The Convenient Marriage Read Free Page A

mingled our tears. But she thinks, and how can I not feel the truth of it, that it is my Duty to the Family to accept of Lord Rule’s offer.’
    ‘Rule!’ he said bitterly. ‘A man fifteen years your senior! a man of his reputation. He has only to throw his glove at your feet, and you – Oh God, I cannot bear to think of it!’ His writhing fingers created havoc amongst his pomaded curls. ‘Why must his choice light upon you?’ he groaned. ‘Are there not others enough?’
    ‘I think,’ she said diffidently, ‘that he wishes to ally himself with our Family. They say he is very proud, and our name is – is also a proud one.’ She hesitated, and said, colouring: ‘It is to be a marriage of convenience, such as are the fashion in France. Lord Rule does not – cannot pretend to love me, nor I him.’ She glanced up, as the gilt time-piece on the mantelshelf chimed the hour. ‘I must say goodbye to you,’ she said, with desperate calm. ‘I promised Mama – only half an hour. Edward –’ She shrank suddenly into his embrace – ‘Oh, my love, remember me!’ she sobbed.
    Three minutes later the library door slammed, and Mr Heron strode across the hall towards the front door, his hair in disorder, his gloves and cocked hat clenched in his hand.
    ‘Edward!’ The thrilling whisper came from the stairhead. He glanced up, heedless of his ravaged face and wild appearance.
    The youngest Miss Winwood leaned over the balustrade, and laid a finger on her lips. ‘Edward, c-come up! I must speak to you!’
    He hesitated, but an imperious gesture from Horatia brought him to the foot of the stairs. ‘What is it?’ he asked curtly.
    ‘Come up!’ repeated Horatia impatiently.
    He slowly mounted the stairs. His hand was seized, and he was whisked into the big withdrawing-room that overlooked the street.
    Horatia shut the door. ‘D-don’t speak too loud! Mama’s bedroom is next door. What did she say?’
    ‘I have not seen Lady Winwood,’ Mr Heron answered heavily.
    ‘Stupid! L-Lizzie!’
    He said tightly: ‘Only goodbye.’
    ‘It shan’t be!’ said Horatia, with determination. ‘L-listen, Edward! I have a p-plan!’
    He looked down at her, a gleam of hope in his eyes. ‘I’ll do anything!’ he said. ‘Only tell me!’
    ‘It isn’t anything for you to do,’ said Horatia. ‘I am g-going to do it!’
    ‘You?’ he said doubtfully. ‘But what can you do?’
    ‘I d-don’t know, but I’m g-going to try. M-mind, I can’t be sure that it will succeed, but I think perhaps it m-might.’
    ‘But what is it?’ he persisted.
    ‘I shan’t say. I only told you because you looked so very m-miserable. You had better trust me, Edward.’
    ‘I do,’ he assured her. ‘But –’
    Horatia pulled him to stand in front of the mirror over the fireplace. ‘Then straighten your hair,’ she said severely. ‘J-just look at it. You’ve crushed your hat too. There! Now, g-go away, Edward, before Mama hears you.’
    Mr Heron found himself pushed to the door. He turned, and grasped Horatia’s hand. ‘Horry, I don’t see what you can do, but if you can save Elizabeth from this match –’
    Two dimples leapt into being; the grey eyes twinkled. ‘I know. You w-will be my m-most obliged servant. Well, I will!’
    ‘More than that!’ he said earnestly.
    ‘Hush, Mama will hear!’ whispered Horatia, and thrust him out of the room.

Two
    Mr Arnold Gisborne, lately of Queens’ College, Cambridge, was thought by his relatives to have been very fortunate to have acquired the post of secretary to the Earl of Rule. He was tolerably satisfied himself, employment in a noble house was a fair stepping-stone to a Public Career, but he would have preferred, since he was a serious young man, the service of one more nearly concerned with the Affairs of the Nation. My Lord of Rule, when he could be moved thereto, occasionally took his seat in the Upper House, and had been known to raise his pleasant, lazy voice in support of a