‘Oh, I agree with you, ma chère !’ he said cordially. ‘You would have made a charming duchess. But in these revolutionary times one must moderate one’s ideas, you know. Consider, instead, the advantages of becoming a baroness.’
‘A baroness?’ she faltered, fixing her eyes on his face with an expression of painful intensity. ‘What do you mean?’
He met her eyes with slightly raised brows, and for a moment stood looking down at her as though he were trying to read her thoughts. ‘My dear cousin, what in the world have I said to alarm you?’ he asked.
Recollecting herself, she answered quickly: ‘I am not at all alarmed, but I do not understand what you mean. Why should I think about being a baroness?’
He pulled up a chair and sat down on it, rather nearer to her than she liked, and stretching out his hand laid it on one of hers. ‘I might make you one,’ he said.
She sat as straight and as stiff as a wooden puppet, but her cheeks glowed with the indignation that welled up in her. The glance she bent on him was a very fiery one, and she said bluntly: ‘You are not a baron, you!’
‘We don’t know that,’ he replied, ‘but we might find out. In fact, I have already recommended Tristram to do so.’
‘You mean that you would like very much to know that Ludovic is dead?’
He smiled. ‘Let us say rather than I should like very much to know whether he is dead, my dear.’
She repressed the impulse to throw off his hand, and said in a thoughtful voice: ‘Yes, I suppose you want to be Lord Lavenham. It is very natural.’
He shrugged. ‘I do not set great store by it, but I should be glad of the title if it could win me the one thing I want.’
This was too much for Eustacie, and she did pull her hand away, exclaiming: ‘Voyons, do you think I marry just for a title, me?’
‘Oh, no, no, no!’ he said, smiling. ‘You would undoubtedly marry for love were it possible, but you have said yourself that your situation is awkward, and, alas, I know that you are not in love with me. I am offering a marriage of expediency, and when one is debarred from a love-match, dear cousin, it is time to give weight to material considerations.’
‘True, very true!’ she said. ‘And you have given weight to them, n’est-ce pas? I am an heiress, as you reminded me yesterday.’
‘You are also enchanting,’ he said, with unwonted feeling.
‘Merci du compliment! I regret infinitely that I do not find you enchanting, too.’
‘Ah, you are in love with romance!’ he replied. ‘You imagine to yourself some hero of adventure, but it is a sad truth that in these humdrum days such people no longer exist.’
‘You know nothing of the matter: they do exist!’ said Eustacie hotly.
‘They would make undesirable husbands,’ he remarked. ‘Take poor Ludovic, for instance, whose story has, I believe, a little caught your fancy. You think him a very figure of romance, but you would be disappointed in him if ever you met him, I dare say.’
She blushed, and turned her face away. ‘I do not wish to talk of Ludovic. I do not think of him at all.’
He looked amused. ‘My dear, is it as bad as that? I should not – I really should not waste a moment’s thought on him. One is sorry for him, one even liked him, but he was nothing but a rather stupid young man, after all.’
She compressed her lips tightly, as though afraid some unguarded words might escape her. He watched her for a moment, and presently said: ‘Do you know, you look quite cross, cousin? Now, why?’
She replied, keeping her gaze fixed on a blazing log of wood in the grate: ‘It does not please me that you should suppose I am in love with someone I have never seen. It is a bêtise.’
‘It would be,’ he agreed. ‘Let us by all means banish Ludovic from our minds and talk, instead, of ourselves. You want certain things, Eustacie, which I could give you.’
‘I do not think it.’
‘It is nevertheless true. You would like a house in town, and to lead precisely the life I lead. You could not support the thought of becoming Tristram’s wife, because he would expect you to be happy in Berkshire, rearing his children. Now, I should not expect anything so dull of you. Indeed, I should deprecate it. I do not think the domestic virtues are very strong in me. I should require only of my wife that her taste in dress should do me justice.’
‘You prop
ose to me a mariage de convenance,’ said Eustacie, ‘and I have made up my mind that that is just what I do not want.’
‘I proposed to you what I thought might be acceptable. Forget it! I love you.’
She got up quickly, a vague idea of flight in her mind. He, too, rose, and before she could stop him, put his arms round her. ‘Eustacie!’ he said. ‘From the moment of first laying eyes on you I have loved you!’