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‘Hebe: will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
It was the least lover-like of declarations. Hebe looked into his face and said, ‘Yes, I will.’ There was relief, and some other emotion she could not read, in his eyes, but that soon vanished as she added, ‘I do appreciate that in your present state of deep mourning an announcement cannot be made for at least six months.’
‘Oh, no, Hebe, that was a very good try, but I told you, you could not run away from me.’ Alex walked up to her and stood very close, looking down into her face. ‘Because I am in mourning there will indeed be no announcements before the event. We will be married, very quietly, by special licence in St George’s, Hanover Square, tomorrow, and we will return in the afternoon to Tasborough Hall.’
Chapter Twenty
‘No!’ Hebe gasped, just as the door opened and her aunt returned, attempting not to look as though she had fully expected to find the young lovers clasped in each other’s arms.
‘No?’ Emily echoed. ‘You mean you have turned his lordship down?’ She looked from one set face to the other, her large grey eyes wide with distress.
‘I have accepted his lordship’s proposal, Aunt,’ Hebe said, managing to smile in what she hoped was a suitably happy but modest manner. ‘But he wishes us to be married by special licence tomorrow.’
‘Out of the question,’ Mrs Fulgrave responded robustly. ‘My lord, your eagerness to marry my dear niece is understandable, and I quite appreciate that in your present state of distress the thought of her being by your side must be something you greatly desire, but consider Hebe’s position. To marry her now, out of hand, will mean that she too is plunged into mourning when her mama has entrusted her to me for the purpose of bringing her out into Society.’
‘I appreciate your concern, ma’am,’ Alex responded politely with the air of a man who had not the slightest intention of listening to arguments. ‘However, Miss Carlton can have her introduction to Society as my wife, in a few months. I am sure she will value your support and guidance then, as I have no close female relatives.’
‘All the more reason, my lord, to postpone the wedding.’ Aunt Emily was not going to give up that easily. ‘Hebe has not the slightest idea how to run a big house! To find herself a countess, and under such circumstances, with no one to tell her how to go on…’
‘I shall tell her.’ Alex, unused to the sort of opposition he was getting from the ladies of this household, was looking more and more like a functionary of the Spanish Inquisition. If he had realised it, he might have attempted to soften his expression, for Hebe could see it was making her aunt even more determined to put off the wedding.
‘A man is not the same,’ Aunt Emily retorted robustly.
Not the hint of a smile touched Alex’s lips as he returned a slight bow as acknowledgement of this truism.
‘Then that is settled,’ she said, subsiding into a chair, looking, as Hebe told her afterwards, like a dove with ruffled feathers, settling in its nest after an alarm.
‘By no means, ma’am. Reluctant as I am to contradict a lady, I fully intend to marry Hebe tomorrow.’
Fascinated by this duel of wills, Hebe watched quietly from the corner of the sofa where she was perched. It was her own future, her own happiness, that was being discussed, but she could not help but admire the fixity of purpose in Alex’s manner. He was fighting this most polite of duels with one hand tied behind his back, for he must retain his polite manner to his hostess at all times. But Hebe knew for him this was deadly serious: not only did he believe that he must do his duty by her, but he believed his own honour to be at stake here. Having read of, and seen, the things gentlemen felt obliged to do in the name of ‘Honour’, Hebe had a sinking feeling she knew which was the most important.
Anna slipped quietly into the room, obviously expecting to be able to congratulate the happy couple. Mrs Fulgrave turned to this stalwart female supporter. ‘Mrs Wilkins, please help me convince the Earl that he simply cannot marry Hebe out of hand tomorrow!’
‘Tomorrow?’ Anna
shot Alex a look that should have withered a less strong-willed man. ‘Impossible. Hebe is not well.’ She stared meaningfully at Mrs Fulgrave, who suddenly looked extremely thoughtful.
‘Yes, of course, thank you for reminding me, Mrs Wilkins. Yes, my lord. Hebe is still unwell, despite her being recovered enough to receive you this afternoon. She cannot possibly be married tomorrow.’
Despite the hideous embarrassments of the situation, Hebe was hard pressed not to laugh, however bitterly. Alex knew exactly why she was indisposed, but could not reveal that he knew and had already promised not to insist on his marital rights while Hebe was recovering. Anna knew that he knew, but could not tell Mrs Fulgrave, and Aunt Emily thought she knew that Hebe was suffering from exactly the sort of female indisposition that one did not want on one’s wedding night. But, of course, she could not possibly explain that to a man!
How are you going to deal with this, my lord? Hebe mused, watching the flicker of frustration in Alex’s eyes. Then a cold shiver went down her spine. The frustration was replaced by a look she had come to know very well on that nightmare walk over the mountains: sheer determination.
‘It may be, ma’am, that Miss Carlton has not explained to you the history of our courtship,’ he said evenly. ‘I am sure if she had done so you would understand how deeply I feel about this. Perhaps I should tell you everything.’ He did not once look at her, but Hebe knew it was a direct threat: give in, or I will tell your aunt about the night in the shepherd’s hut and what followed.
‘Perhaps three months?’ Hebe suggested hastily. She should have known that an officer would have mastered the art of strategic retreat.
‘That is certainly more acceptable, but still too long. Ten days.’
‘A month,’ Aunt Emily insisted, then, at a slight cough from Anna, thought better of that particular piece of timing and said, ‘No, six weeks.’
‘A fortnight,’ Alex countered. Hebe wondered somewhat hysterically if a sheep at market being haggled over felt quite so unimportant to the negotiators as she was feeling now.
‘If I might say what I want?’ she ventured, managing to look meek and sound furious simultaneously. The others turned to look at her as if they had forgotten her existence.
‘Yes, of course, my dear,’ her aunt said hastily, her eyes on the Earl. He was proving alarmingly forceful: she did hope Hebe knew what she was about accepting him, whatever Lady Latham had said in his praise.
‘I think three weeks would allow me to recover and to purchase my bride clothes—or, at least, my mourning. It would also, my lord,’ she added tartly, ‘allow me to enjoy the company of my aunt and her family, which I am sure you would not wish to deprive me of.’
