Chapter 22
Lord Milton did indeed call the next day, at an early hour that made it plain that his visit was not purely social.
Allegra knew this within a moment or two of his arrival because, at the sound of the doorknocker, Beatrice, Cecilia and Bianca rushed into the hall out of pure inquisitiveness, and if her visitor had cared to look up, he would have seen three flushed faces and untidy dark heads hanging over the second-floor banisters in a most unladylike fashion, like so many bats.
Probably he did hear them scuffling and whispering, but Allegra could only hope that he was too well-bred to take notice of it.
She understood from what his mother had said that he had no siblings of his own, and therefore no nieces or nephews either, so he could not be expected to have the least idea of the chaos young persons could cause; if he married her, of course, he would very likely find out in short order.
The thought of an encounter between the stuffy Lady Milton and her younger sisters, which would in those circumstances appear inevitable unless they could be temporarily locked up in a distant (Anglican) convent, made Allegra feel slightly sick.
Once he had been shown into Mrs Constantine’s sitting room, the girls ran to tell Allegra the exciting news; he probably heard that from downstairs too, as no doubt did passers-by in the street, since they made an astonishing amount of noise between them, like a stagecoach being forced along at full tilt by an inebriated driver.
‘He’s here!’ Cecilia announced breathlessly and at no low volume.
‘Lord Milton is here talking to Mama! Surely he must have come to make you an offer!’
‘I suppose he must,’ she said, her throat suddenly dry.
Lord Milton was the best of her suitors, wasn’t he?
Certainly she could expect no more suitable proposal, and she already knew that not marrying wasn’t an option.
The Season had not long to run; the sands of time had almost run out for her.
She ought to be pleased he was here today, committing himself at last, not confused and – absurdly – frightened.
Could she really accept him? But on the other hand, dare she turn him away and face a horribly uncertain future?
‘He’s quite handsome, considering,’ Bea said grudgingly. ‘And he has all his hair still, despite his age. Edward is going bald on top, you must have observed. Poor Viola. Old and bald.’
Allegra’s face must have reflected the mix of emotions she was feeling, because Cecilia came over to where she was sitting and, extraordinarily, put a supportive arm around her shoulders and gave her a slightly sweaty but affectionate hug.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t really have a dead bride in a coffin in his house, Allie,’ she said seriously.
‘I’m sorry I put the idea in your head and perhaps scared you.
I do understand that it really isn’t very likely, despite what the books would have us believe.
He looks most gentlemanly and fashionable, especially for his age, as far as we could see from up here. ’
‘I’ve met his mother,’ Allegra replied drily, aware that she was sounding like Mrs Constantine just now. ‘If you told me she slept in a coffin I might believe you.’
‘Neither Laurence nor Edward has a mama living, so Sabrina and Viola have never had to face a mama-in-law, it’s true,’ Beatrice said thoughtfully. ‘Though they have had to face Mama.’
‘Of course they don’t have mothers,’ Bianca chipped in. ‘Edward’s mama would be at least 150 years old. She probably met Henry VIII and was lucky not to get her head chopped off.’
This preposterous statement naturally provoked a squabble, and Allegra was almost relieved when the maid Polly came labouring up the steep, narrow stairs to say that her mama wished to speak to her urgently downstairs.
The girls left off teasing and poking at each other for long enough to smile encouragingly at her, and she smoothed out the creases in her blue muslin gown as best she could and made her way slowly down the staircase.
She was trembling, she discovered. Had Viola felt like this when she’d known that Edward was about to offer?
Probably she had; probably Sabrina in a similar situation had not. That was not a comforting thought.
Mrs Constantine had left the room by the time Allegra entered it, leaving them unchaperoned for his proposal and her response.
That was something to be grateful for, at least, she supposed.
Lord Milton was standing by the empty fireplace, gazing down at the toes of his shiny hessian boots, his grey eyes hidden and his expression sombre.
He didn’t have the mien of a man who had recently made the happiest and most momentous decision of his life.
He looked like someone who was waiting to have a painful tooth drawn and had very little confidence in the barber-surgeon.
He raised his head and smiled, with some perceptible effort. ‘Miss Constantine,’ he murmured.
This was going to be as agonising as any tooth extraction, she feared. ‘Won’t you be seated, sir?’
‘Thank you.’
An uncomfortable little silence fell, and Allegra was determined not to break it.
If he really intended to offer for her, he’d have to say so in explicit words.
She could hardly do this for him, and presumably he’d managed to speak coherently to her mother, or she wouldn’t have been summoned urgently.
‘Your mother has been good enough to give me permission to address you,’ he said formally.
This was beyond awkward. ‘Yes?’ she said in what she hoped was a reasonably encouraging tone.
She was smiling, or something like it; even she could tell it must look remarkably artificial.
Just now, she felt as though she’d say yes as soon as he asked, assuming he ever did, purely in order to make him go away and put an end to this hideously embarrassing situation.
Then she’d run upstairs, bury her face in her pillow and scream very loudly.
That didn’t seem right. It certainly wasn’t a long-term solution to anything.
‘Miss Constantine, will you do the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’
‘Why?’ she blurted out, surprising herself almost as much as him.
‘Why…?’ he echoed.
Allegra supposed it was an odd thing to say, even in reaction to what was surely the polite world’s least enthusiastic marriage proposal to date.
She took a deep breath. ‘I haven’t been enjoying my Season all that much, nor the previous one.
I feel… uncomfortable, as if I were an object for sale in a shop that nobody seems all that keen to buy.
So I thought I should try to work out why my three suitors had singled me out.
But in your case, I can’t. Your mother didn’t seem to know either. ’
‘My dear, I have the greatest respect for you…’
Enough of this. ‘Respect? That doesn’t seem nearly enough.
I know you’re not in love with me – that’s fine.
I’m glad you’re not pretending to be. But – as your mother didn’t hesitate to remind me – you could look much higher than me for a bride.
It’s perfectly true; there’s no need to make polite noises of denial, sir.
I have no fortune, beauty, or high rank to my name.
My father is a gentleman of no particular standing.
You don’t seem to me to be the sort of man who’d choose a woman just because her sister married a duke, and even if you were, there’s others you could woo in a similar situation with far greater advantages than me.
And I don’t think you… desire me. You don’t seem to.
’ She knew now what that looked like, how it felt and tasted, and she was sure he didn’t, just as securely as she knew she did not desire him, despite his handsome face and fine figure and all his other more worldly advantages.
‘Your mother implied that it would be a marriage of convenience, and that you need an heir. I understand that, but I still don’t see why it should be me of all women. And I have a feeling – maybe I’m wrong – that if I knew the answer, it wouldn’t be terribly flattering.’
Lord Milton was silent for a moment. ‘I do admire your frankness, and your courage,’ he said at last. ‘You practise no artifice, in a world composed of little else. It scares me slightly, but it’s admirable. Perhaps that’s what…’
He shook his head and went on doggedly, ‘If I tell you why I have offered for you, as well as I am able, and if you choose not to take me once you know it – which I would certainly understand – I’ll have to ask you on your honour to reveal to nobody what I’ve shared with you.
Ever. I believe I can trust you – perhaps I’m mad, because I barely know you and I’m taking a grave risk doing so.
But the idea of deceiving you, or any woman I might marry, does not sit easily with my conscience.
And yet in the past I’ve looked at debutantes and imagined myself telling them what I have to tell you…
and my courage has failed me. I pictured their faces, the change in their expressions, the disdain…
I couldn’t do it. But with you, somehow, I think I might.
There are things we could offer each other, and maybe honesty is chief among them.
That’s something, I hope you will agree. ’
‘You have a secret,’ Allegra said softly. She remembered Mr Severin’s words. ‘Perhaps most men do, and it is not as great a matter as you think it.’