not Bertram's style. He rarely hunted, for that reason, and even when he rode in the regular way, he was happy to open gates with the ladies. He had never been one for showing off. Not like Grayling! His face darkened when he thought of that man, who had peacocked about in front of Bea, and then retreated smartly as soon as he saw that her father was an expert swordsman, who would not hesitate to call him out if he transgressed. A libertine and a coward.

Why was he thinking of Grayling, anyway? Much more pleasant to think of Bea, and today's Latin lesson. He had chosen a poem about kisses for her to read, and perhaps that would give her a hint of the way his thoughts were running. Her kisses… oh, her kisses! If only he could have more of them. The memory of her lips on his haunted his dreams, and his waking thoughts, too. Catullus sensed the sudden excitement in his rider, for he increased his pace uncomfortably, and Bertram was obliged to rein him back a little.

The sun was still warm on his face as he rode, but he fancied it was a little cooler now, a harbinger of the coming autumn. Soon there would be piles of rustling leaves under the trees and an opportunity for long walks in the woods, where an ardent suitor might perhaps be able to snatch a kiss or two. No more excuse for languidly sitting about under parasols on the terrace. Not that he did much of that with Bea, either. His hour in the library with her was all he ever seemed to have. Still, an hour a day, even under Franklyn's watchful eye, was better than nothing. It was very much better than nothing.

He took Catullus straight to the stables, then walked back to the front door. Lady Esther was not a person who would approve of visitors arriving through the back of the house. Hobbs greeted him, took his hat, gloves and riding crop, but did not bother to announce him, for he was expected.

At first he thought the library was empty, for Bea's chair was unoccupied, and Mr Franklyn's also. Then he saw Franklyn standing by the window, his face expressionless.

"Where is Bea?" A moment of fear. "Is she unwell?"

"She is quite well, but the ladies have gone to call upon the earl. Did you not see the carriage as you rode over? They have only just left."

"No, I came through the woods, not by the lane."

"Ah. She left a letter for you."

He handed it over, and perhaps his face should have given Bertram a clue that it did not contain merely an apology for missing their lesson. Instead, he read it in horror, crying out in anguish, "No! What is she doing? I told her— Ack!"

Crumpling the letter in hands that shook with rage, he was too agitated to be still, pacing across the room, then back again.

"What does she think she is doing?" he cried again. "How can she do this to me? In a letter… in such words… so cold! Why would she not tell me to my face? I cannot accept this. I will not! I will not allow her to end things, not like this, not in a few miserable words that mean nothing to her, but pierce my heart like spears. She of all people should understand the power of words. But why? Why would she do this?"

"My wife has discovered that Lord Rennington is looking for a new wife," Franklyn said. "She has an idea that Bea might suit."

"What? Bea marry Uncle Charles? Impossible! She could not… she would not… that is… no! I must talk to her, make her see sense. When will she be back? I shall stay here until she returns and then—"

"They have only just left, and you have a fast horse," Franklyn murmured.

"Yes! Yes! I shall go after them. My horse! I must find my horse." Throwing open the library door, he yelled, "Hobbs! Hobbs! There you are! My horse, at once! Oh, never mind, I shall go myself."

So saying, he ran across the hall, wrestled the door open himself and tore round the house to the stables. The grooms had barely got the saddle off Catullus, but they raced to replace it. Bertram stamped up and down as the head groom meticulously tested the girths for tightness. Then he was in the saddle and away. He had forgotten his gloves, but there was no time to go back for them.

Catullus shot down the drive, almost as agitated as Bertram. Away in the distance, he thought he could just see the hazy dust cloud thrown up by the carriage. Highwood Place was three miles from Birchall, and the lane was rough and narrow. He had time to catch them.

Veering off the drive onto open moorland, Catullus found the track that ran parallel to the lane and Bertram gave him his head. Slowly, too slowly for Bertram's peace of mind, they gained on the dust cloud. Above the hedge that bordered the lane, the top of the carriage could now be distinguished.

It was at this point that the defect of his plan occurred to Bertram. The hedge ran along the edge of the lane all the way to the main road. There were no gates, even if he had time to open one. If he wished to intercept the carriage before it reached the all too public setting of Birchall village, he would have to jump the hedge, and in order to avoid crashing into the hedge on the other side, the jump would need to be at an angle.

His heart quailed but Bea was too important for him to back down now. He was drawing level with the carriage… he reached it… he was a little way past it… was that a slightly lower point in the hedge just ahead of him? Without hesitation he turned Catullus a little and pointed him at the hedge. Then he suppressed the fear that was screaming at him inside, and put all his trust in his horse.

They neared the hedge, Catullus adjusted his stride fractionally and then… then they were sailing majestically through the air.

Bertram closed his eyes and tried to remember what one was supposed to do when one's horse fell. Feet out of the stirrups? Was that it? What about the reins? Hang on or let go…?

Catullus landed neatly and galloped on down the lane. Bertram was so surprised, he almost forgot to rein him in. Then he turned and rode back more slowly to meet the carriage, filled with exhilaration. He had jumped the hedge! And survived! How astonishing.

The carriage drew to a halt in front of him, and Bea's head popped out of the window. At once, the memory of that insulting letter brought Bertram's rage boiling to the surface again. Slithering from the saddle, he strode forward and hauled open the carriage door. Lady Esther sat facing forwards, as unperturbed as always, but Bea cowered back in her seat.

"What the devil do you mean, writing me a letter like that?"

"Mr Atherton…" began Lady Esther.

"I am not addressing you, madam. Bea, you cannot possibly marry a man old enough to be your grandfather."

Inexplicably, that made Bea giggle.

"There is nothing funny about this! How dare you write to me in such terms — write to me, for heaven's sake! Well, I will not have it, do you hear me? I will not accept it. If you want to end our betrothal, then you must tell me to my face, do you understand? You can tell me, to my face, that you would rather marry an old man who only wants you to give him babies, rather than someone who will love you and cherish you forever. I will not have it in a letter, and such a cold, impersonal letter, too, as if we have not been friends for years and years."

"Mr Atherton," Lady Esther said faintly.

"Be silent, woman! I am talking to Bea. Oh, this is impossible! Get out, Bea."

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the carriage, although she put up no resistance at all.

Lady Esther's voice was a mere thread. "Beatrice, I shall not wait more than five minutes for you."

"Very good, Mama."

Bertram marched her behind the carriage, out of sight of the interested coachman and the footman standing at the back. Catullus had wandered that way, and was contentedly grazing an enticing patch of grass on the verge. Bertram stalked past the horse and a little way down the road.

"Well?" he said, turning to her. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I have not the least intention of marrying Lord Rennington. That was Mama's idea, but it is an outrageous suggestion."

"Then…?" Suddenly, he was floundering. "So what is all this about?"

"Did you mean it? About… about cherishing me? Loving me?"

He nodded. All his loquacity had dried up, as if the words that had bubbled up so readily in his anger, had all now leaked out of his head. What could he say to her? How could he possibly tell her how much he loved her, how distraught he was to lose her, how unhappy he would be without her?

But then she smiled, and it was as if he had been wreathed in clouds and now the sun had emerged.

She reached for one of his hands, and placed it on her cheek. Then the other, so that her face was cupped in his bare hands. Now he was glad he had left his gloves behind. He smiled back, thinking that a man could drown in those blue eyes of hers, the colour of the sky on a summer's day.

He knew what to do next. It needed no thought, but it answered all the questions in his mind, and hers too, he realised now.

Bending his head, he kissed her.

It was not like the first time. Then, he had felt as if he were drowning, swept away by the turbulence of his own emotions. Now, it felt more like sailing a small boat across the water, the bow skimming the waves, the sails filled with air, the speed exhilarating. There were no words. Somehow, they were gliding above the words, in the realm where the meanings, the intent of the words, the very heart of them, rose to become pure poetry. Nothing existed, nothing mattered, apart from the two of them, their glorious united joy and their love.

When they parted momentarily, she murmured, "Te amo."

"Mea vita," he whispered back. And when other pauses arose, "Mea lux... meum delicium… meum solatium… mel meum… meum corculum."

She giggled, and repeated each phrase and then kissed him again.

"Mama has gone," she said eventually.

Surprised, he turned. The lane was empty, apart from their two selves, and Catullus waiting patiently. "Oh. What shall we do?"

"I had better go home," she said. "Will you walk with me?"

He laughed. "I have a much better idea. We shall ride."

Her hand in his, he led her towards Catullus, who turned his head towards them and gave a whuff of greeting. With one swift movement, Bertram put his hands around Bea's waist and lifted her onto Catullus's back. She gave a quick exclamation of surprise, then giggled. He liked her giggles, he decided. Some girls giggled in a silly way, but Bea was never silly. He mounted behind her, and found to his great pleasure that a lady sitting sideways in front of him was perfectly positioned for kissing. For some time, therefore, they did not move at all, and it was only when Catullus reached down for another tempting mouthful that Bea giggled again.

"Home is that way," she said helpfully. "Just in case you have forgotten."

He laughed, pulled Catullus away from the verge, and set him to a gentle walk. And so they walked and kissed, and kissed and walked, his arms wrapped firmly around his love, and she seemed content to snuggle against his chest and allow herself to be kissed.

After a while, words seeped into his brain again, and he began to recite. "‘Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes tuae sint satis superque. Quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum…'"

"What is it about?" she whispered, when he fell silent again.

"It is about kissing. One might translate it like this. ‘You ask how many of your kisses are enough for me and more than enough. As great as is the number of the Libyan sand… or as many as are the stars… to kiss you with so many kisses is enough and more than enough.' There is more, but that is the heart of it."

"Ohhh," she breathed. "How romantic you are. You should say everything in Latin. It sounds so much better."

"Very well. How about this? Te amo, Beatrice Franklyn. Visne mihi nubere?"

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

He chuckled. "It does."

"Then… ero. I will marry you."

And somehow, that seemed to require a great deal more kissing.