“But why should he throw you over if he proposed to you only last month?”
“He might do it if he thought that he were interfered with. Of course I should like my uncle to speak to him, but not quite immediately. If he were to say that he had changed his mind, what could I do, or what could my uncle do?”
“That would be very singular conduct.”
“Men are so different now, aunt. They give themselves so much more latitude. A man has only to say that he has changed his mind and nothing ever comes of it.”
“I have never been used to such men, my dear.”
“At any rate do not ask the Duke to speak to him today. I will think about it and perhaps you will let me see you tomorrow, after we all come in.” To this the Duchess gravely assented. “And I hope you won’t be angry because you found me walking with him, or because I did not go to church. It is everything to me. I am sure, dear aunt, you will understand that.” To this the Duchess made no reply, and they both entered the house together. What became of Lord Rufford neither of them saw.
Arabella when she regained her room thought that upon the whole fortune had favoured her by throwing her aunt in her way. She had, no doubt, been driven to tell a series of barefaced impudent lies—lies of such a nature that they almost made her own hair stand on end as she thought of them;—but they would matter nothing if she succeeded; and if she failed in this matter she did not care much what her aunt thought of her. Her aunt might now do her a good turn; and some lies she must have told;—such had been the emergencies of her position! As she thought of it all she was glad that her aunt had met her; and when Lord Rufford was summoned to take her out to dinner on that very Sunday—a matter as to which her aunt managed everything herself—she was immediately aware that her lies had done her good service.
“This was more than I expected,” Lord Rufford said when they were seated.
“She knew that she had overdone it when she sent you away in that cavalier way,” replied Arabella, “and now she wants to show that she didn’t mean anything.”
XXXIX
The Day at Peltry
The Duchess did tell the Duke the whole story about Lord Rufford and Arabella that night—as to which it may be said that she also was false. But according to her conscience there were two ways of telling such a secret. As a matter of course she told her husband everything. That idle placid dinner-loving man was in truth consulted about each detail of the house and family;—but the secret was told to him with injunctions that he was to say nothing about it to anyone for twenty-four hours. After that the Duchess was of opinion that he should speak to Lord Rufford. “What could I say to him?” asked the Duke. “I’m not her father.”
“But your brother is so indifferent.”
“No doubt. But that gives me no authority. If he does mean to marry the girl he must go to her father;—or it is possible that he might come to me. But if he does not mean it, what can I do?” He promised, however, that he would think of it.
It was still dark night, or the morning was still dark as night, when Arabella got out of bed and opened her window. The coming of a frost now might ruin her. The absence of it might give her everything in life that she wanted. Lord Rufford had promised her a tedious communication through servants as to the state of the weather. She was far too energetic, far too much in earnest, to wait for that. She opened the window and putting out her hand she felt a drizzle of rain. And the air, though the damp from it seemed to chill her all through, was not a frosty air. She stood there a minute so as to be sure and then retreated to her bed.
Fortune was again favouring her;—but then how would it be if it should turn to hard rain? In that case Lady Chiltern and the other ladies certainly would not go, and how in such case should she get herself conveyed to the meet? She would at any rate go down in her hat and habit and trust that somebody would provide for her. There might be much that would be disagreeable and difficult, but hardly anything could be worse than the necessity of telling such lies as those which she had fabricated on the previous afternoon.
She had been much in doubt whether her aunt had or had not believed her. That the belief was not a thorough belief she was almost certain. But then there was the great fact that after the story had been told she had been sent out to dinner leaning on Lord Rufford’s arm. Unless her aunt had believed something that would not have taken place. And then so much of it was true. Surely it would be impossible that he should not propose after what had occurred! Her aunt was evidently alive to the advantage of the marriage—to the advantage which would accrue not to her, Arabella, individually, but to the Trefoils generally. She almost thought that her aunt would not put spokes in her wheel for this day. She wished now that she had told her aunt that she intended to hunt, so that there need not be any surprise.
She slept again and again looked out of the window. It rained a little but still there were hours in which the rain might cease. Again she slept and at eight her maid brought her word that there would be hunting. It did rain a little but very little.
