Lord Iverbrook's Heir Part 9

Her hazel eyes cold, Selena said scornfully, "You are un.o.bservant, Sir Aubrey. Pray excuse me."

He seized her hand.

"Selena, cousin, let me speak. You have so bewitched me that I do not know what I am saying. All I ask is the honour of offering you my hand; my heart you have already. Marry me, Selena!"

"Thank you, sir, but I think we should not suit." Not without a struggle, Selena disengaged her hand and stepped back.

"Indeed we should. I shall relieve you of the burden of running Milford, and you will be Lady Whitton, like your mama. It is what Sir William undoubtedly intended when he left the farm to you, knowing the t.i.tle would be mine. It was his way of saying, 'Marry my daughter, Aubrey, and take care of her for me.' "

"Poppyc.o.c.k! Insofar as Papa had any say in my upbringing, he brought me up to take care of myself. And the farm. And what is more, I do not believe he even knew of your existence. So accept my refusal, if you please. I do not wish to hurt you but I cannot suppose that I should ever have for you those feelings which a wife ought to have for her husband."

"I shall not abandon hope," he said sulkily. "Pray believe that your maidenly reserve does you no disservice in my eyes. I took you by surprise, I fear, but I shall give you time to consider my offer. After all, no female wishes to dwindle into an old maid."

He went out through the French doors into the garden. What a gapeseed the man was, thought Selena, to suppose she might be won over by an insult! She had a thousand times rather "dwindle into an old maid" than marry a posturing fool more interested in her land than herself. Baronet Whitton he might be, but he would never add "of Milford Manor" to his t.i.tle.

She changed quickly for dinner that evening, donning a gown of bronze silk that accentuated the true colour of her eyes. Throwing a Paisley shawl about her shoulders, for there was a hint of autumn chill in the air, she went to her mother's room.

Lady Whitton was seated at her dressing table, tying the ribbons of her crepe lisse capote under her chin. Polly was brushing the gra.s.s-stained walking dress her mistress had been wearing, and Peter, already in his nightshirt, bounced on the bed.

"h.e.l.lo, Aunt Sena," he said. "I comed to say goodnight to Grandmama. Her bed bounces better'n mine does but why because has it got dragons on the curtains?"

"To guard Grandmama when she is asleep, of course. Actually, I think they are supposed to be peac.o.c.ks; the brocade is so old and faded it is hard to make them out."

"Your Grandpapa always said they had guarded three generations of Whittons, from draughts at least!" said Lady Whitton. "He never would let me replace them."

"You shall have new ones tomorrow, Mama, if you will do but one thing for me."

"Oh no, I have grown accustomed to them and I should miss them. But what would you have me do, dearest?"

"Give Sir Aubrey his marching orders!"

Polly drew a quick breath and stopped brushing. Peter, hearing the note of wrath in his aunt's voice, decided not to ask what marching orders were. In her reviving indignation at her cousin, Selena forgot their presence.

"What has he done to put you in a tweak?" asked her mother resignedly.

"He had the gall to tell me he considers the Manor to be rightfully his, and that he intends to gain possession by marrying me!"

Polly dropped the brush with a clatter and, red-faced, bent to retrieve it.

"I don't like Uncle Aubrey too," said Peter. "He always pats my head and tells me to run along. Timmy Russell says . . ."

"Polly, pray take Master Peter to Nurse," requested Selena sharply, suddenly aware of her audience. "Goodnight, Peterkin. Give Grandmama a kiss now and off you go."

The child obeyed, reluctantly. At the door he turned and, peeking past the maid's skirts, said with a wicked grin, "I'll tell Uncle Aubrey to run along for you, Aunt Sena."

"Ooh, you're a cheeky one, Master Peter!" exclaimed the maid, and ushered him out.

"Now, what did Aubrey actually say?" asked Lady Whitton. "Admittedly his understanding is not superior, but I cannot credit it that he is so lacking in address as to tell you such a thing without wrapping it up in clean linen."

"Oh, he swore that he adored me, admired my blue eyes, and claimed that Papa had wished him to offer for me else he'd not have left me the Manor. He wants to relieve me of the burden of running the farm, just like Iverbrook with Peter. Men," said Selena bitterly, "are all the same."

Her mother refrained from pointing out that most females wished to be relieved of their burdens. "It sounds as if he expressed himself with propriety. Have you taken him in dislike because he mistook the colour of your eyes?"

"Of course not, Mama, though if he truly loved me he'd have been a little closer! No, that was bad enough, but when I refused him he said he'll not despair because I shall not like to dwindle into an old maid! You cannot expect me to meet him with complaisance after such an insult!"

"Oh dear, I am sure you must have misunderstood him. Even Aubrey could not be such a nodc.o.c.k as to say such a thing to a young lady he wishes to marry! Selena, how can I ask him to leave? He has no home, no friends in England, and no other family."

"Do you know why his father was sent abroad?" Selena's curiosity momentarily overcame her resentment.

"I believe he ran off with a gypsy girl. And from the family's point of view made things worse by insisting on marrying her. No great sin, you see."

"Cousin Aubrey has nothing of gypsy looks about him."

"No, luckily he took after his father. He was always paid an allowance, your papa told me, but he has certainly not the means to put up at an hotel."

"So he is to live here at rack and manger, hanging upon my sleeve, while he insults me with impunity?"

"As heir to Sir William's t.i.tle, he certainly has a claim to our hospitality, my love. Doubtless when he discovers that you are adamant in your refusal of his offer, he will look about for some suitable occupation, or perhaps return to Jamaica."

"Jamaica is not far enough. I wish him at Botany Bay!"

"You will, however, continue polite to him, Selena. No guest in this house shall be treated with discourtesy."

"Oh very well, Mama. I daresay there may be other young ladies in the world who are forced to reside in the same household with a rejected suitor! It is fortunate indeed that he never appears at the breakfast table, for I don't believe I could face him with equanimity at that hour!"

Selena found it difficult enough to bear with Sir Aubrey that evening. She did not experience the antic.i.p.ated embarra.s.sment; she had too little regard for him to feel concern for his feelings. But mannerisms that had previously seemed laughable now irritated her unbearably: the way he called her mother "dear Aunt"; his habit of checking his appearance in the mirror every ten minutes; the hare's foot with which he dusted the snuff from his shirt front; his crooked little finger when he sipped his tea.

Every time he spoke, she wanted to contradict him. He ventured a remark concerning the weather in the West Indies. Selena immediately recalled that Lord Iverbrook had said the precise opposite. He lavished effusive praise on Delia's performance upon the pianoforte.

"I must suppose," retorted Selena, "that you had little opportunity in Jamaica to indulge your taste for music. Delia's playing is nothing above the ordinary. Indeed, her friend Jane plays better."

Delia cast her a hurt glance and launched into a long and involved Haydn sonata.

Before she retired to bed, Selena went and tapped on the door of her sister's chamber.

"Delia!"

"What is it?" Dressed in a white cotton nightgown, Delia was brushing her long blond hair.

"Let me do that. Do you remember when you were little and Phoebe and I used to quarrel over who should brush your hair? You were the best doll we ever had."

"I wish my hair would curl, like yours. When I go to London in the spring I shall have to put it in papers every night, and use curling tongs before b.a.l.l.s and parties."

"Before grand parties, perhaps, but it is beautiful as it is, so smooth and silky. Dee, I'm sorry I was rude about your music. Your playing is perfectly unexceptionable and gives me much pleasure, though I admire your singing more. Only I could not listen to Cousin Aubrey flattering you in that odious way."

"I play like an angel in heaven!" She giggled. "I ought to have studied the harp. I don't heed Cousin Aubrey, Selena. Clive says he is a toad-eater and a rasher-of-wind."

Selena laughed. "Young Clive has a discerning eye. Do you like him?"

"Clive? Why yes, when he does not try to come the high and mighty. He is even handsomer than Cousin Aubrey, is he not? But I do not mean to wed him. Somewhere, there is a man who is as romantic as he looks, and next year, when I make my come-out, I shall meet him and we will fall in love and marry and live happily ever after."

"I hope so!" said Selena. "Goodnight, and sweet dreams."

Suppose it had been Hugh, not Aubrey, who had asked for her hand. Selena lay gazing into the darkness, wishing she had asked her mother for some chamomile tea. She heard the clock in the hall below strike one.

Would Hugh expect her to live at Iver Place, or in London? Or would he want to move into the Manor, take over her farm, just like her cousin? For the umpteenth time she told herself it was useless to speculate. He had not asked her, and doubtless never would. He enjoyed his gay and carefree life as a bachelor, and if he ever decided to marry there must be dozens of beautiful, rich, and aristocratic damsels waiting to pounce on the handkerchief when he dropped it.

Not to mention Amabel Parcott.

She woke to a damp morning. A mist hid the river; when she looked out of her window, the big oak at the bottom of the garden seemed to be growing on the edge of the world. Dew dripped from leaves and eaves, flowers hung their heavy heads, and the smell of woodsmoke permeated the still air.

At breakfast, Delia announced that she was going to spend the day with Jane.

"We're going to the old quarry to pick blackberries," she said. "Clive has a friend staying and they will both ride with us.

"Can I go too?" begged Peter.

"No, it's a grown-up party. Besides, I took you last year and you ate so many berries you got a tummyache. And Nurse cut up stiff because you stained your clothes."

"You can come with me if you like, Peter," said Selena. "I must choose which lambs to send to market next Monday. I wish I had more pasture, so that I could enlarge the flock."

"Can I ride Leo, Aunt Sena? Can I, please? Leo likes sheeps."

"He looks more like a sheep than a lion," Delia remarked thoughtfully. "A sort of cross between a sheep and a horse."

"That's enough!" said Lady Whitton hastily, seeing Peter about to rise to the bait. "Delia, 'cut up stiff' is not a ladylike expression. Pray mind your tongue, child."

"Clive says it!"

"Clive is not a lady," Selena pointed out unanswerably. "Peter, I have some letters to write before we go, so you will have time to learn your lessons. Tell Finny you are to be dressed for riding by ten o'clock."

Selena retired to the library, mended her pen, and set to work. Half way through the second letter, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"The post, Miss Selena." Bannister deposited four or five missives on her desk.

The first one she opened necessitated rewriting the letter she had just finished. That done, she read a long epistle, full of complaints and grievances, from the cousin with whom she had shared her one London season. Setting it aside to be answered later, she turned with relief and interest to the third in the pile, addressed in an unknown hand. She broke the seal, and as she unfolded the sheet a small slip of paper fell to the floor unnoticed.

She looked first at the signature: Archibald Hubble. Hubble? Wasn't that the Carricks' lawyer?

'Madam, "Whereas you, Miss Selena Whitton, Spinster of Milford Manor in the County of Oxford, were appointed by the Last Will and Testament of the late Honourable Gilbert Carrick to be Sole Lawful Guardian of his Son and Heir, Peter Carrick; I have the honour to inform you, madam, that on this day, the Fifth of September, in the Year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and eleven, a Suit was entered in Chancery in behalf of Hugh Carrick, Fourth Viscount Iverbrook, of Iver Place in the County of Buckingham, challenging the said Last Will and Testament of his Brother, the heretofore mentioned Gilbert Carrick, now deceased, with regard to the said Guardianship of the heretofore mentioned Peter Carrick, Son and Heir of the heretofore mentioned Gilbert Carrick and Heir Presumptive of the heretofore mentioned Hugh Carrick, Viscount Iverbrook; "Hereby be it known, madam, that...

Selena sat stunned, staring unseeing at the letter. He had done it! He had gone to law to take Peter away from her. Strip away 'whereas' and 'heretofore,' and there it was in black and white.

Iverbrook was a faithless traitor!

Chapter 9.

In spite of the dank weather, Lord Iverbrook strode up the front steps of Milford Manor with a light heart.

His business in London had prospered. William Wilberforce was delighted to welcome him to the ranks of the anti-slavery forces. He had given him several good ideas to work on for his maiden speech.

"Your experiences will be the most telling argument," the MP had said. "Describe what you saw in the Indies. To the majority of them 'tis a mere abstract matter but that will bring it home. Apropos, I should like to meet your Joshua. Doubtless he can provide ammunition for my campaign."

The viscount and the ex-slave had spent a pleasant and productive evening in Clapham, finding their host as charming and amusing as he was dedicated.

Consulting his new lawyer, Mr. Crowe, Iverbrook learned that the transfer of his affairs from Hubble, Blayne, and Hubble was proceeding smoothly. Mr. Crowe was also able to direct him to Lord Alphonse Sebring's man of business, and he had made the first steps in the acquisition of those long neglected watermeadows that so distressed Miss Whitton's sensibilities.

Miss Whitton-Selena-ah, there was the chiefest cause of his lordship's lightheartedness. "Marry her!" Mr. Hastings's recently repeated words rang in his ears. From a practical point of view, as a way of obtaining his nephew while avoiding a lawsuit, they had always been sound advice. Advice he had once soundly rejected, to be sure, but he had not then known Selena.

He had not known those changeable hazel eyes, that face that eloquently expressed every emotion, the moon-pale hair so often ruffled in glorious disarray, the slim, strong, upright figure-in his mind Iverbrook waxed rhapsodic. How competent was his love, and how firm of purpose! How reasonable and enchanting her conversation and how enchanting the sparks that flew from her eyes when . . . The door opened.

"Welcome home, my lord." Bannister bowed. "I should say, welcome back."

"h.e.l.lo, Bannister!" He tossed the butler his hat and drew off his gloves. "Welcome home will do nicely, thank you. Where is Miss Whitton?"

"In the library, my lord. Shall I announce your lordship?"

"No, don't bother. I had rather surprise her. She is alone?"

"So I believe, my lord. Some refreshments, perhaps, for your lordship?"

"Thank you, no. I slept last night at Watlington and have made only a short stage this morning."

"Very good, my lord. I shall inform my lady of your arrival."

With eager steps Lord Iverbrook approached the library, flung open the door, and entered.

"Marry me, Selena!" he cried.

Pale and tight-lipped she rose behind the desk.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "How dare you show your face here, you mean, despicable, treacherous monster!"

Completely taken aback, his lordship stammered, "Bu-but I only asked you to marry me! Perhaps I might have approached the matter with more delicacy but really, Selena . . ."

"Don't call me Selena! I'd as soon marry Aubrey as you. Sooner! At least his motive is straightforward greed, while you sneak around behind my back, plotting to ruin half a dozen lives to gratify your own vanity. And for all I know you want my land too, since you have allowed yourself to be dispossessed by pigs. Pigs! Suitable companions indeed for a so-called gentleman who visits his chere-amie in London before his poor, neglected mother!"