“Say, more truly, that I forced her confidence.”
Robin’s dazzling smile came. “I have to offer you my apologies, sir. I under-rated your intelligence. What now?”
Sir Anthony replied placidly: “I’ve a very lively desire to marry your sister, Master Robin.”
“You cannot suppose me astonished to hear that,” said Robin. But he felt some astonishment nevertheless. “Do you come to ask my consent?”
“It was not exactly my object,” Sir Anthony said. “I take it I had best apply to my Lord Barham for that.”
Egad, Prue was in the right of it all along when she said there was little escaped those sleepy eyes. It would not do to appear confounded. “When you are better acquainted with the family, sir, you will realise your error.”
“My dear boy,” said Sir Anthony lazily, “from the little I have seen of your remarkable parent I should imagine he pulls all the strings to set you both dancing.”
Robin laughed. “There’s some truth in that, sir. But if you don’t want my consent, what do you want of me?”
“You’ve not had speech with your sister?”
“Devil a word.”
Sir Anthony sat down on the couch. “I see. Well, Master Robin, I have asked her to marry me, and she refuses.”
If that was so then Prue must be mad. “You don’t say so, sir! Well, well, she was ever a fastidious piece. Am I to force her into your arms?”
“Do you think you could do it?” There was an amused smile went with the words.
“I don’t, sir. I am fairly certain that I should not make the attempt. Prue has a knack of managing her own affairs.”
“So I apprehend. She will marry me, she says, if your father proves his claim to be just. Failing that, she would have me know I stand no chance with her.”
A quick frown flitted across the smoothness of Robin’s brow. He spoke the thought in his mind. “Lord, what ails her? That’s a nonsensical piece of missishness.”
“Don’t let it perturb you. Allow me some say in the matter. She’ll marry me whatever be the issue, and she knows it. I’ve said I’ll wait upon Barham’s claim; it’s to solace pride, I take it. But I want her out of this masquerade with all speed. That’s why I’m here.”
“As a family, sir, we stand by each other. It’s for Prue to decide, and for me to support her decision. To say truth, I am a little of her mind. I believe the old gentleman may settle his affairs. Well, we’re bound to him; we’ve played too many of these games to turn our backs now.”
“I don’t ask it of you. I ask only that I too may be permitted a share. You stand in some danger, as I understand. I’ve influence in certain circles; I think I can serve you. If I could get a pardon for you, the Merriots may disappear, and await the issue of the Barham claim in a safe seclusion.”
The door was opened again. “My Lord Barham!” announced a lackey, and my lord came in, all scented, and powdered, and patched.
He stopped just inside the room, and seemed to be enraptured at the sight of Sir Anthony. “My friend Fanshawe!” he exclaimed. “And the beautiful Miss Merriot!”
“It won’t serve, sir,” Robin broke in. “Your friend Fanshawe is more intimate with you than you know. You may say that we all lie in his power.”
My lord evinced not the smallest discomfiture. “My son, if you think I lie in any man’s power you do not know me. As for you to be in danger when my wing is spread over you is not possible.” He spoke with a tinge of severity in his voice.
Sir Anthony had risen at his entrance, and bowed now. “You stand in no danger from me, sir.”
My lord surveyed him haughtily. “I stand in no danger from anyone, my dear Sir Anthony. You have no knowledge of me. You are to be pitied.”
“Envied, more like,” said his undutiful son.
Sir Anthony’s mouth twitched, but he suppressed the smile. “Let us hope, sir, that I’m not to be long in dismal ignorance. I aspire to the hand of your daughter.”
The severity left my lord; he beamed, and spread open his arms. “I am to embrace a second son, enfin! You aspire — it is well said! Tremaine of Barham’s daughter may look to the highest quarters for a mate.”
“You’re abashed,” Robin told Sir Anthony.
He seemed to be struggling more with amusement, however. “Why, sir, I hope you’ll look kindly on my suit.”
“I will give my consideration,” my lord promised. “We must speak more of this.”
“By all means, sir. But I think it only fair to tell you I have the fixed intention of wedding Prudence whatever your decision may be.”
My lord eyed him a moment in silence, but displayed no anger. On the contrary, his smile grew. “I perceive you to be a man after my own heart!” he announced.
“It’s a compliment,” Robin said, on a note of information, and folded his hands in his lap.
“Certainly it is a compliment. You see clearly, my son. But we must think on this; it is a matter of some weight.”
“There’s another matter of some weight also, sir. I desire to serve your son here. I’ve some influence, as I tell him, and I will use it on his behalf with your consent.”
My lord became all blank bewilderment. “I don’t take you, sir. What is it you have a mind to do for my son?”
“Well, sir, I’ve some notion of getting a pardon for him. I believe it may be done.”
My lord struck an attitude. “A pardon, sir? For what, pray?”
“For his share in the late Rebellion, sir. Does he want one for something else beside?”
“That!” My lord brushed it aside. “I have forgotten all that. It is nothing; it lies in the dead past. Oblige me by forgetting it likewise.”
“Oh, with all my heart, sir, but there are perhaps some whose memories are not so short. A pardon is necessary if Robin wants to remain in England, and come out of those clothes.”
My lord put up an admonishing finger. “Sir Anthony, I acquit you of a desire to insult me. Don’t cry pardon. I have said that I acquit you. But you do not know me; you even doubt my powers. It is laughable! Believe me, there is greatness in me. It would astonish you.”
“Not at all,” said Sir Anthony politely.
“But yes! I doubt now that you, even you whom I would embrace as a son, have not the soul to appreciate me. You make it plain. I pity you, sir!”
“At least I have the soul to appreciate your daughter,” mildly remarked Sir Anthony.
“That I expect,” said his lordship loftily. “To see my daughter is to become her slave. I exact such homage on her behalf. She is incomparably lovely. But I — I am different. My children are very well. They have beauty, and wit — a little. But in me there is a subtlety such as you don’t dream of, sir.” He pondered it sadly. “I have never met the man who had vision large enough to appreciate my genius,” he said simply. “Perhaps it was not to be expected.”
“I shall hope to have my vision enlarged as I become better acquainted with you, sir,” Sir Anthony replied, with admirable gravity.
My lord shook his head. He could not believe in so large a comprehension. “I shall stand alone to the end,” he said. “It is undoubtedly my fate.”
Sir Anthony gave the conversation a dexterous turn: the old gentleman seemed to be in danger of slipping into mournful contemplation of his own unappreciated greatness. “Just as you please, sir, but I want to put an end to a notion Prudence has of emulating your noble solitude. I wish to take her out of this masquerade, and have her safe under the protection of my name.”
My lord’s piercing eyes flashed at that. “I make allowance for a lover’s feelings!” he cried. “But while I live she stands in no need of another’s protection. I am the person to guard her, Sir Anthony.”
“You are, sir, certainly,” Fanshawe said. There was an edge to his words which did not escape my lord.
“I admire my forbearance. Concede me a great patience. You may call it toleration. I do not call you out. I curb myself!”
“I could not possibly meet my future father-in-law, so pray continue to curb yourself, sir.”
“You need have no fear. But were I to meet you, sir, you would lie dead at my feet within the space of five minutes. Possibly less. I do not know.” He appeared to give the matter his consideration.