An Unreasonable Match Read online

  With the greatest possible reluctance, Robert, observing the state of both Percevals, had to agree. It was vital that Canford's tirade should be stemmed before too many people heard it, and the girl could not be left alone. Hugo hurried out and he and Hester were left in the room. "Miss Perceval—"

  Hester was now calm enough to speak between her sobs. "It's all your fault!" she shouted. "I would never have gone with that...that monster if you had been kinder."

  "Miss Perceval, let me fetch you something to calm you. I'm sorry—"

  "I won't listen to your excuses! You all laughed at me, I heard you tonight with your friends! All laughing at me! You're no better than a fashion plate, a pasteboard figure without heart or mind! God might have given you brains, but lack of use has caused them to...to wither away! Don't speak to me! I don't want to hear your excuses!"

  Robert Dungarran bowed. "I was not aware that I had done anything to excuse. But I won't say another word, if that is what you wish."

  "Look at you!" she went on stormily. "Elegantly empty! You don't care whose heart you break! Making me fall in love with you—"

  "Oh no!" This was too much, even for a man of Robert Dungarran's equable temperament. "That cannot be so. I have never given you the slightest reason to—''

  "Of course you did! Why else would you spend so long teaching me to dance, taking me for drives, saying how pretty I looked, when I know very well I am not at all pretty? You are all the same, all of you. Just like Lord Canford—" She was working herself up into hysteria again. Robert had done the only thing possible. He had slapped her, not particularly gently. Eyes wide with shock, she had stared at him.

  "You...you monster!" she stuttered. "To hit a lady..."

  "A lady!" he said derisively. "You! Listen to me, Miss Perceval! You are as close to being a lady as I am to being the Great Cham of China! You are, in fact, an obstinate, conceited, ignorant child. My sympathies, such as they are, are with Hugo. How he came to have such a fool of a sister I cannot imagine. I am sorry the conversation you overheard tonight distressed you, but I would not retract one word from its message. You would do well to persuade your mother to take you away from London to somewhere where you can learn manners and sense in decent obscurity. And now, if you don't mind, I shall guard the door outside until your mother arrives."

  The chaise was passing Hyde Park. He was nearly home, thank God. It was as well. Remembering what he had said to Hester Perceval all those years ago was not a pleasant exercise. The girl had been an appalling nuisance, but he shouldn't have been quite so hard on her. He got out and stretched. Bates, his butler and steward in Curzon Street, was already outside the house, organising the footmen, paying off the chaise and generally being his usual supremely efficient self. It was time to forget Hester Perceval. With any luck he needn't meet her again.

  Chapter Two

  A few weeks after the trip to Northampton the weather had changed for the better. It was even quite warm. Hester Perceval paid her usual morning calls in Abbot Quincey village, then walked slowly back up the drive to the Hall, which was bathed in early spring sunshine. It was a lovely building of old rose brick decorated with a porch and pilasters of pale grey stone. A wide, graceful flight of steps in the same grey stone led up to its main entrance and two wings of rose brick curved gently to either side. Lawns and tall trees—chestnuts, oaks, ash and holly—surrounded it, though at this time of year most of the trees were bare. But there was a promise of spring in daffodils dancing along the drive, and in the faint haze of green in the hawthorn hedges on the edge of the park.

  Hester gazed at it wistfully. Short of a miracle she would soon have to leave the Hall to spend two months or more in the capital. Lady Perceval, normally the most understanding of mothers, had refused to abandon her plan to take her daughter to town in an effort to acquire a husband for her. It was ridiculous! She didn't want a husband—and what was more, she would be extremely surprised if she could find one. But however much she had pleaded, reasoned, even argued, it had been in vain. And now time was scarce. In a few weeks Sir James and Lady Perceval would leave for London, accompanied by their daughter, to take part in the annual carnival which called itself the London Season...Hester quickened her pace up the drive. She must make one last effort to bring her mother to see reason.

  *

  But half an hour later Hester was no nearer to success. Her mother was unshaken in her determination, and was growing quite upset by her daughter's obstinate refusal to accept her decision.

  "You're a good, clever girl and your father and I love you dearly, Hester. Surely you don't believe that we wish to make you unhappy? Or that we haven't your best interests at heart?" Lady Perceval's voice trembled and her daughter quickly reassured her.

  "Of course not, Mama! No one could ask for kinder or more generous parents. It's just... I really don't want another London Season. The last one was enough for me. And surely I'm old enough to know my own mind..."

  "Exactly so. You'll be twenty-four in November, Hester! Twenty-four and not a single prospect in view. I did have hopes of Wyndham for you at one time, though he's hardly ever been at Bredington recently. But I hear he has found someone else. And now dear India is married, and Beatrice Roade, too—both very advantageously..."

  "But I don't want a husband, Mama! Oh, I wish you would believe me. I could remain a perfectly happy spinster, leading my own life in my own way, if only you would let me."

  "My dear, I've heard all these arguments before, and I assure you yet again, that the only secure future for a woman is in marriage. Or would you prefer to be Hugo's pensioner, once your father and I are no longer here?"

  "In no way! Hugo and I would be at odds before the month was out! But in any case that must be a very distant prospect. And I'm sure you could persuade Papa to settle a small amount of money on me instead of taking me to London—" Hester moved over to sit down on the sofa by her mother. She took her hand and looked pleadingly into her parent's unusually determined face. "If he would give me just a small sum—enough to give me a very modest income—I should be happy to live by myself."

  "Alone?"

  "With a maid or...or even a companion if you insisted."

  "Hester, I wouldn't even dream of passing on such a ridiculous notion to your father. And if I did he would laugh it out of court! It's our duty to see you safely married, and a London Season is the best way of doing it." She looked appraisingly at her daughter. "You could be quite a good-looking girl, if you would only make the effort. Your dowry, I know, is not large, but there must be someone somewhere who would want to marry you!"

  This was too much for Hester's very ready sense of humour. Her mouth twitched as she said demurely, "Why thank you, Mama! A widower, perhaps, with six children and a wooden leg? He might just be persuaded to take me on.''

  "I didn't mean it that way, as you very well know. You are a wicked girl to tease me so. But an older man might be the answer?"

  Hester was instantly serious again. "No, Mama! I do not wish for a husband of any kind—old, young, widowed, single, decrepit, healthy... To put it absolutely plainly, I do not want to marry anyone."

  Lady Perceval looked helplessly at her daughter. "But why, Hester?"

  "Because I don't believe there's anyone in the world whom I could respect, and who would be willing to treat me in return as someone capable of rational thought! The polite world is singularly lacking in such men. At least it was six years ago, and I cannot suppose things have changed very much since then. In my experience gentlemen in London only want a pretty face to pay empty compliments to, a graceful partner to dance and flirt with, a...a mirror to tell them in return how witty, how handsome, how elegant they are. And I daresay when they eventually condescend to marry some poor girl, they will treat her like...like a piece of furniture—there to provide an heir and manage the household, while they go their selfish, masculine way, hunting, fishing, shooting and gambling into the night."

  "Hester! Stop, stop! That's quite
enough of your nonsense. I won't allow you to say such things when your father is everything that is kind and considerate—you know he is! What other father would allow you to do very much as you please here in Abbot Quincey? Many another would have married you off to some country squire long before now. As it is, he has always respected your wish to live quietly with your books. He is even proud of your work in sorting your grandpapa's papers. He is taking us to London mainly because he honestly believes—as I do—that you would be happier with an establishment and family of your own. We wish to find a husband for you before it is too late."

  "Papa is an exceptional man, Mama, and I admit he has been very patient with me—"

  "Well then," said Lady Perceval, "why don't you please him—and me—by overcoming your reluctance for another London Season?"

  "That wouldn't guarantee a husband for me! Men don't find women like me attractive, Mama. I don't have to remind you of what happened six years ago—you were there."

  Lady Perceval shuddered. "I was," she replied with feeling.

  "The so-called gentlemen made fun of me! I may have been inept and...and, yes, stupid! But they were so unkind! They made no effort to understand. They couldn't believe that a woman might want to ask questions or debate issues which went beyond the cut of a sleeve or who was whose latest flirt." She frowned, then shrugged her shoulders and smiled wryly. "I was foolish to try. The last thing they wanted to do was to be required to think."

  "I've always felt that a lot of the blame was mine, my dear. You were very young. Hugo always advised against taking you straight from Mrs Guarding's Academy into the fashionable world, and he was right. You weren't prepared for it."

  "Mrs Guarding is a wonderful woman. I..."

  "I know about Mrs Guarding's advanced views on educating young women. She may be a wonderful teacher, but her ideas do not exactly prepare girls for success in society! You were stuffed full of half-digested notions of saving the world. Praiseworthy, no doubt, but hardly appropriate for the drawing-rooms of the Ton. And then the scandal with Lord Canford ruined everything—''

  Hester shuddered. "Please don't, Mama! If you only knew what that episode did to my self-esteem!"

  "I do know! You didn't have a chance after that. I was never so shocked in all my life as when I heard how Canford had behaved at the Sutherlands' ball. Thank heaven Hugo was there to rescue you!"

  "He may have saved me from Canford's attentions, but he didn't exactly spare my feelings afterwards—especially when the noble lord aired his grievance to anyone who cared to listen." A giggle escaped her. "Mind you, Canford had some cause. If he really believed I had encouraged him, it must have come as a shock when I emptied the glass of wine over him. His coat was ruined. What he must have felt when Hugo came in and caught him chasing me round the room...!"

  "I am surprised Canford had so much vitality. He must have been sixty if he was a day!"

  "He had a quite remarkable turn of speed. And then Hugo got caught in Canford's walking stick and they both came down. Thank God neither was badly hurt. The scandal would have been even greater if such a prominent member of the aristocracy had been lamed for life by my brother! But Canford limped away quite nimbly in the end. Soaked in wine and cursing." There was a pause. Then Hester added, "Looking back now, it was a relief that you were more or less forced to bring me back to Northamptonshire afterwards... I had had enough of London, and Hugo had certainly had enough of me."

  "He was disappointed that his efforts to launch you had failed so disastrously. He suffered too, Hester."

  "My dear Mama, Hugo was far more concerned about his own dignity than he was about my reputation. I'd apparently let him down in front of.. .in front of...his friends."

  "I'm sure he had forgotten that Dungarran was there when he gave you such a dressing-down. He would never normally have done such a thing in front of anyone else."

  "You believe not?"

  "I am sure he wouldn't. It was most unfortunate. You haven't really been friends with him since, have you, my dear?"

  "No. And he comes so seldom to Abbot Quincey now, that there's never an opportunity for us to put things right. Lowell is here quite often, but Hugo never comes."

  Lady Perceval said firmly, "Hugo is like every other young man of his age—he enjoys life in society. He'll come when he is ready—you'll see. He's thirty in July, and that's when he always said he would settle down."

  "He was so unkind to me! But I miss him, all the same. We were good friends when we were young..." Hester got up, went to the window and gazed at the peaceful scene outside without really seeing it. There was a silence. Then she added bitterly, "Is it so surprising that I never want to see London again?"

  Lady Perceval sighed. "I am sure things will be different now," she said persuasively. "Canford died two years ago. And memories are short."

  "Perhaps. But men still like pretty faces, and dainty, appealing ways in the young women they marry. They don't look for argument or debate. Well, I have never been either pretty or dainty. I'm too tall. And now I'm six years older and my bloom, such as it was, has faded. And, worst of all, though I've lost my passion to change the world, I still enjoy using the brains the Lord gave me in a good argument." Hester came back to her mother and knelt down beside her. "Oh Mama, I am convinced that I would never find a husband to please me. I'm perfectly content here in Abbot Quincey. Please, please will you not speak to Papa?"

  Lady Perceval shook her head. "I would not at this moment even think of making the attempt. Not while there is still time for you to see how wrong you are. Listen to me, Hester," she went on, gently taking both Hester's hands in hers and speaking very seriously. "It may surprise you to learn that large numbers of women with considerable intelligence are clever enough to keep themselves and their husbands happy simply by disguising the fact! At seventeen you could be forgiven for not realising this, but not now, Hester. Not now. Look around you! The idea that it is impossible to find happiness in marriage is absurd! I have always been very happy with your dear Papa. And look at Beatrice Roade—a very clever, sensible girl—but since her marriage at Christmas she positively radiates happiness!"

  "No one could possibly deny that. But she was lucky. She and Harry Ravensden are exactly right for each other—and Harry doesn't just put up with Mr Roade's eccentricities, he positively delights in them! No, there's no doubt about that marriage, I agree. But that does not change my mind, Mama!"

  "And I shall not change mine, Hester. We are going to London for the coming Season." There was a pause while she looked at her daughter's downcast face. Then her voice softened. "If nothing has changed by the time we return from London, then we shall see what can be done."

  "Oh, thank you, Mama—"

  "But first, you must give yourself another chance," Lady Perceval said firmly. "Is it a bargain? Will you promise me to keep an open mind? Will you try to mend fences with Hugo, and forget any grudges from the past? Will you do that?"

  "I'll try, Mama," Hester sighed, "but it won't be easy."

  "There's my good girl! And now I expect you want to escape to that attic of yours for the rest of the morning, though I'm not at all sure it's good for you to spend so much time alone up there. Wait, Hester! Did you take Mrs Hardwick the eggs when you were in the village? Is she any better?"

  "Not yet. But Dr Pettifer will come this afternoon. And the eggs were welcome. They had almost run out.''

  "That's good. Off you go, then. You might spend some time reflecting on what I have said. Marriage is a woman's best chance of happiness."

  The way to her attic was long and took her past some of the most beautiful rooms in the house. The family lived in only a small section of the main block, together with a suite of rooms in the west wing occupied by Hester's grandmother. The Dowager Lady Perceval was away at the moment and the rest of the house was silent and unused, the furniture under holland covers, and pictures and ornaments packed away or even sold. Perceval Hall had been built in wealthier times, but San
ford Perceval, Hester's great-grandfather, had been a gambler and a wastrel. Fortunately he died young, before he had entirely run through the handsome fortune left him by his father. The Percevals no longer owned the vast acres of former days, but they had managed to hold on to the Hall, and their name still counted for something. They were among the county's oldest and most respected landowners, and a Perceval could marry anyone. It was a pity, thought Hester, as she passed large, beautifully proportioned rooms and went up the handsome marble staircase, it was really very unfortunate, that since that London disaster-she had been quite unable to imagine sharing her life with any man.

  She came at length to her attic. This was her special place, her refuge. She had discovered it years ago, and had made it her own as soon as she found her grandfather's comfortable old chair, and a bureau stuffed full of his books and papers stored there. And when she had returned from London in disgrace, at odds with the world, and out of charity with her much admired elder brother, this was where she had taken refuge. Her parents believed that she was putting her grandfather's papers in order, possibly with a view to publication, and were happy to leave her to it. But, though that was how it had begun, it was far more than that.

  For the last five years Hester, wary of exposing herself to yet more mockery for her "unfeminine" studies, had lived a double life. In public she did what was expected of the daughter of a prominent local family. Though she was regarded as something of a recluse, she rode and walked, worked in the still-room, supported her mother in her charitable work, had frequently visited India Rushford before her marriage to Lord Isham. She was quite often seen in company with her other cousins at the Vicarage. But whenever she could she escaped to her attic. The work on the Perceval papers was nearly finished. But this was not all she did here. And she owed her new occupation to Lowell.