marry me to my cousin. Last night she all but ordered me to come up to scratch, said it was my duty, and so I’ve decided that — that the only thing to be done in the circumstances is to marry another lady — I think Maid Rosalba Ludbrook. You must know I cannot possibly marry Berinthia.” He drew breath. “Marriage with Maid Rosalba will be the greatest possible protection from further difficulties, and I’m telling you this because if I am to elope with her I may need your help. Do you understand?”
“What!” said Juxon when the Marquis had finished.
Meriel stood back. “Well? Will you not help me? Yes, I daresay it sounds as though I’ve run mad, but pray how else am I to escape from this damnable coil?”
“Simply, you must not offer for Lady Berinthia!”
“Oh, it’s as simple as that, is it? Didn’t you hear what I said? Do you not see that I must appear to be as other men?”
Juxon lowered his eyes, licked his lips, and thought quickly. “Her ladyship is the most meddlesome female in the whole of Westmarch,” he said at length in a normal voice, and raised his head to Meriel. “Of course you are quite right in saying that weare in a most shockingly awkward position.” He fiddled with one of his quills.
“Just so.”
“It is of all things the most unfortunate!” Juxon fretted. “But my dear Marquis, you are not bound to the lady and you must know you cannot possibly marry anyone. Maid Rosalba Ludbrook! That dowdy little Maid of Honour? I thought she was betrothed to Mr Marling? Marquis, what is this maggot you have in your head? What a notion! Of course, you are not in earnest. You don’t need a wife!”
“Juxon, listen to me and don’t talk like a fool. If I don’t — make a pretence of marriage now, my mother will try again and again to push me into the arms of some eligible female, and I tell you I cannot face the prospect.” He did not feel able to discuss the problem of Rosalba’s being engaged to another man. That was a complication so unjust that he refused to think of it at all. “The strain is already very great, you know.”
“I know, my dear. Believe me, I know.” Juxon was still thinking hard.
“If I were to marry Berinthia and refuse to share a bed with her, before very long some — some tale of my incapacity would be the talk of Castle West,” the Marquis went on slowly, red in the face. It was as though he were explaining things to himself as much as to Juxon. “She would not think to conceal it, think it reflected ill on her , oh no! As for bedding her, it’s out of the question, do what I will she would guess the truth at once.”
“I understand,” said Juxon slowly. “But have you discussed this …?”
“Now Rosalba — Maid Rosalba — is an innocent , don’t you see? She would never find me out.”
Juxon laid down his pen. “Not perhaps for a month — a year — five years — but you could not keep her from all knowledge of the world, Marquis, and at last she would find out.”
The Marquis realised that this objection was sensible. When Juxon made sensible objections, often it meant that he was on the point of giving way.
“No. Not if I have a proper care. I shall be able to make some pretence at consummation, enough to deceive her thoroughly. Besides — I wish to marry her.” Meriel scratched his chin andremembered more good arguments. Juxon, he saw, was embarrassed by his frankness. “She’s a nice bit of game and no one could think ill of me, as a man, for wanting her — though of course it will be scandalous to marry her. Juxon, you know it’s thought devilish queer that I have no mistress, I’m more than three-and-twenty. I need a woman.”
“Men suppose merely that you prefer your own sex,” said Juxon dryly, to show that he was displeased but not embarrassed by Meriel’s coarse praise of Maid Rosalba.
“My own sex! God help me!” He had suspected this, and he snorted with laughter.
“And will not own it even to
“What!” said Juxon when the Marquis had finished.
Meriel stood back. “Well? Will you not help me? Yes, I daresay it sounds as though I’ve run mad, but pray how else am I to escape from this damnable coil?”
“Simply, you must not offer for Lady Berinthia!”
“Oh, it’s as simple as that, is it? Didn’t you hear what I said? Do you not see that I must appear to be as other men?”
Juxon lowered his eyes, licked his lips, and thought quickly. “Her ladyship is the most meddlesome female in the whole of Westmarch,” he said at length in a normal voice, and raised his head to Meriel. “Of course you are quite right in saying that weare in a most shockingly awkward position.” He fiddled with one of his quills.
“Just so.”
“It is of all things the most unfortunate!” Juxon fretted. “But my dear Marquis, you are not bound to the lady and you must know you cannot possibly marry anyone. Maid Rosalba Ludbrook! That dowdy little Maid of Honour? I thought she was betrothed to Mr Marling? Marquis, what is this maggot you have in your head? What a notion! Of course, you are not in earnest. You don’t need a wife!”
“Juxon, listen to me and don’t talk like a fool. If I don’t — make a pretence of marriage now, my mother will try again and again to push me into the arms of some eligible female, and I tell you I cannot face the prospect.” He did not feel able to discuss the problem of Rosalba’s being engaged to another man. That was a complication so unjust that he refused to think of it at all. “The strain is already very great, you know.”
“I know, my dear. Believe me, I know.” Juxon was still thinking hard.
“If I were to marry Berinthia and refuse to share a bed with her, before very long some — some tale of my incapacity would be the talk of Castle West,” the Marquis went on slowly, red in the face. It was as though he were explaining things to himself as much as to Juxon. “She would not think to conceal it, think it reflected ill on her , oh no! As for bedding her, it’s out of the question, do what I will she would guess the truth at once.”
“I understand,” said Juxon slowly. “But have you discussed this …?”
“Now Rosalba — Maid Rosalba — is an innocent , don’t you see? She would never find me out.”
Juxon laid down his pen. “Not perhaps for a month — a year — five years — but you could not keep her from all knowledge of the world, Marquis, and at last she would find out.”
The Marquis realised that this objection was sensible. When Juxon made sensible objections, often it meant that he was on the point of giving way.
“No. Not if I have a proper care. I shall be able to make some pretence at consummation, enough to deceive her thoroughly. Besides — I wish to marry her.” Meriel scratched his chin andremembered more good arguments. Juxon, he saw, was embarrassed by his frankness. “She’s a nice bit of game and no one could think ill of me, as a man, for wanting her — though of course it will be scandalous to marry her. Juxon, you know it’s thought devilish queer that I have no mistress, I’m more than three-and-twenty. I need a woman.”
“Men suppose merely that you prefer your own sex,” said Juxon dryly, to show that he was displeased but not embarrassed by Meriel’s coarse praise of Maid Rosalba.
“My own sex! God help me!” He had suspected this, and he snorted with laughter.
“And will not own it even to
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