With such reasoning as this did Lady Smithfield dismiss any misgivings she might have about arbitrarily arranging the lives of two young people without consulting them on the matter. She had noticed, however, that things were not falling out exactly as she had arranged them in her mind. When peeking into Lord Wesleigh’s room on occasion, expecting to find Lydia in conversation with the invalid, Emily would be there in her stead, with Lydia nowhere to be found. And Lydia’s depression of spirits was quite noticeable as well. Lady Smithfield had always been pleased with Lydia’s calm demeanor, valuing it more than Emily’s vivacious manner, which in her opinion, bordered on the impertinent. Yet there was no denying that a little more liveliness in Lydia’s behavior would not be amiss. Since the marquess’s arrival, Lydia had walked about looking like a ghost.
It was in this state of mind that Lady Smithfield waited with impatience for her daughters to return home. When they finally did arrive, she said nothing of the length of time they had been gone but asked instead after Mr. Sedgewick’s health and that of his guest. She knew that she had been right to worry when both her daughters’ cheeks grew rosy at such an innocent question, and they began to pay far too much attention to the removal of their bonnets and smoothing out any wrinkles in their dresses. She was too wise to comment on their discomposure, or quiz Lydia on her feelings for Lord Wesleigh at present. Although Lydia was the most dutiful of daughters, there was no denying that she was also highly imaginative. If she fancied herself in love with the vicar, as Lady Smithfield was beginning to suspect, opposition from her mother might fix her affection irrevocably on Jonathan Sedgewick. So she avoided the subject of gentlemen altogether, initiating a discussion instead on what they were to wear to the Abernathy’s ball Wednesday the following week, an invitation to which had finally arrived.
Chapter Ten
Lady Smithfield remained in the drawing room with the duke after her daughters had retired for the evening. She wished to discuss with him her suspicion that the match between their children was not proceeding as planned. He listened quite attentively to her fears and commended her for her wisdom in saying nothing to Lydia about Jonathan Sedgewick. But he assured her that his son was quite enamored of her daughter.
“Really?” Lady Smithfield asked in relieved surprise. “He told you so?”
“In explicit language. He admires your daughter tremendously, and nothing would bring him greater joy than to marry her, but he is concerned that she may not return his regard. So he is wooing her, in his own way. But you know these young people today. He insists on doing things completely on his own, with no interference from you or me. I agreed to leave the two to their own devices, and I would suggest you do the same.”
Lady Smithfield agreed quite readily, overcome with joy. It had been weighing on her mind all day that the match she had boasted of to Lady Abernathy and her niece was destined to come to nothing, and she would be humiliated in front of all her neighbors. It was quite a relief to think that she would not be made to eat humble pie.
The duke was pleased to see he had relieved his hostess’s mind, but still could not be entirely easy until the entire truth was made known. But he comforted himself in that he had told the entire truth, though without specifying which daughter his son admired. With that consolation, and his hostess’s expressions of delight following him up the stairs, he made his way to bed.
Emily found herself practicing the pianoforte more and more since her acquaintance with Alexander. She had even reflected on the fact that if she had conceived a hopeless passion for a gentleman at sixteen, she would be a regular virtuoso by now. She was engaged in this occupation when Alexander arrived at the Smithfield’s on Saturday morning, anxious to put his fate to the touch.
When Wiggins would have announced him, Alexander begged him not to, and instead stood for almost a quarter of an hour, watching Emily play. If he hadn’t been so in love, he would have been ashamed to observe her thus; for when playing her face was so expressive, her emotions so obvious, it was as if her soul was nakedly exposed. Totally unself-conscious, not aware she was being observed, her body was almost an extension of the music, and she swayed in a manner her mother would have been sure to denounce as vulgar had she been present.
When the piece she had been playing came to an end, Alexander spoke before she could begin another. “Emily.”
Emily started, jumping up from the bench so quickly she almost knocked it over. “Mr. Williams! You startled me.”
“I apologize. Indeed, I did not know how to make you aware of my presence without startling you. You were so engrossed in the music.”
Emily was embarrassed that he had observed her such, and hurried to invite him to sit down. “I am not sure where my mother and sister are this morning,” she said. “I will have Wiggins call them.” She moved as if to do so, and Alexander stopped her.
“Please do not. It is you I have come to see, and our privacy suits my purpose very well.” Although he had just sat down, he jumped up and proceeded to pace back and forth, before startling her again by abruptly kneeling at her side.
“Emily. I have made no secret of my feelings for you. I admire you exceedingly, indeed, I love you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Emily did not know how to react. In all of her daydreaming, she had never imagined quite this scene. She had been sure that Alexander had been trifling with her, and, because of this, had never envisioned he would propose to her. Now she was at a loss to know how to respond.
Alexander was not entirely daunted by her silence. He laughed a little nervously, and reminded her that it was generally considered good form to make a reply to an offer of marriage.
“I am sorry, it is just that I do not know how to respond,” she answered in all honesty.
“Well, I am not an entirely disinterested party, but I think that an answer in the affirmative would be a good choice.”
Emily looked into the handsome face, whose lines she had memorized, and wished with all her heart she could make such a reply. But her doubts were such that she knew they would have to be overcome before she could ever do so. “Believe me, I desire nothing more than to answer in the affirmative, but there are practical matters to consider.”
Alexander rose, to sit in a nearby chair. “Practical matters?” he asked.
“Indeed. I am not sure if you know the extent of my dowry, but it is only two thousand pounds, and, as a curate, I cannot think you make more than fifty pounds a year. How are we to live on one hundred fifty pounds a year? Where are we to live? As romantic as it would seem to deny the importance of such matters in comparison with one’s feelings, these things must be considered.”
Alexander admitted to himself the truth of this statement, but wondered if this was a polite way of saying she would only marry a man of rank and fortune, no matter what her feelings. “I concede your point, but I would not propose if I did not have the means of taking care of you. Believe me when I say you will not want for anything.”
This statement had the opposite effect for which it was intended. Emily, who was already suspicious of Alexander’s source of income, felt he was as good as announcing that he was the highwayman. Her heart sank to hear him make such an announcement, but she was determined to uncover the truth.
“Might I inquire into the source of these means?”
Alexander looked uncomfortable, almost guilty, which only confirmed Emily’s suspicions. He could not think of a way of reassuring her without revealing the whole truth, and that would defeat the entire purpose of his charade. He wanted to hear she loved him as a curate, not as the heir to a dukedom. He began to grow angry that she was subjecting him to such an examination. When he had envisioned this scene, Emily had fallen gratefully into his arms, proclaiming her love and devotion for him. This inquisition was a far cry from what he had imagined.