Page 72 of The Chaperone
‘Those gentlemen with parents with good memories, and those who look for modesty, manners and decorum in a wife would not consider you for a moment. My parents are, however, deceased, and I do not possess “nice” notions of a wife. I repeat, ma’am, I did not come here out of familial duty.’ Sir Esmond paused for a moment, and then continued. ‘You are continuing to Croxton Priory, my home, which is not far from here, and where you will stay overnight with your cousin and her maid. Once everyone is rested you have but two choices: either you return to the capital, and a degree of gossip and perhaps exclusion, or you get married, to me, if you accept my offer. You may say it is not much of a choice, but you have left yourself no others.’
‘You really would marry her. Are you sure, my friend?’ Lord Rothley sounded as if he thought it a bad bargain. Susan had by now stopped dabbing at the red stain on the outer aspect of Lord Rothley’s shoulder and stared at Sir Esmond.
‘I know. I must be quite mad, Rothley, but yes, I would.’
‘But you have never paid court to me, and you are not …’ Susan began, and faltered.
‘Not what? Not elevated enough, rich enough, or dashing enough for you to have had me upon your list of possible conquests? I acknowledge this.’ Sir Esmond looked rueful.
‘Not in love with me, sir.’ Some of the other things had been true, but Susan hated to admit any mistakes and was not going to start now, or at least not right now.
‘In love with the persona you present to the world? Not exactly,’ Sir Esmond stepped close enough to take the hand still gripping the handkerchief. ‘However, I am perhaps the only man not just willing but eager to marry such a glorious baggage as you.’
‘Baggage! How dare you.’ Susan’s shock was replaced by affront. She glared up at Sir Esmond, her eyes flashing and one of her little hands forming into a fist. He took that hand, enclosing the clenched fingers in his own, firmly but gently. His eyes stripped away her facade.
‘You are a baggage, madam, and that is the truth of it. You have lived a life where nobody has ever said you nay, and have thus become unmanageable. Well, you see, for some inexplicable reason, I think that when you discover that isolation is not security, you will be a wife worth having, a wife in a million, Susan.’ His voice dropped. ‘But I will not put you upon a lonely pedestal, and serve you like some sad acolyte. I will be at your side, on your side. You will learn that you do not need to lash out to keep all the world at bay to protect yourself from it, for I will be there, always, and you will not be isolated any more. You must know, though, that I will not permit you to flounce and play off your tricks on other men. I will not permit you to act like a spoilt brat any longer, for you are not a child, but I will watch a real woman emerge from the ill-disciplined girl. Such a woman.’ His other arm went about her, and he pulled her into his arms, bent his head, and kissed her, not softly, not adoringly, but with an element of passion that she had never experienced. It took her breath away both figuratively and literally. It declared, even more than the words, that he would not let her rule him, and, much to her own surprise, the thought thrilled her. This was not, somehow, subjugation to whim. He wanted her, her specifically, not just asawoman, butthewoman in his life. Pinkney’s embrace had appalled; Sir Esmond’s invigorated.
‘You need not make your choice this minute.’ Sir Esmond felt he had to be fair.
‘But it is a simple one, sir.’ Susan leant back a little in his hold and looked up into his face. It was, she finally admitted to herself, rather a handsome one. ‘I can return to London and accept whatever gloomy fate my brother assigns me, with the world on his side, or I can marry you. The former can only bring me misery. Do you, really, think the latter will bring me, indeed bring either of us, joy?’
‘That you have said “us” and thought not solely of yourself means that I say it has a very good chance. I cannot promise, but then it depends how hard you – we – try.’
‘Then my answer is yes, Sir Esmond.’ She looked at him very seriously, and he smiled and drew her close once more.
Lord Rothley, not wishing to be in the way, had stepped back and ostentatiously turned his attention to his wound, which, without the application of the handkerchief, was dripping blood down his arm. He did not hear Sophy approach. She had found several napkins and emerged from the inn to see her cousin in the arms of Sir Esmond, which evidently neither shocked nor surprised her. Lord Pinkney was sat upon the ground, bleeding, and Lord Rothley, looking almost as pale, was bleeding whilst standing up. She ignored Lord Pinkney.
‘Let me, my lord.’ Sophy came forward as he looked up. Her colour drained to his, but she smiled, waveringly, and took the folded linen to press as a pad to the wound.
He held out his good hand, despite the red stain upon it, and she took it and gripped it.
‘I suppose this is where I ought to say “It is but a scratch”, although I rather think I should omit the “but”. Whilst it hurts like the devil, I shall not die of it, however, for it is merely through the sinews and no vital part.’ He pulled a wry face.
She let go of his hand, and touched his cheek, smiling tremulously.
‘You poor man,’ she murmured, and at this endearment his free arm slid about her waist. She gave no sign of objecting to this, and so he leant and kissed her, softly.
She gave a little sighing moan into his kiss, and he felt her respond to him.
‘Being shot may be painful,’ remarked Lord Pinkney largely to himself, and irrationally disgusted by the sight of two embracing couples, ‘but this is enough to make a man physically ill.’ He sighed. He only wished he felt well enough to stand. ‘Loth as I am to interrupt, would anyone be prepared to assist me to rise and make my way to the inn, where I might call upon the offices of a surgeon? Whilst you might prefer me dead, it might lead to an awful lot of difficult questions so …’
Sir Esmond, disengaging from Miss Tyneham with some reluctance, took the few strides to tower over him and extended a hand, which was taken with a grunted thanks.
‘I think living with a bullet hole will actually be easier than—’ Pinkney halted as Sir Esmond’s expression darkened. ‘Only my opinion, of course. No, I can manage now alone, thank you.’ He winced. ‘Neat shot, Fawley. Must have taken great control.’
‘It did. It was so tempting to aim for your heart.’
‘Don’t possess one.’ Pinkney managed a twisted smile, and glanced at Susan, regarding him severely. ‘And, Miss Tyneham, I offer my apologies. I appear to have inadvertently thrust you into the arms of a man who will make a better woman of you, whether you like it or not.’
‘Then you deserve my thanks, rather than my curses, sir.’ She made him a curtsey, but her eyes were upon Sir Esmond. She had spent so long twisting men about her little finger, and deep down, despising them and being bored by it. Here was a man who would not be twisted, but would, on the contrary, guide her to a union which would be mutual. It was slightly scaring, and yet exciting. ‘And I think, for the most part, I shall like it.’
Sir Esmond’s eyes glinted. Lord Pinkney walked, only a little unsteadily, into the inn. Susan looked up at the man who claimed her, for it felt no less. He was, as he had said, not a man whom she had ignored as a potential husband because he was unappealing but because he was a mere baronet, and she had been aiming far higher. His voice might drawl lazily, but he had been quick enough to embrace her, and beneath the drooping lids his eyes seemed to possess her already.
‘Shall you make me like the transformation, sir?’ Her low voice could not help but be seductive, but she was playing no game.
‘I fear you will like neither it nor me on occasion, my beloved baggage, for it will take some effort on both our parts, but overall … I may refuse to let you do certain inappropriate things, Susan, but I shall never “make you” love me, nor shall I beg for you to do so. That has to come from you, and from your own choice. I will, however, hope that you will come to love me as I love you.’
‘I … I do not think I would mind if you did, make me love you, I mean. Not if you did so with … kisses such as …’ Susan Tyneham did something she had rarely done in her entire life. She blushed scarlet, and lowered her gaze. When she raised it again he was still looking at her.
