had to say. Gough handed him the letters all the same and then went to see about his bath.
Tom broke the seal and glanced at the direction. She was still at Felsham, which did not auger well. It was too close to Cromer for one thing. He scanned the letter.
“My dearest son,
I am a little uncertain how to interpret your last letter. I cannot believe that you have allowed yourself to form this attachment. I must repeat that I do not consider you in a position to offer your hand to Miss Rufford – and I very much hope you have not actually led her to believe that you are at liberty to do so. Lady Mary considers herself to be engaged and she is, as ever, anxious to gratify her father’s wishes and mine. I trust that your own considerable sense of duty will also prevail in this.
Miss Rufford might be a handsome, charming girl – and I am not so out of charity with you not to understand how she might have attracted you. However, any feelings that she might arouse in you must be considered entirely improper because of your position in relation to Lady Mary. This is the situation and you cannot avoid it. It would be extremely damaging to your reputation, not mention to Miss Rufford’s, if you were to act upon these feelings and talk any more of marriage to her. You know perfectly well that Caroline Rufford can never be your wife without alienating the hearts and repudiating the good opinions of those who love you most deeply – and in this I must include Lady Mary.
Forgive my strong words, but it is with the deepest concern for you that I write. I have also written to Miss Rufford explaining your situation.
Your loving mother, Arabella Thorpe.”
“What!” exclaimed Tom, throwing down the letter. “The devil she has!”
“Sir Thomas?” said Gough.
“I must dress at once. I must go to Miss Rufford immediately.”
***
Lady Amberleigh and her daughter had taken a large, elegantly furnished house overlooking the sea front, only a few minutes’ walk from Tom’s lodgings, and he walked there briskly as soon as he was dressed to Gough’s satisfaction. But reaching the house, he hesitated. He looked up at the bay window of the first floor drawing room where he knew Caroline would be waiting for him. Through the open window he could hear her playing the harp and he found himself turning away towards the sea.
It was nearly five o’clock and the sun was breaking fitfully through the grey sky, piercing the sea with spectacular shafts of light. The wind was still blowing and the sea was rough, dashing the shingles and groins with relentless force. Caroline began to sing – her sweet clear voice drifting down to him – the words of an Italian song about constant love. It was the song she had sung on the night he had decided he would make her his wife.
He walked away a little, towards the sea wall. He tried to think of Caroline but even the sound of her voice seemed unable to rouse his imagination. He was thinking only of the girl whose name he did not know, of her red-gold curls lying on the pillow, the freckles on her cheek and the wild glint in her green eyes.
Caroline finished her song and Tom went to the door of the house, trying to put aside the memory of the afternoon, like a man locking away the letters from an old affair. He could not allow it to confuse him. He had made her his offer and no man with any sense of decency or honour could back down from such a bargain.
***
“Well, Sir Thomas,” said Lady Amberleigh, a few minutes later, when the formalities had been got through and he was sitting with her in the drawing room. “It seems that someone is under a misapprehension here, and I hope for my daughter’s sake it is your mother.”
“It is,” said Tom. “She will have me marry Lady Mary and no-one else. But, I assure you, Ma’am, I have never given either my mother nor Lady Mary, nor her father Lord Wansford any grounds to
Tom broke the seal and glanced at the direction. She was still at Felsham, which did not auger well. It was too close to Cromer for one thing. He scanned the letter.
“My dearest son,
I am a little uncertain how to interpret your last letter. I cannot believe that you have allowed yourself to form this attachment. I must repeat that I do not consider you in a position to offer your hand to Miss Rufford – and I very much hope you have not actually led her to believe that you are at liberty to do so. Lady Mary considers herself to be engaged and she is, as ever, anxious to gratify her father’s wishes and mine. I trust that your own considerable sense of duty will also prevail in this.
Miss Rufford might be a handsome, charming girl – and I am not so out of charity with you not to understand how she might have attracted you. However, any feelings that she might arouse in you must be considered entirely improper because of your position in relation to Lady Mary. This is the situation and you cannot avoid it. It would be extremely damaging to your reputation, not mention to Miss Rufford’s, if you were to act upon these feelings and talk any more of marriage to her. You know perfectly well that Caroline Rufford can never be your wife without alienating the hearts and repudiating the good opinions of those who love you most deeply – and in this I must include Lady Mary.
Forgive my strong words, but it is with the deepest concern for you that I write. I have also written to Miss Rufford explaining your situation.
Your loving mother, Arabella Thorpe.”
“What!” exclaimed Tom, throwing down the letter. “The devil she has!”
“Sir Thomas?” said Gough.
“I must dress at once. I must go to Miss Rufford immediately.”
***
Lady Amberleigh and her daughter had taken a large, elegantly furnished house overlooking the sea front, only a few minutes’ walk from Tom’s lodgings, and he walked there briskly as soon as he was dressed to Gough’s satisfaction. But reaching the house, he hesitated. He looked up at the bay window of the first floor drawing room where he knew Caroline would be waiting for him. Through the open window he could hear her playing the harp and he found himself turning away towards the sea.
It was nearly five o’clock and the sun was breaking fitfully through the grey sky, piercing the sea with spectacular shafts of light. The wind was still blowing and the sea was rough, dashing the shingles and groins with relentless force. Caroline began to sing – her sweet clear voice drifting down to him – the words of an Italian song about constant love. It was the song she had sung on the night he had decided he would make her his wife.
He walked away a little, towards the sea wall. He tried to think of Caroline but even the sound of her voice seemed unable to rouse his imagination. He was thinking only of the girl whose name he did not know, of her red-gold curls lying on the pillow, the freckles on her cheek and the wild glint in her green eyes.
Caroline finished her song and Tom went to the door of the house, trying to put aside the memory of the afternoon, like a man locking away the letters from an old affair. He could not allow it to confuse him. He had made her his offer and no man with any sense of decency or honour could back down from such a bargain.
***
“Well, Sir Thomas,” said Lady Amberleigh, a few minutes later, when the formalities had been got through and he was sitting with her in the drawing room. “It seems that someone is under a misapprehension here, and I hope for my daughter’s sake it is your mother.”
“It is,” said Tom. “She will have me marry Lady Mary and no-one else. But, I assure you, Ma’am, I have never given either my mother nor Lady Mary, nor her father Lord Wansford any grounds to
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