Мэри Бэлоу: Someone to Wed

“You have judged, then, that I will suit you, that I am worth the cost?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and clasping his hands behind his back. He was still standing and looking down at her. If she found that fact intimidating, she was not showing it. He would suit her because of his title, would he? Then why had he been third on her list?

“It is impossible to know with any certainty after just half an hour,” she said, “but I believe so. I believe you are a gentleman, Lord Riverdale.”

And the other two were not? “What exactly does that mean?” he asked. Good God, was he willing to stand here discussing the matter with her?

“I believe it means you would treat me with respect,” she said.

He looked down at her disfigured face and frowned. “And that is all you ask of a marriage?” he asked. “Respect?”

“It is a large something,” she said.

Was it? Was it enough? It was something he would surely be asking himself a number of times in the coming months. It was actually a good answer. “And would you treat me with respect if I married you for your money?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said after pausing to think about it. “For I do not believe you would squander that money on your own pleasures.”

“And upon what information do you base that judgment?” he asked her. “By your own admission you have a half hour’s acquaintance with me.”

“But I do know,” she said, “that you have your own well-managed estate in Kent and could choose to live there in comfort for the rest of your life and forget about Brambledean Court. It is what your predecessor chose to do despite the fact that he was a very wealthy man. His wealth went to his daughter instead of to you, however. All you inherited was the title and the entailed property. Yet you have come here and employed a competent steward and clearly intend to take on the Herculean task of restoring the property and the farms and bettering the lives of the numerous people who rely upon you for their livelihood. Those are not the actions of a man who would use a fortune for riotous living.”

She had more than a half hour’s acquaintance with him, then. She had the advantage of him. They looked speculatively at each other.

“The question is,” she said when he did not respond to her words, “could you live with this, Lord Riverdale?” She indicated the left side of her face with one graceful movement of her hand.

He gave the question serious consideration. The birthmark seriously disfigured her. More important, though, it must have had some serious impact upon the formation of her character if it had been there all her life. He had already seen her defensive, slightly mocking manner, her surface coldness, her isolation, the veil. The blemish on her face might be the least of the damage done to her. Her face might be easy enough to live with. It would be cruel to think otherwise. But how easy to live with would she be?

And was he giving serious consideration to her offer? But he must think seriously about some such marriage. And soon. The longer he lived at Brambledean, the more he saw the effects of poverty upon those whose well-being depended upon him.

“Do you wish to give me a definite no, Lord Riverdale?” Miss Heyden asked. “Or a possible maybe? Or a definite maybe, perhaps? Or even a yes?”

But he had not answered her original question. “We all have to learn to live behind the face and within the body we have been given,” he said. “None of us deserves to be shunned—or adulated—upon looks alone.”

“Are you adulated?” she asked with a slight mocking smile.

He hesitated. “I am occasionally told that I am the proverbial tall, dark, handsome man of fairy tales,” he said. “It can be a burden.”

“Strange,” she said, still half smiling.

“Miss Heyden,” he said. “I cannot possibly give you any answer now. You planned this long before I came. You have had time to think and consider, even to do some research. You have a clear advantage over me.”

“A possibly possible maybe?” she said, and he was arrested for the moment by the thought that perhaps she had a sense of humor. “Will you come back, Lord Riverdale?”

“Not alone,” he said firmly.

“I do not entertain,” she told him.

“I understand that this has not been an entertainment,” he said, “despite the invitation and the tea and cakes. It has been a job interview.”

“Yes.” She did not argue the point.

“I shall arrange something at Brambledean,” he said. “A tea, perhaps, or a dinner, or a soiree— something, and I shall invite you with several other neighbors.”

“I do not mingle with society or even with neighbors,” she told him.

He frowned again. “As Countess of Riverdale, you would have no choice,” he told her.

“Oh,” she said, “I believe I would.”

“No.”

“You would be a tyrant?” she asked.

“I would certainly not allow my wife to make a hermit of herself,” he said, “merely because of some purple marks on her face.”

“You would not allow ?” she said faintly. “Perhaps I need to think more carefully about whether you will suit me.”

“Yes,” he said, “perhaps you do. It is the best I can offer, Miss Heyden. I shall send an invitation within the next week or so. If you have the courage to come, perhaps we can discover with a little more clarity if your suggestion is something we wish to pursue more seriously. If you do not, then we both have an answer.”

“If I have the courage,” she said softly.

“Yes,” he said. “I beg to take my leave with thanks for the tea. I shall see myself out.”

He bowed and strode across the room. She neither got to her feet nor said anything. A few moments later he shut the drawing room doors behind him, blew out his breath from puffed cheeks, and descended the stairs. He informed the butler that he would fetch his own curricle and horses from the stables.

Two

The Earl of Riverdale was as good as his word. A written invitation was delivered to Withington House two days after his visit. He was hosting a tea party for some of his neighbors three days hence and would be pleased if Miss Heyden would attend. She set the card down beside her breakfast plate and proceeded to eat her toast and marmalade and drink her coffee without really tasting them.

Would she go?

Maude had offered her opinion after he left a couple of days ago—of course. Maude always offered an opinion. She had been Aunt Megan’s maid and Wren’s since last year. But even before then she had never scrupled to speak her mind.

“A right handsome one, that,” she had said after he left.

“Too handsome?” Wren had asked.

“For his own good, do you mean?” In the act of picking up the tray from the table in front of Wren, Maude had pursed her lips and paused to think. “I was not given the impression that he thinks himself God’s gift to womankind. He was certainly not pleased to find himself alone with you, was he? I warned you it was improper when you concocted this whole mad scheme, but you never did heed anything I have to say, so I don’t know why I still bother. The other two were pleased enough to be here, though both of them looked a bit unnerved by the veil. They had probably heard you are worth a bundle and hoped they were onto a good thing.”

“Mr. Sweeney and Mr. Richman were a mistake,” Wren had admitted. “Is the Earl of Riverdale a mistake too, Maude? Though perhaps the answer is irrelevant. It is probable I will never hear from him again. He would not even admit to a possibly possible maybe, would he? And then he threw the challenge back at me with his idea about inviting me to some entertainment that would include others. If you have the courage to come, indeed.”