Page 57 of A Winter’s Romance
N ow, before his startled audience in the kitchen, the Earl came forward in two long strides and picked up the knife she had dropped.
“I collect that unfortunate cabbage was the stand-in for my head,” he said, handing it to her. “You seem to have been quite ruthless.”
Elisabeth looked at the vegetable that lay in shreds upon the board, then at him, and burst into laughter. “Yes,” she said. “I was really very angry, but I’m better now.”
“I’m glad,” he said, smiling at her, “because I have just made what I think will be a lifelong enemy of another woman. It would be careless of me to lose the affection of two in one day. Anthea Brookstone invited me to their home for dinner, assuring me it would be much better than the one I would get here. But I refused, saying I was coming to dine with you. She was insistent, but I clung to my plan and made her quite cross. You see, my dear Elisabeth, as I told her, I admire you, and may, in fact, even be in love with you.”
“Oh,” said Elisabeth, her color rising, “I can see why she might have been quite cross. But you may change your mind after you taste the pie and the cabbage. Oh, and the potatoes. They look like misshapen pebbles.”
“My absolute favorite sort.”
The Earl of Northney put his arms around Elisabeth Wilberforce, still clad in her voluminous apron and her hair curling wildly in the steam from the potatoes. Then he thought again and broke away to take the knife from her hands and lay it on the table.
“Just to be sure,” he said, and kissed her.
“Yes,” he said, when they broke apart, “I was right. I am in love with you. You will marry me, won’t you?”
“Only if Papa may live with us and I never have to chop cabbage again.”
“I am delighted with the first and agree wholeheartedly with the second. I shall never be able to look at the vegetable again without feeling distinctly insecure. That is to say,” he turned to Elisabeth’s father, “if you permit my marrying your daughter, sir?”
“If you really need my permission, my lord,” replied the old man, who once again was more acute than anyone realized, “you’re not the man I thought you were.”
Elisabeth ran and hugged her father, then turned to James.
“Yes, Lord Northney,” she said, blushing a little, “I will marry you. But at this moment I must get the dinner on the table.”
The men sat down and the wretched meal was served. Its poor preparation made no difference, however, since James and Elisabeth, smiling stupidly at each other, hardly tasted a mouthful.
They had just finished when a sharp knock came at the cottage door.
“Oh Lord!” said Elisabeth, coming to earth with a bump, “It’s the curate! Now we are in the basket!”
“Not a bit of it,” said the Earl. “Leave it to me. Stay where you are.” He went to the door and flung it open.
“Come in, come in,” he said to a bewildered Mr. Pounds, who had expected Elisabeth, but found himself facing the tall, commanding stranger he vaguely remembered from the night before. “How kind of you to be the first to congratulate us!” He extended his hand, which from force of habit, the curate took.
“C…congratulate you?” he stammered.
“Yes, Miss Wilberforce has just now agreed to become my wife, though how you knew about it so fast is beyond me. Divine intervention, no doubt.”
“W…wife? B…but…”
“Of course! But you hoped to marry her! In the ecclesiastical sense, of course. That is to say, officiate at her wedding. But, my dear sir, you may still do so. At least, the Bishop will want to conduct the ceremony, but I hope you will agree to be co-officiant. This falls well, for I believe a nice living in my gift has just become available. In Richmond. A very pleasant place. I am Northney, you know. The Earl.”
The curate, his head swimming from the swift passage of his ideas from marrying Elisabeth himself, to officiating at her wedding with a Bishop and taking up a post in one of the most desirable parishes in the kingdom, nodded dumbly.
“We can settle the details later, but thank you again for being the first to wish us joy. ”
He ushered the man inexorably to the door. The whole interview, if such it could be called, since one participant had scarcely spoken a word, had taken less than five minutes.
Elisabeth had brought her hand to her mouth, barely able to contain her giggles, and as the door closed behind the bewildered curate, she burst into laughter. “Oh, James! That was priceless.” She imitated his voice, “‘I am Northney, you know. The Earl.’ You sounded so pompous!”
Then she sobered up. “Now I remember! When you arrived, you hesitated before saying your name. I thought it was a bit odd at the time, but I see now you were trying to decide what to call yourself.”
“Yes, I was. You see, in London and at our places in the country I never have to tell anyone my name. They know me and I know them. Fortescue is the family name, but since my father died no one has called me that. My close friends call me James or Jim and the not so close call me Northney. Even when I go abroad I see the same people. I’ve never ventured outside the same group. It’s idiotic. I didn’t want to give you my title. As you say, it’s unbearably pompous. When you first called me Mr. Fortescue it sounded odd to my ears, but by then it would have been even worse to tell you I’m not Mister anything. Wilf tried to say something, but I shut him up. I’m sorry. Just call me James and we can both be happy.”
“So it wasn’t because you thought we were so beneath you? I slaughtered the potatoes and cabbage for nothing?”
James laughed. “Of course not! I thought you adorable with the smudge on your face. Then I found you were amazingly kind and hospitable. You are lovely, you know, inside and out, especially wearing an apron and with your curls springing loose from their bands. Like now.”
Elisabeth looked down at herself. “Oh, I forgot to take off my apron before sitting down!” she cried. “And I know my hair is a mess. I just can’t manage it. How am I ever going to learn to be a Countess?”
“I don’t want you to learn. I want you to be just as you are. Your curls can do what they like. The only thing you have to manage is me. And since I saw you with that knife, I know you can.”
The Earl took his wife-to-be in his arms and was kissing her again when there was an eruption in the kitchen and Wilf appeared.
“Sorry to interrupt yer kissin’ and cuddlin’, me lord,” he said “but I went to the wheelwright’s like you said. But seein’ as you wasn’t there, I thought you’d a-gone wiv that Anthea, so I walks over there along o’ Amy, ‘er maid. I ‘ung around a bit but then Amy come down and told me ‘er mistress was mad as fire, throwin’ ‘er togs all over the place, she was. Yellin’ that you was goin’ t’ marry ‘er but changed yer mind.”
“I was never going to marry her. I made her no promises and told her no lies. In fact, I’m going to marry Miss Wilberforce.”
“Thank Gawd! She’s a bang-up mort and no mistake.”
“I’m glad she meets with your approval,” said his lordship dryly.
“Yer not the only one lookin’ to be under the cat’s paw,” said Wilf, ignoring him. “I don’t say as ‘ow I might not be joinin’ yer. That Amy ‘as caught me, right and proper, she ‘as.”
“Oh, Wilf!” cried Elisabeth. “Are we to wish you joy, too? ”
“Not yet a while, Miss. I needs time to see. I’m not like ‘is lordship, like a butterfly from one to t’other!”
“A butterfly, eh?” said Miss Wilberforce. “They are known to be attracted to cabbage. But I know how to deal with that.”