‘Do just as you wish!’ she replied at once. ‘I can very well finish the journey in one of the Accommodation coaches!’
Sylvester turned, and strode towards the phaeton. ‘Get in!’ said Tom curtly. He added, as he took his seat beside Phoebe: ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever been glad you are not my sister!’
She returned no answer. Scarcely half a dozen sentences were exchanged during the remainder of the journey; but although Phoebe pretended to be asleep for the greater part of the way, sleep was never farther from her, so torn was she by conflicting emotions. Beside her Tom sat gazing out of the window, wondering what Sylvester could have said to have made her so angry; and wishing that there was something he could do for Sylvester, even if it were no more than relieving him of Edmund’s company.
But Keighley was shielding Sylvester from Edmund. ‘Give over plaguing his grace, Master Edmund!’ said Keighley. ‘Now, that’s quite enough, Master Edmund! There’s no good to be got out of flying into one of your tantrums!’ said Keighley, thinking what a pity it was that he could no longer say the same to Sylvester.
It was after six when the carriages drew up in Berkeley Square, before Salford House. ‘Why do we stop here?’ demanded Phoebe.
‘To set down my portmanteau, of course,’ replied Tom, opening the chaise door. ‘Also, I daresay, to allow Salford to take leave of you! Try for a little civility!’
He climbed down from the chaise as he spoke. The doors of the great house were already flung open, and several persons emerged. ‘Reeth, Reeth, I’ve been to France!’ shouted Edmund, dashing up the steps. ‘Where’s Button? She’ll be ‘stonished when she hears the things I’ve done! Oh, Button, I have needed you! Did you miss me, Button? Phoebe doesn’t do things the right way. Do you know, I had to tell her, Button?’
‘Repellent brat!’ remarked Sylvester. ‘Reeth, Mr. Orde is staying with me for a few days: take care of him for me! Will you go in with him, Thomas? I’ll escort Miss Marlow to Green Street.’
This scheme seemed so fraught with disaster that Tom could not help saying, in an urgent undervoice: ‘I wouldn’t, Salford! Leave her to come about!’
‘Go in with Reeth, Thomas: I shall be with you presently,’ replied Sylvester, as though he had not heard this advice.
He mounted into the chaise, and almost before the door was shut grasped Phoebe’s hands, saying: ‘Phoebe, you must listen to me! I know I made wretched work of it: I can’t explain it to you now-there is too little time-but I won’t let you go like this! You can’t think I would ask you to marry me in jest, or to insult you!’
‘You have told me already that you never meant to ask me,’ she replied, trying to pull her hands away. ‘I fancy you will be truly thankful, when you have recovered from the mortification of having your suit rejected, that I didn’t snap at so brilliant an offer. Will you please to release me, my lord Duke?’
‘But I love you!’ he said, gripping her hands rather more tightly.
‘You are very obliging, but I cannot return your affection, sir.’
‘I’ll make you!’ he promised.
‘Oh, no, you will not!’ returned Phoebe, thoroughly ruffled. ‘Will you let me go? If you have no more conduct than to behave in this fashion in the middle of the street, I have! Make me love you, indeed! If I were not so angry, I could laugh to think how exactly I hit him off when I wrote of Ugolino that, try as he might to appear conciliating, he could not open his lips without betraying his arrogance!’
‘Do you call it arrogance when I tell you that I love you, and wish to make you my wife?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, and folly too! You have never suffered a rebuff, have you, Duke? When any female has shown herself not to be disposed to like you it has been a sport with you to make her like you very much too well, I daresay, for her comfort. You even lay bets that where others have failed you will succeed!’
‘What nonsense is this?’ he exclaimed. ‘I?’
‘Yes, you! Was there not an heiress who was called the Citadel? Or are your conquests too numerous to be remembered by you?’
‘I remember,’ he said grimly. ‘You had that from Ianthe, did you? Did she also tell you that it was a piece of funning between my brother and me-discreditable, if you like, but never meant to go beyond the pair of us?’
‘In fact, you didn’t storm the Citadel, Duke?’
‘For God’s sake, Phoebe, must you throw in my face the follies I committed when I was a boy?’
‘I would not if you had outgrown that conceit! But you haven’t! Why did you make yourself so agreeable to me? You must have had a great deal of practice, I think, for you did it beautifully! If I had not known what your object was I am sure you must have succeeded in it! But I did know! Tom told you that I ran away from Austerby because the thought of becoming your wife was repugnant to me, and you were so piqued that you determined I should fall in love with you, and afterwards be sorry!’
He had so entirely forgotten that pettish resolve that he was thunderstruck.
‘Well?’ said Phoebe, watching him. ‘Can you deny it, Duke?’
He released her hands at last, and uttered his crowning blunder. ‘No. I was piqued, I did, in a fit of-conceit-arrogance-anything you please to call it!-form some such contemptible scheme. I beg you to believe it was of very short duration!’
‘I don’t believe it!’ declared Phoebe.
The chaise turned into Green Street. Miss Marlow, having discharged much of the wrath she had been obliged to keep bottled up for so many painful hours, had begun to feel very low. The Creature beside her, not content with humiliating her in public, and regarding all the disagreeable experiences she had undergone on his behalf with indifference and ingratitude, had stormed at her, and insulted her, and now, when any but a monster of cold-hearted self-consequence must have known how tired and miserable she was, and how desperately in need of reassurance, he sat silent. Perhaps he needed encouragement? She gave it him. ‘Having become acquainted with your other flames, Duke-all diamonds of the first water!-I should have to be uncommonly green to believe that you preferred me! You asked me to marry you because you are so determined not to be obliged to own yourself worsted that you will go to any lengths to achieve your object!’
Now or never was the time for Sylvester to retrieve his character! He said very levelly: ‘You need say no more, Miss Marlow. It would be useless, I realize, for me to attempt to answer you.’
‘If you wish to know what I think of you,’ said Phoebe, in a shaking voice, ‘it is that you are a great deal worse than Count Ugolino!’
He was silent. Well! now she knew how right she had been. He was not in the least in love with her, and very happy she was to know it. All she wanted was a suitable retreat, such as a lumber-room, or a coal cellar, in which to enjoy her happiness to the full.
The chaise drew to a standstill, and Sylvester got out, and with his own hands let down the steps. Such condescension! Pulling herself together, Phoebe alighted, and said with great dignity: ‘I must thank you, Duke, for having been so kind as to have brought me back to England. In case we should not meet again, I should like, before we say goodbye, to assure you that I am not unmindful of what I owe you, and that I wish you extremely happy.’
This very beautiful speech might just as well have remained unspoken, for all the heed he paid to it. He said: ‘I am coming in with you,’ and sounded the knocker.