‘Incensed.’ He sketched the outline of the story, omitting to tell her that they were supposedly betrothed. He spent some minutes impressing on her the magnitude of Fanshawe’s and his sacrifices in saving Cecily’s and her reputations. Hearing her chuckle over Ferdie’s mission to spread the tale far and wide, he hoped he had diverted her mind from what he had not explained.
Recovering from her giggles, Dorothea mentally reviewed what she had heard, her eyes fixed on the offside horse. This midnight drive was possibly the best chance she would ever have of extracting information from Hazelmere. In normal circumstances, his physical presence was so distracting that it was a constant battle of mind against body to formulate sensible questions, let alone combat his evasive answers. But, since he was now perched on the box-seat beside her, his hands occupied with the reins and his attention divided between his horses and herself, the odds were more even. She would certainly have to encourage him to take her driving more often in future. Silent, they passed through Dorking and into the country lanes leading to Hazelmere. Bringing her gaze back to his face, she said in the most non-committal of tones, ‘What were the other notes Mr Buchanan had sent?’
He recalled a comment of Ferdie’s that she had a habit of asking questions so it was impossible to sidle out of them. Resigned to the inevitable, he answered, ‘He made two previous attempts to abduct you. That was something I didn’t foresee when I decided to convince the ton of my interest in you.’
The moonlight had completely faded and sunrise was not far off. They had crossed the Hazelmere boundary, and the look-out over the ornamental lake known as Hazelmere Water was not far ahead.
After a considerable pause while she tried to analyse his actions in all this Dorothea said, ‘I take it the first was the Bressington masquerade?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing you don’t know about that, except I knew it wasn’t a joke. That was why I was suddenly so ridiculously attentive, even attending that boring party that Sunday. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to learn your engagements. Did you know one of my footmen is walking out with your maid?’
Dorothea regarded him with a fascinated expression. He grinned and continued, ‘The second attempt was at the picnic you attended with Ferdie. He forgot to give you a note delivered while you were there. It was unaddressed, so he opened it when his man found it the next day. It was supposedly signed by me, but Ferdie knows my signature and so he brought it to me. Tony was with me at the time, so after that both of them knew.’
‘When did the rest of your friends find out?’
Impossible to deny it. ‘On Wednesday, at a luncheon. I had to leave town, and Tony and Ferdie couldn’t hope to keep you in sight all the time.’
‘Did it never occur to you to tell me?’ she asked.
‘Yes. But I couldn’t see what good it would do.’ Seeing her frown, he sighed. ‘Who could know if and when the next attempt might be made?’
The silence on his left was complete. After a minute he risked a glance and found she was regarding him quizzically. ‘You’re quite abominably high-handed, you know.’
He smiled sweetly and replied, ‘Yes, I know. But only with the best of intentions.’
The curricle topped a gentle rise and just beyond the crest Hazelmere turned the horses on to the grass verge, cropped to form a look-out. ‘And that,’ he announced, ‘is Hazelmere Water.’
With the sun breaking over the distant horizon, the scene spread beneath her feet was breathtakingly beautiful. He jumped down from the curricle and tied the reins firmly to a bush. He lifted her down and together they descended a flight of shallow steps cut into the escarpment. These led to a small plateau beneath the crest where a stone bench stood by an old oak. An uninterrupted view of the valley below unfurled at their feet. Hazelmere Water was a large ornamental lake edged by clumps of willows. There was an island in the middle with more willows, and a summerhouse, painted white, showing through the lacy foliage. Swans cruised slowly on the gentle currents of the stream that fed the lake from one end and exited at the other.
As the sun climbed higher the colours of the scene changed constantly from the first cool sepia tones through the warm pink tints of early sunrise and the golden glow of increasing light, until finally, as the sun cleared the hills behind the lake and shone forth unhindered, the bright greens of the grass and willows and the deep blue of the lake showed clear and intense.
Seated on the bench, Dorothea watched in speechless delight. Hazelmere, beside her, had viewed the sight on many occasions. He still found pleasure in it, but today had eyes only for the woman beside him. Returning to London with the firm intention of settling their past and future in one fell swoop, he had found that, instead of waiting patient and secure for him to declare himself, his independent love had gone haring off in the middle of the night to do battle with Edward Buchanan. It really should not have surprised him. While he had little doubt she would have handled the matter after a fashion, her disposition to manage matters her own way had given him an irresistible opportunity to bring their frustrating courtship to its inevitable climax. But now, despite her apparent calm, she was defensive. To be trying to keep him at a distance after all that had passed between them seemed rather odd, even for his independent love. He watched her; delight in the scene before her glowed on her expressive face. Inwardly he sighed. He was going to have to find out what it was that was worrying her. The reins of this affair of theirs had continually tangled; he couldn’t remember when he’d had so much difficulty with a woman. And now he had a sneaking suspicion that, while he had thought he had got the reins untangled and running free, they had somehow got snagged again.
With the sun riding the sky, Dorothea turned towards him, her eyes glowing. ‘That was the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen! I’m afraid Lord Fanshawe will have to bring Cecily here at dawn after all.’
Hazelmere had lost interest in Fanshawe and Cecily. ‘Just as long as it’s you who tells him so. Having consigned him to two hours in that carriage with Cecily and your Betsy, I fear I’m not at present riding high in his esteem.’
Dorothea, suddenly breath
less, looked down and found that he had hold of her hand. She felt him move to draw her to him. Knowing that if he kissed her she would lose any chance of retaining sufficient control to force any admission, positive or negative, from him, she resisted. He immediately stopped. For a moment silence, still and deep, engulfed them. Dorothea, her eyes downcast, did not see the long lips curl into a wry smile. Hazelmere could think of only one way to precipitate matters, so he took it. ‘Dorothea?’ His voice was entirely devoid of its usual mocking tone. ‘My dear, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Despite the fact that she had expected the question, for one long moment she thought the world had stopped turning. Then, her eyes still locked on his hand, gently clasping hers, she struggled to find words to extricate herself from the predicament the question had landed her in. How typical of him! If she simply said yes, she would never learn the truth.
‘My lord, I am sensible…very sensible of the honour you do me. However, I… I am not convinced there is…any real…reason or…or basis for marriage between us.’ In the circumstances, Dorothea felt quite pleased with the outcome. Nicely vague.
Although not surprised, Hazelmere still felt as if he had been winded. How on earth had she come to that wonderful conclusion? Clearly he was going to have to explain a few things to his beloved. Assuming it was his motives she question, he went direct to that issue. ‘Why do you imagine I want to marry you?’
Hearing the sincerity in his voice, she felt forced to reply truthfully. Now was no time for missish sentiment. ‘You have to marry. I gather you want a conformable wife, to give you heirs and manage your households.’ She paused, then added, ‘Someone who would not interfere with your present lifestyle.’
For once, he missed the oblique allusion. ‘There’s nothing in my present lifestyle that marriage to you would disrupt.’ For some reason, far from reassuring her, the statement seemed to have the opposite effect.
Dorothea gulped. For one instant she almost convinced herself that she didn’t want to know. Then she shook her head. ‘In that case, I really don’t think we…would suit.’
Hazelmere was entirely at sea. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he heard the catch in her voice. Foreseeing an unprofitable and probably distressing time ahead if they continued in this roundabout fashion, he decided to gamble all on one throw. Cutting tangled reins was the fastest way, after all. Provided you could hold the horses afterwards. Possessing himself of both her hands, he drew her around to face him. ‘If you’re adamant that is true, then of course I’ll not press you. But, if you wish to convince me what you say is so, you’ll have to look at me, my love, and tell me you don’t love me.’
Her heart had sunk like lead at his first sentence. The second threw her into total disarray. How could she do that? In the long silence that ensued she could feel his eyes on her, still warm. If she looked up she would lose.
‘Dorothea?’