The Regency (66 page)

She glanced up at Danby, and then patted the ground
beside her. 'Come.
Sit.
The grass isn't wet.' He obeyed her,
and resumed his contemplation of her profile. Lucy found
being stared at unexpectedly confusing, and searched for
something to say. 'Well, Danby, what did rouse you from
your bed so early this morning?'

‘I rather wanted to ride out with you once more, before I go abroad,' he said.

She was taken aback. 'Oh. It is soon, then?'

‘
Yes, very soon. We embark on Thursday. So
I'll
have to
leave Town on Tuesday.' She continued to look at him, and
he could not fathom her expression. 'What are you thinking?’

She bit her lip. 'I was thinking,' she said with difficulty,
‘that I ought to give you your answer before you leave.’

He felt a little panic. If she was going to refuse him, he
would sooner not know. 'No hurry. I told you I wouldn't press you.'

‘Yes, but it isn't fair to you,' she said.

Oh God, it was a refusal, then. 'You need time to think,' he suggested.

‘I've been thinking,' she said. ‘Danby, can I ask you something. Why do you want to marry me?'

‘
Should have thought it was obvious,' he said, twiddling
with a blade of grass. 'I love you. I want to live with you.'

‘You don't mind that I have more money than you?'

‘Best for one of us to have money,' he said reasonably. 'Bit awkward otherwise.'

‘But won't you mind that people will say you are marrying me for my money?'

‘
They won't,' he said simply, and waited for the next thing.
‘I have thought about it,' she said eventually. 'I thought
about you going away to the war, and --'

‘And?'

‘
And I don't want never to see you again,' she said
unhappily.

‘
Lucy, I don't mean to blackmail you,' he said. 'If you
don't want to marry me, we'll go on as we are, that's all. Just say no, and that will be the end of it.'

‘I don't want to say no,' she said in a small voice. His heart leapt. 'Then — you mean —?’

She looked at him, disturbed and confused, not knowing
what to say, not knowing how to answer him. He didn't know how to help her, though he had an idea what her trouble was;
and then, simply because her dear face was so close, and
because he longed to take her in his arms and cherish and
protect her, he leaned over and kissed her.

Lucy felt a shock like a blow to the pit of the stomach; and
then everything inside her seemed to tremble and disintegrate.
Danby's mouth on hers was exotically strange, and yet
familiar. It was long, very long, since a man had kissed her,
but her body remembered, and inclined towards him like a
flower turning to the sun. Despite herself, her hands lifted to
touch him, and instantly his arms were around her, crushing
her to him, and she felt all the terrible power of his love and
desire, held in check for God knew how long. It excited and
attracted her, and she was afraid.

It lasted only a second: Danby was too much a gentleman
to forget himself for longer. He released her gently, though
his face was flushed and he breathed as though he had been running. Then he touched her cheek tenderly with his finger
tips.

‘
Thank you,' he said. 'I shall remember that when I'm
riding along some desolate track in the Serra da Estrela, cold
and wet and tired and hungry. I'll remember you just as you
look at this moment. And when I come back, dear Lucy, we'll
take up where we left off.’

Lucy said nothing, since nothing more seemed to be
required of her. He seemed to feel she had given him his
answer, and that was such a relief that she had no desire to inquire more deeply into what had been implicitly asked or
promised. Time enough for that when he came back again; by
then, perhaps she would understand her own feelings better.
His absence, she thought, might clarify them for her.

*

By dint of urgent enquiries, Hawker discovered that Mr
Hobsbawn belonged to Sackville's, the club at the corner of
Cross Street and King Street; but on presenting his card to
the doorman and enquiring after the old gentleman, he
learned that Mr Hobsbawn hardly ever used the club, and
hadn't been in, to the doorman's memory, since last March. A
half-crown appeared and disappeared, and the doorman
remembered that a couple of years back, Mr Hobsbawn had
used to come in several times a week to play whist; powerful
fond of whist he had been; but recently he didn't seem to go out much at all, except if there was a concert on at the Corn-
market. Never missed a concert, didn't Mr Hobsbawn.

Thus armed, Hawker waylaid the old man as he left his
factory, gave a creditable start of surprise, and stepped
forward, hand to hat. Hobsbawn frowned, looked puzzled,
but seeing the uniform, reined-in his horse.

‘
Mr Hobsbawn, sir! How good to see you again. I was
wondering, as I was in these parts, if I should happen to bump
into you.'

‘
Have I had the honour, sir?' Hobsbawn said gruffly. 'I
don't think I remember you.'

‘
Hawker, sir. We met some time ago, at the Sackville. I partnered you at whist one evening. Of course, I wasn't in
uniform then. We were introduced by your great friend, the magistrate — oh, his name escapes me just this instant. My
wretched memory! Distinguished, grey-haired gentleman.'
This was a venture — a man of Hobsbawn's influence, he
reasoned, must know at least one magistrate, and a grey-
haired one was most likely.

‘
Sir John Legge, do you mean?' Hobsbawn asked doubt
fully.

‘That's the very name! Sir John Legge, of course.'

‘
Well, he's no great friend of mine,' Hobsbawn said.
‘Acquaintance, more like. So he introduced us, did he? I don't remember you, young man, and that's a fact.'

‘
It was a long time ago,' Hawker said hastily. 'Though I did
see you at the concert recently, and would have stepped
across to pay my respects, but unfortunately I lost sight of
you in the crowds.’

The concert, hey? Fond of music are you, Mr Hawker?’

‘
Extremely, sir. I never miss any opportunity of listening.’

‘
You'll be at the concert on Monday, then?'

‘
I wouldn't miss it for the world,' Hawker said, and went
on hastily, 'but I am glad to have met you like this, sir, for I
am acquainted with a relative of yours — a relative by
marriage, I should say — and was charged with his respects to you, only he forgot to mention where you live, so I was unable
to acquit myself of his request. Mr James Morland, sir — he's
a close friend of Colonel Brunton, my commanding officer.
We were meeting for ever at mess dinners.’

Hawker had thought this line rather good, implying that he
was on close social terms with the Colonel, and that he had
frequent communication witn James Morland, who was not
only Hobsbawn's son-in-law, but Fanny's father. What could
be neater? But Hobsbawn did not respond as planned, look
ing, indeed, rather cool.

‘
Oh, Morland sent his respects, did he? I see. And I suppose
you didn't know his daughter Fanny was staying with me at
the moment?’

Hawker allowed his face to light up. 'Miss Morland, staying with you? Why, no, sir, I had no idea. I had the great pleasure
and honour of making Miss Morland's acquaintance on a visit
to Morland Place some time ago. I hope she is well?'

‘She is,' Hobsbawn said succinctly.

‘
Pray convey my compliments to her, sir. But I must not
delay you any further. Your servant, Mr Hobsbawn.' He
bowed and touched his cap.

‘
Good day to you, Mr Hawker. Doubtless we'll meet again,'
said Hobsbawn. He bestowed one more thoughtful look, and
then rode on.

At home that evening, over dinner, he said, 'I met an
acquaintance of yours, Fanny — or so he claims. Do you
know a Mr Hawker? Officer in the militia, handsome fellow
with whiskers?’

Fanny tried not to blush. 'Yes, Grandpapa, I have met him
once or twice.'

‘
Claims to have met me at my club, though I can't say I
remember him. Knows your father, too.' There was a hint of a question in the statement. Fanny wished she knew exactly
what Hawker had said.

‘
Yes, Grandpapa. It was at home that I met him. Papa
invited him to the ball for Mathilde's birthday.'

‘
Aye, so he says,' Hobsbawn said, softening. 'Well, he
seemed a pleasant enough fellow. Laying himself out to be
polite. Amazing fond of music, so he said. That's a coinci
dence, isn't it, since I'm fond of music myself?' Fanny kept her
eyes on her plate, thinking furiously. 'I asked him if he'd be at
the concert on Monday, and he said he wouldn't miss it for
the world.’

Fanny's cheeks burned. 'But —' She stopped herself.
Hobsbawn chuckled. 'Aye, that's what I thought. Concerts
are on Tuesday's, aren't they, Puss?’

Fanny had nothing to say.

‘Well, well, he had a valiant try at scraping an acquaintance
with me, I'll say that for him,' Hobsbawn went on, pleased
with himself, 'and I don't like a man less for trying. If he
really knows your pa, there can be no harm in the acquaint
ance. If he calls here, I shall receive him.’

Fanny kept her eyes down. 'Thank you, Grandpapa,' she
said.

‘
And now, Fan, I hope you haven't any engagements
planned for tomorrow morning, for I want to take you down
to the mills with me. I promised to chew you them; and
there's someone I want you to meet, too. It's about time, since
he's a relative.'

‘Yes, Grandpapa?'

‘
My cousin Jasper. Well, he's more of a second-cousin
really, so what that makes him to you I don't know. But blood
is thicker than water, they say, and you ought at least to be
acquainted with him. He acts as my manager, and there's
precious little he doesn't know about cotton and spinning and
machinery. He went into the mills when he was six as a doffer
and piecer, and he worked his way up over the years to
foreman-overseer. There's not a job in the mills he couldn't do,
if he had to put his hand to it. I made him mill-manager when
he was twenty-one. Well, it's best to have someone you've
some hold over, for its a position easy to abuse.' Hobsbawn
chuckled again. 'There's a very good reason why I know I can
trust him. He won't cross me, Fanny, I can be sure of that!'