Dorothy Elbury – A Marriageable Miss (страница 3)
Picking up his glass, he strode over to the window and stared pensively across the wide expanse of fresh green lawn that swept down to the river, which separated Westpark from its parent estate of Markfield—so very different from the baked and arid plains of the Iberian Peninsula where he had spent much of the past six years. The lush green landscapes of the English countryside were, as he knew, entirely dependent upon the weather, rainfall in particular. Just as rain could affect the outcome of a battle, so also could it affect the success of a harvest. He was well aware that his plans to utilise the returns from the forthcoming harvest to settle his outstanding bills lay very much at the mercy of the weather. And, given that they were still only in April, he was also shrewd enough to recognise that some of his creditors might be less than willing to hold out until August. Meanwhile, just the rumour of a possible alliance with a wealthy spouse could be all that was needed to deter further financial harassment. It would certainly make good sense to have, as it were, a second line of defence. After all, he then reasoned, it should not be too difficult to bring any such temporary relationship to a close, since it appeared that the female in question was merely out to gain herself a title and he was quite certain that there were any number of other fellows around who would be more than happy to fulfil that requirement.
As a Field Officer he had been used to choosing courses of action based on the information to hand and when timing was of the essence.
There was little doubt that this present situation required such an instant decision.
Draining his glass in one swift gulp, he swung round to face his grandmother.
‘Very well, you may go and see your Mr Wheatley and inform him that I’m willing to throw my hat into his ring.’
‘Do come away from the window, Lottie, I beg of you,’ implored Helena. ‘It is not at all seemly to be seen twitching at the curtains in that manner!’
‘But are you not in the least bit interested in seeing what he looks like?’ queried her cousin Charlotte, reluctantly turning away from her self-appointed vigil at the window that over-looked the front doorstep.
‘Not in the slightest,’ returned Helena, with a weary sigh. ‘He will be much the same as all the others—rude, conceited and feigning an interest in me simply in order to get his hands on my dowry. If it were not for the fact that it upsets Papa so, I should have refused to go through this charade again. He seems incapable of understanding how very demeaning it is for me.’
As she watched Helena continue to ply her needle in silence, Lottie could not help but feel a certain sympathy for her cousin’s unusual plight. The Wheatleys’ runaway marriage had left their daughter stranded between the two distinctly separate worlds of upper and middle class. The young men of her father’s acquaintance considered her too far above their touch and those who moved in the circle on which her mother had turned her back all those years ago were not of a mind to consider the girl at all. Not until Mr Wheatley had, by word of mouth, advertised his present intention, that was, and, as Lottie well knew, this obsession of his had developed only as a direct result of dear Aunt Louisa’s death.
‘Perhaps I could try talking to him,’ she offered hesitantly. ‘If I explained how very much you have taken against the whole idea since that unpleasant business with Lord Barrington—’
‘No, Lottie! Please do not!’ urged Helena, her clear blue eyes widening with concern. ‘Papa got into such a dreadful state over that incident and you know that Doctor Redfern said that it was not good for him to be upset—his heart will simply not stand up to another attack.’
‘But what will you do this time?’ asked her cousin, perplexed.
An impish smile spread over Helena’s attractive features. ‘Oh, have no fear,’ she replied complacently. ‘I shall be sure to think of something. Fortunately, these town dandies—the ones with whom I have come into contact, anyway—hardly seem to be blessed with much in the way of intelligence, so it does not take a genius to find a dozen ways to send them packing!’
‘It is a good thing Uncle Giles does not realise what a minx his daughter is turning into,’ chuckled Lottie, as she resumed her seat at the window and picked up her book.
‘I just wish that I could persuade him that I have no desire to wed,’ sighed her cousin. ‘It is not as though I have any need to find a husband but, ever since Jason’s death and then poor dear Mama following him so soon after, Papa has had this bee in his bonnet about failing to give me my rightful place in society. I ask you! As though you and I could not rub along very nicely together if only he would allow us to do so!’
And, as the well-remembered image of her teasingly light-hearted elder brother once more invaded her thoughts, Helena’s eyes grew moist. Just four short years had passed since Jason had gone off to war, so handsome in his scarlet regimentals and so full of confidence. Sadly, a mere six months later, he had been shipped home so grievously wounded that, even with his mother’s devoted care, there was never any real chance of his recovery and, although he had clung courageously to life for several weeks, he had eventually slipped away.
Mrs Wheatley’s careless disregard for her own health during her son’s illness had resulted in her contracting the bout of pneumonia from which she had never recovered. The shock of his wife’s death, less than a year after that of their beloved son, had exacerbated Mr Wheatley’s prevailing heart condition, obliging him to take to his bed on more than one occasion since her passing.
From Helena’s point of view, these enforced periods of rest had enabled her father to spend rather too much time dwelling upon what he considered to be an unacceptable uncertainty regarding his remaining child’s future. His late wife’s ostracism from her social circle had always weighed heavily with him, and he had continually held himself to blame, despite Mrs Wheatley’s laughing insistence that, having happily relinquished her own title all those years ago, such things mattered not a jot to her. However, now that Helena was all that he had left in the world, Mr Wheatley was determined to do his utmost to—as he saw it—retrieve the situation for her sake.
Recognising that, after the death of her mother, Helena would be in need of a female companion and disliking the idea of bringing a stranger into his house, Mr Wheatley had invited his sister’s eldest daughter, Charlotte, to make her home with them. Lottie, being one of a family of seven children, had been more than delighted to accept her uncle’s offer, for with it had come the promise of a room of her own and a generous quarterly allowance, as well as an opportunity to move into a social circle that, whilst not being of the highest, was certainly considerably removed from that of her own country-vicarage upbringing.
However, despite being more than two years older than Helena, Lottie lacked her cousin’s fine judgement and presence of mind, possibly due in part to the fact that she had not had the benefit of the highly expensive schooling that the younger girl had received and, although Helena loved her dearly, she was frequently obliged to take Lottie gently to task in order to curb her somewhat impulsive behaviour.
Disregarding Helena’s constant pleadings that she had no wish to marry into high society and was perfectly happy to remain as she was, Mr Wheatley, concerned that his daughter had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two without so much as a single suitable offer, had made up his mind to take matters into his own hands. In reaching this conclusion, it had pleased him to ignore several tentative proposals he had received from various of his city acquaintances on their sons’ behalves since, despite his own relatively humble beginnings in the world of commerce, his aspirations for both of his offspring had always been somewhat more high-flown. Hence his current ambition to secure his daughter’s elevation.
Observing that her cousin was, once more, deeply absorbed in her sewing, Lottie was unable to resist taking the occasional quick peek out of the window along the path that led to the front gate, in the hope of catching sight of this new contender for Helena’s hand. Being an inveterate reader of romantic novels, she had developed the notion that it was simply a matter of time before Mr Right would ride out of the blue and capture her beloved cousin’s heart. For, quite apart from the fact that Helena was possessed of the most generous of natures and—as a result of having lost her brother in so tragic a manner—given to devoting much of her free time to the welfare of the many crippled or displaced soldiers who roamed the capital daily, she was, without doubt, an extremely attractive young woman. With shining russet-brown curls that framed the creamy complexion of her face, expressive violet-blue eyes and the neatest of noses, she was, in her cousin’s eyes at least, quite without equal. Lottie, although she had inherited her mother’s light-hearted and easygoing personality, had also been, somewhat unfortunately perhaps, blessed with her father’s somewhat Romanesque features and, well aware that she herself lacked the physical attributes of her storybook heroines, had long ago given up any thoughts of meeting her own Prince Charming. Instead, finding herself not entirely unsympathetic towards her uncle’s attitude regarding his daughter’s continued single state, she was quite content to spend a good deal of her time indulging in her own private fantasy that, any day now, the ultimate