Convenient Marriage

  A Convenient Marriage

  by Maria Ling

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Maria Ling

  Cover photo copyright Elena Tyurina - Fotolia.com

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  ***

  Eliza Swann tucked an errant lock behind her ear. She knew she looked as lovely as her attributes permitted: the mirror had told her so. But until her parents had praised her, she never felt sure. So she twirled in the middle of the parlour floor, then waited for their comments.

  "Charming," her mother said. "But shouldn't the sleeves be longer?"

  "No." The opposite, if anything, but Eliza hadn't dared try a pattern in the latest fashion. It revealed too much, and might get her sent upstairs without her supper. Which would be a disastrous start to the evening of her engagement.

  Mr Dean - Edward - had promised to call on them at eight o'clock and escort them to the Assembly Rooms himself. It must mean that he intended to propose. Eliza refused to consider any other possibility.

  He would ask her, and she would say yes. A thrill ran through her at the thought. He would take her hands and kiss her, and she would have a beautiful wedding. Then she would live on his estate in the country, be a lady, and charm everyone she met. And no one would dare call her plain ever again.

  "Neat and tidy," her father approved.

  Why Mr Dean wanted to marry her - well, that was obvious. He and Father had argued over butter prices for months. Father must have offered him a better deal in return for a family connection.

  Eliza dreamed of affection as much as any other girl, but she could not delude herself into thinking a landed gentleman would fall in love with a nondescript butter merchant's daughter.

  While she... No, the feeling was not strong enough for her to call it love. She liked Edward. She thought him handsome and pleasant, she enjoyed his company. She would make him a good wife, if she could.

  And he would be here soon, within the quarter hour.

  A knock on on the front door startled her. It took all her composure to sit down and look as calm as if she hadn't heard his arrival.

  Within moments, he was in the room with her. He greeted her father, complimented her mother, murmured something polite about her dress. She let him lead her to the carriage and hand her up to sit beside her mother, and they drove away in a haze of hope and April rain.

  Only then could she look at him direct, under pretence of attending to his conversation. He seemed tired. The gloom of the carriage cast a pall over his skin, and his eyes were dull as if from lack of sleep.

  "Something troubles you?" Eliza asked.

  "My mother is unwell."

  He'd lost his father only a few months ago. Fear for his mother's health hung about him like a stale cloak.

  "I hope she recovers soon." This was not in the books she had read, the dun-covered novels that spoke in such vivid words of passion. According to them, she ought already to be married, and to nurse his grateful mother with hands more skilled than any physician's.

  Which was a silly notion. Eliza had never attended a sickbed in her life. She had nothing to offer but platitudes, and she liked him too well to bore him with those.

  "She will." He pulled himself together under her gaze, and managed a ghostly semblance of cheer. "The doctor assures me she's out of danger. I just wish I could see her healthy again. By summer, I fully expect to."

  "It's the rain," Mother said. "It pulls everyone down."

  "Why don't you bring her to York?" Eliza suggested. "It might divert her. Even if she's too ill to visit, others may come to her."

  Edward shook his head.

  "It's a kind thought," he said, "and it does you credit. But she cannot be moved at present."

  The carriage halted. He stepped down and handed her out into the blaze of light from open doors.

  The ballroom teemed with bodies and thrummed with conversation. Eliza sauntered in, her hand placed on Edward's arm, and threw gracious smiles at everyone she knew. Soon the musicians struck up a country dance. Edward led her to a convenient place in the set. His weariness had vanished: he stood upright, braced for the turn, and his brown eyes gleamed with good humour.

  "After this," he said under cover of the banter that flew between the couples on each side of them, "would you allow me a moment alone with you?"

  "Of course." She could not imagine where they might go, but her heart skittered with joy. He would have only one reason for making such a suggestion.

  When they had concluded the dance, Edward drew her away to a corner near the supper room, where they hid behind a pillar.

  "Miss Swann." He took her hand and held it. "I hope you understand that I've had strong reason for befriending your family, and they have little to do with butter sales."

  Eliza choked back a laugh. Nerves fluttered all through her limbs and made her giddy.

  "I had imagined as much," she confessed.

  "Then allow me," Edward said, "to tell you that I wish to marry you. That I find you charming and lovely, but also sensible and intelligent, and that I think you and I would make an excellent team."

  "Oh." Eliza nibbled her lip. "This is not the language of all-conquering passion."

  "I have passion," Edward said. "But I fear it would cause a commotion if I expressed it here."

  She failed to hold back a giggle this time. Edward smiled at her. His eyes shone a little too bright. Eliza guessed he must be as nervous as herself.

  "I struggle for the right words," Edward said. "I do love you deeply, and I think we'd be happy together." He took a sharp breath, as if to strengthen himself for an ordeal. "I can offer you a good home. My estate is not vast, but it provides me with a comfortable living. You would be pleased with the house, the rooms, and the servants. If the country is too quiet for you, we can certainly come to York. But I hope you will - in time - come to love my home as much as I do. And I think we'd be happy. I know I would be happy."

  "You must speak to my father," Eliza said.

  "Only if I have your permission to do so."

  Everything hung on her word now. She could accept him, and step into the unknown, and be a lady. Or she could heed the faint chill warning of her heart. Something was wrong, she could feel it. This wasn't how a proposal was supposed to be.

  Perhaps the fault lay in her. She had paid too much attention to novels, too little to life.

  In any case, she had her chance now. She needed only to say one word, and wealth and standing and the assurance of beauty would be hers.

  "Yes," Eliza whispered.

  ***

  "You must marry well," Father said after breakfast the next morning.

  Eliza picked at her sewing. She had been careless at the ball, for a long thin rent opened low on the silk skirt and a knotted pink ribbon rose hung by a frayed thread.

  "I don't mean titles and riches and land," Father went on. He stared out the window at the pale yellow facade of the house opposite. "A gentleman farmer with a small estate and a good income. Say, a man like Edward Dean."

  Eliza hid a smile.

  "Mr Dean is most agreeable," Mother said from her position near the fireplace. She put down the novel she held and turned kind eyes on Eliza. "I'm sure he thinks highly of you. He danced with you twice."

  "He may like me as much as he p
leases," Eliza said, "but it is out of my power to propose marriage to him."

  "Don't be absurd," Father said. "Of course you must wait for him to propose to you. All I say is that when he does, you would be wise to accept."

  "If he does," Eliza amended.

  "Of course he will," Mother said. "Didn't he escort you to supper?"

  "He did, and we talked most agreeably of cold meat and rowan jelly. That does not seem very passionate to me."

  "Marriage has nothing to do with passion," Father said. "It is the coming together of two like-minded persons for the benefit of both."

  "I hope it has something to do with passion." Eliza threw a glance at Mother's novel. "It cannot be a mere business arrangement, surely."

  "A bit of both," Mother said. "Love and security must go together. You would not wish to be married to poverty, nor to be shackled to misery in wealth."

  "The wealthy have no cause to be miserable," Father argued. "But Edward Dean would be a good match for you, Eliza. His father was a sound man, but Edward has more to him."

  "Quite the fine gentleman these days," Mother observed.

  "He certainly cuts a figure," Father agreed. "I don't know how he makes such a profit, when all the farmers around him complain. But there you have it. A head for business and a steady hand. He'll do well - and so will you in team with him." He nodded to his daughter.

  "You make us sound like a pair of oxen," Eliza complained.

  "It's a reasonable analogy."

  "I think it's horrible. Anyway, he hasn't spoken to you - has he?"

  "He will today." Father pulled a note from his coat pocket and handed it to her. "He has asked for an invitation to dinner. I have said yes."

  Eliza studied the firm strong handwriting. It suggested a man who knew his mind, who set a course and held to it. Such a man would suit her.

  She just wished there might be a little more romance about it. A little more feeling. Secret trysts in ballroom corners were all very well, but she hankered for something grand.

  Perhaps it would come, once they were settled on his estate. It must do. For she was resolved to have him, now that he had asked.

  ***

  Eliza Dean peered out through the carriage window. Any moment now, she would see her new home. Fields and hedgerows glowed with ripe health, even through a steady drizzle.

  She imagined her arrival at the estate, as she had done so many times these past few weeks. How she would sweep from the carriage, splendid in her new gown and shawl. How she would greet the servants, and make sure to remember their names, and ask about their families. How Edward would lead her up the grand staircase, and show her the airy rooms of her own private apartment.

  She glanced at her husband, who sat in grim silence beside her. No doubt he was tired. It had been a long morning, with the wedding and the breakfast and the many farewells.

  Eliza wasn't tired - not a bit of it. She fizzed with excitement.

  "There is something I should tell you," Edward said. It was his first utterance since they had driven away from the church.

  Eliza sat back on the seat and presented him with an attentive face.

  "About the estate," Edward said. "I may have given you an exaggerated impression of its size."

  "I never thought I was marrying a duke," Eliza joked.

  "Not an earl either," Edward said.

  "You could buy a knighthood, I dare say."

  A muscle in Edward's cheek twitched.

  "With difficulty," he said. "In fact, I have very little in the way of ready cash."

  "Of course." Eliza nodded. She had been reading on the subject, so as not to annoy him with foolish questions. "Land in itself is a form of wealth. And profit must be re-invested in the land, to keep it profitable for the future." It worked on the same principle as any other business.

  "Profit," Edward said. The muscle twitched again. "The truth is, Miss Swann - Mrs Dean - Eliza - that I have misled you rather substantially on the matter of my wealth."

  The carriage lurched aside into a lane. Eliza planted her hands on the seat to steady herself.

  "Misled?" she repeated.

  "I do have a home for you," Edward said. "And an income of sorts. You'll be no less comfortable than in your father's house. But that is as much as I can offer."

  The carriage stopped.

  "I needed the money," Edward said. "Your money. Three thousand pounds in the four percents."

  Mr Dean drives a hard bargain, Father had told her. And laughed.

  "Then there is no estate?" Eliza faltered.

  "None."

  "No fortune?"

  "None."

  "No staff?"

  "We have a maid," Edward said. "Mary. You'll like her. She's like a mother to all of us."

  The carriage door swung open. Grey light drifted in. Eliza turned her head and saw a long stone farmhouse with a mossy tile roof. A gaggle of geese launched raucous objections from a sagging shelter. The air smelled damp and dreary.

  "This is it," Edward said. "Our home."

  ***

  Eliza stared at the pen.

  Five times she had dipped it in ink, and held it to a sheet of paper, and formed the beginning of a plea to be admitted back home. Five times she had put it down on the desk and stared at it.

  This was Edward's study, a cubbyhole under the stairs. His father had held it before, until he fell ill a year ago and Edward took over the running of the farm.

  They were tidy men, both of them. Account books lay tucked away on a high shelf. A box of receipts, half full, stood beside her. The desk itself, smoothed by generations of elbows and pens, held no speck of dust.

  Behind her, one door opened into the narrow hallway that led from the front door to the kitchen. Another, opposite, opened into the parlour. A dingy little room, that, with stuffed chairs so worn that horsehair peeked out in the bulges, and rugs so threadbare they could be used to sift grain.

  The smell of the house appalled her. Not an evil odour, not exactly, but a fug of bread and leather and old worn things.

  She could hear the clatter of pots from the kitchen. Mary, the cook and maid all in one, had shown Eliza over the house and then retired to prepare dinner. They ate early here, it seemed. The old pendulum clock in the corner of the room showed the hour to be half past eleven.

  Eliza picked up the pen, dipped it, and began to write.

  Dearest Mother

  I have arrived at Edward's house. It is not at all what I expected. The grounds -

  - do not exist, she ought to write. But there were lush green fields where cows grazed, a kitchen garden planted thick with vegetables, and even a small apple orchard.

  - are small but well kept, and the house itself -

  Well, it did keep out the rain. Upstairs, two of the rooms - the ones she and Edward were to use - might be almost pretty, given some new curtains.

  - rather old and in need of refurbishment, but solidly made. I have met Edward's mother, who was exceedingly kind.

  The old lady had called her a dear, and made her sit down on the coverlet, and asked her to read from a book of sermons.

  There is a dearth of servants, but the cook, Mary, seems cheerful and industrious. I think we shall get along well.

  In truth, Mary's warm greeting was the only reason Eliza hadn't run back after the carriage as it drove away.

  This was no good. Eliza flung down the pen. She considered tearing up the letter, but refrained. She had at least made a beginning.

  She stretched her arms, then stood. It was almost noon. She wandered down the hallway to the kitchen.

  "Can I help?" she asked, pushing open the door. Mary, stooped over a roast leg of lamb, glanced up.

  "Of course not, madam. Not today."

  Eliza hesitated. She wanted an occupation - something to do. At the same time, she feared to hurt Mary's feelings.

  "You can set the table if you like." Mary spoke as to a child. "Or take a turn in the garden. Dinner will be ready in a
trice."

  Eliza strolled through the kitchen and scullery. The back door stood open. She leaned through it and breathed in damp grassy air. The drizzle had stopped, and the sun peeked out from the rim of a cloud.

  "I'll take a turn," she called back over her shoulder. The patch of bare earth gave under her feet, and moisture seeped into her shoes. But it felt good to be out.

  The silence struck her. It was so quiet here. No shouts, laughter, or chatting. No creak of carts or clatter of hooves. Just the earth steaming slowly in the sun and an occasional bellow from the cows.

  She strolled over to the fence that separated the garden from the nearest field. Thorny branches arced over the old worn timber. She clambered up, taking care not to prick her hands, and leaned on the top rail.

  A herd of cows, dusty brown in the haze, munched on the wet grass. Beyond the fields lay woods, set on either side with other farmhouses. In the distance, a green hill rested on the horizon.

  She could live here.

  The thought startled her. She ought to hate the place and be furious with Edward for tricking her into such a disastrous marriage. But in truth, she had never felt so content in her life.

  "Do you like it?" His voice, so close to her ear, startled her. She had not heard him approach.

  "It's very beautiful." She glanced at him sidelong. He leaned against the fence beside her, strong tanned hands wrapped together, and watched the sunlight drift across the fields.

  "I love it," Edward said. His voice ran low, all one with the peaceful countryside. "Always have done, since I was a child. I thought once you saw it, you might love it, too." He turned to face her, and his brown eyes shone. "It is wealth of a kind."

  "You deceived me," Eliza said. She was not minded to forgive.

  The light faded from his eyes.

  "I know," he said. "I am sorry. I needed the money."

  "That was all?"

  "Not all," Edward said. "I like you. We'll fit together, I think."