“I have forgot,” Sir James continued, “the fervent assurances that I love you beyond expression. You will forgive me if I have overlooked what ought to be said at the outset. Though I have been said to be on the verge of marriage with every eligible young lady in England, I am quite a novice at the business of proposing—nor do I have any ambition to become a proficient.”
Lady Vernon needed no such assurance. That Sir James loved her, she was certain. But would he have offered his hand if he knew that it would obligate him to Sir Frederick’s unborn child? “I am not yet out of mourning.”
“I am not proposing that we elope, Susan. That is for the likes of Charles Smith and Lucy Hamilton. I only ask for the permission to hope.”
“I would be very wrong to encourage such a hope. My own prospects are so uncertain that yours may be injured by affixing your fortunes to mine. Did you not pronounce marriage to be a business transaction that one should not enter without a promise of a return? I encourage you, as a cousin who has loved you all her life, to aspire to a happier and richer union than I can offer.”
“I do not look to be enriched by marriage, only to be happy. I entirely comprehend your hesitation, but you need have no anxiety on Freddie’s account,” he hastened to assure her. “Tomorrow I journey to London with deCourcy and I will impress upon him any of Freddie’s perfections that have escaped his notice—it will take far less than thirty miles to accomplish. They will be married in six months.”
“A great deal may change in six months,” Lady Vernon replied. “Your nature and inclinations are such that in half a year’s time you may regret your offer to me.”
Sir James was affronted and almost angry. “When have I ever wavered in my devotion to you? When have I ever given you cause to think that I would tender my proposals to anyone without sincerity? I do not deserve such censure.”
Lady Vernon had never seen him so carried away by emotion. “I beg your pardon, cousin. I do not censure you—indeed, I have always relied upon your devotion.”
“And you may continue to rely upon it. If six months’ time should bring about any change in me, it will be that of a more determined attachment.”
“If that is true, you will not object to postponing your addresses. In six months’ time, if your attachment is not what you declare it to be today—if some circumstance should arise that would make you unwilling to renew your proposals—you will suffer neither reproach nor blame from me.”
“I assure you that in six months the only regret I will feel is the loss of so much time to suspense and anxiety when I might have been happy and secure. But it is no sacrifice—indeed, as Frederick has been gone barely six months, it is no more than is due to his memory.”
Lady Vernon was resigned to her cousin’s determination to be happy and decided that it was better to let the passage of time, and the event that it would bring about, test the depth of his fidelity. She extended her hand and he kissed it, both perfectly satisfied that the matter was resolved.
Volume III
London and Kent
chapter forty-two
While their conduct and companions had been very different, Sir James Martin and Sir Frederick Vernon had shared many qualities in common, and chief among them was optimism. No problem was insoluble, no obstacle insurmountable, nor was any misery permanent.
Sir James, therefore, woke on the following morning certain that time would resolve all in his favor. It had been unfeeling of him to address his cousin in a place that must recall both her happiest and unhappiest days, and there were other considerations that made her hesitation perfectly natural. In making so early a second marriage, she would certainly incur the censure of the world (which he had once advised her to heed), and she could not think of marrying before a match for Frederica might be secured. His efforts would better be directed toward bringing Frederica and Reginald deCourcy together—once their attachment was a settled thing, Susan would have only her own future to think about.
He wrote a handsome note to Mrs. Vernon thanking her for her hospitality and expressing his desire to reciprocate it should she ever come to London, and another more affectionate one to his cousins, apologizing once more for his mischief and insisting that they must always regard him as one who had only their best interests at heart.
The gentlemen had an early breakfast, their baggage was secured, and the carriage set off at nine o’clock. The weather was favorable to Sir James—that is, there was just enough drizzle and fog to slow their journey, and Sir James had ample time to promote Miss Vernon’s beauty, refinement, and accomplishment.
“She is superior in every way, and I may speak as one who has known her since her birth, though not”—Sir James smiled—“as one who was ever a suitor. Lady Vernon and I were brought up almost as brother and sister, and our families were always on very intimate footing, which, I suppose, began the gossip that I had not married because I was waiting for my young cousin to come of age. I was very wrong to let it go on as long as it did, as it only added to speculation. A gentleman of fortune must be married—his friends and neighbors will have no peace until he is.”
“But if you never meant to make a proposal for Miss Vernon, why, when I addressed Lady Vernon on the subject, did she not contradict me?”
“I suspect that my cousin was so very shocked that you believed the gossip that she did not know what to say. And supposing that the rumor had come to you by way of Mrs. Vernon, she did not wish to impugn your good sister’s information. I am quite certain that when addressed on the subject, Lady Vernon thought only to defend Miss Vernon as deserving of the addresses of a gentleman in my situation and not to deliberately suggest that I was her object.”
Reginald could not clearly recall what had been said and, after a moment, decided that this had indeed been the case.
“But so it is with parents,” Sir James continued. “By them we are taught, from the moment we think of marrying at all, that we cannot marry without some attention to money. And yet if they might only consider the unequal matches that are the result of it—the years of unhappiness that follow a union fashioned out of a parent’s ambition—perhaps they might consider the very great advantage of a son-or daughter-in-law whose character and abilities may be superior to wealth.”
“You speak with a great feeling for the subject.”
“There was someone I liked,” Sir James replied gravely, “who suited me in every regard. But her fortune was not what my father—an excellent parent in every other respect, and a gentleman always worthy of the highest regard—wished for me, and I allowed his desires, if not to rule me, at least to cause me to hesitate just long enough for another to win her heart and her hand. I have not found anybody I liked quite as well ever since.”
Reginald was struck by the unexpected sincerity of Sir James’s manner.
“It is a lesson,” Sir James continued, “not to let ourselves be ruled by others in the matter of our happiness, nor to place fortune above true felicity.”
“But that is spoken like a rich man, who may do as he likes.” Reginald smiled.
“All the more reason that I ought to have done as I liked when the opportunity was before me.”
“You cannot reproach yourself for honoring your father’s wishes.”
“I can reproach myself for giving so little credit to his affection by supposing that he would feel a lasting resentment if I married against his ambition. I allowed myself to think that he would prefer me to be rich rather than happy. If I had spoken at once, if I had made my feelings plain, he might have attempted to argue me out of them—he might have attributed them to youth, as I was very young at the time—but I believe that he would have yielded in the end.”