Beth Andrews (22 page)

‘I absolutely forbid such a union!’

‘Mother,’ he said, ‘keep your breath to cool your coffee. If anyone here is contracting a
mésalliance,
it is Miss Powell. I am certain that she could do much better than to marry me.’

‘She is a penniless nobody,’ Lady Bettisham argued.

‘Not penniless, ma’am,’ Mr Woodford interjected at this point in the proceedings. ‘I have long determined that, should Rosalind marry, I would settle a sum of six thousand pounds upon her as a dowry,’

‘You see how wrong you are, Mama?’ St George smiled, looking more youthful and at ease than any there had ever seen him. ‘I am marrying an heiress. And as to her being a nobody, never have you been so mistaken.’

‘I see,’ Lady Bettisham said at last, ‘that you will not listen to reason. If you are determined upon this dreadful course, there is no more to be said. But do not think that you will ever again be received at my house, or that of any other of your family.’

‘That,’ he replied drily, ‘will not be so very different from my present situation.’

‘I had hoped,’ she said with great dignity, ‘that at least you would remember what you owe to your own mother.’

‘I do not forget,’ he said. ‘But I believe that the Scriptures tell us that when a man marries he leaves his father and mother and cleaves to his wife. I intend to cleave to mine as few men have ever cleaved before.’

‘Very well then,’ she answered. ‘I wash my hands of you.’

At this point in the proceedings, a diversion was created by a most unlikely source. Unnoticed by anyone, a certain mischievous feline lay in wait beneath one of the chairs nearby. Lady Bettisham’s gown sported a satin sash with a rich tassel at the end, hanging down the side almost to the floor. As she moved and spoke, it dangled enticingly until the poor kitten could resist no longer. Without warning, it suddenly sprang from beneath the chair and dashed up the length of the sash until it was just beneath the lady’s waist.

All eyes in the room were turned towards this fantastic denouement, the lady staring down in horrified surprise at the bundle of grey fur and claws which swung from her own gown.

At the same moment, Welly, attracted by his feline friend’s antics, darted from behind the sofa, bulging black eyes staring up at Lady Bettisham, barking furiously.

In a flash, St George reached out and snatched the kitten from his mother’s outraged person. Julian scooped up the noisy pug.

‘Mama,’ her unrepentant prodigal said, struggling to contain his mirth, ‘allow me to introduce you to the Duchess of Folbrook Abbey!’

The entire company then fell into whoops, which quite confounded the poor lady. She glared at them harder than ever.

‘This is clearly a madhouse!’ she cried, adding, ‘I wish you well, St George. When you have come to your senses, you will see how foolish you have been.’

‘Lady Bettisham,’ Rosalind said to her, more calmly than she had yet spoken, ‘I have no desire to wound the woman who is soon to become my mother-in-law, but I would advise you to consider carefully before you turn your back on your only son because of me. I will be his wife and the mother of his children and your own grandchildren. Though I may not be welcome at your house, you will always be welcome at ours, should you choose to enter it.’

She might have spoken to stone, for all the effect her words had. Lady Bettisham glanced around at all of them before sweeping out of the room in a decided dudgeon. It was not long before they heard her carriage driving away.

* * * *

‘I think we had best be going,’ Sir Jasper said, upon her departure. ‘It has been a most enjoyable morning, but time has slipped away from us and I think these young people have much to discuss without our presence.’

Amidst much incomprehensible murmurings from  Cousin Priscilla, he made haste to leave, while Julian protested that he would stay rather longer. St George promised to drive him back to the lodge, and the others at last took their leave.

‘I hope you will forgive me for my words to your mother,’ Rosalind said to her betrothed.

‘What did you say that she did not deserve?’ he countered. ‘I have never been close to her, and frankly it is much more difficult for me to forgive her  refusal to see
your
worth.’

‘I find it hard to forgive that she could not see yours.’

‘I do not know that anyone but you has ever seen that, my beloved dragon.’

‘If only you were not so determined to hide it from the world!’ she said, as he raised her hand to his lips. ‘But despite all that your family and that London could do to sophisticate you into insensibility, your heart remains true.’

‘My heart was a most indifferent organ, until I met you,’ Richard said simply. ‘I have discovered that a heart is worth nothing until you give it to someone.’

‘But if neither of you placed the notice of your wedding in the
Gazette,’
Cassandra asked them, reverting to a subject now all but forgotten, ‘then who is responsible?’

Julian gave a slight cough. ‘I’m afraid it was my doing.’

‘You!’ the other four sang out in unison.

‘I knew you were both in love with each other,’ he defended himself. ‘But it seemed that neither of you would ever admit to it, nor were you likely to see each other again if something were not done.’

‘It was undoubtedly a masterly plan,’ St George admitted. ‘I shall be eternally grateful to you, my friend.’

‘If you must express your gratitude, let it be to my uncle.’

‘Sir Jasper?’ Rosalind asked, surprised.

‘His was the mind which conceived the plan. I merely executed it.’

‘It seems that, one way or another, Sir Jasper has been instrumental in bringing all of us together.’

‘Indeed, we must be grateful to him,’ Julian agreed, looking down tenderly at Cassandra.

‘But I have just realized,’ St George exclaimed to Mr Woodford, ‘that I have not actually approached you to offer for Rosalind, sir.’

‘I think,’ the older man said, ‘that we may dispense with such formalities. How could I withhold my consent now?’

‘Your consent is not even needed, Papa,’ Cassandra reminded him. ‘Rosalind is no schoolgirl, after all.’

‘It seems,’ Mr Woodford quipped, ‘that, despite your best efforts, St George, the dragon has defeated you.’

‘Say rather, that love has defeated us both,’ Rosalind corrected him.

‘In this case, defeat is so much sweeter than victory,’ her love added. ‘My only regret is that I do not have a Special Licence, so that we may be married along with Cassandra and Julian three days hence.’

Another cough from Julian, who reached into the lining of his coat and pulled out a sheaf of paper.

‘Consider this,’ he said, ‘in the nature of a wedding present.’

It was, of course, the very document which they sought. A double wedding was inevitable, it seemed.

‘But I hate to leave you alone here at the abbey, Papa,’ Cassandra said, with sudden contrition.

‘Doubtless, Mr Woodford will soon have his grandchildren and his niece’s children to occupy his time,’ St George commented, enjoying the rush of color in Rosalind’s cheeks. 

‘Perhaps you will marry again,’ Cassandra said, brightening at the thought. In a moment of pure mischief, she added, ‘Mrs Plummer is of a pleasant disposition.’

Mr Woodford shook his head in a decided negative.

‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘I shall not be as lonely as
that
!’

Copyright © 2005 by Beth Andrews

Originally published by Robert Hale [UK]  (ISBN 978-0709078739)

Electronically published in 2012 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.