"Gentle conquest" - читать интересную книгу автора (Balogh Mary)

CHAPTER 2

RALPH MIDDLETON, Earl of Chartleigh, sat on a straight-backed chair in his room, staring into space, a riding crop swinging idly from one hand. He had left off his mourning again, at his mother's bidding. He was wearing a close-fitting coat of blue superfine, biscuit-colored pantaloons, and gleaming black white-topped Hessians, the fashionable purchases of the day before. Crisp white lace was visible at his throat and wrists. His fair curly hair, newly combed, was looking somewhat less unruly than it had appeared to Georgiana two days before.

There was really no point in sitting here ruminating, he told himself, not for the first time. Wheels had been set in motion, and it was beyond his power to stop them. In exactly forty minutes' time he was expected at Curzon Street to pay his addresses to the Honorable Georgiana Burton. Her father had assured him the day before that she would receive his offer favorably and had proceeded to talk in great detail about settlements.

Since the death of his father little more than a year before, Ralph had been somewhat dreading the approach of his one-and-twentieth birthday. It would precede the end of his studies at Oxford by barely a month. He would be an adult, equipped by age to take over his responsibilities as Earl of Chartleigh and head of the Middleton family. He had not felt old enough. He had felt inadequate. He had never wanted such a life for himself. If only time could be suspended and he could have stayed at Oxford. There he had felt thoroughly at home with his books and with people like himself, people who delighted in talking about important ideas rather than about fashions or the latest scandal. There he had felt as if he had a mind of his own. He had his own ideas and opinions, and his companions, though they might argue hotly with him, respected him too.

He had never felt quite accepted at home. It was a dreadful admission to make about one's own family. He used to look at his father sometimes without recognition. How could that man possibly be his father, the man who had begotten him? There was some slight physical resemblance, he knew, but there was no similarity whatsoever in character and personality. His father had been larger than life, doing everything to excess. Ralph had been somewhat afraid of him; he had known that his father despised him. He had felt inferior.

His mother had always dominated the whole family, though she was firmly of the belief that his father had ruled single-handed. She dominated through her complaints and her hints and suggestions. As a child, Ralph, always dreamy and somewhat absentminded, small in stature until he suddenly shot up in his fifteenth year, unaggressive, had allowed himself to be dominated more than the others. He knew as he grew older that his mother did not always rule her family wisely, but it had always been easier to give in to her than to argue. Obedience to her became almost a reflex action.

He had never been very close to his brother, three years younger than he, though there was an undemonstrative affection between the two. Stanley was very much like his father: confident, aggressive, physically active, very obviously masculine. To be fair, though, he had to admit that Stanley appeared to have a warmer heart than the late earl.

Gloria was perhaps the only member of the family of whom he was really fond. Although she looked like their mother, he could see much of himself in her. She was six-and-twenty and had considered herself betrothed to the vicar at Chartleigh since she was twenty.

The countess opposed the match. The vicar was merely the younger son of some obscure baronet. She constantly found excuses to force the couple to postpone their wedding. And Gloria took it all with great meekness. The only sign of firmness she showed was in remaining constant to her betrothed. She had consistently refused to be attracted to any of the brighter matrimonial prospects her mother had presented her with before their year of mourning had forced them into seclusion.

Somehow, in the year since his father's death, Ralph had reconciled himself to the fact that his life of free choices was at an end. He had hoped to stay at Oxford even after his graduation. He had not expected his father, so full of vigor, to die for many years. That life was out of the question for him now. But if he was to be the Earl of Chartleigh, he was to be so on his own terms. He had never approved of his parents' life of selfish privilege. His estates and all the people dependent upon him had meant nothing to the late earl beyond a source of seemingly endless income. Ralph had found it hard to love his father.

It was not going to be easy, the life he had chosen for himself. It would undoubtedly be lonely. His mother would never accept his need to understand the workings of his properties and his need to see all those dependent on him as people. His brief mention of Chartleigh the day after his return from university had confirmed his fear that his mother would interpret his interest as weakness. They had always thought him weak because of his hatred of inflicting pain-even on poor hunted animals. Perhaps they were right.

Ralph sighed, realizing that in five more minutes he must move if he were not to be late at Lord Lansbury's home. He certainly had one glaring weakness, one that had troubled him somewhat for a few years but which had now been drawn well to the fore. He was unnaturally shy of women.

Mama had suggested to him a week before that it was time he was married. He owed it to his position to take a wife and begin to set up his nursery, she had said. And she even had a bride all picked out for him, a girl she knew by sight only, a girl he had never met.

He had been horrified. The idea of marriage had occurred to him before, of course, but it was a thought rather like that of death. One assumed that one must come to that time eventually, but it seemed comfortably far in the future. He had never had anything to do with girls. He had had the opportunity. There were plenty of students at university who frequented taverns where the barmaids were pretty and accommodating. Some of them had persuaded Ralph to go along with them one night. Their obvious intention had been to help him lose his virginity. They had picked out for him a very petite and very pretty little barmaid, and she had been very obviously willing.

After a few drinks he had become bold enough to look at her and had felt the stirrings of desire. She had come to their table frequently, swishing her skirts against his legs each time, looking provocatively down at him out of the corner of her eyes, leaning over the table to pick up empty tankards so that he could have a clear view of an attractive mole far down on her generous breasts. Ralph had realized afterward that his companions must have paid her in advance to seduce him. He had shamed himself by lurching to his feet suddenly and rushing from the tavern, his face burning. He had been teased mercilessly for a long time after that.

And now here he was, Ralph thought, about to propose marriage to a girl. Was he mad? How could such a thing possibly have come about? He knew he was not the weakling his family thought him to be. He was quite calmly determined to live his position according to his own conscience. But he had never considered personal matters. When his mother had mentioned marriage to him and pointed out his duties to provide his family and dependents with a countess and with an heir, he had felt almost like a child again. It was very hard to withstand his mother's persuasions unless one had a moral conviction to aid one's resistance. He had no moral conviction against marriage. Indeed, he agreed with her. It was necessary for him to marry. But not yet, surely.

That had been the only argument he had put up against her. She had demolished it with an ease that matched the feebleness of his resistance. He had finally agreed to pay a visit to the girl and her family two days before. There was no possible harm in paying an afternoon call, his mother had explained reasonably. There was no commitment in such a move. If he did not like the look of the girl, there would be the end of the matter. She would say no more to him.

Why was it, then, that a mere two days later he was dressed and ready to call again at Lansbury's house to make a marriage proposal to the girl? What had happened to his freedom to say no? The countess had been greatly impressed with the viscount and his family. And she had been delighted by the demure dignity of Miss Burton. The girl had been brought out during the spring, she had explained to her son, and had been in London all Season, gaining social experience. Lady Sheldon, whoever she might be, had assured her that the girl had spirit and that she had been much admired.

"She is perfect for you, Ralph," the countess had persuaded him. "She is pretty and clearly knows how to behave. She has good parentage and doubtless a competent dowry. And any number of young gentlemen have been paying court to her. If you delay, you may find that she will betroth herself to someone else. And what a loss that would be, dear boy. You must see it is your clear duty to marry. If only your poor dear papa had lived, God rest his soul, there would be no immediate need for you to do so. But you are Chartleigh now, my dear, and you must learn to put behind you any selfish considerations."

It was that argument again that had finally crumbled his defenses. If it was his duty to take a wife, he would do so. Besides, he had to admit to himself that he liked the look of Miss Burton. In the brief glance he had of her, he had seen a very youthful, pretty, and shy girl. He hated his own terror of women. Perhaps if he did something really decisive like offering for this girl before he had time to consider what was ahead of him, he would overcome this one weakness in himself that even he despised. So he was going. Must be on his way, in fact, he thought, jumping to his feet.

Ralph paused on his way out of his room, his hand on the doorknob. How could he face Miss Burton? What would he say to her? How would he force himself to look at her? He had hardly done so two days before and had heartily despised himself ever since. He had been tinglingly aware of her presence the whole time, but he had found himself totally unable to turn to her, as he should have done, and engage her in conversation. He could not even look at her. He had glanced at her once, having steeled himself for five whole minutes to do so. But she had been looking at him, and-fool that he was -he had not smiled easily at her and made some polite remark. He had looked hastily away, his face burning, and sat paralyzed with embarrassment for the rest of the visit.

She really was very pretty. He had seen that much. She was gracefully slim and had looked very feminine in her delicate pink dress and with her masses of beribboned ringlets. Her eyes were very dark. At least that was the impression he had gained from that one hasty glance. She was eighteen, Mama had said. Three years younger than he. Little more than a child. It was an arranged marriage for her too. She had looked like a timid little thing. She was probably even more frightened of the afternoon before her than he was. The thought gave him courage. He must reassure her, convince her that he would not be a demanding or overbearing husband. He must tell her that he would be gentle and patient with her. Really, he had no reason whatsoever to be nervous.

With such thoughts Ralph finally turned the doorknob, left the sanctuary of his own room, and ran nimbly down the marble stairway of his London home. He even managed to grin confidently at his mother, who stood at the foot of the stairs waiting to bid him a tearful farewell, and at Gloria, who hovered in the doorway of the drawing room, smiling encouragement.

He left the house, concentrating his mind on the fluttering fright that Miss Burton must be experiencing at this very moment, a mere fifteen minutes before his expected call.

Georgians Burton was indeed awaiting the arrival of her suitor. She was standing at the window of the green salon, glaring out at the street beyond the small front garden. Her teeth were tightly clamped together so that her jaw was set in a stubborn line. There was the small crease of a frown between her brows. One blue slippered foot was tapping impatiently on the Turkish rug.

Mama had left the room for a moment, giving her the opportunity to display the wrath she was feeling. How had she got herself into this coil, anyway? A mere few days ago she had been as free as the wind, her only problem the difficulty of finding sufficient amusement in this off-Season period in London. With Ben Greeley and Warren Haines not yet departed for Brighton, she had been succeeding quite nicely.

Yet here she was about to receive a proposal from a beautiful boy whom she had met for the first time two days before and to whom she had never spoken. And a shy boy at that! Mama said that he was one-and-twenty, but that was a bouncer if she had ever heard one. If the truth were known, he was probably younger than she was. Well, she would just not do it, and that was that. It was cradle robbery. Why, Chartleigh was just the sort of character that she and her friends would laugh at if they saw him at any assembly. Shy. Awkward, Boyish. Et cetera, et cetera. How could she marry him? She would be a laughingstock.

"Dammit, anyway," she whispered rebelliously against the window, and then looked guiltily over her shoulder to make sure that no one had come into the room and overheard her. Of course, she could not refuse him. Why fool herself into thinking that she could? Papa had made his sentiments quite clear, and even Mama on this occasion was not taking her part. Mama thought it an excellent match. She was very impressed with the beautiful boy, could see only the advantages of such a marriage, and none of the humiliating impossibility of it all.

They would definitely take her home if she refused the earl. Mama had said so. And Mama had made it clear that she would blame Georgie for such an undesirable removal. Mama dreaded having to live all summer tinder the feet of the builders and painters. And what about her? There was no one-no one!-even remotely interesting at home. And there was nothing to do there except ride in the occasional hunt. She would die!

But what an alternative she faced! She was to marry this shy, blushing stripling. What a bore. Worse. How could one live the rest of one's life with someone one heartily despised? And she did despise him. She could not stand spiritless people, especially men.

Well, she thought grimly, turning from the window as the door opened and her mother entered again, accept him she would. She would just have to make the best of her life afterward. She would persuade this earl to live in London for most of each year, and she would carry on with her own life just as she did now. If he did not like it, it was just too bad. She would punish him for forcing her into such a dreadful situation by leading him a merry dance. She was not going to change her way of life for a blushing boy.

He was probably shaking in his boots right now. He must be due to arrive at any minute. She would have some fun with him, she decided suddenly. She was not free to be herself anyway. If she were, she would send him packing in no time at all. If she must act a part, she would do the thing thoroughly. She would pretend to be as shy and demure as he. Would he not be shocked after their wedding! Georgiana smiled brightly at her mother.

"Oh, Georgie," the viscountess said, "you do look pretty. I am sure you will quite take his lordship's breath away."

The smile stayed in place. "Price insisted on the blue," Georgiana said. "It brings out the color of my eyes better than the yellow, she said."

"And quite right, too," her mother agreed. "She has certainly done wonders with your hair. I do wish Vera's had such body."

Georgiana seated herself demurely on a sofa. She was glad there was no mirror in the salon. She had no wish to be reminded of her coiffure. If there had been two hundred ringlets on the occasion of the earl's first visit, she was quite sure there must be two hundred and fifty this time. And the blue bows were larger than the pink had been. She was very thankful that Warren Haines was not there to see her. He would hoot with laughter as he always did at elaborate hairstyles or ornate bonnets.

"Remember, Georgie, to make an effort to be agreeable and set the earl at his ease," her mother was saying. "It is always something of an ordeal for a gentleman to pay his addresses to a young lady. Papa, I swear, stuttered over every second word when he proposed to me, though I have never heard him stutter since. Papa and I will leave you alone for ten minutes."

"Yes, Mama," Georgiana replied so meekly that her mother gave her a suspicious look, "I shall do my very best."

"Remember that he is doing our family a great honor," the viscountess added.

"Yes, Mama."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a knocking at the street door, and mother and daughter glanced at each other self-consciously while waiting for the viscount to bring in their visitor.

Georgiana rose to her feet and curtsied, but she did not look up. The earl spoke quietly about commonplaces to her parents for a few minutes until they rose and withdrew. Then she was alone with him. The moment had come.

"Miss Burton," the Earl of Chartleigh said after a short but loud silence. He had jumped to his feet as soon as the viscount and viscountess rose. "I am sensible of the honor you have done me in granting me some of your time."

Georgiana peeped up at him through her lashes and looked down again at her hands, which were twisting in her lap. She said nothing.

"I believe you have been informed of the purpose of my visit?" he said.

Georgiana swallowed. "Yes, my lord," she almost whispered.

"Your father has kindly permitted me to pay my addresses to you," he said. "You would be doing me a great honor, ma'am, if you will consent to be my wife."

Georgiana's hands were tightly clenched together. "You are very kind, my lord," she said.

He stood a little way in front of her. There was silence for a little while. "Will you marry me?" he asked.

She permitted herself another swift peep up at him. "I-if you wish it, my lord," she said. "That is, y-yes, I should… Yes, my lord."

The blue fabric of her dress was now caught up between her hands and was being mangled into a knot.

Chartleigh stood looking down at her for a few moments. "Is it what you wish?" he asked. "I realize that this is an arranged match. We have not had the opportunity to get to know each other. I would not force you into an unwanted marriage."

Georgiana looked up at him with wide unguarded eyes. His voice had been unexpectedly gentle. She looked down again. "Mama and Papa think it is time I married," she said. "I am sure that they have selected a suitable husband for me."

He came a few steps closer and held out one hand. She was obviously expected to place one of hers in it and did so. He held her hand in a tight clasp and drew her to her feet. She stood before him, her eyes on a level with the snowy lace at his neck. She looked downward at the silver buttons on his waistcoat.

"But what of you?" he asked, his voice still gentle. "Do you think it is time you were married? And would you prefer to select a husband for yourself?"

Georgiana could no longer resist the urge to look fully at him and see this boy who was to be her husband. She looked up into the beautiful face. His mouth was curved upward at the corners, as she remembered from her scrutiny of him two days before, but his eyes were grave. And she felt a nasty lurching in the area of her heart when she looked into those eyes. They were wide and gray and had great depth. She could easily drown in those eyes if she ever focused on them for too long. They reminded her a little of Vera's. His hair was disheveled again. She felt an uncharacteristically maternal urge to reach up to smooth it into place. Dear God, she was staring at him.

"No," she said, looking down hastily at his silver buttons again. "I do not believe I could make a better choice than that of my parents, my lord."

Her left hand was still clasped in his right, she realized when he squeezed it a little tighter.

"Then you have made me very happy," he said. There was an awkward pause before he lifted her hand rather jerkily to his lips and kissed it briefly.

Georgiana looked up at him again as he did so. "When do you expect the wedding to be, my lord?" she asked.

He smiled at her with the whole of his face. She was fascinated. He was going to suffer from numerous laugh lines by the time he reached middle age, she thought.

"My wish is to marry you as soon as possible," he said. "But I am your servant, Miss Burton. I shall quite understand if you wish to delay until we are better acquainted."

"No," she said almost in a whisper. "I believe Papa wants the nuptials to be very soon."

"I shall discuss the matter with him," the Earl of Chartleigh said. "I am sorry if your family is rushing you, Miss Burton. I shall not, you know. You will not find me a demanding husband. You are not to be afraid of me. I shall give you all the time you need to feel comfortable with me after we are wed."

She should be feeling like bursting into giggles, not into tears, Georgiana thought in some surprise. He was talking as if he had all the age and wisdom of Solomon. And as if he had never blushed with shyness in his life. But she could not laugh, even inwardly. He was so obviously in earnest. And dammit, she thought in most unfeminine fashion, the beautiful boy was also a kind boy.

"Thank you," she said. She looked into his eyes again.

He laughed, a sound of great relief, and his face was transformed by that total smile again. "Do you know?" tic said. "I was very nervous about coming here this afternoon. I did not know how you would receive me. You are very sweet. I do believe we will deal well together. I look forward to getting to know you."

Georgiana bit her lower lip. She felt decidedly guilty and quite distinctly contrite about the deception she was deliberately acting out. Poor boy!

His eyes followed her movement and remained on her lips. "You are very beautiful," he said, and Georgiana thought for one shocked moment that he was going to kiss her.

It seemed that the thought had occurred to him too. He let go of her hand suddenly, looked quickly back up into her eyes, flushed deeply, and turned abruptly away.

To the relief of both, Lord Lansbury and his wife chose that moment to return to the salon and the two young people could hide whatever they were feeling of embarrassment or guilt behind the general air of heartiness that followed Chartleigh's announcement that his proposal had been accepted.

He left fifteen minutes later, having promised to return the next day to discuss details of the wedding with the viscount.