The Convenient Marriage Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 1934 by Georgette Heyer

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  Cover photo © Bridgeman Art Library

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Table of Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  One

  Lady Winwood being denied, the morning caller inquired with some anxiety for Miss Winwood, or, in fact, for any of the young ladies. In face of the rumour which had come to her ears it would be too provoking if all the Winwood ladies were to withhold themselves. But the porter held the door fully open and said that Miss Winwood was at home.

  Directing the coachman of her extremely smart town carriage to wait for her, Mrs Maulfrey stepped into the dim hall, and said briskly: ‘Where is Miss Winwood? You need not be at the trouble of announcing me.’

  All the young ladies, it seemed, were in the small saloon. Mrs Maulfrey nodded, and walked across the hall with a click of her high heels. As she ascended the stairs her armazine skirts, spread over very large paniers à coudes, brushed the banisters on either side of her. She reflected, not for the first time, that the stairway was too narrow, and the carpet positively shabby. She would be ashamed for her part of such old-fashioned furnishings; but although she claimed cousinship, she was not, she admitted to herself, a Winwood of Winwood.

  The small saloon, by which name the porter designated a back sitting-room given over to the use of the young ladies, lay up one pair of stairs, and was well known to Mrs Maulfrey. She tapped with her gloved hand on one of the panels of the door, and entered on the echo of her knock.

  The three Misses Winwood were grouped by the window, presenting an artless and agreeable picture. Upon a faded yellow satin sopha sat Miss Winwood and Miss Charlotte, their arms entwined about each other’s waists. They were much alike, but Miss Winwood was held to be the greater beauty. Her classic profile was turned to the door, but upon Mrs Maulfrey’s rustling entrance she looked round and displayed to the visitor a pair of melting blue eyes and a sweet, arched mouth that formed at the moment an O of mild surprise. A quantity of fair curls dressed without powder and threaded by a blue riband framed her face and tumbled on to her shoulders in several ordered locks.

  Miss Charlotte was not seen to advantage beside the Beauty of the Family, but she was a true Winwood, with the famous straight nose and the same blue eyes. Her curls, not quite so fair as her sister’s, owed their existence to hot irons, her eyes were of a shallower blue, and her colouring inclined towards the sallow; but she was allowed to be a very well-looking young lady.

  Miss Horatia, the youngest of the three, had nothing that declared her lineage except her nose. Her hair was dark, her eyes a profound grey, and her brows, nearly black and rather thick, were quite straight, and gave her a serious, almost frowning, expression. No amount of careful training would induce an arch in them. She was quite half a head shorter than her sisters, and, at the age of seventeen, was obliged regretfully to admit that she was not likely to grow any taller.

  When Mrs Maulfrey came into the room Horatia was seated on a low stool by the sopha, propping her chin in her hands, and scowling dreadfully. Or perhaps, thought Mrs Maulfrey, that was just a trick of those preposterous eyebrows.

  All three sisters wore morning toilets of worked muslin over slight hoops, with tiffany sashes round their waists. Countrified, thought Mrs Maulfrey, giving her fringed silk mantle a satisfied twitch.

  ‘My dears!’ she exclaimed. ‘I came the instant I heard! Tell me at once, is it true? Has Rule offered?’

  Miss Winwood, who had risen gracefully to receive her cousin, seemed to droop and to grow pale. ‘Yes,’ she said faintly. ‘Alas, it is quite true, Theresa.’

  Mrs Maulfrey’s eyes grew round with respect. ‘Oh, Lizzie!’ she breathed. ‘Rule! A Countess! Twenty thousand a year, I have heard, and I daresay it may be found to be more!’

  Miss Charlotte set a chair for her, observing with a reproving note in her voice: ‘We believe Lord Rule to be a most eligible gentleman. Though no one,’ she added, clasping Miss Winwood’s hand tenderly, ‘however genteel, could be worthy of our dearest Lizzie!’

  ‘Lord, Charlotte!’ said Mrs Maulfrey tartly, ‘Rule’s the biggest prize in the market, and you know it. It is the most amazing piece of good fortune ever I heard. Though I will say, Lizzie, you deserve it. Yes, you do, and I am quite enchanted for you. Only to think of the Settlements!’

  ‘I find the thought of Settlements particularly indelicate, Theresa,’ said Miss Charlotte. ‘Mama will no doubt arrange with Lord Rule, but Lizzie cannot be supposed to concern herself with such sordid questions as the size of Lord Rule’s fortune.’

  The youngest Miss Winwood, who all the time had continued to sit with her chin in her hands, suddenly raised her head and delivered herself of one shattering word. ‘S-stuff!’ she said, in a deep little voice that just quivered on a stammer.

  Miss Charlotte looked pained; Miss Winwood gave a rather wan smile. ‘Indeed, I fear Horry is in the right,’ she said sadly. ‘It is just the Fortune.’ She sank on to the sopha again, and gazed fixedly out of the window.

  Mrs Maulfrey became aware that the steady blue eyes were swimming in tears. ‘Why, Lizzie!’ she said. ‘One would think you had had dark tidings instead of a splendid Offer!’

  ‘Theresa!’ intoned Miss Charlotte, putting both arms about her sister. ‘Is this worthy of you? Can it be that you have forgotten Mr Heron?’

  Mrs Maulfrey had forgotten Mr Heron. Her jaw dropped slightly, but she recovered in a moment. ‘To be sure: Mr Heron,’ she said. ‘It is very afflicting, but – Rule, you know! I don’t say poor Mr Heron is not a very estimable creature, but a mere lieutenant, dearest Lizzie, and I daresay will soon have to go back to that horrid war in America – it’s not to be thought of, my love!’

  ‘No,’ said Elizabeth in a suffocated voice. ‘Not to be thought of.’

  Horatia’s dark gaze dwelled broodingly on her second sister. ‘I think it would be a very good thing if Charlotte were to have R-Rule,’ she pronounced.

  ‘Horry!’ gasped Charlotte.

  ‘Lord, my dear, what things you say!’ remarke