Chapter 8 Disappointment
Simon was enchanted with Miss Sophia Merrington. The night of the ball was, perhaps, the first occasion in his existence when he had tried to put himself in another person’s shoes, to see as she saw, to feel as she felt, and it was a revelation.
From the moment when she had declared herself to be his friend, he had felt a heightening of interest in her.
That, after all, was how one treated a friend, was it not?
One took an interest in their affairs, and so it was with Miss Merrington.
She looked forward to the ball, and so he began to look forward to it, too.
She wanted to dance all night, and thus he wanted that for her.
And when he first saw her face that evening, a little flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling with anticipation, her hair arranged in a charmingly elaborate style for the occasion and her gown…
there was something magical about a ball gown, its sole purpose to add a swirl of soft movement to every step its wearer takes. He could not wait to begin drawing her.
As the evening wore away, he followed her about with his sketch book, attempting to fix the lively motions of the dance in simple pencil strokes.
How hard it was! The poses of her arms, the precision of her steps, the constant changes — all so difficult to capture in one frozen moment.
He was never satisfied. If he managed her hands accurately, her feet were out of alignment, and if the feet were right, the gown was all wrong, and her face—!
Those glorious expressions that flitted across her features and were instantly gone.
How on earth was he to distil such splendour into mere drawings?
Impossible! Yet he was compelled to try.
But as he sat in bed the next morning, the multitude of sketches laid out on the covers around him, he recalled one expression in particular, when the young man — she had called him Lord Daniel — had claimed a second dance.
He had no chance of capturing it with his pencil, but there was something in her face at that moment that he had never seen in her before, something endearing but frightening, too.
He could only describe it as ‘hope’. She had been given hope, and in that instant he saw her whole life laid bare, a life of waiting, endlessly waiting for that one man to come along and ask for a second dance, with all its implications.
Perhaps nothing would come of it, but he could see the thought in her head as clearly as if she had spoken the words — ‘if he likes me enough to dance with me a second time, perhaps he will like me enough to fall in love… to marry me’.
As her friend, he should be hoping for such an outcome for her too, but his heart was not in it, somehow.
He could not quite explain it, even to himself, but he was not at all satisfied with the idea of her marrying Lord Daniel.
He was younger than she was, for one thing, and…
well, obviously he was not right for her.
Just why this was so, he could not say. He simply knew it, in some unfathomable way.
So when Juliet came bustling in, in her inimitable way, fully dressed already and chiding him as a lazy slug, he was not minded to be charitable.
“Leave me alone, Juliet. I am not feeling energetic this morning.”
“But you should be, after such a successful evening. Even without dancing, you managed to be attentive to Sophia Merrington the whole night, sitting out the supper dance with her and then taking her in to supper. Well? How is it going? She must be well on the way to falling in love with you by now.”
He could only laugh at such optimism. “Oh, it is as simple as that, is it? I pay attention to her, talk to her for half an hour and feed her lobster patties, and she will just fall into my hands.”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “Simon, how many times must I explain it to you? She is twenty-eight years old, with no fewer than three older sisters still unwed. She will fall at the feet of any man who shows an interest.”
“She would have to be desperate indeed to fall at my feet,” he said, but smiling as he spoke. “Be realistic, sister.”
“You are not so ineligible, brother. You are the son of an earl, after all.”
“For what that is worth,” he said harshly.
“Juliet, I am penniless, entirely dependent on you to survive, and although I have a profession, of a sort, it has not brought me very much money. Precisely two hundred pounds, in fact, for those stables in Gloucestershire, and that was a higher than usual fee as a favour to Kendle. We have eaten my entire income long since. Or burnt it, perhaps. Coal is so expensive.”
“Pft! What is that to the purpose? She will have two and a half thousand from her brother, and the duke is bound to give her something extra. We shall manage very well on that until you are established in your career.”
“That just makes me the worst kind of fortune hunter. Even if I liked her, it would be dishonourable in me to offer for her when I have not a feather to fly with.”
“But you do like her,” Juliet said slyly. “Do not deny it, for I can see it with my own eyes.”
“Dishonourable,” he said firmly. “Beyond the pale. Unprincipled. Contemptible. Shameful. Despicable.”
She gave a bark of laughter. “Yes, yes, yes, I know. Men do it all the time, despite these protestations, and do their wives regret it? No, they do not. Just a little more effort, brother dear, and you may secure Miss Merrington… or one of her sisters, if you prefer. I am quite easy on the matter. There is nothing to choose between them. Just secure one of them, that is all I ask.”
“There are some serious heiresses here,” he said. “I wonder you do not set your sights on a girl with twenty thousand.”
“Let us not get over-ambitious. The rich ones all have fathers who would not take kindly to a son-in-law with pockets to let, but Richard Merrington will be glad to dispose of one of his sisters, I assure you. His mother says that he grumbles constantly about the expense. He will get his wife to wheedle money out of the duke, for she is wondrous great with him, and then you will be able to live in comfort until you make your name.”
“You have it all worked out,” Simon said disconsolately, seeing that she would not be deterred.
“So I have, and my arrangements always work out for the best. Have I not always looked after you, Simon? All that is needed is for you to do precisely as I say, and all will be well. Now, get out of bed, for the sun is up and so are the Merrington ladies, and you are just wasting the day.”
“I do not know why you are so set on me marrying,” he said, with a burst of anger. “We are quite happy as we are, just the two of us. When I have made my name — that will be the time for me to look about me for a wife, and one with more than two and a half thousand, too. What is the great rush?”
“Simon, I am heartily tired of being poor!” she said with asperity. “With a wife who brings a little money to the table, we could be a trifle less poor.”
“Only until the children come along and then we should be considerably poorer, and a house full of bawling infants is hardly conducive to my work. It is madness, Juliet. We may not have much money to spare, but with Mama’s little gifts and your annuity—”
“What annuity?” she spat.
“But—?”
“I know I talked about an annuity, which would have been lovely, but Aunt Tabitha left me a sum of money and most of it is gone, frittered away to no good effect, it appears, on your articles. If we do not find another source of income soon, we shall be obliged to take in lodgers, and I suppose you will complain that that is not conducive to your work, either. Well, if you want the peace and quiet, you had better find a paying client for your designs, Simon, and if you want to eat, I suggest you put that handsome face of yours to work and find yourself a well-dowered wife.”
So saying, she swept imperiously from the room, leaving him shocked and bemused in equal measure.
No wonder she was so keen for him to marry!
This needed some thinking about… no, there was nothing to think about.
He still could not in good conscience offer for Sophia Merrington, when he had not a penny to his name.
It was utterly wrong, but he could not help wondering…
what would happen if he were to do so? Would she even accept him, and if he were to marry her… ? It was a strange thought.
He had always assumed that all women were managing females, as Juliet was, but she at least understood his need for a quiet life so that he could concentrate on his work.
A wife would be far more intrusive, although he had to admit that Miss Sophia Merrington was not a disruptive sort of female.
She did not chatter all the time, and when she did talk, it was to ask sensible questions or make rational points, such as when she had seen the orangery as a place to entertain guests.
That had sparked all manner of ideas in his mind!
She was more like a muse to him, whereas most women were irritants, like persistent bluebottles who would not leave a man alone.
His final thought was that if he had to marry at all, he could do far worse than Sophia Merrington.
She was his friend, after all, and he could at least talk to her, could he not?
He could test the waters and see if he could divine whether she might be receptive to an offer from him.
After all, if she had formed an attachment to him, he would be obliged to marry her, would he not?
Then it would become the honourable thing to do.
Throwing aside the bed covers, he dressed quickly and took the stairs two at a time. She was not in the breakfast parlour, nor in any of the public rooms in that wing of the house. Nor was Mrs Merrington there, or anyone who might know where to find her.