Джорджетт Хейер: The Reluctant Widow

“No. So, indeed, I apprehended,” he said. “It could not have been otherwise.”

She stared at him. “Well! This is frank indeed! I am sure I am at a loss to guess why, having engaged me, you should now be so set on turning me away, sir!”

At that he smiled, which made his somewhat forbidding countenance appear very much more pleasing. “It is certainly absurd,” he agreed. “You are not what I had expected, ma’am. I must tell you that I think you too young.”

Her spirits sank. “I made no secret of my age, sir. I am perhaps older than you imagine. I am six and twenty.”

“You look younger,” he commented.

“I hope it need not signify, sir. I assure you, I am not without experience.”

“You can hardly have had experience of what now lies before you,” he retorted.

A dreadful suspicion crossed Miss Rochdale’s mind. “Good heavens, he is not—he surely cannot be— deranged, sir?” she exclaimed.

“No, he is quite sane,” he answered. “It is brandy, not madness, to which the greater part of his propensity for evil is attributable.”

“ Brandy ?”she gasped.

He raised his brows. “Yes, I thought you had not been told the whole,” he said. “I am sorry. I intended—and indeed ordered—otherwise.”

Miss Rochdale now realized that not her charge but her employer was mentally deranged. She rose to her feet, saying with a firmness which she hoped concealed her inward alarm, “I think, sir, it would be best that I should present myself without further loss of time to Mrs. Macclesfield.”

“To whom?” he asked, rather blankly.

“Your wife!” she said, retreating strategically toward the door.

He said with unruffled calm, “I am not married.”

“Not married?” she cried. “Then—have I been under a misapprehension? Are you not Mr. Macclesfield?”

“Certainly not,” he replied. “I am Carlyon.”

He appeared to think that this statement was sufficient to apprise her of all she could possibly wish to know about him. She was wholly bewildered, and could only stammer, “I beg your pardon! I thought—But where, then, is Mrs. Macclesfield?”

“I do not think I know the lady.”

“You do not know her! Is this not her house, sir?”

“No,” he said.

“Oh, there has been some dreadful mistake!” she cried distressfully. “I do not know how it can have come about! Indeed, I am very sorry, Mr. Carlyon, but I think I am come to the wrong house!”

“So it would appear, ma’am.”

“It is the most mortifying circumstance! I do beg your pardon! But when the servant asked me if I was come in answer to the advertisement I thought—But I should have inquired more particularly!”

“Did you come in answer to the advertisement?” he interrupted, his brow creasing. “Not mine, I fancy!”

“Oh, no! I was hired by Mrs. Macclesfield to be governess to her children—more particularly, her little boy.” In spite of herself, she began to laugh. “Oh, dear, could anything be more nonsensical? You may conceive what an effect your words had upon me!”

“I imagine you must have supposed me to be mad.”

“I did. But it is no laughing matter after all! Pray, where am I, sir?”

“You are at Highnoons, ma’am. Where do you wish to be?”

“Mrs. Macclesfield’s residence is at Five Mile Ash,” she answered. “I hope it may not be far removed from here?”

“I am afraid it is quite sixteen or more miles to the east of this place,” he responded. “You will hardly reach it tonight.”

“Good God, sir, what in the world am I to do? I fear she will be much offended, and I am sure I do not know how to explain my folly to her!”

He did not seem to be attending very closely. He asked abruptly, “Was there no other female got down from the stage at Billingshurst?”

“No, there was no one got down but myself,” she assured him.

“I suppose her courage deserted her,” he remarked. “It is not surprising.”

“I collect that you too were expecting someone. It is indeed a chapter of accidents. I wish I knew how to contrive to be well out of such a fix!”

He favored her with another of his measuring glances. “Well, we may yet turn it to good account. Before you decide to present yourself at Five Mile Ash you might do worse than consider the post I have to offer.”

“You do not require a governess, sir!”

“No. I require a female—preferably a respectable female—who would be willing, upon terms, to marry a young relative of mine,” he replied.

She was for several moments deprived of all power of speech. Finding her tongue at last, she demanded, “Are you in earnest?”

“Certainly.”

“I think you must indeed be mad!”

“I am not, but I dare say it may appear so.”

“To marry a young relative of yours!” she said scornfully. “No doubt the gentleman whose evil propensities are attributable to brandy!”

“Precisely.”

“Mr. Carlyon,” said Miss Rochdale roundly, “ I am in no mood for such trifling as this! Be so good as to—”

“I am not trifling with you, and I am not Mr. Carlyon.”

“I beg your pardon! It is what you told me!”

“You have my name correctly, but it will be more proper for you to address me as Lord Carlyon.”

“Oh!” said Miss Rochdale. “Well, that makes it no better, sir!”

“Makes what no better?”

“This—this preposterous and ill-timed jest of yours!”

“My proposal may be preposterous, but it is not a jest. There are reasons why I am anxious to see my cousin married as soon as possible.”

“I do not pretend to understand you, my lord, but if that is so, your cousin would be better advised to offer for some lady of his acquaintance.”

“Undoubtedly. But his character is too well known to make him acceptable to any female of his acquaintance. Nor has he any longer the recommendation of a respectable fortune.”

“Upon my word!” exclaimed Miss Rochdale, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to be indignant. “And why, pray, should you suppose that this monster might be acceptable to me?”

“I don’t suppose it,” he replied calmly. “You may leave him at the church door, if you choose. In fact, I think you should do so.”

“Either I am dreaming,” said Miss Rochdale, maintaining her composure with a strong effort, “or you are indeed mad!”

He looked a little amused at this, but only replied with a shake of the head. Quite provoked by such conduct, Miss Rochdale said sharply, “It does not signify talking! Be so good as to tell me how I may reach Five Mile Ash before it is too late to set out!”

He glanced at the bracket clock on the mantelpiece, but as this had stopped, drew out his watch. “It is already too late,” he said “It wants only ten minutes to nine.”

“Good God!” she exclaimed, turning quite pale. “What am I to do?”

“Since I appear to have been in some sort responsible for your predicament, you will do best to trust me to provide for you.”

“You are very obliging, my lord,” she retorted, “but I prefer not to place my trust in one whose senses are clearly disordered!”

“Don’t be foolish!” he replied, in much the same tone as she might herself have used in addressing a troublesome child. “You know very well that my senses are not in the least disordered. You will do well to sit down again while I procure you some refreshment.”

His manner had the effect of soothing her exasperated nerves, and she could not but acknowledge that his offer of refreshment was welcome. She had not eaten since the morning. She went back to her chair, but said suspiciously, “I do not know how you may mean to provide for me, for I am certainly not going to marry your cousin!”