The Rector of Uppercross
Chapter Two
Walter sat back in the chair, facing toward the window and the magnificent, red-stained sunrise, and smiled. He smiled a great deal these days; Walter Musgrove, hopeless romantic, was at last wonderfully, gloriously, ecstatically in love.
He had no reason to believe that the object of his affections, Miss Gwendolyn Clay, felt any differently. If other gentlemen had enjoyed her favours before him, that was no matter. Had she whispered the words of love to those gentlemen that she whispered to Walter? Had she covered their faces with kisses and begged them to stay as she had begged Walter just an hour ago, when he had left her bed to return to the inn before his family realized that he had not spent the night there? She could not have done so! He could not doubt her sincerity. There had been genuine tears spilling from her beautiful eyes while she watched him dress, poor girl. Her sobs, although she tried to muffle them in her pillow, had torn at his heart. And yet she did not reproach him for concealing their association from his parents--
My parents. How do I tell them? He knew that his father had no love for the inhabitants of Kellynch, but Gwen had hardly any contact at all with her mother and even less with her stepfather. She could not be categorized with them, could she? His mother would take to her sofa for a fortnight when she learned that Sir Walter Elliot's grandson was to ally himself with a woman of Gwen's reputation, but what did it matter, really? Walter's children were not to inherit Uppercross; that was for Charles' offspring. Walter had no doubt that Charles would marry, either Anne Wentworth or someone else, and produce an heir. Walter had been given an education, but had been otherwise left to find his own way in life. He would choose his wife where he desired.
And he had chosen Gwendolyn Clay. He had not proposed to her, not yet; but every day that he spent thinking of her, every night that they spent together, made him more resolute that he should do so, and very soon. Walter, though a romantic, was prudent as well, and he knew that Gwen would not care to be a country parson's wife. How was he to provide for them? He was too old to join the navy; he had not sufficient funds to purchase a commission in the regulars, and his father had already paid for his education at Cambridge and would probably decline to lay out the funds necessary to purchase his colours. Walter had puzzled over the dilemma, and the more he considered, the more he became convinced that the best choice would be to ask his uncle Harry Musgrove to take him on as an apprentice in his law practice. Harry would acquiesce, of that Walter had no doubt. He was only eight years older than Walter, and was fond of his nephews. Yes, that seemed the best plan. Gwen would have to give up the most fashionable of her dressmakers, and probably her French maid as well; but if Walter was willing to give up the profession for which he had spent so many years preparing, then surely Gwen, who loved him so, would be willing to wear muslin rather than silk and dress her own hair. Yes, that was the best plan. It seemed fortuitous, now, that he had delayed taking orders.
Walter had not chosen the Church as his profession; it had been chosen for him. Mrs. Musgrove thought it unfair that her son should be obliged to pursue a profession at all, but considered the Church suitably refined, even for her favourite son. She loved Charles and Elizabeth in her own rather abstracted way, but with their fair, curly hair and smaller builds, they most closely resembled their father's family. Walter was taller than any of his cousins, except Edward Wentworth, and had sleek dark hair like his mother and her sisters. He was the only one of Mrs. Musgrove's children whom she felt had inherited the Elliot countenance, although a closer perusal of her own mother's portrait, which still hung in Kellynch Hall, would have revealed that the features that graced Walter's handsome face were inherited not from the Elliots but from the Stevensons.
When Walter had attained his Master of Divinity degree, all the education that his father considered necessary for the rector of Uppercross parish, he had not yet been four and twenty years old, the required age of ordination; five months had to pass before he could go before the bishop. Somehow, five months had turned into nearly three years, and Mr. Musgrove had never tried to force Walter into taking orders, although Mrs. Musgrove was not above the occasional hint. But something had always held him back. Walter had not been disinclined to the profession, but he would have felt obligated to change his carefree, bachelor lifestyle a great deal when he took orders, and he had not yet felt prepared to do so. Yes, it was fortuitous that he had waited; if he had been in orders, he would not have accompanied his parents to London, and he would not have met Gwen. It seemed to Walter that the Almighty had revealed His plan, and it did not include Walter Musgrove as one of His ministers.
He would ask her today. Before the sun set that evening, he would claim his lady's hand. Walter smiled once again as the patch of sunlight on the floor slowly made its way toward the chair where he sat, dreaming though wide awake, hearing once again the music of the moonlight.
Before he rang the bell, he made a hasty inventory of his appearance. Everything seemed to be in order; he took a deep breath and pulled, hearing the muffled ringing as though through a mist. Why are you so anxious, Musgrove? You love this woman, you want to marry her. There is nothing about which to be apprehensive.
Hannah, the parlourmaid, opened the door with a smile that turned into an opened "O" of amazement when she saw who had rang. "Mr. Musgrove," she said nervously. "Are you expected, sir?"
"No, Hannah," he said, smiling. "I am here to see your mistress on an errand that cannot wait. Tell her that I am here, will you?"
The girl's mouth opened and closed several times. "I do not know that Miss Clay is receiving callers, sir," she said nervously.
"Never mind," said Walter, pushing his way past her with the easy assurance of the lover. "She will see me, I am sure." He dropped his walking-stick and hat on the table in the passage and continued toward the parlour. "Is she in here, love?"
"Oh, sir--" Hannah called after him helplessly as he reached the open doorway, then stopped in astonishment at the tableaux before him.
Gwendolyn stood before the large, ornately-framed mirror that hung on the far side of the parlour. Behind her stood the Earl of Dalton; he was placing a glittering necklace about her throat. Neither of them was aware of Walter's presence. Gwendolyn preened in front of the mirror, stroking the gems as if they were the fur of her favourite cat. She turned away from the mirror, the eyes that Walter loved so well turned up to his lordship's; the same affectionate gaze that had been directed toward Walter just that morning was now intended only for Dalton. Her arms went around Dalton's neck, he pulled her close, his mouth descended roughly upon hers, and Walter stayed to see no more. He snatched his possessions from the table, walked past the shamefaced Hannah, and left the townhouse, never to return.
Oakmont Park
September, 1839
Walter sat on the bench before the pianoforte, watching Catherine Leigh play. She would play Beethoven, he thought resignedly. Miss Leigh could not be more unlike Gwendolyn, with her raven hair and dark-blue eyes, but Walter could not help but remember the last lady he whose pianoforte bench he had shared.
"Will you turn, please, Mr. Musgrove?" Miss Leigh asked softly. Walter had to strain to hear her rather breathy voice. He turned the page carefully. He had to lean across her to do so, and he caught a whiff of her lavender scent. She exuded innocence, this lovely girl; her white skin, her white dress, her soft voice and scent all spoke of purity and chastity. Those were qualities that Walter craved like a starving man craved a crust of bread, and he had attached himself to Miss Leigh that night almost desperately, despite her obvious preference for his cousin Edward Wentworth.
The pain of Gwendolyn's infidelity had eased over the past three months, but had not entirely disappeared. It was like a wound that had scabbed over but never healed, bursting open with any unwary movement. He still dreamed of her, of the way her skin had felt under his hands, the way her golden hair had tumbled over him as she slept in his arms. He glanced at Miss Leigh, but she was concentrating on the music sheets and did not return his gaze; he looked up at his cousin, who was leaning on the pianoforte, smiling slightly, his eyes never leaving Miss Leigh's face. I cannot blame him, Walter thought with wry affection; he liked his cousin a great deal. He's seen nothing but a boatload of hairy sailors for the past half year. Any reasonably attractive, available young woman would draw his attention. But Walter had known that he had lost Miss Leigh's regard forever when Lieutenant Edward Wentworth, resplendent in his blue coat and gleaming new sword, had entered his mother's dining-room.
And I cannot compete, he thought. Edward Wentworth would one day inherit Kellynch Hall as well as Oakmont Park; although his naval career had progressed at a much slower pace than his father's, the unhappy consequence of peace, there was good reason to believe that Edward might one day be called Admiral Wentworth as well. What young lady would not prefer such a future to a lifetime in Uppercross Parsonage? Especially a young lady raised in a house like Ashleigh Hall. And once again, in spite of every vow to himself that he would no longer think of her, Walter's thoughts turned to Gwendolyn.
And then she appeared, as if his tortured mind had somehow conjured her up. She walked into his aunt's drawing-room with her mother and brother, as casually as she had entered his life that night at the assembly in London. Walter's heart began to beat wildly, and he stood up hastily. Miss Leigh looked up at him curiously.
"Would you like some tea, Miss Leigh?" he asked her in an attempt to recover his equilibrium. She smiled her assent, and he went to the tea-pot and took cups for both of them; by the time he returned to the pianoforte, she was gone. Edward Wentworth had led her away to a dance set that was forming in a relatively empty corner of the large, elegant room, and Lady Wentworth had seated herself at the pianoforte, prepared to play for the dancers.
Walter set the cups down on a table and looked around; Charles had claimed Anne's hand, to his surprise, and apparently to Henry Clay's disgust, and James Leigh, of course, chose Elizabeth for his partner. Before Walter could reach his cousin Sophie, Mr. Clay had spoken to her and was leading the smiling young girl to the set. Walter noticed Edward's lip curl, and Anne's restraining hand on her brother's arm; apparently Miss Sophie's ready acquiescence to Mr. Clay's request had not pleased her siblings.
And that left only Gwendolyn. Walter had a moment of utter panic; I cannot do it. But it would be so unusual for him not to participate in a family dance that such an action would be noticed and remarked upon, particularly by Mrs. Musgrove, who would worry her son until she had an explanation she considered satisfactory. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to Gwendolyn. She watched him, smiling enigmatically. Walter approached her, bowed stiffly, and said, "Would you do me the honour of being my partner for this dance, Miss Clay?"
"So it is 'Miss Clay' now," she said. "You had very different names for me not so long ago, lover."
"Do not call me that," he said between clenched teeth. "I am most certainly not your lover. I would be your dance partner, for my aunt's sake. It is all the same to me if you stand there like a fool."
"That is a difficult invitation to decline, Mr. Musgrove," she said in the same amused tone. "I accept."
Walter took her gloved hand and led her to the set; all eyes were upon him, their expressions ranging from the mocking grin of Mr. Clay to the repressed contempt of Charles. The music began, and Walter went through the steps in rigid silence. Occasionally he happened to catch Miss Clay's eye, and she continued to wear the same expression of mild amusement. How can she smile in that manner? he thought in astonished rage. Hannah had to tell her what I saw. She has to know. And yet she can smile at me like the damned Mona Lisa.
At last it was over. Walter bowed stiffly, then looked around, anywhere but at Gwendolyn. He saw Charles lift Anne's hand to his mouth, then exchange a look with her that spoke volumes. Walter smiled involuntarily; the romantic, though grievously wounded, was not completely vanquished. At last, brother. Godspeed to you.
"A smile," said Miss Clay. Her gaze followed Walter's. "But I do not think it is for my benefit."
"No," he said quietly. "It is not. Good evening, Miss Clay." He would have turned away but for her restraining hand on his arm.
"May I beg an interview, sir?" she asked.
"I cannot imagine anything you could say to me that I would wish to hear."
Gwendolyn paused. "There was a time when we meant a great deal to one another. I would presume on that connection this once. Please, Walter."
Her request, delivered in tones of the utmost humility, struck him to the quick. "Very well," he said, and allowed her to lead the way to the deserted passage.
"How do you come to be here, Gwen?" he asked as soon as they were alone.
She turned to face him, her back against the wall. "As my mother said, we wished to call upon our cousins--"
Walter interrupted her. "How do you come to be in Somerset? You told me that you never went to Kellynch."
"No," she corrected him, "I told you that I rarely went to Kellynch. The anniversary of my mother's birth is next week, and apparently she is feeling a touch of mortality and wanted her family about her. I was tempted to point out to her that it is a great deal too late for such family camaraderie, but I managed to quell the urge." She reached up and caressed his face in a gesture he remembered all too well. "Have you not missed me, lover? I have missed you a great deal."
"Please do not call me that name." Walter's voice had little conviction; he was falling once again under her spell. The nearness of her, her scent, her touch, her warmth, had brought back feelings that he thought he had successfully repressed. He reached out and took a one of the long, golden curls that cascaded to her shoulders, running his fingers down the silken length; mesmerized, he wrapped the lock around his finger, again and again, and almost before he knew what he was doing, his lips were on the soft golden skin of her throat.
"Walter!" he heard a voice boom behind him. He jumped and looked around guiltily to see his brother standing at the far end of the passage, his face a mask of astonishment. "We are leaving," Charles said, then turned on his heel and went outside.
Gwendolyn's hands snaked around his neck. "Come to me tonight, Walter," she whispered. "Come to Kellynch. Jeanne will let you in." She pressed her body to his, her hands in his hair, her mouth on his.
Walter was almost lost again, but finally broke away. "No," he said. "No." He turned away from her, took his hat from an impassive footman standing by the door, and ran after his brother.
Charles stood by the curricle; his astonishment had turned completely to anger. "To conduct yourself that way in our uncle's home! I am disgusted with your behaviour. A gentleman should not take such liberties with young ladies."
Walter had no desire to discuss Gwendolyn with his brother, so he attempted to laugh it off, although there was an element of bitter truth in his careless words: "You know as well as I do that she is no lady. Do not take such a high tone with me, brother." Charles tried to take the reins, but Walter knew that his brother's usual careful horsemanship would be abandoned in his present distress. "You'll lather up the horses, the state you're in. Do not worry, I have not had so much wine that I will drive us off the road."
They drove on for a bit in silence, then Charles ventured, "What of Miss Leigh? She is a much more proper object for your affections."
Walter smiled to himself; Charles could never stay angry for long. Why have I never confided in Charles? No one on earth knows me better. He cautiously opened his bruised heart to allow his brother a glimpse. "What of Miss Leigh? She took one look at Edward's blue coat and I was immediately forgotten. You know how all ladies love a man in uniform. Besides, what can I offer a girl like that, Charles?" he asked pensively. "Edward will inherit Oakmont Park, and Sir William has left Kellynch to him as well. I may have a parsonage someday and a curate's salary to pay, but a wealthy young woman like Catherine will not wish to mortify herself by marrying a country vicar." He sighed heavily. "Unfortunately I like Edward too well to begrudge him her favour. Perhaps he will give me the Kellynch living out of gratitude." Walter surprised himself with his last sentence; he had not consciously thought of taking orders, or of undertaking any profession, since he had found Gwendolyn in the arms of another man. Yes, it is time to get on with my life. I must leave Gwendolyn Clay, and her betrayal, behind me. The only question is: Where does my future lie? Lucky Charles, and Edward, to have their lives mapped out for them, without suffering all this indecision.
"I knew I should have joined the Navy," he muttered, and was startled by his brother's shout of laughter, which rang through the cold night air.
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