“Yes, though I never met her in my life, for I was married before Sir John, but it was a very proper letter, and showed her to be a woman of excellent feeling, your uncle said. Though it was very disturbing, and upset me so much that I could scarcely swallow a mouthful of food all that day for thinking about it. For, you know, my dear, Damerel—!Not that you could possibly know, poor child, and I am not in the least surprised you should have fallen in love with him, because he is fatally attractive, though I am not, of course, acquainted with him! Still, one sees him at parties, and in the park, and at the opera, and— Well, my dear, scores of females— But to think of marrying him—! Which your uncle said was in the highest degree improbable—that such a notion should cross his mind, I mean! Only what to do I didn’t know, because your uncle thought it useless to invite you to come to town, and your being of age made it so very difficult, besides that he was persuaded your principles were too high to allow of your—your accepting a carte blanche, as they say!”
“None was offered me!” Venetia said, standing very straight and still in the middle of the room.
“No, my love, I know, but although it seems a dreadful thing to say, to have married him would have been worse! At least, I don’t precisely mean—”
“Don’t distress yourself, ma’am! Lady Denny was mistaken. Lord Damerel’s affections—were not so deeply engaged as she supposed. There was nothing more between us than—a little flirtation. He made me no offer—of any kind!”
“Oh, my poor, poor child, don’t!” cried Mrs. Hendred. “No wonder you should be so wretched! There is nothing somortifying as to fall in love with someone who does not share one’s sentiments, but that pain you need not be made to suffer, whatever your uncle says, for gentlemen don’t understand anything, however wise they may be, and even he owned to me that he had been mistaken in Lord Damerel, so he may just as easily be mistaken in you!”
“Mistaken in Lord Damerel?” Venetia interrupted. “Then—Aunt, are you telling me that my uncle saw Damerel when he came to Undershaw?”
“Well, my love, he—he thought it his duty, when you have no father to protect you! He considered it most carefully, not at first perceiving how he might be able— But then you wrote me the news of Conway’s marriage, and it was the most providential thing that ever happened, though I was never more shocked in my life, for it furnished your uncle with an excellent excuse to remove you from Undershaw, which he saw in a flash, because he is very clever, as I daresay anyone would tell you.”
“Good God!” Venetia said blankly. She pressed a hand to her brow. “But if he saw him— Yes, it must have been before he reached Undershaw—before I saw— Aunt, what passed between them? You must tell me, if you please! If you will not I shall ask my uncle, and if he will not I’ll ask Damerel himself!”
“Venetia, don’t talk in that dreadful way! Your uncle was most agreeably surprised, I promise you! You must not think that they quarrelled, or that there was the least unpleasantness! Indeed, your uncle told me that he felt most sincerely for Lord Damerel, and in general, you know, he never does so. He even said to me that it was a great pity that it should be out of the question—the marriage, I mean—because he was bound to acknowledge that he might have been the very— But it is out of the question, my dear, and so Lord Damerel himself acknowledged. Your uncle says that nothing could have done him greater credit than the open way he spoke, even saying that he had done very ill in not going away from Yorkshire, which your uncle had not accused him of, though of course it is perfectly true. Your uncle was not obliged even to point out to him, which he had expected would have been the case, and a very disagreeable task it would have been, and I’m sure I don’t know how—but that doesn’t signify, because Lord Damerel said that he knew well that it would be infamous to take advantage of you, when you knew nothing about the world, and had never been beyond Yorkshire, or met any other men—well, only Mr. Yardley!—so that you were almost bound to have fallen in love with him, and how could you understand what it would mean to be married to a man of his reputation? And you don’t understand, dear child, but indeed, indeed it would be ruinous!” She paused, largely for want of breath, and was relieved to see that the colour was back in Venetia’s cheeks, and that her eyes were full of light. She heaved a thankful sigh, and said: “I knew you would not feel so badly if you didn’t think yourself slighted! How glad I am that I’ve told you! For you are not so unhappy now, are you, my love?”
“Unhappy?” Venetia repeated. “Oh, no, no! Not unhappy! If I had only known—! But I did know! I did!”
Mrs. Hendred did not quite understand what was meant by that, nor did she greatly care. All that signified was that the haunted look which made her so uncomfortable had vanished from Venetia’s eyes. She gave a final wipe to her own, and beamed upon her suddenly radiant niece, saying with satisfaction: “One thing you may plume yourself on, though, of course, it will not do to say so, for that would not be at all becoming. But to have captivated such a man as Damerel into actually wishing to offer for you is a triumph indeed! For he must have meant to reform his way of life, you know! There was never anything like it, and I don’t scruple to own to you, my love, that if it had been one of my daughters I should be as proud as a peacock—not that I mean to say I think any of them could, though I fancy Marianne may grow to be a very handsome girl—and, of course, I should never dream of letting him come in their way!”
Venetia, who had been paying no attention, exclaimed: “The wretch! The idiotish wretch! How could he think I should care a jot for such nonsense? Oh, how angry I am with the pair of them! How dared they make me so unhappy? Behaving as though I were seventeen, and a stupid little innocent! My dear aunt—my dear, dear aunt, thank you!”
Mrs. Hendred, emerging from an impulsive embrace, and instinctively putting up a hand to straighten her cap, began to be uneasy again, for not even her optimism could ascribe the joy throbbing in Venetia’s voice to mere pride of conquest. “Yes, dear child, but you are not thinking—I mean, it cannot alter anything! Such a marriage would utterly ruin you!”
Venetia looked down at her in a little amusement. “Would it indeed? Well, ma’am, when Damerel came north it was to escape the efforts of his aunts to marry him to a lady of respectable birth and fortune, so that he might become reestablished in the eyes of the world. I don’t see how that was to be achieved if marriage to him meant her social ruin, and I can’t believe that the plot was being hatched without the knowledge and approval of Miss Ubley’s parents!”
“What?” cried Mrs. Hendred, momentarily diverted. “Amelia Ubley? You don’t mean it!”
“But I do mean it, so now, ma’am, will you explain to me how it comes about that though her credit would survive that marriage mine would not?”
Mrs. Hendred’s brief period of relief was over. She stared at her niece with an expression on her face of absurd chagrin, fidgeted with her shawl, started several sentences, and finished none, and finally answered lamely: “The cases are not the same. Oh dear, now I wish—Venetia, you don’t understand these matters! Miss Ubley’s situation—the circumstances— Well, they are quite different!”