Hoare was not particularly surprised to see Miss Jane Austen among his fellow guests. When they had encountered each other at the reception for the Duke of Cumberland, she had said nothing to him about being engaged here. But, after all, the two of them were not precisely bosom beaux, and she had had no reason to confide in him. As she returned his bow, he thought her look somewhat calculating.
Hoare was also happy that Admiral Hardcastle and Selene Prettyman had dropped him their hints about Sir Thomas Frobisher. For there the Knight-Baronet himself stood, in the greater reception room, among the other guests who had gathered to inspect the new arrivals. Unlike Hoare, Sir Thomas was clearly astonished at the encounter, for his eyes goggled. He had no word for Bartholomew Hoare. Sir Thomas was not amused.
Hoare had long since discovered that his whisper, with its implication of confidentiality, led many persons to believe him a man with whom their deepest secrets would be safe-an illogical belief, he considered, yet understandable and often useful. The late Janus Jaggery, Jenny's da, had been one of these persons, and Mrs. Selene Prettyman apparently was another. Now, the next morning, as he and Miss Gladden strolled through a gentle mist among the late-blooming flowers in Broadmead's cutting garden, he found that she, too, was ready to trust him as if by instinct.
"May I speak with you frankly, Captain Hoare?" she asked. "And in the certainty that my words will go no further?"
"You may. You have my word," Hoare whispered, "unless, of course, what you tell me endangers our country." He could say so in good conscience, since he was quite certain her coming confidence would have no bearing, for good or evil, on the national welfare.
"As you may know, sir, Sir Thomas Frobisher is a powerful man in the region, and a widower, as you may also know. He has seen fit to speak to Papa-"
"What? Sir Thomas a suitor for your hand?" Forewarned Hoare may have been, but his reacquaintance with Anne Gladden, his earlier glimpse of Sir Thomas, and the idea of her diminutive form… Out of revulsion, he could say no more.
She nodded. "You may imagine that my parents wish him neither to marry me nor to take offense at being sent empty away. I should tell you that they hope you will consider rescuing me from his attentions by offering for me yourself."
With a speaking look, Miss Anne Gladden blushed under her bonnet and added, "The notion was put into their minds, I think, by Miss Austen."
Miss Austen again, Hoare thought. Damn the interfering bitch, she interferes in matters that… she does not understand.
"I…," he began, but Miss Gladden had now taken her courage in both hands and must conclude before it eluded her again.
"The arrangement need not be a genuine one, Mr. Hoare. I would cry off whenever you asked me to free you-"
"But-"
She raised one hand against his interruption and continued her recital. It was obviously rehearsed.
"On the other hand, sir, while I am small of stature, I would be amply dowered. In fact, Papa suspects that the three thousand a year he must settle on me upon my marriage has more than a little to do with Sir Thomas's ardor. And I cannot abide the man!" she burst out. "He could be my father, or even my grandfather! Why, his daughter is older than I! I would rather be wed to a frog!" She was on the verge, Hoare saw, of breaking into tears.
She regained control of herself with a gulp. "I mean the reptile, Captain Hoare, not the Frenchman. The latter might be tolerable, but Sir Thomas…
"And truly, sir, I believe you and I might suit, after all."
"I am quite certain we should suit, Miss Gladden," Hoare said, "but it cannot be."
"Oh," came a small voice from the small person beside him. There was a silence. Then, "She was despised… rejected," she sang softly, sweetly, and sadly, to the tune of Handel's plaintive aria.
"No, Miss Gladden, never despised," Hoare said. "But, you see, I am not at liberty. My heart is not my own."
"Who is the fortunate person who owns it?" she asked.
"I tell you in confidence, Miss Gladden, for the lady has yet to accept my proposal."
"You gave me your word, sir; you have mine in return," Anne Gladden replied stoutly.
"She is Mrs. Eleanor Graves," he continued, "the widow of Dr. Simon Graves in Weymouth." As I believe Miss Austen well knows, he continued to himself.
"I could wish myself as fortunate," she said.
"To be widowed? Hardly."
"Of course not, sir. To have one's hand sought in marriage."
A long, awkward silence followed. As she passed it, Anne Gladden plucked a daisy and picked its petals, one by one.
"If your own heart is still at liberty, Miss Gladden," Hoare said at last, "and if you will permit me, I may be able to help you and another person to happiness. Let us be seated, and I will explain my thought."
When he had finished, Anne Gladden literally clapped her little mittened hands with joy.
"Perfect!" she cried. "Let us go in now and address Papa!"
Leaving the garden, the happy couple, linked hands swinging, returned to the house to bring the glad tidings to the elder Gladdens.
At dinner that evening, Sir Ralph-perhaps in preparation for the announcement he intended to make-encouraged Hoare to expound on his adventures. Hoare felt himself carried away, inspired. As he spoke, he remembered the jape he had inflicted upon Sir Thomas Frobisher when they first met; he had discoursed to the Knight-Baronet about bats. Hoare really did not like Sir Thomas.
"I am not sure," he said, "that it has come to the attention of our natural philosophers, but the icebergs of the North Atlantic harbor a special population of creatures that are to be found nowhere else."
"Polar bears," came a voice as he caught his breath.
"Walruses," came another.
"Yes, those," Hoare said. "But the most interesting, I think, are the petsters."
"Pesters, Hoare?" That was Sir Thomas. Ha! The fish had struck.
"No, Sir Thomas, petsters. The iceberg environment is so cold, you see, that even the lobsters must grow coats of fur in order to survive… The ladies of the Halifax ton seek them out and tame them. Of a summer evening, they parade about on the walls of the fortress, leading the creatures on leashes… They claim that a well-trained petster is a necessity to defend them from encroaching boors fresh from the old country."
After a puzzled pause, one of the guests gave a crack of laughter. A few others followed suit. The jape, as Hoare had known it would, had fallen flat.
Sir Ralph now called for the company's glasses to be filled and made his announcement. His beloved daughter Anne, he told the table, was to be wed to Captain Bartholomew Hoare. On Sir Ralph's words, congratulatory applause burst out. Miss Austen smiled like the Serpent of Eden. Sir Thomas Frobisher, however, turned black with rage, leaped from his chair, and marched out of the room without a word, slamming the great door behind him. What must have enhanced his wrath was the fact that the door was too weighty and well fitted to slam properly. Instead, it swung closed with a gentle hiss.
"What I do not understand, Miss Gladden-"
Sir Thomas had not tarried to break his fast at Broadmead but had taken an early, hungry departure. Hoare was making his farewells to his hosts and, especially, to his "betrothed."
"Anne, please, Captain… Bartholomew. After all, if we are engaged to marry, we must behave accordingly."
"Anne let it be, then. Terms of affection…," Hoare began, but then stopped, feeling unutterably pompous. "… would be in bad taste, wouldn't they? Although I do hold you in high esteem."