Chapter 50
There was no more need for concealment, or for clandestine meetings.
Mr Constantine was summoned from his Surrey estate, where he’d been peacefully overseeing the haymaking and enjoying the fine weather, to receive a formal offer for his daughter’s hand from a gentleman who intimidated him slightly, so intense was his manner.
This young man, before he would allow his prospective father-in-law even to consider his proposal, had insisted he read a story in literary magazine.
A story! Mr Constantine would have found this highly confusing, possibly a sign of incipient mental imbalance, if he hadn’t been already primed to expect as much by his wife.
He’d read the piece before, therefore, and more than once, but he could see that the young fellow wouldn’t be satisfied by anything less than the appearance of a slow and intent perusal in front of him, so, because he was a kindly person, and one who preferred an easy sort of life besides, he did that, all the while uncomfortably aware of Mr Severin’s disconcertingly hot amber gaze.
Mr Constantine had a sense of humour, which perhaps was just as well for a man with six daughters.
‘I would love to see your face, Severin,’ he opined, raising his own eyes and meeting his guest’s regard at last, ‘if I showed myself shocked by what I’ve just read – it was rather well done, I thought; clever fellow – and told you that if all this melodramatic stuff is true, I could not possibly consider you as a suitable candidate for Allegra’s hand, and must insist you leave my roof directly. ’
Sheer horror and panic swept across the lad’s features, to be replaced an instant later by comprehension, and an answering flare of amusement.
Thank God – he wasn’t stupid. Allegra would not deal well with someone stupid.
Let alone her mother. ‘It would see me well served, wouldn’t it, sir?
’ Max said ruefully. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’ve put you in an awkward position, but it was important to me that you knew the truth of who my father is, and where I come from.
But I confess I would be most taken aback – to put it no more strongly – if you said you wanted no part of me because of it.
I do realise that’s not entirely fair. I have no business to be putting you to the test.’
‘I understand that there has been an unprecedented amount of truth-telling in this house while I have been away,’ Mr Constantine replied equably.
‘And so you will no doubt be relieved to hear that I am not a raging hypocrite nor yet a pompous fool. I love my wife, whom I met when she was singing ballads in the street with her old rascal of a father. Saw her, heard her, and that was it for me. I’m not the one, you know, Severin, who insisted upon the ridiculous and risky deception we’ve been imposing on the world for the last five and twenty years or so.
I don’t care two pins about the ton, or my daughters making fine matches, being duchesses and so on.
That’s a lot of nonsense, in my opinion.
I just wanted my wife to be content with her life.
I want that for Allegra too, and she – evidently – wants to marry you, though heaven knows why, because you seem like an unrestful sort of fellow to me.
But obviously that’s what she likes. So yes, you have my permission to address her.
I know you haven’t made me your formal offer yet – can we consider that you have, and I have accepted it, and move to the part where I shake your hand and wish you both very happy?
Unless you have a fine speech got up by heart and a great need to relieve yourself of it? ’
Max strode forward – he’d been standing by the fireplace, stiff as a poker in his anxiety – and took Mr Constantine’s hand in both of his, and wrung it fervently. His prospective father-in-law smiled, and returned the pressure in a less extreme manner.
‘I must insist upon a very short engagement, or a long one,’ the older gentleman said firmly.
‘When we’ve got the hay in safely, we like to have a celebration.
Dancing and singing, and a feast, drinking our local cider, you know.
I don’t want to miss that unless I absolutely must. Daughters are forever getting married, in my experience, with varying degrees of fuss that I don’t concern myself with, but it’s been a good growing year, and that’s not so common, for the apples and the hay, even the cherries, which can be tricky.
Hops look promising, too, though it’s early to be sure, of course. ’
‘That must be up to Allegra,’ Mr Severin replied, seeming sadly unwilling to be diverted into more interesting agricultural discussions.
‘For my own part, I’d be happy with a very short engagement, and a special licence.
Perhaps we could combine the wedding with the celebration you speak of, and then Allegra and I can go straight on to Kent, to my estate there, for our honeymoon.
I don’t suppose there can be any great distance between your estate and mine, can there, sir?
Mine is inland from Lympne, if you know it. ’
‘How are the hops in that part of Kent?’ Mr Constantine asked a trifle wistfully, to which his guest returned the vaguest of answers.
He would love to know, but he could see that that was a conversation for another day.
He asked Severin to ring the bell, Allegra and her mother were summoned, and soon enough was obliged to give up his own study to the happy pair, for a short time, he trusted.
It was excellent news about the brief engagement, though.
He had reason to know the chaos that the buying of bride-clothes and so forth could bring.
And the horrifying cost. If it could be limited to a few days only – less than a week, perhaps? – that would suit him very well.