He went into the library, leaving the door open behind him, and sat down at the desk where they had sat that morning, their heads together, feeding off each other’s ideas, often giving in to absurdity and hilarity. It had been a foolish fancy, he thought. She loved Sid, whether Sid was there for her birthday or not. His continued absence would have made no real difference to anything. It was a good thing Sid had come home when he had. For the idea of patience and taking things slowly seemed to have been tossed aside in the past week. He was only sorry that he had made something of an idiot of himself that morning.
Well, he thought, picking up a paper knife and balancing it on one finger, he was going to have to accustom himself to thinking of her as a sister. A sister-in-law. The thought made him grimace.
The first couple to complete the treasure hunt—Hadley Fleming and Marjorie Churchill—took an hour and a half in which to do so. But everyone agreed, even the losers, that the hunt had been enormous fun and a great improvement on charades or any of the other usual entertainments at parties.
They had tea in the blue salon as soon as everyone had finally come back to the hall and then entertained themselves for the few hours before dinner: strolling in the gallery, sitting in the conservatory, playing the pianoforte and the harp in the music room, playing billiards, or merely remaining in the salon. Everyone seemed thoroughly delighted just to be at Esdale, which had been closed to entertainment for four years.
The party was a success, Lord Whitley decided as he took his place at the head of the table at dinner and smiled across its length at Constance, who as hostess was sitting at the foot. It was clear that all her guests were enjoying themselves and that she was happy. And the best part for her was still to come. He had already had the carpet in the large drawing room rolled up and music placed on the pianoforte for Lady Manning’s use. The dancing would begin as soon as dinner was finished—he would persuade the gentlemen not to linger over the port—and she would be with Sidney.
And at some time during the evening her betrothal would be announced. He would see her flushed and quite radiantly happy. And he would walk up to her and to Sid, and wish them happy and kiss her hand. And force himself to remain in the drawing room for the rest of the evening.
He turned his attention and his conversation to Lady Manning, seated to his right. She seemed embarrassed, he thought, and was looking at him a little warily. Yes, he was feeling embarrassed, too. But he talked anyway and saw her begin to relax.
“Well, upon my soul,” Sir Howard said, running a hand over the back of his neck. He looked at Sidney, standing stiffly before the empty fireplace in the library. “I don’t know what to say, my boy. You have taken me quite by surprise. And I don’t know what Lady Manning would say.”
“I have been of age these six months, sir,” Sidney said earnestly. “And I have a comfortable fortune. I will look after her, sir, if that is what you are concerned about. I have always been excessively fond of Con-of-Constance—of Miss Manning.”
“Oh, I know, boy, I know,” Sir Howard said. He blew out air from puffed cheeks. “Does Connie know about this?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Sidney said eagerly. “We have planned it since last summer, sir. That is, we have planned to ask for your approval. We have planned to become betrothed if you will agree and Lady Manning, of course.”
“I always thought it was just a childhood friendship,” Sir Howard said. “Her mother and I have not realized that it had turned to something else already, though we have thought that perhaps it would in time.”
Sidney swallowed. “I love her, sir," he said. “We do not have to marry soon if you think 1 am too young or she is too young. We can wait, sir. Perhaps two or three years or whatever you think proper. But I know it means a great deal to Connie to have our betrothal announced this evening.”
Sir Howard rubbed at his neck again and turned his head from side to side as if his cravat were too tight. “It is just that yours is the second offer I have had today, my boy,” he said, “though the other gentleman talked to both me and Lady Manning. We gave our consent for him to ask—we would never try to force Connie’s hand, you know. I don’t know if I ought to consent to your asking too. Though I cannot for the life of me think of any reason for refusing you. And the final decision is Connie’s, of course.”
“Someone else wants to marry Con?” Sidney looked intently at Sir Howard. “Who?”
“Oh,” Sir Howard said, “I don’t think I am at liberty to say that, my boy.”
But Sidney did not press the point. He merely turned a shade paler. “Jon,” he said.
The baronet looked uncomfortable. “I don’t want there to be a family fight over my daughter,” he said.
“There won’t be, sir,” Sidney said. “There won’t be.”
“Well,” Sir Howard said, “you have my permission to talk to her, my boy.” He scratched his head. “I had better go and find Lady Manning.”
Sidney stood where he was for a long time after Sir Howard had left the room, though he had promised to join Constance in the conservatory as soon as the interview was at an end. He stared unseeingly at the carpet before him.
Constance paced restlessly about the conservatory. Would he never come? Surely Papa could not be keeping him this long. Surely Papa would not have said no.
She should be getting back to the drawing room. She had been there only for the opening set with Sidney and then had left. Everyone would be wondering where she was. Yet she did not want to go back to the drawing room. She wished in her heart that she had contented herself with just an afternoon party for her birthday. It would be over now.
He had danced the opening set with Georgina and had smiled and looked quite at his ease. He had looked the perfect host. And he had been perfect all day, the genial host and yet not in any way pushing himself forward since it was in essence her party, which just happened to be taking place in his home.
He would dance with her later in the evening, she was sure. Possibly a waltz. Probably a waltz. And she felt suffocated at the thought. And sick. And just as if she was about to dissolve into tears. Would Sidney never come?
And then there he was, walking quietly toward her, looking rather like a ghost. She stood very still and fingered the pearls at her neck.
“What is it?” she asked. And when he did not immediately reply, “Did Papa say no?”
“No," he said. “No, I mean he said yes.” He smiled and looked rather as if he were being strangled. “So I suppose I had better go down on one knee, Con, and do this thing properly. Hadn’t I?”
She swallowed. “I don’t think there is any need to do anything so formal,” she said. “Sidney?”
“Yes?” he said.
