Proposals And Disposals

9

Proposals And Disposals

    “Sir Noël, permit me to say,” said Mr Hawke, “that this is quite unnecessary.”

    Sir Noël frowned. But he did not tell Mr Hawke he did not desire his opinion on the point: Mr Hawke, of Hawke & Underwood of Exeter, had been his father’s solicitor.

    Mr Hawke, a slim, dark-complexioned man of medium height, looked at him respectfully but determinedly.

    Finally Noël said: “I do not see it that way.”

    Mr Hawke coughed. “No. But on the subject of settlements, sir, could not an alternative offer be made to the family?”

    “What?” he said blankly.

    “An alternative offer, sir, to a proposal of marriage.”

    Noël went very red. “Buy ’em off?” he said grimly.

    “Yes,” replied the lawyer simply.

    “I thought I had made it perfectly clear that the girl is compromised? The whole of Bath is talking about her, and the cats are cutting her!”

    “While that is regrettable, Sir Noël, I must repeat that it is not your blame.”

    “She is known to have spent time in my company!”

    “Possibly. But does it not seem likely, sir, that her family may have spread that story in order to force you into making just such an offer as you are contemplating?”

    “Very clever, Hawke,” said Sir Noël through his teeth. “But as it happens, yes: it does seem likely.”

    “We cannot give in to blackmail!”

    “Suggest another way that I can make reparation to Miss Chalfont.”

    “I just have,” replied the lawyer, looking him in the eye.

    The baronet reddened again. “You have not met her. Whether or no the mother would accept—and I do not think she would, she is holding out for marriage—the mere notion of buying Miss Chalfont off is inconceivable!”

    Mr Hawke frowned. “I see. It is all most unfortunate, but you are blameless in the matter, Sir Noël, and I would not be doing my duty by yourself or your family if I did not warn you of the unwisdom of such a match.” He paused. Sir Noël’s handsome features were expressionless. “Recollect it is for life, Sir Noël!” he said urgently.

    “I am recollecting precisely that, Hawke. And it is not merely my own life that is in question, but Miss Chalfont’s. And hers is in a fair way to being ruined.”

    “These things blow over!” he said desperately. “Could not the girl be sent to an aunt or some such until Bath has found something else to talk of?”

    “Oh, certainly. And I believe one kind friend has offered to send her off somewhere as a governess,” he returned acidly. “—You may take that look off your face, I had it from my Aunt Delphie, who had it from the girl’s sister-in-law,” he added irritably.

    “I beg your pardon, Sir Noël,” said Mr Hawke, not sounding sorry.

    Sir Noël gave him a sardonic look. “There is the additional point that in the case your charming plan worked, the mother would still not take her back, when she returned from the putative aunt.”

    “What? Oh. But the brother would have her, sir!”

    “Yes. There is barely room to swing a cat in his house. You can hear his damned brat bawlin’ all over it. Actually, you can hear it from the street.”

    Mr Hawke bit his lip. “Very like. But she would be well looked after and, if I may be permitted to say so,”—Sir Noël gave him a hard look—“loved.”

    “Loved!” said the baronet with an astonished snort.

    There was a short silence.

    “Yes, loved,” said Mr Hawke calmly. “And if you will permit me to say so, sir, if I were in the young lady’s position, I should infinitely prefer such an option to being married off to a man whom I didn’t know and—”

    “Immured in his damned country house for the rest of your life: yes, I have already had that one from Richard, thanks very much!” he said loudly “And for the Lord’s sake don’t keep asking me if you may say so: it lacks conviction!”

    The lawyer smiled a little but said politely: “Very well, Sir Noël. It is a habit of speech, I fear.”

    Sir Noël aimlessly pushed around the papers the lawyer had laid out on Richard’s desk, and said: “So my position is even better than we had thought?”

    “What? Oh, financially! Indeed, sir! The farms are doing very well, and the town properties—”

    “Don’t,” he said with a sigh. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I do not dislike her,” he said with a frown.

    “Er—Miss Chalfont, sir? No, sir,” the lawyer said weakly.

    “But dammit, I don’t even know her, and do I want to be married to a little mouse of a provincial—” He caught himself up, biting his lip. “Perhaps you are right, and it would be better for both of us to let her go quietly to the brother. And pay the damned mother off. I shall consult with my Uncle Richard, and with Lady Amory. Senior, y’fool!” he added as Mr Hawke’s jaw sagged.

    “Of course, Sir Noël,” he said quickly. “Though may I remind you, sir, that of course the younger Lady Amory is somewhat concerned in the case.”

    “She is somewhat concerned in that should it come to a proposal, you may write her a formal letter advising her she may remove to the dower house forthwith: yes,” he said grimly.

    “Sir Noël—!”

    “She has made my home uninhabitable ever since my father died. And at the moment, in the case you may not be aware of she’s filled it with Miss Hookams!”

    “Er—oh,” he said limply. “I see. But then, Mr Hookam’s land does march with yours—”

    “Hawke,” said Sir Noël very loudly indeed: “I am not going to marry a pie-faced, fubsy little dame with no pretensions to either beauty or brains for a damned trifling reason like that!”

    “No, Sir Noël,” he said meekly. “Of course.”

    Outside the study door, Cherry was transfixed. She had not realized that Sir Noël was in the study, in fact she had not realized that he was even in the house today.

    Cherry had been upstairs playing happily with “Little Nole”. She had made the little marmoset a new jacket of dark red velvet (cut out of the gown Delphie had donated to her, the which was far too roomy in the bodice for her), lining it with some woollen cloth to keep him warm in the chilly winter weather, and, since Lizzie did not have school today, the two of them had had a very happy morning, dressing and undressing the marmoset and encouraging him to show off his tricks. Lizzie had then bethought her of a further trick Little Nole might do, if only they had a long cord for him to do it on, and Cherry had run downstairs to see if there might be some cord in the Colonel’s study.

    She took a step backwards, her hand going to her breast and all the colour fading out of her cheeks. After a certain interview with June at which Delphie, unfortunately, had not been present, it had dawned on Cherry that Sir Noël might feel himself obliged to make her an offer. She was, of course, determined to refuse it, should he do so. But nevertheless she was very, very hurt to hear him refer to her, as she naturally assumed, as “a pie-faced, fubsy little dame with no pretensions to either beauty or brains”. Even though she did not think she had any claims to such attributes, either. And then, was the fact that no-one in Bath would ever speak to her again such a trifling reason as all that in his eyes? Well, of course it was trifling: it was absurd and ridiculous, and for him to think he should make her an offer on that account was—was ridiculous and—and absurd! Cherry’s jaw shook, and she retreated noiselessly down the passage, her eyes full of tears.

    So she did not hear Sir Noël say with a sigh: “Miss Chalfont would be infinitely preferable to any of the three. She has at least a most ladylike appearance.”

    After an appreciable pause Lady Amory said grimly: “That certainly explains why the Throgmorton woman cut me at the Pump Room yesterday. Not to say why Mrs Grainger has assured me five times in the past week that I may be assured of her support.”

     Sir Noël bit his lip. “Mm.”

    “Go over it again, if you please, Noël. In detail.”

    Noël went over it again.

    “You were a trifle foolish, but certainly not at fault.”

    “Thank you,” he said acidly.

    “I wish— Oh, well, I suppose I could not have got the Chalfont creature to see reason, either. Though possibly we might have scotched the scandal before it began.”

    Her grandson did not see how, but he looked at her respectfully.

    Lady Amory sighed. “She had best be got out of Bath. Mrs Chalfont is a mercenary woman: I think if you offer her a substantial sum she will accept it. You can make it a condition that she agrees not only not to spread the story further, but also to deny it whenever it is mentioned to her. –The Daveney creature also.”

    “Who?”

    “The aunt! Mrs Chalfont’s relative who lives with her! I make no doubt it is she who is largely responsible for spreading the tale of your involvement in the affair all over the town.”

    “Oh. Very well, if that is what you think...” he said dubiously. “I shall get Hawke to draw up papers to that effect.”

    “Oh, and by the by, do not go back to Richard’s house while she is there; I am astounded that you should not have thought of that for yourself.”

    “Er—no,” he said feebly. “Very well. Though I have hardly seen her: I think she spends most of her days playing with Little Nole!” he added with a little smile.

    “What? Ugh, that horrid little creature!” said old Lady Amory with a shudder. “I have forbidden it the house. It pulled Alfred’s wig off and ran up the curtains with it.”

    “Er—oh! One of your footmen!”

    “It is not particularly amusing, Noël. And it steals food.”

    Sir Noël bit his lip and did not say that it was only a little animal, after all.

    “Not to speak of its other disgusting habits. –Never mind that: while Miss Chalfont is in the house you should not be seen there.”

    “No.”

    “I shall drive out and see her,” said his grandmother thoughtfully.

    “Er—is that wise?”

    “I should like to make quite sure she is not in the expectation of an offer, Noël.”

    He went very white. “My God, do you think—” He got up and paced around the room. “If that is the case, of course I must offer!”

    “Rubbish,” said the old lady grimly.

    “Dearest Grandmamma, you must see that I could not possibly allow her to form such an expectation without fulfilling it!”

    Lady Amory eyed him steadily. “Why not?”

    “Why not?” he cried. “Because it would be entirely dishonourable, that is why not, ma’am!”

    “Hm. I would say, entirely nonsense. I thought your generation believed the attitudes of the last century to be so much outdated fustian?”

    “Honour is not yet quite outmoded, however much our modern society may give one to suppose it,” he said tightly.

    “You are being absurd, dearest boy. Besides, little Miss Chalfont is a sensible thing, and I am very sure she has no such notion in her head. Pray calm down and ring the bell: I think I shall take a glass of Madeira.”

    Sir Noël sighed and rang the bell.

    Over the Madeira, he said abruptly: “I should speak to her.”

    “To the mamma?”

    “No! The girl!”

    “I have just indicated that it would be most unwise to see her at all, Noël. It can only add fuel to these irresponsible speculations that are flying about Bath.”

    “I need to ascertain for myself exactly what her—her expectations are,” he said tightly. “And I have yet to be convinced that making her an offer is not the only honourable course left to me. I think her reputation is irretrievably lost.”

    Lady Amory replied with immense irritation: “Her reputation would be irretrievably lost if you had put her in the family way, but as you ain’t laid a finger on the girl, do not favour me with such rodomontade, if you please!”

    His lips tightened. “Grandmamma, I must beg you not to attempt to interview Miss Chalfont yet. I—I must speak to her myself and ascertain her true feelings.”

    The old lady gave him a look in which exasperation and a sudden sharpening of attention were almost equally mingled. “Noël, do you wish to marry the chit?”

    “No, of course not. That is absurd,” he said stiffly. “I don’t even know her.”

    Lady Amory was beginning to wonder if it was so absurd, after all. But all she said was: “You must not see her unchaperoned.”

    “Grandmamma, she is not on her mother’s side in this thing! No-one will know if I do see her except Richard and Delphie.”

    “Richard, Delphie, Lizzie and their entire household.”

    “No such thing!” he said crossly.

    “Well, you are your own master,” she said with a sigh. “Do as you think fit. Nevertheless, I would wish to speak to her.”

    “Of course. I beg your pardon, Grandmamma. I— But if she has conceived of the notion that I have smirched her honour, promise me you will not attempt to talk her out of it,” he said, going very red.

    “Very well, I promise. But as I said, she is a sensible girl, and she will not have conceived of any such thing.”

    “No, well, you know her better than I,” he said with a sigh.

    Lady Amory had been wondering when that might occur to him. “Quite,” she said drily. “You may pour me another glass of Madeira, thank you, Noël.”

    Obediently Sir Noël poured his grandmother another glass of Madeira.

    Cherry looked at Delphie in horror.

    “My love, she is not so terrifying! She merely wishes to talk with you.”

    “I can’t!” whispered Cherry frantically. “Delphie, I am sure she must think that I—I mean to catch her grandson!”

    Delphie replied steadily: “She will not think that, my dear, for she has known you for many years, has she not? And besides, she is a woman of great good sense.”

    “I can’t,” said Cherry faintly.

    “I think you must. I know hers is an intimidating personality,” said Lady Amory’s daughter-in-law serenely, “but nevertheless she is a very old lady, too. I think you perhaps owe it to her to reassure her on the point.”

    “Oh,” said Cherry. She licked her lips. “Wuh-well, very well, then. Do I—do I look all right?” she added in a trembling voice, nervously smoothing her gown.

    Delphie smiled a little. “Very much all right.” Cherry was wearing a gown that had once been Delphie’s own. She had refused to accept any of the more delightfully frivolous items from Mrs Amory’s considerable wardrobe, and naturally had refused utterly to allow Delphie to purchase any new gowns for her; but had been persuaded to accept several simple dresses for day wear as well as the red velvet evening-gown. Their colourings were rather different, for Delphie’s skin was creamier where Cherry’s was milky white. Delphie herself could wear many shades of brown and tan, but she had not made the mistake of foisting any of those onto Cherry! Today’s afternoon dress was very simple, being made high to the neck, with but one flounce at the hem. It was a dark forest green, and its collar and cuffs were ornamented with narrow frills of lace and scarlet ribbons tied in bows—rather in the style, indeed, of Miss Diddy Carey’s bows, and Cherry had not been able to refrain from remarking on this with a giggle, as Delphie had tried the dress on her.

    Old Lady Amory was seated on a sofa and presented a very composed face to Miss Chalfont. But inwardly she felt rather uncertain of how to broach the topic. “Sit down, my dear,” she said quietly as Delphie excused herself.

    Cherry sank onto a chair.

    Lady Amory took a deep breath. “I shall not beat about the bush, Miss Chalfont. My grandson has given me his version of what happened the evening he brought you to this house. Now I should like to hear yours.”

    “He didn’t do anything, Lady Amory!” she gasped.

    “So I apprehend,” said Lady Amory calmly, not betraying her immense relief. Or, indeed, her surprise: though she had always thought Cherry Chalfont a truthful and, indeed, naïve girl. “Pray continue.”

    Cherry stumbled through her story, laying great stress on her own criminality in being out of the house without her mother’s permission and on Sir Noël’s extreme nobility in rescuing her from her predicament.

    “Hm. A chapter of accidents,” the old lady concluded, at her driest.

    Cherry nodded numbly.

    “I am glad that you perceive that my grandson, at all events, was not to blame in the matter.”

    “Oh, no! He rescued me,” said Cherry earnestly.

    “Mm.”

    “Lady Amory,” said Cherry, going very red, “if—if Mother or Mrs Witherspoon have—have said anything to you about—about Sir Noël, pray—pray disregard it! I wrote to Mother stating exactly what happened, but—but she sent the letter back! And Mrs Witherspoon must know the true facts, for I told June and Merry!”

    “Er—yes. Oh, I see, you mean Mrs John Witherspoon.”

    “Yes.”

    “Well, you may set your mind at rest on that point: neither your own relatives nor your sister-in-law’s family have been in contact with me. However, Mrs Anthony Hallam has called, and has asked me to convey her kind wishes to you, and to assure you that you will always find a home in her house.”

    “Thank you,” said Cherry faintly. “She wrote me a very kind note.”

    “It is like her,” said the grim old lady.

    Cherry nodded weakly. After a moment she ventured in a tiny voice: “So who told you that Sir Noël had—had not acted like a gentleman, Lady Amory?”

    “I am glad to say that no-one has had the impudence to say so to my face. But Noël himself is aware of the rumour. He asked my advice.” She paused.

    “I see,” said Cherry numbly.

    “My advice was that he should not feel himself obliged to make you an offer,” she said grimly.

    “Of course not!” she gasped, turning scarlet. “That would be dreadful!”

    Lady Amory raised her eyebrows slightly but said only: “Quite.”

    “Oh! I don’t mean— Well, I know he is a highly eligible puh-parti and a—a very handsome gentleman and—and everything,” said Cherry, horribly flustered, “but—but I— And in any case, I am a nobody! And he doesn’t have to offer for me,” she finished in a tiny voice.

    “No.” Lady Amory could not for the life of her tell if the girl affected him, which given Noël’s face and figure was not unlikely, or if all the fluster was merely because she was that sort of female. “I am glad to hear you think so. Now I think perhaps we should discuss what you are going to do.”

    Cherry went red all over again. “It is very kind of you, Lady Amory, but please don’t think you are obliged to, just because—because your grandson happened across me, that evening,” she gulped.

    “My grandson’s name has been coupled with yours in an unpleasant piece of Bath gossip, girl. Of course I feel myself obliged to sort it out!” she said sharply.

    “Yes, ma’am,” said Cherry meekly.  “I beg your pardon.”

    Because of the girl’s frankness and honesty Lady Amory had been thinking dubiously that perhaps she might do for Noël, after all. Now she decided she would not: not with the fluster and the meekness: Noël would never put up with either! She inquired briskly whether Miss Chalfont had any relations living out of Bath with whom she might stay. Cherry did not. Did her sister-in-law have any? Cherry replied dazedly that the Witherspoons were a large family but she hardly knew them.

    “Mm.” Lady Amory fell silent.

    “I thought that after Christmas I would just go and stay with Merry and June,” she said timidly.

    “That would hardly answer. We wish to give Bath time to get over its amaze.”

    “Um—yes!” she gulped. “Only I have no acquaintance.”

    “Well, never mind: I certainly do. We shall think of someone. Delphie’s sister, Lady Lavery, would take you, I am sure.”

    “I could not impose!” gasped Cherry in horror.

    “Rubbish. It is a large country house, full of brats and animals, not to mention odd dependants and hangers-on. One more nor less will not be noticed. We shall see.”

    Cherry looked at her limply but could not think of any other way to protest that she did not wish to foist herself on Lord and Lady Lavery, whom she had never met.

    Lady Amory eyed her speculatively but decided against, for the nonce, getting her to write a paper disavowing any possible claims against Noël. Not because she did not think the chit would do it: because she had an idea that Noël would not be best pleased. She dismissed her kindly, asking her to send Delphie to her.

    “What did you think, Mamma?” asked Delphie eagerly.

    “She ain’t a hussy, that is clear,” she said grimly.

    “No, of course not!”

    There was a short silence.

    “Delphie, what do you think Noël feels for her?” she asked baldly.

    “They have not been together much: Richard thought it would not be sensible. Um... I would say he likes her. He speaks to her with a kindly look on his face.”

    “Hm. –He was blathering on about her playing with the dratted monkey.”

    “Oh!” said Delphie with a little choke of laughter. “Yes, indeed! I think he was quite entranced to find that Cherry adores him!”

    “Yes. Well, that ain’t a basis for marriage,” she said with a sigh.

    “No... Dear Mamma, it has occurred to me that it might be the kindest thing to let them see something of each other, and then, um, if they find they should suit when they know each other a little better— I know it is not his fault at all,” she said quickly, as a frown gathered on the old lady’s brow, “but after all, there is no use blinking at facts, and Cherry will have no hope of a creditable connection after this! You and I both know what Bath is, dear ma’am. And she is already turned twenty-four.”

    “Then she should have more sense than to run out of the house of an evening without her mother’s consent. –I do not say knowledge,” she noted acidly.

    “Um—no.” It was one of Delphie Amory’s most strongly held tenets that “should” could never make “is”. However, she did not like to contradict the elderly lady. After a moment she said awkwardly: “Be that as it may, it was not so very dreadful. Certainly not sufficient to merit such a fate as ruin.”

    “No. What do you think of sending her to the Laverys?”

    “Er—they would certainly welcome her most warmly, but I do not think that Cherry would be happy with strangers.”

    “Delphie, the girl is not entirely blameless in the affair! Let us admit that she has let herself in for this trouble and deserves to suffer a little on account it!”

    “Well, yes. But I think the experience of being locked out of her house and having to ask a strange gentleman for help has been sufficient punishment for a person of her gentle temperament, Mamma.”

    “Possibly,” she said in a hard voice. After a moment she said: “What do you mean, ‘a strange gentleman?’ She must have realized it was Noël!”

    “No. She did not know who it was at first, merely that as he was knocking at your door he must be respectable,” said Delphie with a concealed twinkle in her soft grey eyes, “and then when he turned she thought it was Bobby. Well, they are very alike, and she had never met Noël.”

    “She told you this, I collect?”

    “They both did,” said Delphie calmly.

    “Oh. I suppose we may take that as proof, if further proof were needed, that she is not on the catch for him!”

    Delphie put a gentle hand on her black-clad knee. “Dear Mamma, can you be in any doubt about it? Now, shall we have tea? Richard will be in directly.”

    “Very well. –I shall think about your suggestion, my dear.”

    Delphie rang for tea. When the footman had-come and gone she said slowly: “I do have an alternative scheme...”

    “Yes?”

    Mrs Amory pinkened. “Richard says it is underhand.”

    “Richard would,” noted Richard’s mother drily. “Go on, my dear.”

    “Um—well, perhaps they could have a sham engagement?”

    “A what?”

    Delphie swallowed. “A sham engagement. To satisfy the Bath cats—and Cherry’s mother, of course. They could remain engaged for—well, several months, it would have to be: until all the speculation had well and truly died down. Then they could quietly break it off.”

    Lady Amory’s mouth opened but for a moment no sound came out. Then she took a breath and said grimly: “For once Richard is not being over-nice. Have you been plotting with that Urqhart woman?”

    “No!” said Delphie with a trill of laughter. “Oh, how sharp you are! No, truly, dear Mamma! I own that it is precisely what dear Cousin Betsy Urqhart put to me, but I had already thought of it for myself! –For you see,” she said with a naughty look, “I am every bit as underhand as she, at heart!”

    “Unprincipled, you mean,” said her Mamma-in-law drily, though with a reluctant smile, as the door opened and the servants began to bring in the tea things.

    Colonel Amory was not far behind them, and sat down, saying as the door closed: “Well?”

    His mother replied drily: “You were right from start to finish, naturally, Richard.”

    He laughed. “Well, yes: I said she was a sweet little thing, and she is! Would you feel vindicated had she been proven to be a scheming hussy?”

    “No. And it is not a funning matter.”

    Richard accepted a cup of tea, and smiled. “I think Noël likes her.”

    “Rubbish,” returned Lady Amory, frowning. “She is not the type who would stand up to him.”

    “I don’t think she is the type to be taken in by him, though,” said Delphie.

    “And what, pray, does that mean?” enquired Lady Amory in indignant amaze.

    “Just that when he comes the man about-town, she is unlikely to be impressed.”

    “No: for she won’t know what he is on about!” choked Richard.

    “Silly,” said his wife tolerantly. “—She is very shy, of course, Mamma, but she is not stupid.”

    “She is a little mouse, and a mouse, moreover, who becomes flustered at the slightest provocation,” she said in a hard voice.

    “Dearest Mamma, you are not the slightest provocation, y’know,” murmured the Colonel.

    “Richard!” gasped Delphie.

    “Nonsense, Richard,” said his mother coldly. “Noël has always preferred self-possessed women. And most certainly women who know how to behave in company!”

    Richard judged it best to leave that, for the nonce. He took a slice of bread-and-butter. “Did Delphie tell you of her scheme?” he said cautiously.

    “Which?” responded his mother grimly.

    He winced. “Delphie, you are not to suggest a sham engagement to either Noël or Cherry!”

    “I shan’t; I promise,” she said calmly.

    “I doubt she will need to,” said Lady Amory acidly. “—No, I thank you,” she said as Richard offered the bread-and-butter. “If that is a fruit-cake, I will have a slice.”

    Richard helped his mother to the cake, hoping she would discover it was too moist or too dry or even excellent, and be duly side-tracked.

    Lady Amory’s mind of course was not at all apt to be side-tracked, and after she had sampled the cake and pronounced it delicious, if a trifle on the dry side, she said in her grimmest tone: “As I was saying: there will be no need for Delphie to moot this unprincipled scheme of hers, if, as I apprehend, your Cousin Betsy Urqhart has also hold of the notion.”

    Richard tried to smile, but failed. “Mm. You are probably right.”

   “I am certainly right!” she said smartly.

    It was a pure coincidence that Mrs Urqhart had chosen that very afternoon to call at Lady Amory’s house in Lymmond Square, thus conveniently missing her Ladyship and having an opportunity to talk to Noël alone.

    “Aye,” she slowly, when, over tea and a sponge cake, which he had declared he did not care for but of which he had then absent-mindedly eaten a great deal, Noël had told her the lot.

    Noël ate the last of his fifth piece of cake and looked at her doubtfully. “I suppose you will say she is a scheming hussy.”

    “She don’t sound like that to me, deary.”

    He reddened. “No. She is not.”

    “So what is she like?” asked the shrewd old lady.

    “Oh—well... Lord, I don’t know, Aunt Betsy! Very young for her age... Naïve. Quite pretty, I suppose. Very pale, with dark hair. Rather frail-looking. –She is certainly quite incapable of standing up to that damned mother of hers,” he said, frowning.

    Mrs Urqhart concealed her vast interest in this point, or rather in Noël’s bothering to mention it, and said only: “Aye, it sounds like it. Silly, is she?”

    “Silly!” he said in astonishment. “Certainly not!”

    “Sensible girls don’t creep out of their homes to go off to dinner parties, Noël.”

    “It was practically a family affair: the people in the square with the ginger brats, their cousins and some old aunt, and a couple of neighbours. The mother seems to have forbidden her go to out of mere spite, from what I can gather. –And before you ask, no, Miss Chalfont did not say so, nor anything like it! And—well, it was certainly unwise, I agree. But not typical of her. She seems to have, er, suddenly cracked when the mother ordered her bread-and-butter to her dinner.”

    “Bread-and-butter?” said the stout Mrs Urqhart in horror.

    Noël’s lips twitched but he replied steadily enough: “Yes. The mother and the aunt who lives with them had bad colds and had taken to their beds, so Miss Chalfont would have been the only one dining. Mrs Chalfont decided it would be—er—wasteful, I think,” he said with a moue of distaste, “to allow the cook to cook for Miss Chalfont alone.”

    “Lawks. Is she a miser, me love?”

    Noël did not smile. “No. However, she is certainly a cold and mean personality. The general opinion of the square is that she half-starves the girl.”

    “Ah. Skinny, is she?”

    “Er—well, yes. She is too thin,” he said, frowning.

    “Hm. Well, she don’t sound the right one for you, Noël. Not a skinny, timid little thing with not too much sense.”

    He stared at her in amaze.

    “Well?” said Mrs Urqhart drily.

    “Aunt Betsy, you are incorrigible! Very well, then: she is also intelligent, she has a sense of humour that has not been quite vanquished by the mother’s influence, and presents a most ladylike appearance.” He paused and added on a dry note: “But as I don’t know her, I don’t feel those attributes are sufficient foundation for a happy marriage.”

    “I’ve known ’em with less. But you is right, dear boy, of course, and as you didn’t do nothing, why should you pay? Out of course life ain’t fair—and you may pass me that last bit o’ cake—but what’s that to say to anythin’? It ain’t your blame as the Bath cats be gossipin’ their nasty heads off about her and she ain’t got no reputation left.”

    Noël was very white. “Is it that bad?”

    “’Pears so to me, yes. Every one of ’em what has called at Jo’s has had the story. Even down to that dratted Tarry, what I gave What For, you need not worry! Not to say them huddles down at the Pump Room.” Mrs Urqhart ate cake with enjoyment.

    “I see,” he said, clenching his fists.

     She eyed him ironically. “Don’t you go for to do anything you’ll regret for the rest of your life, Noël.”

    “That is all very well; but what about the rest of her life?” he said angrily.

    Mrs Urqhart sniffed. “What, stuck down there in Devon with Viola bossing the life out of her?”

    He bit his lip. “Something like that.”

    She gave him a not unkindly look. “Messy, ain’t it? Jo was hoping it would all blow over: nine days’ wonder. Like if you was to get out of Bath, quick.”

    Noël returned acidly: “Are such things quickly forgotten in these damned provincial towns?”

    “No. More like to ruinate a girl’s life.”

    “YES!” he shouted. He got up and began to pace around the room. “Grandmamma has advised me not to let myself be blackmailed into making an offer of marriage.”

    “No, well, she don’t want to see you throw yourself away on a provincial nobody. And nor does any of us.”

    “It does not seem like it!”

    “I never was one to take sides,” Mrs Urqhart replied calmly.

    Noël’s eyes softened. “No. You are the most broad-minded woman I have ever met.” He came and sat down beside her and took her plump, wrinkled hand in his. “What shall I do, Aunt Betsy?”

    “Hm. Well, I ain’t seen the girl yet. Is she like to accept an offer?”

    He went rather pale but said steadily: “I do not think so. She is an honourable young woman who would see the injustice of the situation.”

    “Mm. I won’t say as you’re wrong about her, because Lord knows at your age you ought to know enough to be able to size a girl up. Well, look here: this is just a suggestion, mind. –And don’t interrupt until I’m finished!” she ordered severely.

    Noël smiled rather crookedly. “Very well, dearest Aunt Betsy: I shall not. Go on.”

    “What say you suggest to her that the two of you pretends to get engaged?”

    “What?” he gasped.

    “Hush. Said you would not interrupt, didn’t you? Well, don’t! Aye: you come to an agreement that you’ll let on as you is engaged. That’ll shut the Ma up. Then you pays a settlement, well, let’s not be too generous, seein’ as how you ain’t done nothin’. Say a thousand. And you signs a paper saying as the mother hangs onto the cash, no matter what happens in the future.”

    “Oh, ho,” he said slowly.

    “Bite your tongue,” said Mrs Urqhart mildly. “I ain’t finished. Then, after six months or so, you quietly breaks it off again and goes your separate ways. No-one can’t say nothing, the mother’s got the money, and all’s well.”

    “And no-one will guess it was a pretence?” he said sardonically.

    “Why should they?”

    “No, well, if they do not they will say I jilted her! Cried off at the last minute!”

    “Not if you goes about with a face like a fiddle saying as how it were her what broke it off, you great looby!”

    “Good gad. This is so horridly Machiavellian it might just work! –No, truly, Aunt Betsy, I could not dream of it! It would be shockingly underhand! And I am sure Miss Chalfont would not lend herself to such a scheme. Why, we would have to spend months receiving the congratulations of all our friends and relatives and— Ugh! No!” he said, half laughing, half horrified.

    “Hm. Well, it were just an idea. Only if she don’t want to accept an offer, and you don’t want to make an offer, and she will be ruined unless you do make an offer, then seems to me it’s one way out of it without too much harm done on either side!”

    Sir Noël gave her a hard look. “Is there something else up that sleeve of yours?”

    “I dare say there is a dozen things, but if you won’t come at this one, then I shan’t bother mentioning ’em. –Seriously, I could take her away,” she said, patting his knee.

    “Could you?” he said hopefully.

    “Aye. If the girl will agree, what say she comes back to The Towers with me for the New Year, and stays on for a month or two? Dare say as I might find a nice young man for her, too, with a bit of luck.”

    “What, that hayseed of a neighbour of yours, young Charleson?”

    “Mr Charleson might do, yes. He’s improved a bit since you first knew him. But there is the Knowleses, too, over to Dittersford.”

    “What?” he gasped. “Those lumpen clods?”

    Mrs Urqhart picked up her tea and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What does you care, once the girl is off your hands?”

    “Er—nothing, of course,” he said an effort. “But good grief! The Knowleses? What was it the Maddern girls called them? Prim, Prissy and—uh—”

    “Mr Prue. Acos he be a very prudent man.”

    “The fat one that always wears a muffler, summer and winter: quite,” he said, wincing.

    “He would make her very comfortable; you may lay odds there wouldn’t be no draughts in no house of his! And I might do better than him. Take her about a bit. Introduce her to some of my Tim’s friends.”

    Timothy Urqhart was a most respectable young man, educated at Harrow. Nevertheless Sir Noël cried: “What? Fat merchants?”

    “The younger ones is in general not fat. And it ain’t confined to the merchant classes: look at old Lowell.”

    “Er—true,” he said limply.

    “Well?” said Mrs Urqhart.

    He bit his lip. “It may do. At least it will give the Bath cabals time to find someone else to gossip about. Thank you, Aunt Betsy.”

    She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

    “Mm.” He frowned, staring at the floor. Mrs Urqhart just watched him placidly. Finally he looked up and said with a sigh: “You think I should offer, don’t you?”

    “I think as how your conscience won’t be easy until you has done it: yes, Noël. But I also think that if she is half the decent girl you say, she’ll turn you down flat.”

    “I—I shall not propose on that assumption! She must be made to see it is the only solution! These other half-measures will not do!”

    “I wouldn’t say as they would, neither. Not judgin’ by what I’ve heard in the Pump Room. And even Henry Kernohan, who ain’t a man what likes to judge anybody, said to me as it is a bad business.”

    “God,” said Noël, burying his face in his hands.

    Mrs Urqhart looked at him enigmatically and did not say anything at all.

    “Well?” said Johanna Kernohan eagerly on her guest’s return.

    Mrs Urqhart sank onto a sofa, shaking her head very slowly.  “Lord, don’t ask me if I done the right thing, Jo, me love, for I can’t tell you! It will depend on their two personalities.”

    “It always does, I think,” said Mrs Stewart shyly.

    Mrs Urqhart looked at her with great approval. “That’s right, Mrs Stewart deary, so it do.”

    “For God’s sake, Aunt Betsy!” said Dorian Kernohan in alarm. “What did you go and say to the fellow?”

    “Nothing that’ll do him any harm if he’s half the man as I hopes he is,” she said darkly. “Nor if the girl’s half what he claims. And let’s hope she is.”

    “What does he claim she is, or is that too much to ask?” said Mr Kernohan on a grim note that sat oddly with his pleasant, good-natured features.

    “To put it in a nutshell, me love, he claims she’s a lady.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Then she must turn him down!” cried Jo.

    Mrs Urqhart looked at her drily. “Exact.”

    Cherry was again in the forest-green dress. She went as white as the little lace frill at the neck when Delphie came into the schoolroom to say that Sir Noël was downstairs and desired to speak with her, but rose and said quietly: “Very well.”

    Little Nole chittered and clung to her neck. If Delphie had not seen for herself that Cherry was very agitated, this would have been a sure sign, for the little marmoset was very sensitive to moods. She took him gently from her and began to soothe him.

    Sir Noël was standing by the fireplace in the small salon. Cherry had not seen him before in the conventional Hessian boots, pantaloons and blue coat of town wear, for he normally rode out to Doubleday House. He seemed very much taller and grander, and distinctly unapproachable.

    “Good morning, Sir Noël,” she said in a tiny voice.

    “Good morning, Miss Chalfont. Please sit down.”

    “Thank you, I prefer to stand,” said Cherry.

    Noël was disconcerted. His mental picture of the interview had most definitely entailed her sitting on a sofa. Meekly. “Oh,” he said lamely.

    Cherry was incapable of speech, though she knew she should not let the silence lengthen. She just looked at him helplessly.

    “Er—Miss Chalfont, I think you cannot be unaware of the difficulties of your situation.”

    “Yes,” whispered Cherry.

    “Er—yes. I collect your mother has not been in contact with you?”

    “Um, no. She sent Colonel Amory that dreadful letter. And she sent back my note.”

    “Yes. And no other member of your family has been in touch with you?”

    Cherry looked puzzled. “Merry and June have.”

    “Not them!” he said impatiently. She flushed. “Er—no, I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “I mean, there has been no proposal to take you back into your mother’s house?”

    “No,” said Cherry, going very red. “And you don’t have to, so—so don’t say anything.”

    “I do have to,” he said grimly. “You must be aware that our names are being coupled in the town.”

    “Delphie says it will be a nine days’ wonder,” said Cherry faintly.

    “I fear she is wrong. The quizzes of provincial towns like Bath have long memories.”

    Cherry swallowed and admitted: “Yes.”

    “Well, I shall not beat about the bush,” he said, with an effort at a lighter tone. “I think you must see that you must accept my offer, Miss Chalfont. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

    “No,” said Cherry flatly.

    He reddened. “It is the only way out of this predicament, you must see that!”

    “I have never had much of a—a social life in Bath, in any case, and I don’t think that being shunned by—by the quizzes and—and everybody, will make much difference. I will not have to sit through dinner at the Graingers’ once every quarter, and that will be a relief.”

    “You are being ridiculous!” he said angrily.

    “No,” said Cherry faintly. “It’s true. I hardly went anywhere, especially these last few years. When Mrs Anthony Hallam brought Geraldine out she sometimes took me to parties, and that was pleasant, only then they went up to London, and—and I was not allowed to go.”

    “You mean Mrs Anthony invited you and your mother refused?” he said dazedly.

    Cherry nodded.

    “But why?” he cried.

    “I don’t know,” she said simply. “I think she could see that I wanted it terribly, more than anything I had ever wanted before, and—and so she refused.”

    He stared at her.

    “It has always been like that,” said Cherry with a sigh. “Ask Merry. She was the same when he wished to get engaged to June. She said she would not countenance it. There was no good reason, because the Witherspoons are very respectable, and her uncle is a retired dean. Though it was true that June did not have a large portion. But Merry was over age, so he said he would do without her permission and she could make a scandal if she pleased. So she, um, gave in.”

    “Good God,” he said numbly.

    “Yes. So you see,” said Cherry determinedly, “I won’t be missing out on anything, because I never had anything in the first place.”

    Even though this was said very matter-of-factly—or perhaps because it was—he found his eyes had filled with tears. “I see,” he said with difficulty.

    Cherry looked at him hopefully.

    Noël swallowed. “But it won’t do, my dear Miss Chalfont. I cannot leave you in such a predicament, when it is my fault you are in it in the first place.”

    “It is not!” she cried. “You did nothing wrong!”

    “I most certainly did. I should have insisted we knock up the Miss Careys, or—uh—” The name had slipped his memory and Noël felt crossly that he was making an idiot of himself, and that the girl was being unnecessarily obstinate and—Hell. “The people with the ginger brats. I should never have taken you up in my carriage.”

    “Anybody who knows you cannot possibly think you did anything wrong. Mrs Anthony Hallam wrote me very kindly and said she knew you were a man of honour.”

    “I’m flattered,” he said limply. He had not heretofore thought that Mrs Anthony thought very much of him at all. “Look, Miss Chalfont, Mrs Anthony is worth more than all the cats of Bath flung together and multiplied tenfold, but she is but one voice in—in a wilderness of gossip and spite!” he said, becoming heated. “Do you not see that both our reputations are in a way to being ruined?”

    “Buh-both?” she quavered.

    “Yes!” he said impatiently. “Old buffers like Lowell and—” Damnation, he had forgotten another name! “Um, that friend of his, the fellow who lives in Lymmond Square!”

    “Major-General Cadwallader?” said Cherry in a wondering voice.

    “Aye. They are already beginning to cut me in the streets—ask Richard if it is not so, the Cadwallader fellow walked straight past us only a couple of days back—and even that damned impertinent jackanapes Romney Hallam looked sideways at me only t’other day! Within no time it will be all over the clubs, and then my name really will be mud!”

    “The clubs?” said Cherry faintly.

    “Yes! In London!” he said impatiently.

    “Oh! Yes, I know: White’s Club.”

    “Yes,” he said, passing his hand over his carefully arranged shiny brown locks. “White’s Club. From which I am like to be blackballed, if this goes on!”

    “I see,” said Cherry slowly. “Do you belong to the F.H.C. as well? Geraldine Hallam, I mean Naseby, now, told me that the very grand gentlemen belong to that.”

    “Well, Sir Julian Naseby certainly does not, he is the most cack-handed—” He broke off. “Yes, Miss Chalfont,” he said wearily: “I am a member of the Four Horse Club. And of several other clubs and of several hunts. All of which may shortly be asking me to resign my membership, if we do not clear this mess up.”

    “Oh.” Cherry thought it over. “It seems exaggerated, to me,” she ventured.

    “It is NOT!” he shouted.

    She flinched.

    “I’m sorry,” he said tiredly. “But please believe me, it is a serious matter. Many people in Bath have close connexions in London and— Well!” He shrugged.

    “Yes. I hadn’t thought it could hurt you,” said Cherry in a tiny voice.

    Noël didn’t give a damn if he was asked to leave all his clubs—or at the moment, he felt as if he did not. Added to which he doubted if some minor Bath scandal would be enough to cause them to blackball him—though he had no doubt the gossip would fly thick and fast. But he could see it was the right tack to take with her. “Of course. Reputation is also important to a man, Miss Chalfont.”

    “Yes.”

    “Will you not reconsider?”

    Cherry swallowed.

    “Look, may we not sit down?”

    “What? Oh.”

    “On the sofa,” suggested Noël.

    Cherry sat down at one end of the sofa.

    He hesitated, then took the other end. “I think perhaps you do not understand my position. You would be doing me a favour by accepting my hand in marriage, Miss Chalfont—”

    “What a lie!” said Cherry in astonishment.

    Noël’s jaw sagged. “No!”

    “I’m a nobody and I haven’t any portion at all! And to be forced to offer for someone you don’t even know cannot be said to constitute being done a favour!”

    “No— Look, just listen!” Cherry looked at him obediently. “Er—for the last umpteen years my Mamma has been trying to marry me off to ever more unsuitable unfortunates. Flinging ’em at my head, as it were. Not to say nagging me unceasingly on the subject. Grandmamma has had a go also, though there ain’t that many eligibles in B—Bath,” he ended weakly, catching her eye. Cherry said nothing. “Um—well, to give you an example, Mamma’s latest is to invite the three Miss Hookams, who are our neighbours, to spend the Christmas and New Year period in my house without consulting me. Which is why I am here in Bath.”

    “I see.”

    “The whole thing in fact has become exceeding tedious; so you see how you would be doing me an immense favour if you agreed to accept my offer and so put an end to it all?”

    “No,” said Cherry baldly.

    He glared at her indignantly.

    “You are obviously in charge of your own life. A gentleman always is. What do you care what your mamma may do?”

    “I am not in charge of my own house, dammit!” said Noël, rather loudly.

    “Oh,” she said uncertainly.

    “I am quite fond of my home, as it happens,” he said coldly, “and I would quite like to spend a considerable amount of my time there. But Viola—that is my mother—has made it virtually uninhabitable since Papa died. What with her megrims and vapours, her complaints about nothing at all, and her ceaseless nagging on the topic of my bachelordom, not to mention the strings of ineligibles— Well! If I marry she will shift to the dower house, and there might be some hope of peace in the house!”

    “Yes,” said Cherry uncertainly. “But that is no reason for marrying me. I am also ineligible.” Suddenly his phrase “a pie-faced, fubsy little dame with no pretensions to either beauty or brains” rose up sharply clear in her mind. “And I don’t want to,” she said in a very low voice.

    His nostrils flared. “I see. I am sorry if I do not represent all that you may have hoped for in the way of a partner in life, Miss Chalfont, but I repeat: there seems very little option left to either of us, if we are to salvage our reputations.”

    “I cannot possibly. It would be tantamount to blackmail,” said Cherry faintly.

    It was of course the word that had sprung to the minds of himself, his relatives and his lawyer, but Noël retorted angrily: “Nonsense! –Look,” he added in a kinder tone as she merely looked into her lap, biting her lip: “What do you imagine you will do, if you don’t marry me? For your mother seems determined never to accept you back into your home.”

    “I thought I might live with Merry and June,” she said in a tiny voice.

    Noël hesitated. Then he said: “I see. But—forgive me—can they afford to support you, Miss Chalfont? As well as their own family, which must grow in the years to come?”

    “No,” said Cherry faintly. “They haven’t got much money. And I haven’t got any.”

    “No,” he said gently.

    “I—I thought I might take in sewing,” she said timidly.

    “What?”

    “I am quite competent. I altered this dress.”

    He stared blankly at it.

    “It was Delphie’s. Does it not look acceptable?”

    “What? Yes, of course it— You cannot possibly become a sewing woman!” he said, his voice rising.

    “Well, perhaps I could become a governess.”

    Noël took a deep breath. “Miss Chalfont, no respectable family is going to offer a young woman with a besmirched reputation a post as a governess.”

    “No,” she muttered, hanging her head.

    “You must accept my offer!” he said urgently.

    A tear dripped onto Cherry’s lap.

    “Don’t cry, for God’s sake!” he said, passing his hand over his curls. “Look, if I’m that repugnant to you, we can have an arrangement. You may live in the country or in town, as you please, and I’ll never come near you from one year’s end to the next, if you don’t wish for it. But at least accept my name!”

    She goggled at him, another tear slowly slipping down her cheek.

    “Well?” he said angrily, very flushed.

    “Of course you’re not repugnant to me!”

    Noël gave a mad laugh. “That’s a relief!”

    They stared at each other for a moment.

    “Look, Miss Chalfont, I realize we don’t know each other, but we could spend some time just coming to know each other when we are married. It would not need to be a true marriage,” he said, clearing his throat, “until—I mean, if and when—you should desire it.”

    Cherry swallowed. “That’s very generous of you. Only it is academic. I think you would be more ruined in the eyes of your world if you married a little nobody like me, than if you didn’t. And I don’t believe all those London clubs and things will take it as seriously as you suggest.”

    Noël of course did not, either. But he had begun to think he had persuaded her. He reddened, and suddenly covered her hand with his, squeezing it hard. “You must!” he said harshly.

    Cherry took a deep breath. Another tear slid down her cheek but she looked him in the face and said: “Sir Noël, I have to say that—that if you bully me into agreeing to something I don’t want, I’ll give in, because I—I cannot stand up to bullying. But afterwards I’ll—I’ll run away. Behind your back.”

    His nostrils flared again. Cherry flinched. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “I was not trying to bully you, merely to persuade you to see that you have no option.”

    “I have the option of refusing. And I must refuse. I think it would be duh—disastrous for you.”

    Noël released her hand. He chewed on his lip, staring bleakly in front of him.

     Cherry stared into her lap again. Further tears slid down her cheeks.

    Not unnaturally the baronet assumed that she was crying because of the unfortunate position she was in. He became more determined than ever to persuade her to agree with his point of view.

    Cherry, however, was not weeping because of that. It was partly the strain of the interview but partly also the fact that she had suddenly been swept by an overwhelming desire to say “Yes” to him. Her heart pounded and she gripped her hands tightly together, not daring to look at him again in case she weakened and did say “Yes.”

    Noël had had no intention whatsoever of mentioning Aunt Betsy’s underhand scheme. He found, however, that it had now come back to him in full force. Not as a possible real option, but— Could he make use of it?

    “Listen, Miss Chalfont,” he said slowly. “It seems to me that one of the major hurdles we have to overcome is the attitude your mother has taken.”

    “Um—ye-es. She won’t give in: she never does, if she’s made her mind up.”

    “No. Er, what I am going to suggest may seem unprincipled, but—well, I think it might have at least the desired result of restoring your reputation in Bath and placating your mother.”

    “Nothing will.”

    “I think this will. Suppose that we agree to become engaged— No, hear me out,” he said, as she opened her mouth to object. “We become engaged but between ourselves we have a pact that after a suitable cooling-off period we shall quietly break it off. The fuss will have died down once our engagement is announced and we have left Bath, your mother will be mollified, and— Well? You see? You may quietly return at your leisure.”

    Cherry did not think that her mother would accept her into her house if she returned quietly to Bath after having jilted Sir Noël Amory. She was about to say so when it struck her that if she accepted his offer no-one could say he had not done the honourable thing! His reputation would be saved and he could stop worrying! And then when she had broken it off, he could go back to his fashionable London life and his clubs without a qualm. And it would not matter what happened to her; and in any case she would be no worse off than if she turned him down now.

    “Do you absolutely promise we can break it off?”

    “Most certainly. We can put it in writing, if you wish,” he said, deciding to suppress all mention of settlements.

    “No! Of course not! I trust you, sir!”

    “Do you?” he said wryly. “Mm. Well, what do you think?”

    She swallowed. “Of course it—it is not precisely honest.”

    “No. The whole situation is not particularly honest, but then, perhaps we should admit that two wrongs cannot make a right.”

    She frowned over it. “In this case, I think they might. Um—what do you mean, once we have left Bath?”

    “What?”

    “You said,” said Cherry timidly, going very pink: “that once our engagement is announced and we have left Bath, Mother will be mollified and the—the fuss will die down.”

    “Oh! Er—well, I envisage you may stay with my dear Aunt Betsy for a while, Miss Chalfont, in order to lend credibility to the deception, and—er—perhaps come on down to Devon, to Thevenard Manor.”

    “To your home? Deceive your mamma?” she gasped in horror.

    “Put it this way, Miss Chalfont. Since Viola has another candidate entirely in mind, she will inevitably feel her nose to have been put out of joint when I announce our engagement. Then, when we break it off, can she fail to be pleased?” He raised his eyebrows, looking bland.

    “Ooh!” said Cherry in awe. “How completely Machiavellian you are, Sir Noël!”

    If she could think that, thought Noël drily, she had very clearly never encountered anything like Betsy Urqhart in her life. The which was just as well, for then perhaps she might begin to suspect that underneath his seemingly cunning plot lay a much more Machiavellian scheme. For of course his real intention was to allow her to become accustomed to the idea of becoming his wife, introduce her to all his friends and relatives as his affianced wife—get Viola to hold a large ball for all the rumty-tum oddments of neighbours and second cousins, Viola would adore that, she could play the lady of the manor to her heart’s content—and then point out that as they had gone this far without particular difficulty, there was no reason they should break the engagement off at all! While, on the contrary, there was every reason against breaking it off, not the least being considerable social embarrassment. Words to that effect, at any rate. Much more tactfully, of course.

    Noël Amory had been in charge of his family’s affairs for about ten years now, and of course in his Army career he had been accustomed to command and be obeyed: it did not cross his mind that if little Miss Chalfont could steadily oppose him now, she could do so in the future. He was used to having his own way, he knew the life he and his friends lived to be a pleasant and attractive one, he knew that the future Lady Amory’s position in society would be a most agreeable one and, as a final inducement—though to give him his due he did not particularly dwell on this point—he knew himself to have considerable powers of both attraction and persuasion. He did not think that after a six-months’ engagement he would fail to get a genuine “Yes” out of Miss Chalfont.

    He laughed a little at her “Machiavellian” accusation, smiled into her eyes and said in a teasing voice: “Well, then?”

    “Oh!” she said, becoming flustered. “Well, I— Well, it does seem the logical plan, when you put it like that... Oh, dear!”

    Noël smiled very much. He took both her hands in his and said gently, squeezing them just a little bit: “It will be rather fun, you know, to cock a snook at all the Bath quizzes! And it will most definitely pull us both out of this horrid pickle! Do say yes!”

    Cherry became even more flustered, blushing terrifically, trying to pull her hands away, finding she could not, looking away, looking back, looking away again and finally saying: “Oh! Well, I—”

    His grandmamma had been quite wrong about Noël’s reaction to fluster in the case of Cherry Chalfont. He was very tickled, not a little flattered, and felt his pulses quicken a little as he held onto her hands. “Come along: say yes!” he said, laughing a little.

    “Oh!” said Cherry again, peeping at him. “Well, I—Well, it is very wicked and underhand, but I suppose it—it would certainly... Well, yes,” she said weakly.

    He smiled and got up. “Splendid! Shall we break the good news to Richard and Delphie?” he said smoothly.

    Cherry stood up numbly. “Horrors! We shall have to deceive them!”

    Noël rather thought he might tell Richard and Delphie the truth. And he would certainly tell Aunt Betsy. But he replied smoothly: “We shall have to deceive them all. But you have given your word: I hope you are not about to go back on it?”

    Cherry could see he was very pleased with himself and rather excited. She did not quite understand, for she was entirely unused to gentlemen, that it was because he had got his own way. She looked at him, with the smile on his lips and his lovely shiny curls all ruffled and his beautiful London clothes, and thought with a sinking feeling how dreadful it would be for him to be asked to resign from his clubs and not allowed to drive his four horses or to go hunting. –Having, of course, no real conception of what being a member of these institutions constituted, but nevertheless having a pretty fair general grasp of what it would be to be a social outcast.

    “No, I shall not go back on it,” she said grimly.

    Colonel and Mrs Amory having received the news with unconcealed relief, Cherry then accepted with equal relief Delphie’s suggestion that as she had been under a strain perhaps she would like to come upstairs and lie down for little.

    The Colonel closed the door after them. “That,” he noted grimly, “did not look to me like a young woman who has accepted an offer of marriage with gladness and gratitude, Noël.”

    “Er—she has accepted; more or less! I’ll tell you and Delphie it all, dear fellow,”

    Delphie was down again in a few minutes, reporting that Cherry was laid down on her bed and looked as if she would fall asleep.

    “Noël, or so I apprehend, has something further to report to us,” said her husband drily.

    Noël cleared his throat. “Er—well, Aunt Betsy suggested—”

    “WHAT?” shouted his uncle.

    “Oh, I see she mentioned it to you,” he said airily.

    “Not only that: Delphie had the same outrageous idea.”

    “I see!” said Noël with a laugh. “Well, Miss Chalfont was resisting like fury, y’see. So I thought of Aunt Betsy’s alternative. The points that her mother would be mollified and Bath gossip would die down, as much as that of salvaging the rags of my reputation, seemed to carry the day.”

    “Noël, this is beyond anything!” said Richard angrily.

    “No, no: I haven’t finished. She believes it is only a sham engagement, but of course I don’t intend any such thing!”

    “Huzza!” cried Delphie.

    “Ssh,” said her husband, frowning. “Noël, you mean to say that you have—have tricked the girl into agreeing?”

    He shrugged. “Well, you could put it that way, if you like. But it is for her own good. –Oh, in the unlikely event that we find we abominate each other after six months or so, of course I shall permit her to break it off. But I don’t envisage that. I think she will find, on the contrary, that—well, that we may be quite comfortable together.”

    The Colonel was still frowning over it. “I don’t like it.”

    “Do you doubt my ability to persuade her after a six-months’ engagement that we should marry after all?” he drawled.

    “That was quite insufferable!” said his uncle angrily.

    “I think he’s right, though,” said Delphie uncertainly. “Poor Cherry will be putty in his hands. But Noël, is it fair on her? I mean, if you—if you don’t love her?”

    He shrugged. “We shall rub along tolerably together. Why not? Many marriages are arranged.”

    Delphie bit her lip.

    “Look, she wouldn’t agree otherwise!” he said, flushing. “She seemed prepared to go to the brother and become a damned sewing woman in order to eke out their meagre income!”

    “That would not do, of course,” said Richard immediately.

    Delphie did not think it would be so dreadful as all that. Of course it could not compare to being married to a man who loved you. But what if Noël never did fall in love with poor little Cherry? A loveless marriage? That would be terrible, indeed. No doubt many young women of robuster temperament would sustain it with equanimity. But Cherry was not that sort of young woman. But then, on the other hand, it was perhaps not hopeless, for Noël was clearly very disturbed at the idea of Cherry reduced to taking in sewing.

    “No,” she said slowly. “Noël, my dear, I think you must promise us that if at the end of—did you say six months? Yes, well, if at the end of the engagement period, you find you cannot care for Cherry, you will let her go, if she wishes it.”

    “Yes,” said Richard tightly.

    “Of course,” replied his nephew easily. “But there will be no question of her wishing it! And in any case I do not dislike her. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall not stay for tea. I must see Hawke, and arrange to notify Mrs Chalfont of our decision.”

    Colonel and Mrs Amory did not attempt to detain him.

    “Can it work?” said Delphie fearfully to her husband.

    The Colonel shook his head slowly. “He seems very pleased with himself.”

    “But Richard, that is only because he has got his own way!” she cried.

    The Colonel thought so, too. He sighed. “Yes. Well, we can but wait and hope, my love.”

    “I think she does affect him, you know.”

    He grimaced. “Mm.”

    “He—he must fall in love with her! He cannot overlook something so sweet when it is right under his nose!” said Delphie fiercely.

    Colonel Amory did not point out that it would be just like Noël to do so, especially if he believed she was already, not to put too fine a point upon it, his chattel. “Let us hope so,” he said grimly.