The Affectionate Adversary (19 page)

Charles took a lump of sugar and stirred it into his tea. “May I inquire how you mean to secure such a sum, sir?”

“That is where you may play a part in your own fate, Locke.” Again, the young man leaned forward. “Use your influence to help me win Lady Delacroix as my wife.”

If Charles had been surprised before, now he was utterly astounded. “Your wife? You expect me to convince her of such a thing? Upon my word, that is an extraordinary suggestion in view of the fact that she flatly refused my own marriage proposal.”

“Though I highly respect you, Mr. Locke, we can hardly be called equals. Lady Delacroix was once persuaded to wed her fortune to a title, and I believe she will come to see the value in it again. My influence and connections are great. The life I can offer her must be far more palatable than that she made with my uncle. He was much older and of a difficult—even inhospitable—nature. His character and reputation were nothing to my own, sir. My uncle was much taken with gambling and drink, and his marriage cannot have been a success. As you know, they had no children, and not long after his death, Lady Delacroix embarked upon this ridiculous quest.”

Delacroix took a swallow of tea as if needing to steady himself before he continued. “I believe—as do many of my colleagues—that she was unhappily wed, and that this led her to think she must give away her fortune. But if she were married to me, she could only be happy. I am but three or four years her elder, and—I flatter myself—I am much admired in our society. Certainly I can woo her with great success and can make her life pleasant. In time, and with gentle coaxing, she may be convinced to abandon the aim of ridding herself of her fortune. Even if she is not, my position as her husband will permit me access to her funds, and with these I shall invest in your enterprise.”

Charles could hardly suppress the strange mixture of laughter and anger that filled him. How incredible that this man believed himself capable of winning Sarah’s hand! How preposterous to think that Charles could or would assist in such a match! The proposal was close to bribery. Yet it was so far-fetched as to be ridiculous.

Unwilling to give offense—though he had been greatly offended himself by Delacroix’s oration—Charles occupied himself by adding another lump of sugar and a dollop of milk to his tea. Surely the man could not seriously believe Charles had so much influence over Sarah. She knew her own mind, and she had never hesitated to speak her opinions. Yet Delacroix would not have made the effort to seek him out unless he and Sarah’s sisters believed that Charles could be of assistance.

Had he been correct in assuring Sarah of her sisters’ love? Miss Watson, it seemed obvious, truly cared for her eldest sibling. But Charles had never met Mrs. Heathhill, nor did he have any idea of her feelings toward Sarah. And what of Delacroix? Clearly, he was interested only in the money his marriage would bring. He had said nothing of Sarah’s beauty or intelligence or kindness—all the things Charles loved so dearly.

He agreed with Delacroix’s reasoning in some ways. Both men had concluded that Sarah’s unhappiness with her title and fortune resulted from her marriage to Lord Delacroix. Both felt certain she deserved a better life. Both decried her plan to travel to dangerous foreign realms and to divest herself of her property. She ought to stay in England, marry well, and find joy in a husband, children, friends, and perhaps charity work.

Charles was incapable of providing Sarah with such a life—by her own statement and by Delacroix’s. That truth could not be denied even by Charles. Sarah rejected him because he was unwilling to surrender his ambitions. Delacroix rightly insisted that if she were willing to keep her money, Charles was far too poor and his status was much too low for him to stand up with her in society. She would be subjected to gossip and ridicule. He could bring her no prestige, no title, no fortune, no real connections—nothing of worth that she did not have already. Nothing … save that he loved her desperately.

But Sarah was not romantic. In fact, she craved the most unromantic life imaginable—that of a pauper. Could Charles change her mind? Ought he even to try?

He studied the gentleman who sat across from him. Though not wealthy, Delacroix had other advantages. He was young, strong, and of sound mind. With his golden curls and fair complexion, he was surely thought handsome by the ladies. His title made him a peer and gave him lands and houses enough to keep a wife content even if she did manage to give away all her fortune. The sale of Delacroix’s London home or a parcel of his country estate would bring more than enough to provide for a family. And if Sarah would retain her fortune, she would enjoy the comfort of the two residences she had known as the previous Lord Delacroix’s wife. There was much to be said for the security and pleasure to be found in the familiar.

“Come, Locke,” Delacroix spoke up, “the decision cannot be so difficult. You know your plan for a tea company is a good one. All you need is solid backers. I am offering to join Sir Alexander in providing you that. How could you do anything but agree?”

“I ponder the Lady Delacroix’s future far more than my own, sir. As you see, I have settled upon a new way to make my way in life, and I am content in my chosen path. But what of the lady? Can you bring her happiness? Can you make her content?”

“How can I fail? I assure you, Locke, I am not without charms and wit enough to please a woman. Along with two good houses, an array of social pastimes, and my excellent friends and acquaintances, I offer her the many satisfactions she will take in our marriage. No doubt we shall have children, and every woman can take comfort in that. I enjoy fine foods, stimulating conversation, and various entertainments. Dancing, cards, shooting—in all of these I am quite accomplished. I shall treat my wife with kindness and respect, and I have no doubt that these efforts on her behalf will win me her affection. What objection can there be?”

“There must be some, or you would not be seeking my assistance.”

Delacroix’s high spirits sobered instantly. “Any lady save this one would be delighted to marry me. But I am reluctant to make any proposal to her under the current circumstances. She remains adamant in her determination to remain unwed.”

“Perhaps you would get on better if you were religious.”

Delacroix set his cup in its saucer with a loud clink. “Locke, do not trifle with me. I am as religious as the next fellow. I am a perfect gentleman in every way. The trouble does not lie with
me
but with
her
. Surely you are not too blinded by your affections for her to see this. She is … unreasonable.”

“Out of her wits?”

“Thinking unclearly. You seem to have some effect upon her, and so I ask you to influence her in my direction. In exchange, I shall be more than happy to see you comfortably situated. Your own success will be as assured as mine. I doubt you will ever have such an opportunity again, sir.”

Charles stared down at his teacup. To voice his concerns would draw ridicule.
Do you love her? Does she love you? Will you see into her heart and understand her dreams? Can you hold her and keep her warm and make her believe she is all the world to you? Will you listen to her talk of God, and will you study Scripture in order to better understand her and to walk with her in faith? Can you ever care for poor blind girls in China as she does? Will printing presses that spread the gospel mean as much to you as they do to her? Do you accept that she cares nothing for jewels and gowns? Do you know how little she enjoys the society you find so amusing? And will you sacrifice all that brings you such pleasure in order to please her?

Impossible. Charles could never ask such questions aloud. Nor could he ever encourage Sarah toward any man who would do less for her.

“What is your delay, Locke?” Delacroix demanded. “Win her over to me, and you shall have all you desire. What causes you to hesitate?”

“I am not confident in my ability to persuade her to marry you. She will not give up her aims.”

“How can you be certain? In a single conversation with you, she changed her mind and elected to remain in England rather than roaming the world. Surely in a weekend you can bring her to reason concerning the advantages of marrying me.”

“A weekend? I most sincerely doubt that.”

“At least make a start at it. Why not? Come to Bamberfield as my guest and Miss Watson’s particular friend. Go riding with the young lady. Who could resist Miss Watson’s charms? Perhaps you will even win her for yourself! She is no small prize—a fortune of ten thousand pounds, I am told.”

“Why not you, then? Surely that is enough to keep you happy.”

“I am hardly likely to settle for a woman with ten thousand pounds when her sister is worth far more than ten times that amount. Come, sir, be reasonable. What harm can two days in the country do you?”

Charles stood from his chair and bowed. “Delacroix, I am much obliged to you for your confidence in me. Yet I am undeterred. As I stated from the beginning, I am unable to accept your kind invitation. And now I must take my leave.”

“Hang you, man!” Delacroix leapt to his feet. “Are you such a fool?”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of honor.” Without waiting for a reply, Charles set a few coins on the table and left the tearoom. He would not see Delacroix again. And just as well.

“Three days of rain and nothing to do but play whist or embroider screens.” Prudence gazed out the window through which only a low gray mist and an even grayer sky could be seen. “We ought to have stayed in town. At least then we might have had callers. The Pembertons’ dance is tonight, you know, Sarah. They always have dances or balls on Fridays, and we are always invited. But now we shall be forced to do nothing more interesting than play at cards or charades. If I have to partner with Delacroix one more time, I shall scream. Every time I play a card differently than he would, he makes me the object of his scorn.”

The three sisters had gathered in the great drawing room at Bamberfield House. Sarah was laboring at the watercolor still life she had been painting all week. She was grateful to have the calming influence of her lady’s maid, Anne Webster, at her side. The young woman had come from town with some of the other servants, and now she sat nearby, ready to provide fresh water for the paintbrushes whenever needed. But Sarah knew that Anne also listened in silence to the conversation at hand, and more than once while assisting Sarah with her wardrobe or bath, she had boldly offered her thoughts on one subject or another. Though in another house such audacity might have gotten Anne sacked, Sarah enjoyed her company, especially when her sisters grew particularly tedious.

As the rain drummed on the windowpanes and Sarah painted, Mary stitched a fire screen. Prudence could find nothing to do but lament her misfortunes, for she despised being indoors and could find little to entertain herself.

The women expected Lord Delacroix and Mr. Heathhill to come down to tea soon. From their talk at luncheon, Sarah understood that the men had spent the rainy morning cleaning their guns and discussing the merits of pheasant shooting. In this regard, she was happy to have been born a female.

“Why not read a book, Pru?” Sarah suggested. “My late husband never took the trouble to go into his library when we were staying at Bamberfield, but I assure you it is well stocked with the classics.”

“Homer and Virgil? I should much prefer a novel. If Miss Jane Austen could only write faster, we should all be the better. She is by far my favorite author, though I like Isabella Kelly well enough. Has either of you read her book,
The Secret
?” Prudence lowered the curtain over the window again as she turned to her sisters. “I adored it. Berthaline is an orphan, you see, and she desires as a father none other than Lord Glenclullen—the man her female hostess calls base and depraved. How lamentable it is that poor Berthaline has no parents, and Lord Glenclullen is a criminal! I thought I should never stop weeping.”

“You are too silly,” Mary informed her sister. “To weep over a novel!”

“It is not silly, for the circumstances Berthaline faced were nearly as difficult as Sarah’s. We both saw how Father treated her, Mary, sending her away to that awful school. Then she had to wed the baron, which was a travesty from the beginning. And now she loves a man she cannot marry.”

Prudence paused a moment, then she leapt up from the window seat and hurried across the room to a small desk. “Do you know what I am going to do?” she asked as she pulled out a sheet of paper and dipped a pen into the inkwell. “I shall write a letter to Miss Pickworth on Sarah’s behalf. I shall tell her everything that has befallen our dear sister, and then we shall await her advice in
The Tattler
.”