"Incognito" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allain Suzanne)
Chapter Nine
Emily knocked gently on Lord Wesleigh’s door, not wanting to disturb him if he was sleeping. Apparently he was not. There was a shuffling sound and a thump.
“Lord Wesleigh? Are you all right?” Emily asked from the other side of the door.
“Fine, fine. Just dropped my book. Give me a moment.” Marcus scrambled to get back into the bed and under the covers.
Emily patiently waited a few minutes before heeding Marcus’s call to come in.
“I am sorry to disturb you, my lord. I just wanted to check in on you. Do you need anything?”
“No, no, I am fine,” Marcus assured her.
“You look rather flushed,” Emily said, peering at Wesleigh speculatively. She wondered how sick Lord Wesleigh really was. Perhaps this was all an elaborate ploy to avoid social doings with her family. She grew angry at the notion this fop thought he was better than she or Lydia, conveniently forgetting that she and her sister had rejected him first. Irritated by her suspicions, she regretted the sympathetic impulse that had prompted her to check on him.
“Just the fever, I expect,” he replied, coughing unconvincingly into his handkerchief.
Emily nodded and turned to leave.
“You are not going?” Marcus asked plaintively.
“Why, yes. I just stopped in for a moment.”
“But, I am bored to flinders. Stay for a while. Please.”
Emily smiled, her temper restored. Oh, well. She supposed it would not hurt to entertain him for a while. It was the polite thing to do. He was a guest in their home, after all. “All right, I will stay. What would you like to do?”
“I don’t know. A game of chess, perhaps?”
Emily nodded agreeably, although she was rather bored with chess. The duke of Alford was a devotee of the game, and she had spent the last two evenings playing him after dinner. She retrieved the chess set anyway and set it up on the table beside the bed. They played a rather desultory game, which Emily won easily. As she was putting the game away, she asked Marcus about his friend.
“Mr. Williams tells me you two have known each other a long time.”
“What? Oh, yes. We are rather close. We see a lot of each other in London.”
“Oh? Does Mr. Williams travel to London often? I would have suspected his duties as curate keep him quite occupied.”
“Quite so. He doesn’t get to London as often as he would like, but comes whenever he can get away for a time. Which is not often enough, in my opinion. I cannot abide the country. The society is so limited, and there are few decent occupations to be found.” Marcus began fiddling with his quizzing glass, apparently unaware that he had just insulted his hostess. Emily just smiled to herself, having learned not to take Lord Wesleigh too seriously.
“I don’t recall ever having met you in London, Miss Smithfield,” Marcus said, thinking that it was a good thing he had not.
“No, we do not travel to London much.” Emily sighed. “My father used to take me occasionally when he was alive, but I have not been in nearly five years.”
“Pity. I could see you fitting in rather well in London.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. You would be a refreshing change to the simpering girls that one meets. I think you would make quite a splash.”
“Oh, I do not think so, but I appreciate the compliment. My ambitions are modest. I have no desire to make a splash, just meet some new people.”
“Well, London’s the place to do so,” Marcus assured her. “Particularly during the season. More people than you can shake a stick at.”
Emily almost mentioned she did not think one should shake sticks at people, but did not think Lord Wesleigh would appreciate her attempt at humor. Instead, she said, rather wistfully, “Well, it is no use speculating about it, because it’s unlikely I’ll ever be in London for the season.” Emily determinedly changed the subject, and they discussed music for a while. During the course of the conversation, they agreed to dispense with the formalities and were soon calling each other by their first names. Of course, as Marcus did not wish to be called Alexander, Emily agreed to call him by his preferred name, Marcus. She discovered she knew some of his favorite pieces, and offered to play for him. Marcus agreed enthusiastically, as he thought he would lose his mind if he had to look at the same four walls any longer. He told her he thought he could manage to walk down the stairs to the drawing room.
“Oh, no, my lord, I mean, Marcus. You mustn’t risk your health in that manner. You can hear the music very well from here, as I will be sure to leave the door to your chamber open.” Emily still suspected his illness might only be a pretense, and could not resist punishing him a little.
“Very well,” he said, a little sulkily.
Emily hid her smile and went to play the pianoforte, as promised. She had been playing for about half an hour when Alexander arrived to visit his friend. He found Marcus sitting upright in bed, eyes closed, and a smile on his face.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” Alexander said from the doorway, an ironic smile on his face.
“Alex. You startled me. No, dashed glad to see you, actually. A chap gets bored sitting in bed all day.”
“You do not look bored at the moment, however.”
“No. I have been enjoying the music.” He made a motion in the air in the direction of the drawing room. “Emily has been playing some of my favorite songs.”
“Emily, is it?” Alexander asked.
“She asked me to call her that when I insisted she call me Marcus. To tell you the truth, I was sick to death of having to answer to your name. There’s nothing improper in it,” Marcus insisted, when Alexander continued to stare suspiciously at him.
“I am sure there is not. Did she know they were your favorites or was it just a fortunate guess on her part?”
“No, I told her. She has been very accommodating this morning. She’s a very nice girl, Emily Smithfield. I can see why you admire her.”
“Indeed,” Alexander agreed, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She spent some time with you this morning?”
“Yes, I told her she ought to go to London. ’Tis rather a shame she has to be stuck in the country like this. When I think of what a good modiste could accomplish . . .” Sir Marcus’s voice trailed off, as he became lost envisioning playing Pygmalion to Emily’s Galatea. He shook himself from his reverie, and continued, “Regardless, we both agreed she would benefit from a broader circle of friends she could make in London society. She finds the country somewhat confining.”
“Apparently the country is not too confining. She seems to have made one new friend already.”
Marcus smiled. “Well, I hope so. One can never have too many friends.”
“Particularly when the friend is an attractive young lady who believes you to be the heir to a dukedom.”
Marcus’s smile faded. “I do not think I appreciate your remark, or your tone of voice. If you are trying to make some sort of implication, I can only say you’re far off the mark. I do not have any designs on your lady, nor does she on me.”
“Well, I believe that you may not be interested in her, I know you don’t have any wish to be leg-shackled, but you must remember that Emily believes you to be highly eligible.”
“I think you are doing her a disservice. Her attentions to me have been those of a gracious hostess to a guest in her home, and nothing more.”
Alexander shook his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Here speaks the man who has not been the target of grasping females for the past ten years.”
“I tell you, Alex, I think all the attention has spoiled you for a good female. You cannot believe there are any decent women out there who would be interested in a gentleman for anything other than his title and fortune. For your information, Emily tried to lead the conversation to a discussion of you, but I had no desire to contradict whatever you may have told her concerning your assumed identity, and turned the subject.”
Alexander relaxed a little and looked at his friend hopefully. “She asked about me, did she?”
“Yes, she did. Although I am starting to think you don’t deserve a nice girl like Emily. Lady Cynthia might be the better match for you after all.”
Sir Marcus was prevented from saying anything else by the pillow his best friend smashed into his face.
 |
Emily and Lydia made a trip to the vicarage early Friday morning to deliver some sewing they had done for a few of the poorer families in the parish. Emily viewed this as a perfect opportunity for Lydia and Sedgewick to spend some time alone with each other. She had been distracted from her original intention to get them together by the visit of the duke and his son, but she had not lost sight of her goal.
She thought it was a little too bad that neither she nor Lydia could love Lord Wesleigh, for if one had to marry, she supposed it would be preferable to marry someone with money. She had formed a better opinion of Lord Wesleigh over the past few days, but she still knew she did not feel for him what one should feel for one’s husband. She supposed she would have to resign herself to life as a spinster, but she felt that Lydia, at least, should have her chance at happiness.
Lydia was absorbed in her own thoughts, as well, so the walk to the vicarage was accomplished in near silence. They were admitted into a comfortable room set up as a library by Mrs. Baker, Sedgewick’s housekeeper. Emily had been inside the vicarage before, but now that she knew her sister was interested in Sedgewick, she was far more interested in her surroundings. Yes, it was quite cozy, and she believed her sister would be very comfortable there. Emily wondered if she herself could be comfortable in a country vicarage such as this, and felt that she could, with the right vicar. She shook her head, as if to dispel such a thought. The curate she was fantasizing about would probably never see the inside of another vicarage. He was more likely to see the inside of Newgate.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Sedgewick and Williams. Emily explained the purpose of their visit, and Sedgewick thanked them for their charity in bringing the linens.
“Would you like some refreshments? Some tea, perhaps?” Sedgewick offered.
Before Lydia had a chance to refuse, Emily took a seat, mentioning that would be quite the thing. As Jonathan asked Mrs. Baker to bring the tea tray, Emily thought furiously for an excuse to leave Sedgewick and Lydia alone together.
“Mr. Williams, Lord Wesleigh asked me to relay a message to you,” Emily began.
“Yes?” Alexander responded.
“Well, actually, it was more something he wanted me to show you.”
“Really,” Alexander replied, “How peculiar.”
Emily swallowed bravely, and continued. “Yes, he was quite sure you would appreciate the daffodils growing in the graveyard. He noticed them when he passed the church on his way to Smithfield House, and he thought you would appreciate the sight.”
“And so I would.” Alexander was beginning to realize what Emily was attempting to do, although he felt her pretext for leaving the two alone was rather a poor one.
“Perhaps we could go look at them now.”
“The very thing,” Alexander agreed.
Emily and Alexander rose to leave the room, but Lydia protested. “Emily, I am sure Mr. Williams can look at them at his leisure. The church is not so close as you might think.”
“Nonsense, it is not that great a distance. And Lord Wesleigh told me particularly to observe Mr. Williams’s reaction and report it back to him. Apparently he and Mr. Williams are staunch admirers of Mr. Wordsworth, and the sight of the ‘host of golden daffodils’ in the graveyard put Lord Wesleigh in mind of Wordsworth’s poem, ‘I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud.’”
Lydia and Sedgewick were looking at Emily as though she had sprouted another head, but she hurried from the room with Williams before they could protest further.
“So where is this ‘host of daffodils’?” Alexander asked Emily as they walked toward the graveyard.
“I am not sure there are any. It is now the end of May, and I believe they begin blooming in March. We had better begin looking for some, however, in case Sedgewick or Lydia asks us when we return. I think they are already questioning my veracity, if not my sanity.”
“Well, I must admit that your excuse was rather uninspired.”
“Contrary to what you may believe, I do not have much practice in the art of deception and intrigue. And I also had very little cooperation. You would almost think they do not want to be alone together.”
“Yes,” Alexander agreed, “it is quite unnatural for two people supposedly in love to have such an aversion to each other’s company. I, on the other hand, am quite appreciative of my good fortune.”
Emily was embarrassed by the remark, as she could not miss its implication, and tried to change the subject. “Well, whatever you may think of my excuse, I thought the Wordsworth bit was quite good.”
Although Alexander might find fault with the excuse itself, he could not fault its results. It was a beautiful, sunny day, with only a light breeze, and he was entirely at peace with himself and the world. Emily made a charming picture in her sprigged muslin dress and gypsy bonnet, and, though they saw no daffodils, there were alyssum, columbine, and hyacinth in abundance. It appeared, in fact, as if all of Kent was in bloom, and, although nothing was more natural than for flowers to bloom in the springtime, especially in a part of the country termed the Garden of England, at that moment Alexander felt it as a particular compliment to himself and the lady.
The church itself was situated in a pleasant aspect, it being nearly the highest point in the parish; the village, with its charming half-timbered houses and shops, was spread out below them. Alexander thought himself at the top of the world, and it was obvious that Emily shared his delight in the day and company.
They finally reached the graveyard and began wandering rather aimlessly among the headstones. They paused here and there to read an epitaph, but there was no morbid sense of death and depression. Alexander picked some daisies and presented them to Emily with a flourish, and she thanked him prettily, but promised to leave them at the grave of a Mary Simpson, whose epitaph they had just read, before they left the graveyard. In her present guise, Alexander thought her the quintessential country maiden and could not picture her hobnobbing with the bored and sated nobility in London. But perhaps he was mistaken in thinking that light in her eyes would ever be extinguished by
His voice had grown softer, and there was a tender look in his eyes as he regarded her. Emily could only nod, her breath caught in her throat. He began to recite softly,
He paused, and drew her gently into his arms, leaning closer and closer until he was just a breath away from her lips. “‘A perfect Woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command,’” he finished, the last word barely distinguishable as their lips met.
Emily could no more resist his kiss than she could fly to the moon. His words had turned her insides to mush, and she felt herself returning his kiss with a passion she did not know she possessed. Time was suspended, and nothing else existed except her and Alexander. The moment was over far too soon, and Alexander raised his head, still holding Emily in his arms.
“Obviously you are not an admirer of Marvell,” she said, when she could speak again. Even then she did not recognize her own voice.
Alexander could only look at her in confusion. Whatever reaction he had expected, it was not this. “What?” he asked.
“‘The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace,’” Emily recited.
Alexander laughed. “I do not think that is a proper poem for you to know, my girl.” He lowered his head as if to kiss her again, but she evaded him. “Someone might see us,” she protested.
“You are right. Marvell was wrong about graveyards. This is far too public a place to share an embrace. I seem to lose my head whenever I am with you,” he said, reaching for her hand instead and placing a kiss inside her palm. He closed her fingers over the kiss.
“We should probably return to the vicarage,” Emily suggested shyly, afraid to meet his eyes. She was quite embarrassed at her lack of decorum, and was even more humiliated to discover the daisies she had been holding were scattered about their feet, apparently dropped by her during their embrace, though she had no recollection of it.
Alexander nodded, gave her his arm, and they turned to walk back. “I can only hope that Sedgewick and Lydia have used their time alone to such advantage,” he said, smiling at the thought.
Try as she might, Emily could not imagine the so-proper Lydia and Sedgewick exchanging the searing kiss she and Alexander had just shared.
|
|
After Emily and Williams left, Lydia and Sedgewick were left looking at each other in uncomfortable silence.
“I must apologize for my sister’s behavior, Mr. Sedgewick,” Lydia offered, looking up at Sedgewick through her eyelashes.
“Think nothing of it, Miss Smithfield. Your sister’s behavior could never influence my respect and esteem for you,” Mr. Sedgewick replied formally.
“Thank you, sir. The knowledge that you respect and esteem me is more comforting than you can ever know.” She was the picture of despair, her head bowed, her eyes downcast. She could not help but raise them for one quick peek at Sedgewick, to see what effect her pose was having on him.
It was having all the effect she could have desired. “My dear Miss Smithfield, it pains me deeply to see you in such distress. I would do anything to alleviate your sorrow,” Sedgewick told her, crossing the room to sit beside her on the settee.
“Alas,” Lydia said, raising her eyes at last to his, “I fear there is nothing that can be done.”
“But, please, tell me, what has caused you such distress?”
“Mr. Sedgewick, I do not think you can be entirely unaware of the plans my mother has conceived for me.”
“No, Miss Smithfield, I am not ignorant of them.” Sedgewick said. “She intends for you to marry, I believe.”
“She does, indeed, sir. To a gentleman with whom I am not even acquainted.” She looked up again, tears forming in her big blue eyes. “I must admit I have no desire for this marriage to take place. Yet I do not want to be disobedient to my mother’s wishes.”
“Of course you do not. I have often admired your strength of character, your moral integrity and virtue. You do not esteem lightly the dictates of family and conscience. It is your sense of duty and moral rectitude that makes you so appealing to one, such as I, who regards a woman’s character more than her outward appearance.”
If Lydia found this compliment lacking in any way, it was not apparent. She blushed fiercely, but still managed to smile at the young gentleman who, whatever he might say to the contrary, was regarding her outward appearance with every semblance of delight. The slight smile gave Sedgewick the courage to reach for her hand. “Miss Smithfield, I have no right to speak what is in my heart.” Lydia did not know how to react to this promising statement, so she only nodded, and did not try to remove her hand from his grasp. “So I will not,” Sedgewick continued. Lydia tried her best to conceal her disappointment. “Neither can I encourage a daughter to act in opposition to her mother’s wishes.” At this speech, Lydia removed her hand. “However, although I do not counsel you to oppose your mother, I think it only right that you should be honest with her as to your feelings.”
“What do you think I should do?” Lydia asked.
“It is not my place to tell you what to do.”
Lydia masterfully concealed her impatience at this remark, and Sedgewick continued. “But it is my feeling that a loving mother, such as I am convinced Lady Smithfield is, would be desirous of knowing your true feelings regarding the proposed match. And, as a loving mother, she could hardly force you into a position that you would find repugnant.”
This was not the answer Lydia wanted, and it seemed a shame that a scene that had such a promising beginning had gone so awry. “But, as you know, it is the desire of every mother to see her daughter successfully wed. She may not agree to the dissolution of her previous plan if it is unlikely that I will marry anyone else.” Modesty forbade Lydia from making her point any clearer.
Sedgewick reached for her hand again. “Miss Smithfield, such a prospect is entirely unlikely, even absurd. Your mother will realize that there are many gentlemen who would count it a great honor indeed to marry her beautiful daughter. No, I am convinced that if you are honest with your mother about your feelings, you will prevail.”
Lydia nodded in response, but wondered why, if so many gentlemen would count it an honor to marry her, the dolt sitting beside her would not make a positive effort in that direction.
|
|
Emily and Alexander entertained sentiments similar to Lydia’s when they returned to the vicarage to find Lydia and Sedgewick sipping tea with expressions of noble resignation on their faces and in no greater charity with each other than they were before they had been left alone. It then began to occur to Emily that Sedgewick was as fond of melodrama as her sister. Emily believed that he harbored genuine feelings for Lydia, and Alexander had confirmed that belief, so his hesitance in declaring himself did not seem to spring from lack of affection. Indeed, Emily had observed him closely over tea, and his eyes appeared to follow Lydia’s every move, in such a way as to confirm his regard. Yet, when it would become obvious to him that he was regarding Lydia tenderly, his entire countenance would change, and he would steadfastly refuse to peer in Lydia’s direction for an extended time, until once again his feelings would overcome his resolution, and he would begin peeping in her direction once again.
Lydia herself added nothing to the occasion, as she had resumed her tragic role and was playing it to the hilt, with frequent glances in Sedgewick’s direction to see how he responded to the airs she had assumed. Emily and Alexander watched the two of them with much amusement, but then became so involved in their own conversation that they were able to forget that Lydia and Sedgewick were present, for the most part. Emily was doing her best to forget a great many things; that Alexander was a penniless curate, for one, and that she had just allowed a gentleman whom she had no intention of marrying and suspected of being a highwayman to embrace her in a graveyard, of all places. She resolutely put those thoughts from her mind and determined to enjoy this one last glorious afternoon in his company, and even Lydia’s sighs and Sedgewick’s disapproving glances could not weigh on her high spirits, which had an almost frenzied quality about them.
Alexander himself could not remember ever having spent a more glorious afternoon, and resolved to put an end to this charade by declaring himself at the earliest opportunity, unaware of the doubts that plagued his beloved.
It was with regret that Emily announced that they must return home. Lydia was by this time in such a morose state that she was barely cognizant of her surroundings. She awoke to them with a start, agreeing that their visit had been much too long and that their mother would be concerned about them if they did not return with all possible haste.
Lydia was correct in her assumption that their mother was concerned about them. However, it was not fears for her daughters’ safety that troubled Lady Smithfield. She was highly disturbed that her two girls had spent an entire afternoon, most of the day, really, in company with a vicar and a curate, when a highly eligible marquess lay languishing in his chamber. Although not the most observant of women, generally speaking, she had noted Lydia’s lack of enthusiasm for Lord Wesleigh’s company and was dismayed by what she had observed. Her previous conjectures about the match had been as romantic as Emily’s. Lydia and Lord Wesleigh were to fit into their parents’ plans for them by falling in love at their first meeting. After all, a rich young lord was the embodiment of a girl’s dreams. How could he be other than handsome and charming?
She had been a little stymied by the actual appearance of Lord Wesleigh, but only for a moment. He was given a little too much to matters of dress, but while Lydia and Emily saw a fop, Lady Smithfield, in all her romanticism, saw a man quite distinguished by his attire, one who would always stand out in a crowd, a peacock among vultures. His being ill, too, while at first thought of as an impediment to the progress of his relationship with Lydia, was soon romanticized as well. In many cases love was kindled by sympathy, and Lydia, in particular, was the most sympathetic of young ladies. She could not help but commiserate with Lord Wesleigh in his sickness, and such a tender feeling was bound to lead to one even more tender. And, with Lord Wesleigh confined to his chamber, he and Lydia had the opportunity of spending hours in close association, quite removed from any other society.
With such reasoning as this did Lady Smithfield dismiss any misgivings she might have about arbitrarily arranging the lives of two young people without consulting them on the matter. She had noticed, however, that things were not falling out exactly as she had arranged them in her mind. When peeking into Lord Wesleigh’s room on occasion, expecting to find Lydia in conversation with the invalid, Emily would be there in her stead, with Lydia nowhere to be found. And Lydia’s depression of spirits was quite noticeable as well. Lady Smithfield had always been pleased with Lydia’s calm demeanor, valuing it more than Emily’s vivacious manner, which in her opinion, bordered on the impertinent. Yet there was no denying that a little more liveliness in Lydia’s behavior would not be amiss. Since the marquess’s arrival, Lydia had walked about looking like a ghost.
It was in this state of mind that Lady Smithfield waited with impatience for her daughters to return home. When they finally did arrive, she said nothing of the length of time they had been gone but asked instead after Mr. Sedgewick’s health and that of his guest. She knew that she had been right to worry when both her daughters’ cheeks grew rosy at such an innocent question, and they began to pay far too much attention to the removal of their bonnets and smoothing out any wrinkles in their dresses. She was too wise to comment on their discomposure, or quiz Lydia on her feelings for Lord Wesleigh at present. Although Lydia was the most dutiful of daughters, there was no denying that she was also highly imaginative. If she fancied herself in love with the vicar, as Lady Smithfield was beginning to suspect, opposition from her mother might fix her affection irrevocably on Jonathan Sedgewick. So she avoided the subject of gentlemen altogether, initiating a discussion instead on what they were to wear to the Abernathy’s ball Wednesday the following week, an invitation to which had finally arrived.
| © 2025 Библиотека RealLib.org (support [a t] reallib.org) |