An Unreasonable Match. Sylvia Andrew
God might have given you brains, but lack of use has caused them to…to wither away! Don’t speak to me! I don’t want to hear your excuses!”
Robert Dungarran bowed. “I was not aware that I had done anything to excuse. But I won’t say another word, if that is what you wish.”
“Look at you!” she went on stormily. “Elegantly empty! You don’t care whose heart you break! Making me fall in love with you—”
“Oh no!” This was too much, even for a man of Robert Dungarran’s equable temperament. “That cannot be so. I have never given you the slightest reason to—”
“Of course you did! Why else would you spend so long teaching me to dance, taking me for drives, saying how pretty I looked, when I know very well I am not at all pretty? You are all the same, all of you. Just like Lord Canford—” She was working herself up into hysteria again. Robert had done the only thing possible. He had slapped her, not particularly gently. Eyes wide with shock, she had stared at him.
“You…you monster!” she stuttered. “To hit a lady…”
“A lady!” he said derisively. “You! Listen to me, Miss Perceval! You are as close to being a lady as I am to being the Great Cham of China! You are, in fact, an obstinate, conceited, ignorant child. My sympathies, such as they are, are with Hugo. How he came to have such a fool of a sister I cannot imagine. I am sorry the conversation you overheard tonight distressed you, but I would not retract one word from its message. You would do well to persuade your mother to take you away from London to somewhere where you can learn manners and sense in decent obscurity. And now, if you don’t mind, I shall guard the door outside until your mother arrives.”
The chaise was passing Hyde Park. He was nearly home, thank God. It was as well. Remembering what he had said to Hester Perceval all those years ago was not a pleasant exercise. The girl had been an appalling nuisance, but he shouldn’t have been quite so hard on her. He got out and stretched. Bates, his butler and steward in Curzon Street, was already outside the house, organising the footmen, paying off the chaise and generally being his usual supremely efficient self. It was time to forget Hester Perceval. With any luck he needn’t meet her again.
Chapter Two
A few weeks after the trip to Northampton the weather had changed for the better. It was even quite warm. Hester Perceval paid her usual morning calls in Abbot Quincey village, then walked slowly back up the drive to the Hall, which was bathed in early spring sunshine. It was a lovely building of old rose brick decorated with a porch and pilasters of pale grey stone. A wide, graceful flight of steps in the same grey stone led up to its main entrance and two wings of rose brick curved gently to either side. Lawns and tall trees—chestnuts, oaks, ash and holly—surrounded it, though at this time of year most of the trees were bare. But there was a promise of spring in daffodils dancing along the drive, and in the faint haze of green in the hawthorn hedges on the edge of the park.
Hester gazed at it wistfully. Short of a miracle she would soon have to leave the Hall to spend two months or more in the capital. Lady Perceval, normally the most understanding of mothers, had refused to abandon her plan to take her daughter to town in an effort to acquire a husband for her. It was ridiculous! She didn’t want a husband—and what was more, she would be extremely surprised if she could find one. But however much she had pleaded, reasoned, even argued, it had been in vain. And now time was scarce. In a few weeks Sir James and Lady Perceval would leave for London, accompanied by their daughter, to take part in the annual carnival which called itself the London Season…Hester quickened her pace up the drive. She must make one last effort to bring her mother to see reason.
But half an hour later Hester was no nearer to success. Her mother was unshaken in her determination, and was growing quite upset by her daughter’s obstinate refusal to accept her decision.
“You’re a good, clever girl and your father and I love you dearly, Hester. Surely you don’t believe that we wish to make you unhappy? Or that we haven’t your best interests at heart?” Lady Perceval’s voice trembled and her daughter quickly reassured her.
“Of course not, Mama! No one could ask for kinder or more generous parents. It’s just…I really don’t want another London Season. The last one was enough for me. And surely I’m old enough to know my own mind…”
“Exactly so. You’ll be twenty-four in November, Hester! Twenty-four and not a single prospect in view. I did have hopes of Wyndham for you at one time, though he’s hardly ever been at Bredington recently. But I hear he has found someone else. And now dear India is married, and Beatrice Roade, too—both very advantageously…”
“But I don’t want a husband, Mama! Oh, I wish you would believe me. I could remain a perfectly happy spinster, leading my own life in my own way, if only you would let me.”
“My dear, I’ve heard all these arguments before, and I assure you yet again, that the only secure future for a woman is in marriage. Or would you prefer to be Hugo’s pensioner, once your father and I are no longer here?”
“In no way! Hugo and I would be at odds before the month was out! But in any case that must be a very distant prospect. And I’m sure you could persuade Papa to settle a small amount of money on me instead of taking me to London—” Hester moved over to sit down on the sofa by her mother. She took her hand and looked pleadingly into her parent’s unusually determined face. “If he would give me just a small sum—enough to give me a very modest income—I should be happy to live by myself.”
“Alone?”
“With a maid or…or even a companion if you insisted.”
“Hester, I wouldn’t even dream of passing on such a ridiculous notion to your father. And if I did he would laugh it out of court! It’s our duty to see you safely married, and a London Season is the best way of doing it.” She looked appraisingly at her daughter. “You could be quite a good-looking girl, if you would only make the effort. Your dowry, I know, is not large, but there must be someone somewhere who would want to marry you!”
This was too much for Hester’s very ready sense of humour. Her mouth twitched as she said demurely, “Why thank you, Mama! A widower, perhaps, with six children and a wooden leg? He might just be persuaded to take me on.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, as you very well know. You are a wicked girl to tease me so. But an older man might be the answer?”
Hester was instantly serious again. “No, Mama! I do not wish for a husband of any kind—old, young, widowed, single, decrepit, healthy…To put it absolutely plainly, I do not want to marry anyone.”
Lady Perceval looked helplessly at her daughter. “But why, Hester?”
“Because I don’t believe there’s anyone in the world whom I could respect, and who would be willing to treat me in return as someone capable of rational thought! The polite world is singularly lacking in such men. At least it was six years ago, and I cannot suppose things have changed very much since then. In my experience gentlemen in London only want a pretty face to pay empty compliments to, a graceful partner to dance and flirt with, a…a mirror to tell them in return how witty, how handsome, how elegant they are. And I daresay when they eventually condescend to marry some poor girl, they will treat her like…like a piece of furniture—there to provide an heir and manage the household, while they go their selfish, masculine way, hunting, fishing, shooting and gambling into the night.”
“Hester! Stop, stop! That’s quite enough of your nonsense. I won’t allow you to say such things when your father is everything that is kind and considerate—you know he is! What other father would allow you to do very much as you please here in Abbot Quincey? Many another would have married you off to some country squire long before now. As it is, he has always respected your wish to live quietly with your books. He is even proud of your work in sorting your grandpapa’s papers. He is taking us to London mainly because he honestly believes—as I do—that you would be happier with an establishment and family of your own. We wish to