AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He had not long to cool his heels, for within a very few minutes the door opened again and there she was, in a fetching gown of pale blue figured muslin, a slight hint of a maidenly blush on her cheeks. But when she spoke, she was as composed as ever.
“You wished to speak to me, Mr Fletcher?” she said, dipping him a curtsy.
“I did, Miss Whittleton.” He made her a low bow. “We were interrupted last night before we were able to conclude our conversation. I am come, therefore, to ask you most humbly if you would honour me with your hand and become my wife.”
“I am very much obliged to you, sir, and I should be honoured to become your wife.”
So there it was. He was officially betrothed, with no possibility of escape.
“Thank you.” What else could he say? Not that she had made him happy, or that he was pleased at her answer. “You honour me greatly…” he began, before berating himself for his stupidity. He was honoured, she was honoured — it was all about honour, and nothing about joy. There were no smiles on either side. He wondered if his face was as expressionless as hers. What a pair they were! She was marrying for his money and he was marrying because he had to. Practicalities… keep to the practicalities. “I know you have no father in your life,” he went on, “but is there a male relation to whom I might appropriately apply for your hand? It is the custom, even though you are of age.”
“How very correct you are, sir. My uncle is in Westmorland, but you could ask Lord Carrbridge. If we marry in town, he will give me away, I expect.”
Lord Carrbridge. Marry in town. How depressingly fast this was becoming official.
When he said nothing, she went on, “You will find Lord Carrbridge in his book room, if you wish to get the interview over with.”
Was she mocking him? But putting it off would only make it more of a hurdle. “Very well. Where shall I find you afterwards?”
“I have to go out with Lady Carrbridge.”
“Then will you come for dinner at Grosvenor Square this evening? My father would like to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, that will be very pleasant.”
“I shall collect you at six, if that is convenient.”
Inclining her head in regal acquiescence, she said, “I shall be ready.”
She curtsied, he bowed over her hand and it was over. In little more than two minutes, his future was settled and he was irrevocably bound. But there was no time to consider the abrupt change in his circumstances. There was a marquess to be faced.
He left the room, found a footman and asked to be directed to Lord Carrbridge in his book room. He was led through a myriad of meandering passages, lit only by sputtering oil lamps, emerging in another wing altogether, this one with no pretension to modern elegance. The wood panels of an earlier era predominated, with massive oak and mahogany furniture, and an array of portraits of heavy-jowled men in wigs and lace, some in velvet and feathers.
The footman knocked on a door and was summoned inside, leaving Will standing in the passageway outside. After an uncomfortable wait, when he began to fear that the marquess would turn him away for his impertinence, the door opened again and he was admitted to his lordship’s presence.
The Marquess of Carrbridge was tall and slim, with the expected patrician air. “Do come in, Mr… er…”
“Fletcher,” murmured the man by his side, a thin-faced fellow dressed in unobtrusive black.
“Fletcher. Yes. How may I be of service to you?”
“I have just this moment proposed marriage to Miss Eloise Whittleton, and she has graciously accepted me,” Will said stiffly. “I am come to you as her nearest male relative at this moment for your approval.”
“Oh, a wedding! How splendid,” the marquess said. "Lady Carrbridge will be so pleased when she hears about that. She adores a wedding.”
“I believe Lady Carrbridge is already aware,” Will said.
“Excellent, excellent,” the marquess said. “Eloise Whittleton? I am not sure…?”
He looked helplessly at the man in black, who said, “Lady Carrbridge’s helper this season. A splendid singer. The tall girl with the pretty hair. You admired the gold filigree over gown she wore on a ball gown once.”
“Ah yes, I remember now. Well, splendid news, quite splendid. A glass of something to celebrate, eh, Fletcher?”
The man in black coughed discreetly. “I believe you are expected to enquire as to Mr Fletcher’s financial position, my lord.”
“Oh… I daresay. Not used to this business… suitors asking for a lady’s hand. Not had to do this before. My sister simply told me she was to be married, and no question of permission or approval or any such thing, and my own daughter is only six years old. What must I ask, Merton? Oh, beg pardon, Fletcher. I have not introduced you. This is Sir Daniel Merton, my secretary.”
The marquess waved a languid hand towards the man in black.
