A Country Wooing (21 page)

“You,
most of all. That goes without saying.”

“I’m so happy I could fly. Shall we take off into the blue, Duck? Fly home to Penholme, our Penholme.”

“I’d love it, but should we not waddle into the saloon first and say good day to our darling in-laws? No, I am not being satirical! If their blunt is good enough for us, so is their blood. I only disliked them because I thought you meant to offer for Marilla.”

“I—Marilla?” he asked, brown eyes blinking. “Annie, you must know I’ve never looked at any girl but you. I must be the most faithful lover that ever was. All the time you were dangling after Charles, I was constant as marble. Not even in Spain, with all those dark-eyed señoritas following the drum. I never wanted anyone but you, Duck, in my whole life. Since I was old enough to think of such things—and you were much too young—I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I—I didn’t think you loved her, but I knew you must redeem Penholme. You said you would do anything. I daresay Albion would have come down heavy for an earl.”

“Fifty thousand was the sum mentioned,” he admitted, smiling at the memory.

“Oh, she’s worth ten times as much as I am!”

“Not to me. I wish he had offered a million, that it might have seemed a real temptation. But it wouldn’t have been. Nothing would. What is money for but to gain security and happiness? You are my happiness. We’ll be as inseparable as Juno’s swans. I have you, and we have Penholme. Money is irrelevant.”

“How strange that sounds, after what we’ve been through.”

“I’m irrational with joy. Money matters a great deal, of course, especially when you don’t have it. I intend to run a tight ship at home, to see we don’t run into the shoals of bankruptcy again. Be prepared with your hammer and tacks to shore up the family footgear.”

“Are we really out of deep waters?”

“Sailing free. A lot of work to be done still, but I relish that. I have plans to ship the excess of servants out to Sawburne—they can afford anything there, the nabobs.”

“I personally will gladly forgo my white crepe gown for a few years. I want to do my bit.”

“We aren’t that poor, Anne. You are to be my one extravagance. I mean to see you turned out in style. I have new outfits coming up from Weston. I can’t have my style ruined by wearing a dowd on my arm. Family tradition must be maintained, and we Penholmes have a strong streak of the peacock. To get you started, I have brought you something from London.”

He took the brown parcel from the table and pulled it open, with a quite careless disregard for the paper, which with careful handling could have been reused. Yards of creamy crepe flowed from his fingers. He draped a corner around her neck, and she turned in circles, laughing, to wrap it around her body.

“Alex, such waste! There are yards too much!”

“I want you to have too much of everything, just as you would have if you had married Charles.”

“Yes, too much drinking and gambling and debts—to say nothing of mistresses!”

He grabbed her fingers and pulled her to him, his eyes glowing. “I’ll make you a better husband than he would have, Annie. Truly, I will. I’m not as tall or handsome or as dashing. My poor old carcass is full of holes, but I love you better than anyone else in the world ever could.”

A lump rose in her throat at this heartfelt speech. “I know. We’ve agreed not to hate Charles; now shall we agree to forget him? He wasn’t as bad as we thought—since he happened to get lucky and regain a little of the money he lost. You are more handsome and more dashing to me. And you are rapidly getting taller, too. I love you better than I ever loved him, Alex. Isn’t that what you really want to know?”

“Thank you, my darling Duck. That is exactly what I wanted to hear you say. I already felt it, but my ears wanted to hear it, too,” he said in a loving voice. “I shan’t pester you with my doubts again. Now we’ll unwind you from this marriage shroud and go do the pretty with the in-laws. You chose wisely, by the way. The white crepe does enhance your complexion. Would it make a suitable wedding gown?”

“Yes, and it will remake a very fine evening dress, too. With careful cutting, I might even contrive an underskirt for another occasion.”

“Excellent work, Madame Nip-cheese. Could you not squeeze a pair of drapes for the blue saloon out of it as well? There are only two pairs of windows, each six feet tall.”

With a warning rattle of the doorknob, Mrs. Wickfield came into the room. One glance at the couple, with Alex’s arm around Anne’s waist, caused her to take a delighted step backward.

“Don’t leave, Auntie—
Mama!”
Alex said, stepping toward her. “Come and protect your lovely daughter, before I take advantage of her. Does she not look ravishing in white crepe?” He put his other arm around Mrs. Wickfield’s shoulder and gave her cheek a peck. It was typical Penholme behavior.

Smiling at the two, Anne thought Alex’s true nature had always been warmly affectionate, like the rest of his family. Circumstances had made him behave differently, but beneath that enforced aloofness, he represented the best of the Penholmes—their warmth and love, without that streak of recklessness.

“Trying to steal my beau, Mama?” she teased, and pulled his arm back. Alex smiled with satisfaction at this display of mock jealousy. “Find your own. Alex is taken.”

“You see how she means to be!” the mother quizzed. “Jealous as a green cow. It was not to steal your beau I came. I wonder if Anglin has a brother.... Robin and the girls are waiting to congratulate you. I thought ten minutes long enough for lovemaking. I run a decent house here, I’ll have you know. Besides, the tea is getting cold.”

“Oh, well, in that case!” Alex exclaimed. “We don’t want to be wasting good tea.”

Copyright © 1987 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449210871)

Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.