There was a slight pause. "You are not about to rush in to remind me that he was also a descendant of a former Earl of Merton?" he asked her. "Since you knew about the country parson part of my heritage, my lord," she said, "I assume that you know the rest. And since you doubtless know that my brother is the Earl of Merton, I would assume you did not even have to dig very deep to uncover the information. The village was Throckbridge in Shropshire, but I suppose you know that too. If there is anything you do /not/ know and wish to be informed of, I will be pleased to answer your questions." "Except the one concerning your age," he said. "Except," she agreed, "any personal details that cannot concern you at all." "Your age /does/ concern me," he said, thumping his cane on the floor and looking irritable. "Sheringford is my heir, Miss Huxtable, and it is high time he produced an heir of his own. How am I to know that you are still in your breeding years?" Lord! Duncan felt stranded somewhere between the window and the sofa. He was rooted to the spot, if the truth were known – with a horrified sort of embarrassment. It took a great deal to embarrass him, but his grandfather had just succeeded in doing it. He had asked Miss Margaret Huxtable, sister of the Earl of Merton, if she was a breeder.
Specifically if she was still /young/ enough to breed.
He could see only half of her face around the brim of her straw hat. But if he was not much mistaken, she was actually /smiling/. Her voice confirmed the fact when she spoke – there was laughter in it. "You are not to know any such thing, my lord," she said.
The marquess made a show of setting his cane against the side of his chair and moving until his spine was resting against the back and his hands were gripping the arms. "Sheringford," he said without taking his eyes off Miss Huxtable, "I believe you have just done the wisest thing you have done in your entire life – or the most foolish." Duncan rescued his feet and moved the short distance to the side of the sofa in order to set a reassuring hand on Margaret Huxtable's shoulder, though she seemed to be doing very well without his support. "Nothing in between?" he said. "She will not crumble under adversity," his grandfather said. "And there may be much adversity to test her mettle. On the other hand, you will find it impossible to ignore her or to rule her. I will expect to read an announcement of your betrothal in tomorrow's papers – unless, that is, Miss Huxtable returns to her senses before then." "And Woodbine Park?" Duncan gripped the shoulder beneath his hand. "It will be yours on your wedding day," his grandfather said. "Which will be …?" He raised his shaggy eyebrows. "The day before your birthday, my lord," Miss Huxtable replied without hesitation, though it was something they had not decided upon together. "My brother and sisters and Lady Carling are to organize a grand wedding breakfast at Merton House, which you must, of course, attend. We will be able to drink an early toast to your birthday on the same occasion." "I do not leave this house under any circumstance, Miss Huxtable," the marquess said, "having discovered long ago that there is nothing but foolishness beyond my own walls. And, lest you suddenly dream up some wild scheme, I do not entertain here either. Neither do I celebrate birthdays – least of all eightieth birthdays. Anyone who chooses to celebrate an eightieth birthday must have windmills in his head, and a few moths too." "Nevertheless," she said, "you /will/ attend our wedding breakfast, my lord. The Earl of Sheringford is your only grandson, and I will be your only granddaughter-in-law And this birthday will be celebrated as the one on which you were reconciled to your grandson and gained a granddaughter who just might still have a few breeding years left before she withers into her dotage. You would not knowingly spoil my wedding day. I am sure of it. You /would/ spoil it by remaining here in self-imposed isolation." "Hmmph," his grandfather said. "I have just realized who you have been reminding me of ever since you stepped through that door and opened your infernal mouth, Miss Huxtable. You are just like my late wife, God rest her soul. She was a pest, to put it mildly." "But did you love her, my lord?" Miss Huxtable asked softly.
Good God! Duncan could remember his grandmother, a small, smiling, gentle, mild-mannered lady upon whom his gruff grandfather had doted. "None of your business, missy," he said. "Two can play at /that/ game, you see." She was smiling warmly when Duncan looked down at her. "I liked Merton," the marquess said, changing the subject abruptly and looking at Duncan for the first time. "He is a mere puppy, though I daresay he must have reached his majority if he has donned the mantle of head of the family. But he was no groveler, by Jove. He asked his questions, and he made sure that he got his answers." "I will bring him here again," Miss Huxtable said, "and perhaps my sisters too, my lord, once all the arrangements have been made for the wedding and the breakfast. We will come in a body together and tell you all about it, and you will discover that we Huxtables do not take no for an answer when we have set our minds on something." She got to her feet, and that was the end of it. Two minutes later, she and Duncan were out on the street, where a light drizzle was falling. "Well," he said, "that was remarkable." He could not for the moment think of any other words to describe the visit. He would be almost willing to swear that his grandfather actually /liked/ Maggie Huxtable, though it was doubtful anyone had spoken to him as bluntly as she had for years. "I like him," she said, proving that the feeling had been mutual. "He loves you, Lord Sheringford." He almost laughed. That might have been true when he was a boy, though his grandfather had never given much indication of it beyond those endless shillings. But now? He very much doubted it. He struggled with his umbrella and hoisted it over her head and his own. "He has a strange way of showing it," he said. "Not at all," she said. "He has been hurt and angry and puzzled for five years. He must have been dreadfully disappointed in you since you did not offer him any explanation of your behavior. But instead of cutting you off, as he surely would have done if he had truly not loved you, he waited until it was possible for you to fight back, in the hope that you would do just that, that you would give him a good enough reason to continue to love you. Which you have done." "By finding you," he said, "and persuading you to marry me." "He is a little afraid," she said, "that I may be too old to present him with a great-grandson before his death, which is, of course, absurd. But yes, he is happy that you are to marry and return home. He will come to our wedding." "Hell might freeze over too," he said.
They were almost out of the square. The drizzle was already turning into a steady rain, which was drumming on the umbrella. But instead of hurrying onward, Duncan stopped walking abruptly. "He /adored/ my grandmother," he said.
She turned her head to look at him. How foolish she had been, choosing to wear pale blue on such a day, and a straw bonnet, when she had known they would be walking. Was she an eternal optimist? And was he up to the challenge?
He bent his head and kissed her on the lips – and her own pressed firmly back against them and clung for a totally indecorous stretch of time.
He felt slightly dizzy when he thought of the changes six days had wrought in his life.
16
MARGARET had ten days in which to prepare for her wedding and for married life. Ten days in which to have second and third and thirty-third thoughts about the wisdom of her decision to marry a stranger – who had lived with a married lady for almost five years and had had a son with her. Ten days to shop for bride clothes – sometimes with her sisters, sometimes with Lady Carling, sometimes with all three. Ten days in which to draw up a guest list and send out invitations and wait for replies and try to resist the temptation to insist upon involving herself with the planning of the wedding breakfast. That last point was one of the hardest.