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‘Had you thought of Ellen?’ she asked at once. ‘Now that her husband’s death is certain, she needs money badly.’
His smile came back. ‘Why did I not think of that? I will go and see her now. She can bring her children. I would like to have children in the house.’
She looked at him, eager words trembling on her lips, but said nothing. She wanted to tell him
that if he married he could have children of his own, and no longer need to pay a housekeeper. But it would not be appropriate. Instead, she said goodbye calmly, without a sign, and walked on to her own home.
‘If Ellen has an ounce of sense, she’ll marry him,’ said Nan flatly.
Cornelia grew icy cold.
She looked sideways at Nan in horror. ‘Marry him? Andrew?’
Nan grunted. ‘Why not? It would be cheaper for him and safer for her. There will be talk, a young widow living in his house alone with him. Of course, it won’t enter his head, but Ellen’s no fool.’
Cornelia remembered Andrew telling her he would never marry. Or had he said that? No, he had said that there was no room in his life for anything but his profession. Well, that was the same meaning, after all. He would not marry Ellen.
She was annoyed, when she returned home, to find Sir Rendel seated in the parlour with her parents. She had expected him to be gone by the time she returned.
Her father’s temper had been very short these last few days, but he seemed cheerful enough now, and beamed at her as she entered the room.
‘All, there you are, Cornelia. Here is Sir Rendel. He has something to say to you.’ He stood up and kissed her on the cheek, then held out his hand to his wife. ‘Come, wife, we will leave them alone.’
Cornelia felt a flurry of alarm as her parents hurried out, and would have followed them, but Sir Rendel caught at her arm as she walked towards the door, and held her back from leaving.
She looked up at him, her heart beating so loudly that she was certain he must hear it. The grey eyes were darkly intent. Quickly she looked away again.
Her father’s remark could have only one meaning. She felt a queer tremor of nervous anticipation. Sir Rendel was going to ask her to marry him. It seemed hardly credible. Their social positions were so remote. And, too, there was his reputation. He was not a marrying man. Everyone had said so.
She waited, staring at the floor. Through her mind ran one sharp dart of triumph. She could not silence the thought that Rendel Woodham must want her badly to be prepared to marry her. It was shameful that that thought should please her so deeply, but her feminine instincts quickened into a fierce blaze.
Then he spoke, but in so bored, so remote a tone that she lifted her head in stunned bewilderment. ‘Madame, will you marry me?’
She stared at him, her jaw dropping.
Why did he ask at all if he cared so little what her reply might be?
Or was he pretending indifference?
The bubble of her vanity burst. She did not know why he was proposing, but it could not be out of passion, and with that realisation, anger began to take the place of triumph.
‘You are most flattering, sir,’ she said in a voice icy with dignity. ‘But I think I must refuse.’
CHAPTER NINE
His eyes were fixed on her face, their colour darkened by the intensity of his gaze. He was very pale. The skin was drawn tight across his cheekbones, his lips pressed together, as though in anger.
Altogether, he puzzled her. She could not help a stab of rage at the remembrance of her recent triumph, so short-lived. She almost felt that he had tricked her, had lured her into indulging in a shameless emotion and then pricked her little balloon of vanity with the sharp pin of his irony. For, surely, his proposal was ironic? He could not seriously expect her to accept so pallid a gesture?
Had passion driven him, as she had at first supposed, he would have used more impassioned words and expressions, she was sure of it.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, in a cool voice, ‘you must not answer me yet. Speak to your father. I will return tomorrow.’
‘I do not need time to think,’ she said, her temper soaring like a rocket. ‘Nor need I consult my father. He has always told me that I may choose my own husband, and although I might have to bow to his decision if I chose against his will, he would never coerce me into a marriage I found as distasteful as I would this. ‘
As calmly as if he had not heard her, he repeated, ‘I will come back tomorrow for my answer.’
She stamped her foot, her dignity dissolving in a wave of rage more violent than any she had ever felt in her life before. She felt she hated him as she had not thought it possible to hate.
