His One Woman. Paula Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ to find herself disappointed when he suddenly looked at the clock, and said, ‘I am remiss, Marietta, I have talked the afternoon away. I must not strain your patience.’

      ‘No, indeed,’ she told him. ‘You could not do that, Jack. You must come again for tea, and soon. I promise to serve you no exploding muffins next time.’

      He rose. ‘Perhaps we shall meet this evening. Sophie said that you would be attending the White House reception. I am working with Ezra Butler, and he is taking me with him.’

      ‘I shall look forward to that,’ she replied, meaning her words for once, and they parted with more warmth than either could earlier have deemed possible.

      An intelligent and amusing man, was Marietta’s verdict, while Jack thought that Marietta might not be conventionally pretty, but she had a good mind and an engaging manner. Nothing like Sophie, of course, whom he had been sorry to miss, but he had spent a pleasant hour all the same. Miss Hope was not quite the dragon of report.

      Not long after he had gone, Sophie came rushing into the room, her pretty face aglow. ‘Oh, Marietta, was that Jack Dilhorne I saw leaving as we came home?’

      On Marietta nodding assent, she gave a great pout. ‘Oh, how annoying. I knew that it was a mistake to go duty calling with Aunt Percival. And now I have missed him. Did he stay long?’

      ‘We had tea together,’ said Marietta quietly.

      ‘Oh, even more annoying,’ exclaimed Sophie disgustedly. ‘Jack is such fun. What on earth did you find to talk about with him?’

      ‘Explosives and marine engineering,’ said Marietta repressively.

      ‘Explosives and marine engineering! How exquisitely dull for the poor man. I might have guessed that you would bore him stiff.’

      ‘I don’t think that Jack…Mr Dilhorne, that is…found explosives boring,’ said Marietta, remembering the muffins. ‘On the contrary.’

      ‘Oh, he has splendid manners for a backwoods-man,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s only his clothes which are a little odd, but I don’t suppose that you noticed that. All the girls are wild for him,’ she added, and then said proudly, ‘but I am the one that he is interested in.’

      ‘Apart from his passion for marine architecture, that is,’ said Marietta unkindly. She had had enough of Sophie’s open patronage of her lack of attractions.

      ‘Oh, Marietta, you have no sense of humour at all,’ said Sophie, dismissively, ‘you are so solemn. Now Jack has the most enormous sense of the ridiculous.’

      ‘Then he should get along with me, should he not?’ said Marietta savagely. ‘Seeing that you all consider me to be the most ridiculous thing in Washington.’

      She swept out of the room, leaving Sophie behind with her mouth open, since Marietta rarely bit back, however much she was provoked. It was one of her collection of amazing and boring virtues.

      Goodness me, she thought, whatever had caused that? Well, she would tease Jack about his misfortune in being exposed to Marietta’s earnest and learned conversation at tea.

      Explosives and marine engineering at four o’clock in the afternoon. What next?

      Marietta thought that her father looked tired when he came in later. He was overwhelmed, he said, with work and with place-men. His senses, however, were as acute as ever, and while they waited in the hall for Sophie, before leaving for the reception, he said, ‘I shall be glad when my brother and sister-in-law arrive in Washington to take her over, even if I have to endure their presence here. She really is most excessively spoiled. Whatever can have caused her tantrums this evening?’

      Sophie had been making her displeasure at missing Jack quite plain to all and sundry, and so Marietta explained to the Senator.

      ‘Hmm, Dilhorne. An odd name, and the second time that I have encountered it today. An Australian, you said, so they can scarcely be related.’

      This was cryptic, even for the Senator, who frequently left out the connections in his chains of thought, expecting his daughter to pick them up, which she usually did—as today.

      ‘You mean that you have met another Dilhorne?’

      ‘Yes, an English MP and his aide. Alan Dilhorne and Charles Stanton. Dilhorne says that he does not represent the British Government, but you may be sure that he does. A handsome and devious fellow: one must listen carefully to what he says, or be misled.’

      ‘A little like mine,’ said Marietta.

      ‘His friend, though, is quite different,’ pursued her father. ‘A quiet dark man, a marine engineer, but a gentleman, patently.’

      ‘And that is another coincidence,’ said Marietta. ‘For my Dilhorne is a marine engineer.’

      ‘I do not like coincidences,’ said her father peevishly. ‘Coincidences make life difficult to control.’

      ‘But exciting,’ said Marietta, who had lately found this ingredient sadly lacking in her life. ‘Will they be at President Lincoln’s reception tonight?’

      ‘Of course,’ said her father, ‘and yours?’

      ‘Mine, too. Ezra Butler is taking him.’

      ‘That figures,’ said her father. ‘Butler has shipping interests in Australia. It will be stimulating to meet your man, and you must meet mine—although he is happily married, I understand.’

      So her father was determined to matchmake. But she would not be pushed into anything, and, if she married, it must be someone whom she respected. Plain and twenty-seven as she was, love was too much to ask for.

       Chapter Two

       T he drive outside the White House was thronged with carriages and bobbing flambeaux there to light the way for Mr Lincoln’s guests. Marietta, who was used to such events to the point that they bored her, was handed down from the Hopes’ carriage, Sophie following her. Sophie was looking particularly charming in young girl’s white. A wealth of gauze rosebuds decorated her hair and her pink sash emphasised her tiny waist. She was carrying a bouquet of crimson and white hothouse carnations from which trailed filmy lace.

      Marietta, for once not in a dark dress, was wearing lavender and was becoming increasingly conscious that it did even less for her than her usual colours, whatever her maid had said when she had helped her into it. She looked extinguished and knew it. The pale mauve gave her creamy complexion, one of her better points, a bilious cast.

      Sophie, coming into the hall just before they had left, and still resentful of Marietta for having entertained Jack that afternoon, had said, sweetly unpleasant, ‘Are you well, Marietta? Your colour is poor tonight.’

      Even the Senator—usually unaware of Sophie’s frequent brutality towards her cousin, whose lack of looks she thought was a good foil for her own delicate beauty—was alert to the insult, so pointed had it been.

      ‘I think that you look very well, my dear,’ he’d said, frowning at Sophie whom he disliked. His praise had done little to comfort Marietta. Her glass had told her only too clearly the truth about her appearance.

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