Chapter Eight #4
It was not very encouraging, but there was so much that Oswald was burning to say, and had, indeed, several times rehearsed, that he was not at all daunted.
He plunged, stammering a little, into a speech that began as worldly-wise advice from a man of wide experience to a singularly innocent and gullible girl, but very soon changed to a diatribe against Damerel, and an impassioned declaration of undying love for Venetia.
It lasted for quite a considerable time, and Venetia made no attempt to check it.
Nor did she laugh, for it was apparent to her that her youthful admirer had worked himself into a dangerously overwrought condition, and believed himself to be far more violently in love with her than she had guessed.
She gathered from one or two of his utterances that he was persuaded that she had been in a fair way to returning his love until Damerel had cast his spell over her; and although she knew that she had never given him the smallest encouragement she was vexed with herself for not having perceived that a turbulent boy with a yearning for romance and a marked turn for dramatising himself was quite capable of exaggerating mere elder-sisterly kindness into something far warmer.
So she let him talk himself out uninterrupted, thinking that since so many wild and tangled emotions had been festering in his bosom he would probably feel much better for being allowed to pour them forth, and even a little ashamed of himself.
However, when he reached the stage of urging her to marry him, and outlining, in a rapture of fantasy, a wedding-trip that included the more remote parts of the globe, and would, at the lowest computation, take quite three years to accomplish, she judged it to be time to intervene, and to administer a damper calculated to make him fall out of love with her as suddenly as he had fallen into it.
As soon as he paused, eagerly scanning her face to see what effect his eloquence had had on her, she rose, and said, as she picked up her basket: ‘Well, now, Oswald, if you have finished talking nonsense, you may listen to what I have to say, and after that you may go home! You have been quite amazingly impertinent, but I don’t mean to scold you for that, because I can see that you’ve hoaxed yourself into thinking I was as good as promised to you before Damerel came to the Priory.
How you can be so conceited as to suppose I should have a tendre for a boy not very much older than Aubrey I can’t think!
I wish you will try to cure yourself of make-believe, and learn to be a little more sensible!
It seems to me that you imagine so much that it gets to be quite real to you, which leads you, you know, to say the most absurd things!
Only consider, for instance, what would happen if I were as silly as you, and agreed to marry you!
Do you soberly suppose that Sir John and Lady Denny would have nothing to say to such a ridiculous match? ’
‘Nothing they could say would turn me from my purpose!’ he averred.
‘Oh, wouldn’t it?’ she retorted. ‘We should just fly to the Border, I collect, since you’re not of age, and be married over the anvil!
I should cut a pretty figure! What next should we do?
Set forth on this wonderful journey of yours?
– which sounds to me excessively uncomfortable, and, indeed, would be more than uncomfortable, because we should soon find ourselves without a feather to fly with.
Or have you bamboozled yourself into believing that Sir John will be so obliging as to put you in command of a handsome independence?
’ She paused, and could not help smiling at the sudden change in his expression.
A baffled and angry scowl, which made him look like a thwarted schoolboy, was now being bent upon her, and seemed to indicate that he was already more than half out of love.
She moved forward, saying: ‘You see how foolish it is, don’t you?
Don’t let us say any more about it! When you are as old as I am I expect you will be very much in love, not play-acting, with a girl who is at this present sewing samplers in the schoolroom, and if you remember me at all, which you very likely won’t, you’ll wonder how you came to make such a cake of yourself!
Go home now – and no more dangling after me, if you please! ’
By this time Oswald was hating her quite as much as he had adored her, but not being prone in his most equable moods to consider what was the true state of his feelings he was quite incapable of performing this feat when a prey to emotion.
In the jumble of hurt, and fury, and chagrin into which Venetia’s cool mockery had plunged him he saw only one thing clearly, and that was that she looked on him as a schoolboy.
He said in a voice that shook with anger: ‘You think I’m too young to love, do you? Well, you’re wrong!’
With these bitter words, and before she had had time to realise his intention, he seized her, and managed, though not very expertly, to get his arms round her.
Venetia, more concerned for the unhappy kittens, which were very nearly tilted out of the basket by this sudden onslaught, than for herself, cried sharply: ‘Take care! You idiotish boy, let me go at once!’
But Oswald, who had never before held a girl in his arms, was in the grip of a novel and exciting sensation, and he hugged her rather more tightly, and kissed first her ear, then her eyebrow, and then her cheekbone in several dogged attempts to reach her lips.
Between these assaults he said in a breathless, exultant voice: ‘A child, am I? I’ll show you! ’
‘Oswald, stop! How dare you – oh, thank goodness!’
If Oswald wondered what had drawn this unexpected exclamation from her, or why she suddenly ceased struggling, he was not left for more than a very few seconds in doubt.
A hand was thrust roughly into his neckband, and closed like a vice, nearly choking him, and its fellow grasped the seat of his riding-breeches; he was plucked bodily away from Venetia, jerked round, propelled irresistibly to the doorway, and sent sprawling through it.