Page 5 of A Gentleman’s Offer

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Meg met Sir Dominic, as they had arranged, a little way inside the gates of Hyde Park, by a stand of mature trees. She hadn’t been here, or anywhere else in London, for five years, of course, and her childhood memories of the place had inevitably faded, but his instructions had been clear and Robert had known exactly where he meant. It was still early – a cool, clear morning with the promise of heat to come, and though there were other riders about, mostly men, alone or in pairs, nobody seemed inclined to approach them, and so they had a certain measure of privacy. Robert kept a discreet distance, his face impassive, after he’d saluted Sir Dominic politely.

Their horses were restive on this fine day, and so they decided to ride a little before dismounting to talk. Sir Dominic was mounted on a glossy black stallion, and Meg on the well-mannered bay gelding that her sister generally rode. She’d brought few clothes to London in her haste and anxiety, and so was wearing Maria’s riding habit, which fitted her snugly enough; it was a dashing confection in her sister’s favourite blue, with a great deal of military lacing and a daring cap to match. She thought, from the warm expression in Sir Dominic’s eyes, that the ensemble must become her – but that was of no significance, of course. No doubt he had liked Maria as much, if he’d seen her in it.

He said, after they’d trotted together in silence for a while, ‘You must know that I have a great many questions.’

She shook her head in frustration. She had the perilous sense of time speeding by while she did nothing, as in a fever dream of running with desperate haste and getting nowhere. ‘I daresay you do. But are they relevant? I know my family is most odd, and I don’t mind telling you about it if you care to know, but can any of that really matter now?’

‘Perhaps not; it is too soon to say. You’ve been corresponding regularly with your sister, I take it, since you have been living apart?’ She nodded assent. ‘But you don’t have the least idea where she might be, or even why she’s gone, apart from the understandable assumption that she’s fled because the idea of marrying me is repugnant to her?’

Even in her preoccupation, she felt rather sorry for him. If he really had done nothing wrong, as seemed to be the case, this must all be a great shock. ‘She didn’t tell me so, you understand – or anybody else, as far as I know. She only said you’d offered for her, with our father’s approval, and that she’d accepted. She said you seemed very agreeable.’ Meg looked across at him, and found that his mouth was twisted into a wry smile; she could hardly wonder at it, so very faint was the praise. She’d written back, saying as much, asking if her sister was sure she wanted to do this serious and irrevocable thing: to commit herself for life to a man she found merely agreeable. Maria hadn’t answered her letter but had instead – run away. Which was an unequivocal answer in itself, she supposed.

‘Agreeable,’ he repeated, as though the word tasted ill in his mouth. ‘Well, obviously not all that agreeable, since the undeniable fact is that she’s gone. I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t wait a little longer and leave me at the altar – but I wish she’d talked to me, instead of this. I must blame myself, for not conveying to her the fact that she might repose her trust in me and tell me of her qualms. Her natural qualms at such a serious change in life. How could I expect her to know she might depend on me, otherwise?’

‘Might she?’ Might I? Meg wondered. He still remained uncommitted, as far as she could see, for all his fine words and his air of sympathetic understanding. ‘Why did you offer for her?’ she asked abruptly, looking across at him where he rode by her side. He didn’t look like a fortune hunter, he looked more like someone who’d be hunted – but what did she know? She must admit that most of her knowledge of the world came from books, and she could not help but recall how easily Miss Elizabeth Bennet, for example, like the heiress Miss Darcy before her, had been deceived by Captain Wickham’s plausible charm. Might this gentleman be another such? ‘Was it her portion that attracted you? Our grandmother left all her fortune to my father’s eldest daughter in her will, and I believe it to be very large. You might as well tell me, you know, if that’s the reason. I expect,’ she said kindly, ‘that you’re very expensive, so I can quite see why you might wish, or even need, to marry an heiress like Maria.’

He laughed, not offended, as Meg realised rather belatedly he might easily have been, but apparently genuinely amused. ‘I am indeed extremely expensive – do you imagine that looking as well as this comes cheaply? – but I assure you, I am perfectly able to sustain my outgoings, and to support a wife, for that matter. I am a wealthy man, Miss Margaret, and I promise you that I have not the least interest in your sister’s fortune. I don’t – didn’t – intend to touch a penny of it, in fact. It was to be put in trust for her, and for our future children. I could show you the written marriage settlements, if you don’t believe me.’

‘Oh,’ she said, rather at a loss. And then, ‘Your children, of course – I expect you need an heir. You are quite old, I suppose.’ And then she let go of the reins for a moment and clamped one gloved hand over her mouth. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’ If Meg had been writing such a scene, she would never have had her heroine blurt out such a shockingly gauche thing to any gentleman.

He was still laughing rather ruefully. ‘Because it’s true? I’m nine and twenty, if that seems old to you, chit of a girl that you are, and yes, my mother has made it quite plain to me that it is time I should think about setting up my nursery. She told me, in fact, that this match was made years ago between your father and mine. No more eligible young lady than your sister could possibly exist, she informs me.’

That didn’t seem like much of a reason. ‘So you asked Maria to marry you because your mother told you to.’

His mouth quirked again, as if in self-disgust. ‘And it was my father’s dying wish, don’t forget. Perhaps it really was, though he never told me so. My mother kindly reminded me that I was nothing more than a callow young fool when he died, not fit to be trusted with serious topics. Filial obedience is a virtue, we are told. I’m certainly told as much, with tedious frequency.’

‘Do you always do what your mama tells you? I find that very hard to believe.’ They were straying far from the topic at hand, Meg was aware, and she was hardly being persuasive, pushing him like this, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She found him oddly fascinating, probably because she might put him in a story. That must be it.

‘Practically never, when it comes to unimportant things. But she is so far right in that I must marry somebody, you know. Why not your sister?’

She turned her head as she rode and stared at him. What an extraordinary way to make what must surely be one of the most important decisions in one’s life. ‘I think you’re very strange.’

He was smiling wryly now. ‘I dare say you do, but I could return the compliment. For my part, I don’t think anyone whose father – whose whole family – is so deeply peculiar has any right at all to cast aspersions on anybody else. You appear reasonably normal to me now, compared with the rest of them, but then we have only just met. The true depth of your oddness is yet to be revealed to me, no doubt. But I hope at least we’ve established to your satisfaction that for my part I don’t know a single thing that can help. At the moment, it seems as though I can’t be any sort of help at all. Therefore I must ask you again to tell me what you know. There may be some detail that is important. For instance, why did you not make your come-out with your sister this year, as one might have expected?’

She rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘It’s completely irrelevant and we’re wasting time, but very well – quite simply, my father wouldn’t countenance it. He certainly wouldn’t pay for it. I didn’t mind, because I didn’t want to attend the London Season particularly, or go to lots of silly parties, except that I would have been able to spend time with Maria. I would have liked that. I miss her.’ She was aware that her voice betrayed her wistfulness; there didn’t seem to be any way to prevent it, but at least he didn’t comment.

‘You’re completely estranged from Lord Nightingale?’

‘I suppose so. Yes. When my mother finally told him that she was leaving him, he told her she could go alone or take me – he really didn’t care – but he wouldn’t allow her to take Maria, his beloved mother’s heiress. Because of what he said, Mama was faced with a terrible choice. And already at thirteen I’d begun arguing with him, and causing the most frightful scenes, while Maria appears to be much meeker and never does. So in the end Mama thought it would be better for me to live apart from him, with her, lest he crush me with his disapproval, as he had tried so hard to crush her. She hated separating me from my sister, and she hated leaving Maria too – she has apologised to us for it a hundred times – but she felt it would be bad for me, and also for my relationship with Maria, for that matter: to stay and be so disregarded, and always at odds with him, and have her goodness and my wickedness thrown in my face constantly.’

‘Does he care for her so very greatly, then? I didn’t get that impression when I spoke with him, I must admit.’

‘I don’t believe so. I’m not sure he cares for anyone living – not my aunt, and not even my half-brother Francis, his son and heir. Nor does Maria care for him, to judge by her letters. But she never disagrees with him or defies him, just smiles and says, “Of course, Papa. Just as you say, sir.” No wonder he likes it and says it reminds him of his dear gentle little sister, who was supposedly a perfect pattern-card of virtue. My mother certainly never behaved in such a fashion, any more than I did. They used to fight terribly.’

‘You said that she “appears to be” meek. Is she, genuinely? I’m sure you can see why I ask.’

‘I don’t think she is. She’s a daydreamer, she lives in her own head most of the time, but I’ve always believed, and Mama has too, that underneath it all she’s strong and determined. It’s just that she rarely shows it to the world.’

‘So running away from a marriage that was distasteful to her – rather than speaking up and making her objections plain and facing all the disagreeable consequences – would be quite in keeping with her character?’

‘Yes, I believe it would. I don’t think for a moment that she’d ever have allowed herself to be forced into marrying you, you know, if she truly doesn’t want to.’

‘What a comfort that must be to us all, and particularly me,’ he said drily.

They’d slowed to a walk, the horses having trotted off their fidgets, and by common consent they dismounted, Meg sliding from the saddle with an agility that denied the least need for Sir Dominic’s assistance. They were back under the trees again now, and Meg sat down on the grass – which was probably something a correct young lady wouldn’t do, for fear of dirtying her habit, but she had more important things to worry about just now – and looked up at him, frowning. She needed to involve him, to make him care, for she could see that at the moment he really didn’t; he was just somewhat interested, which might be more enthusiasm than he usually showed for anything much, lazy, cool and exquisite as he was, but still wasn’t enough. This was her sister’s life at stake, not the cut of a waistcoat or a lapel. ‘She took clothes with her,’ she told him with some association of thought. ‘Not all of them, of course, but more than a gown or two. Her maid has shown me the gaps in her wardrobe. She packed her hairbrushes, too, and all manner of small personal things. It was well-planned in advance, obviously. There was no disorder or confusion among her possessions, nor any sign of haste or panic. And – I suppose it must be some consolation, and I cling to it – she definitely can’t have been taken against her will. I’m not expecting you to rescue her from some gang of kidnappers, or anything of that nature.’

He didn’t engage with that. ‘The servants knew nothing of her departure?’

‘Not a thing. Her maid, Hannah, is our old nurse. My mama made sure she stayed with Maria to support her and keep her safe. She, any of them, for that matter, would surely have tried to stop her, to ask her why, if she’d had the least notion anything was wrong. They’ve all told me as much. They suspected nothing, and she must have slipped away with the greatest secrecy.’

‘Does she have friends whose aid she might seek, or are there any servants who have left your father’s employ that she might conceivably go to for aid and shelter? I can’t imagine from all you’ve said that Lord Nightingale is the easiest of masters. There must be people who have quit his household in recent years and who might be willing to help her.’

Meg smiled up at him approvingly. These were good, solid questions, she thought – it was plain that Sir Dominic, despite his fashionably languid appearance, was far from stupid and could be most useful, if she could draw him in. ‘Yes, to both questions. She went to school for the last five years, a very correct seminary that prepares ladies for their come-out. Accomplishments, you know the sort of thing. The back board, and watercolours, and singing sickly songs in Italian while looking sweetly pretty. My mother had been teaching us herself before she and I left, and continued to teach me, but not that sort of nonsense. You see, my father doesn’t approve of extensive and serious education for women.’ She was pleased to see him shake his head in disapprobation of her parent’s old-fashioned views; he could hardly care what she thought of him, so he must be sincere. ‘He believes that my mama’s bluestocking ways were what made her so very unsatisfactory as a wife, and therefore the breakdown of their marriage, and my quarrelsome nature too, had to be her fault. Nothing to do with the fact that he’s utterly selfish and quite impossible to live with.’

‘Why am I not surprised to hear any of this?’

She smiled briefly in acknowledgement. ‘So yes, Maria went to school, and I recall from her letters that she made a number of friends there, many of whom made their debut this year with her. I know their names, and so do Hannah and my aunt. But I can’t very well go around asking them questions about her, or about where she is now, can I? That’s partly why I need your help so desperately.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘Because I’m supposed to be her!’