His One Woman. Paula Marshall
‘He set me free, too,’ said Jack confidentially. ‘He left it so that I could go my own way or stay with Dilhorne’s as a roving representative. He said that I needed a holiday—I’d never had one. So, here I am. I’m working for the firm with Ezra Butler and looking out for what’s new in my line.’
‘American know-how.’ Alan grinned. ‘They keep talking to me of it. Now let us go to pay our respects to the Senator. I hear that the daughter is plain, but that his niece is pretty and reasonably rich. I suppose you’re after her, you dog. Going to settle down with the one woman soon, are you?’
Alan was referring to the joke about the Dilhorne men, beginning with the Patriarch: however rowdy each one’s early life, once he was married to the one woman he settled down and was faithful to her. It had certainly been true of their father and the twins, Thomas and Alan, thought Jack. He wondered whether it would be true of himself.
He and Alan made their way back to the Hopes, to find that Sophie had temporarily departed with another admirer, and so Alan had to be presented to the Senator’s strong-minded, if witty, daughter. Sophie would have to wait for another time.
Alan Dilhorne fascinated Marietta. He was so undoubtedly Jack’s brother, and there was so much of him, all of it overpoweringly handsome. He was, as her father had told her, devious, and the four of them engaged in a lively conversation about all the matters which were engrossing Congress at the moment.
He was tactful, too, over such issues as slavery, but showed plainly that he thought that it was the main cause of the coming war— ‘After the economic divisions between North and South,’ he said, ‘although old English gentlemen such as myself aren’t supposed to know about such things.’
Later, it was plain that Senator Hope had been greatly impressed by him. ‘Those fools on the Hill,’ he said, ‘are taken in by his manner and think him another effete English gentleman. My colleagues think that I am wrong about him. Time will show which of us is right.’
He asked both the brothers and Charles Stanton to dinner before they left Washington.
‘But before then,’ said Marietta who was enjoying herself hugely, and who had seen approval of her in Alan Dilhorne’s bright blue eyes, so like Jack’s, ‘you must come to tea. I believe that Jack here is in a position to recommend it.’
Jack looked solemnly at his brother. ‘Most certainly—and I promise you that the conversation is better than the food, good though that is. Muffins again, Marietta, and pound cake, I trust.’
‘Yes, indeed, and I promise you Sophie as well. She will be sorry to have missed your brother and Charles.’
The entire party were now on Christian name terms and the Senator was delighted to see his daughter sparkle and blossom in the company of three attractive and handsome men who appeared to have no female appurtenances to get in the way.
After they had paid their respects to Marietta and the Senator, the Dilhorne party left to spend the rest of the evening at Willard’s Hotel. Alan was staying with the British Envoy and Charles with a cousin who worked in the Envoy’s office and had a small villa outside the capital.
Predictably Sophie was furious when she discovered that she had missed Jack’s return. ‘But I have invited them all to tea,’ said Marietta. ‘His brother and his friend as well as Jack.’
‘Oh, I don’t care about them,’ said Sophie inelegantly. ‘It’s Jack I mind missing. I trust that you won’t monopolise him when he next visits us.’
Marietta’s hand itched to slap her, and she was greatly relieved when Sophie’s wounded feelings were soothed by the arrival of yet another beau, a naval officer this time. Indeed, on looking around the room Marietta saw that more uniformed men were present than ever before, and she hoped that they would assuage Sophie’s greed for attention and admiration.
Unfortunately, the Senator soon tired and decided to leave early. Sophie complained all the way home at her evening being cut short, until even his courtesy was frayed to the point where he was ready to reprimand her.
Marietta put a gentle hand on his arm to restrain him and said to her cousin, ‘Sophie, if you say one more word I promise you that I shall not escort you to another function, never mind give tea parties for your admirers. Your uncle is tired and needs to rest.’
This silenced Sophie, but added another to the long list of wrongs which Marietta had committed against her, and for which one day, Sophie promised herself, she would be paid back in full.
Two days later Jack, his brother and Charles Stanton came for afternoon tea at the Hopes’. Sophie had thought that she would enjoy herself in the company of three attractive men, but she didn’t. They appeared to direct their conversation almost exclusively at Marietta.
This wasn’t true, but appeared so to Sophie. They spoke first of what occupied the minds of all Washington—except Sophie’s, of course: the coming war. They were all quite certain that it was coming—only the question of when it would arrive remained. In other circumstances Sophie would have found Alan Dilhorne attractive, but not when he droned on about such boring subjects. Marietta was hanging on his every word—but then she would, wouldn’t she? Goodness, politics was all she had to talk about, poor thing, but did she need to monopolise three…well, two attractive men so determinedly?
Charles Stanton seemed to be irreparably dull. He was even more solemn than Marietta, if that were possible. He was only interested in subjects of such profound boredom that Sophie found it difficult not to yawn in his face.
For once, even Jack was dull. He certainly cracked his usual quota of jokes, but, most uncharacteristically, they were incomprehensible. What in the world was amusing about muffins and iron-clad ships? Iron-clad ships? What drearier topic of conversation could be found than that? But they all pounded away about them as though they were men-of-war themselves. Marietta even had the face to be amused by Jack’s silly jokes, and to look enthralled when the conversation moved on to screw-propellers and Charles’s and Jack’s interest in them.
Give the large and handsome Mr Alan Dilhorne his due—he did come to Sophie’s rescue. He talked about more interesting things, such as the nature of Washington’s social life, but, after all, he was in his forties, already married to some Englishwoman across the Atlantic—horse-faced, no doubt—so there was little point in talking to him. Even then, in the middle of it, he broke in on Jack and Charles, who were talking to Marietta about walking and riding.
Walking and riding! They were two things which Sophie particularly hated. Horses were such tricky creatures and she was too frightened when on them to be able to look alluring. As for walking! Sophie never walked when she could ride in a carriage, and one of the reasons for her intense dislike of Marietta was all the exercise that she was compelled to take with her.
‘You’ll get fat if you sit about so much and eat so many sweet things,’ Marietta had had the gall to say to her severely at least once a week. Fat! Well, she would rather risk that than be a beanpole like Marietta.
To make matters worse, Alan Dilhorne now began to talk of the difficulty he had found in obtaining enough exercise in Washington.
‘We must go riding together,’ he said to Marietta. ‘I am sure that Miss Sophie and yourself can advise me on how to go about finding suitable stables and some useful mounts. I shall get fat if I sit about all day on the Hill, eating and drinking,’ and he made a comical face.
The Dilhorne brothers were good at comical faces, thought Sophie resentfully, unlike Charles Stanton who seemed to possess a permanently glum one. Not that she found either of them very comical on this particular afternoon.
‘Are you missing your sparring, Alan?’ Jack asked his brother, adding to Sophie and Marietta, ‘Big Brother here was quite a bruiser in his time. He could have made a name for himself in the ring.’
Could he, indeed? thought Sophie nastily. I thought that he was supposed to be a fine gentleman with a big house in Yorkshire. Some fine gentleman he must be if he were almost