CHAPTER FIVE
Mr Waley had regained command of his ruffled feelings, and Lucy could not but be struck by the dullness of his normal mien.
He had seated himself in the chair opposite to Lucy, who was ensconced in the window embrasure, which meant he was close enough to touch her if he leaned a little forward.
Instinctively, Lucy sat back, letting her hands rest on the wooden arms.
Through his spectacles, the Reverend Waley’s magnified eyes appeared overlarge in his narrow features, accentuating the skeletal look. He smiled thinly. “I have to beg your pardon, Miss Lucy, for my loss of assurance earlier today. I had no intention of distressing you.”
Lucy drew a breath, wishing she had not consented to this meeting. “You did not distress me.” She could not forbear a laugh. “I fear it is I who should apologise. I am sure my demeanour was far more incontinent than yours.”
He put out a vague hand. “No, I assure you. I have always admired the coolness of your temperament, Miss Lucy.”
“You do not know me, Mr Waley, if that is your impression of me,” Lucy said on a rueful note.
He gave a little laugh, pinching his mouth in a manner which gave him a patronising look. Lucy shrank more than ever from the prospect of what was coming.
“I fancy I know you very well indeed, dear Miss Lucy. We have been acquainted from your childhood, have we not?” An anxious look appeared. “Which brings me to a matter of some concern. Will you allow me to speak of the disparity in our separate ages?”
For what purpose Lucy could well imagine. There was no repudiating him. “Certainly, sir. You may speak of anything you wish.”
He leaned in, reaching a tentative hand towards one of hers lying on the arm of the chair. Lucy affected to miss the gesture, fixing him with an enquiring look. He withdrew the hand and instead clasped his fingers lightly together.
“I am your senior by some twenty years, Miss Lucy, which has a bearing on me only as it may affect you. I am satisfied many such unions are uniformly contented.” Lucy must have made a motion of some kind, for he gave a little simper.
“Ah, you follow my train of thought. Let us throw off all restraint, Miss Lucy.”
If she threw off all restraint, Lucy felt she would run screaming from the room. Why had she never recognised how little she wished for this solution to her problems?
“You cannot be unaware of my intentions towards you,” went on the curate. “Nor how your dear father, in his final hours, commended you to my care. Even your aunt has hinted her approval of the scheme. In short, there can be no objection, no barrier, unless it comes from you.”
Lucy had never felt a stronger objection than she did at this moment.
When she left to confront her putative father, she had thought herself thwarted in this very scheme by reason of her birth.
Had it not been for the shocking truth, she had supposed herself willing to ally herself in marriage with Mr Waley.
Either she was deluded, not knowing her own sentiments, or she had inexplicably changed her mind.
She began to feel trapped. He was awaiting some response. Lucy gathered her courage.
“You are asking me to marry you?”
Mr Waley looked surprised. “But surely you know that. Have I not made myself clear?”
“Your meaning is clear enough, sir, though you have not mentioned marriage.”
He tutted, and the spectacles dropped down his nose. He pushed them back up, blinking. “Pray forgive me. It was most remiss. You are perfectly right, Miss Lucy, to insist on a proper proposal.”
“No, no, I did not mean —”
He stood up, holding himself erect. “I hereby make formal offer for your hand in marriage, Miss Graydene.”
A wave of revulsion swept through Lucy. What should she do?
Her suitor had clearly no expectation of a refusal.
She wished fervently Stefan had not given way and allowed her to see Mr Waley alone, as she had insisted.
He and Dion were not even within call, the latter having dragged her brother out for an evening stroll for the sole purpose of ensuring Lucy’s privacy.
Her feelings got the better of her. “I cannot, Mr Waley. I am sorry, but I cannot marry you.”
His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Not?”
“No, I cannot,” Lucy reiterated, as forcefully as she could.
Mr Waley sat plump back down again, staring at her, shocked disbelief sweeping across his face. “But, Miss Lucy, how can this be? It was your father’s expressed wish. Your aunt too.”
“I know, and I can only repeat my regrets, but my answer is no.”
Lucy knew she had been too vehement, for Mr Waley almost shrank back. For a moment he did not speak, obviously turning it over in his mind. Then a frown appeared.
“Can it be your head has been turned by your new friends? I believe Lord Pennington is an earl.”
Lucy bridled. “My decision has nothing to do with Lord Pennington. And I have not had my head turned!”
Mr Waley looked startled. “Such heat, Miss Lucy. Pray be calm.”
“I said you did not know me,” Lucy retorted, not without a touch of satisfaction.
He put up both hands in a gesture of peace.
“I make every allowance for the agitation of mind attendant upon a state of bereavement.” A new thought seemed to occur.
“Is it that, perhaps? Have I been too precipitate? I would not have broached the matter thus early were it not for the invidious nature of your situation.”
Lucy felt as if a hole suddenly opened in her chest, preventing her from breathing. Her mind blanked of all but the dreadful possibility that Papa had betrayed her.
“You know.” A mere whisper on her breath.
Mr Waley coloured and fidgeted, reaching to push his spectacles back up his nose and sniffing in the process.
“He told you,” Lucy pursued. “Papa told you it all.”
One of his hands flew up and he shook his head, jiggling the spectacles. “No, indeed, it was not Mr Graydene.”
“Aunt Harriet!”
Lucy knew by his face it was true. Her flesh crawled. Behind her back, an arrangement had been made. He had been told the truth, but without her knowledge or consent. She gazed at the curate with a new eye.
“You knew, and yet you persisted in this determination to marry me. Was there a bribe, Mr Waley? What do you get out of it?”
She knew he was both angry and shocked by the way he drew back, his thin features pinching in so tightly he might have had parchment for skin. “I had not thought to hear you speak with so little moderation or thought for what you say. I am dismayed, Miss Graydene.”
“But I am not Miss Graydene, am I? And yet you were willing to accept me for your wife. You will forgive me if I suppose there must have been some strong inducement held out to you.”
He shook his head. “None whatsoever, I do assure you.”
“Then you are sorry for me, is that it?”
“Miss Lucy, you mistake me utterly,” he said, a note of ill-usage creeping into his voice. “My attachment to your dear father might be reason enough, but —”
“You will marry me for my father’s sake, then?” interpolated Lucy, too upset to be rational. “Even though he is not my father?”
“Not at all. My regard for you is sincere. If you require proof, pray understand I would never have brought up this matter had you not divined I had knowledge of it.”
“And I would never have agreed to marry you if I had not told you of it —” Lucy caught herself up in mid-career, suddenly recognising the incongruity of her words.
Mr Waley appeared fully aware of the anomaly. “You will not marry me without telling me, yet you are angry that I have been told?”
“By my aunt. Can you not see the difference?” Remorse gnawed at Lucy.
She had treated the curate abominably. On impulse, she reached out and seized his hands.
“You are a good man, Mr Waley, and you do me great honour. But I am not the creature you think me.” She released his fingers.
“We would not suit, believe me. And I must find my own way out of this dreadful predicament.”
“But what will you do?”
Lucy shrugged. “That I don’t yet know.”
Mr Waley leaned closer. “You have been taken by surprise. I must beg you not to make too hasty a decision. A little time to reflect, and your mind may alter.”
“I do not think so.”
He held up a hand. “Say no more. I will say only this. Let my offer remain upon the table. I could not reconcile it with my promise to our poor dear Mr Graydene to have it otherwise. If you find yourself in want of a suitable situation, you have only to apprise me of it. I will marry you, Miss Lucy, whatever your circumstances.”
There was virtual silence in the curricle for the first mile or so.
Since her interview with the curate, Lucy had been edgy and evasive.
Stefan had no difficulty in recognising the signs of her upset, as if he had known the girl for an age.
He felt acutely attuned to her moods, a state of affairs he found less than comfortable.
She had refused to allow Dion to draw her on the subject of her conversation with the wretched Mr Waley, and Stefan had — not without a stretch of resolution — refrained from putting in his oar.
Not that he meant to let the matter lie.
Instead, he wove a careful plan to the end of holding Lucy captive where he might question her with impunity.
She could do little to avoid the issue perched upon the seat of his carriage, and with no listening ears up behind.
Dispensing with his groom had not been accomplished without challenge.
“We are going alone?” Lucy had eyed him with suspicion. Stefan maintained, he hoped, his bland expression.
“Have you any objection? I cannot think it much matters for so short a journey.”