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This aspect of the matter had not occurred to Hebe. With no official announcement for six months, surely she would find some way to turn Alex from a course which, despite her heart, her head told her was bound for disaster?
Aunt Emily, Grace and Hebe spent the early part of the afternoon in a state of high tension, sitting in the front salon in their best afternoon gowns, attempting severally to read Pride and Prejudice, write to a series of aged aunts and sew a ribbon on a new bonnet. Anna, confessing to an attack of nerves about the whole thing, went to her room, and Mr Fulgrave retired to his study to digest his luncheon and to get himself into a paternal mood for the expected interview.
At last, at the very correct hour of three o’clock, the knocker sounded and all three ladies jumped. Hebe heard a familiar, cool, deep voice in the hall and Peter’s nervous tones answering him. Then the visitor was led away in the direction of Uncle Hubert’s study and the ladies sat back again.
‘He has a wonderful voice,’ Grace remarked. ‘So…masterful. It sends shivers down my spine.’
‘Grace!’ her mother reproved. ‘What would Sir Frederick say? Sir Frederick Willington is
Grace’s fiancé,’ she explained to Hebe. ‘I am planning a little dinner party soon so you can meet him.’
Hebe began to ask Grace about Sir Frederick, who sounded nice, but somewhat dull. She was surprised that the vivacious Grace would be attracted to a man of such uniform temperament and stolid virtues as Sir Frederick appeared to be, but perhaps it was an attraction of opposites. She smiled wryly. Here she was, plain, ordinary Hebe, attracted to a man who was handsome, dashing, sardonic and who lived a life of adventure.
As nothing was heard from the study, tension began to mount again until finally there was the sound of voices outside. All three ladies returned to their occupations with an unconvincing air of preoccupation and all pretended surprise when Mr Fulgrave opened the door.
‘We have a visitor, my dear.’ They stood up, setting down bonnet, quill and book, and both the young ladies bobbed curtsies in response to the Earl’s bow. Mrs Fulgrave inclined her head graciously. ‘My lord, please, allow me to introduce you to my elder daughter Grace. I believe you know my niece, Miss Carlton.’
‘Mrs Fulgrave, Miss Fulgrave, Miss Carlton. Good afternoon. I am happy to see you are a little recovered, Miss Carlton.’
‘Thank you, my lord, yes.’
‘Please, do sit down, my lord.’ Mrs Fulgrave had no intention of leaving her niece unchaperoned yet. ‘I believe I must express my deepest condolences on your recent very tragic loss. It has been a most sad homecoming for you after what I believe has been a long period on duty abroad.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. Your sympathy is much appreciated. Yes, it has come as a great loss, and also a considerable change in my circumstances. While I am in London I will have to go to Horse Guards and arrange to sell out.’
‘And you have seen much service in the Mediterranean, I believe?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Greece, Malta, Spain. Occasionally I have set foot in France.’
Mrs Fulgrave kept the conversation going along rigidly conventional lines until, after ten minutes, she caught her husband’s eye. He rose to his feet, announcing, ‘I must bid you goodbye, my lord, for the present. I have an appointment at Brooks’s. Grace, did you not wish me to drop you off at your friend Miss James’s house?’
Alex rose politely as they left, then sat again, with the air of a man prepared to endure polite chitchat for the requisite half-hour and then depart. However, Aunt Emily had obviously decided she had done enough to establish her watchful chaperonage and she too got to her feet. ‘I have just remembered I have to send a message…I hope you will excuse me for a few moments, my lord.’ She bowed graciously and swept out to the hall where Anna was waiting anxiously.
‘What has happened, ma’am?’
‘Nothing yet, Mrs Wilkins. Oh dear, I feel all of a flutter. Let us go and sit in the breakfast parlour for ten minutes.’
Hebe, left alone with Alex, regarded her hands studiously. Now she had had time to consider the question of mourning and the consequent delay she felt more relaxed, less under pressure.
‘You know why I called, Hebe.’ It was not a question.
‘Yes.’
‘Your uncle has given me his permission to address you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Damn it, Hebe, will you look at me!’
It was a very fierce saint indeed who was glaring at her. Hebe tried to suppress the memory of Maria’s apposite description and failed. The corner of her mouth must have twitched for Alex’s brows drew together thunderously.
‘What are you laughing about?’
‘I was remembering my maid Maria, who said that you looked like a beautiful, fierce saint. You are looking very fierce now.’
‘Do I understand from that remark that you are feeling somewhat better?’
‘Yes, thank you. My spirits are uneven, but I am sure I will improve with time,’ Hebe responded tranquilly, realising that her very composure was aggravating him, and somehow not caring that this was so.
