Rosa Mundi, Ethel May Dell [epub e reader TXT] 📗

Wingarde is lavish with his worldly goods. He certainly ought to be. He's a millionaire of the first water. A thousand or so distributed among his wife's relations would mean no more to him than the throwing of the crusts to the sparrows." He stopped to laugh lazily. "And the wife's relations would flock in swarms to the feast," he added in a cynical drawl.
Burton growled again unintelligibly. He strongly resented the sacrifice, though he could not deny that there was dire need for it.
The family fortunes were at a very low ebb. His father's lands were mortgaged already beyond their worth, and he and his brother had been trained for nothing but a life of easy independence.
There were five more sons of the family, all at various stages of education--two at college, three at Eton. It behooved the only girl of the family to put her shoulder to the wheel if the machine were to be kept going on its uphill course. Lord Marchmont had speculated desperately and with disastrous results during the past five years. His wife was hopelessly extravagant. And, of late, visions of the bankruptcy court had nearly distracted the former.
It had filtered round among his daughter's admirers that money, not rank, would win the prize. But somehow no one had expected Hereford Wingarde, the financial giant, to step coolly forward and secure it for himself. He had been regarded as out of the running. Women did not like him. He was scarcely ever seen in Society. And it was freely rumoured that he hated women.
Nina Marchmont, moreover, had always treated him with marked coldness, as if to demonstrate the fact that his wealth held no attractions for her. On the rare occasions that they met she was always ready to turn aside with half-contemptuous dislike on her proud face, and amuse herself with the tamest of her worshippers rather than hold any intercourse with the fabulous monster of the money-markets.
Certainly there was a surprise in store for the world in which she moved. It was also certain that she meant to carry it through with rigid self-control.
Meeting her two brothers at lunch, she received the half-shamed congratulations of one and the sarcastic comments of the other without the smallest hint of discomfiture. She had come straight from an interview with her father whom she idolized, and his gruff: "Well, my dear, well; delighted that you have fallen in love with the right man," and the unmistakable air of relief that had accompanied the words, had warmed her heart.
She had been very anxious about her father of late. The occasional heart attacks to which he was subject had become much more frequent, and she knew that his many embarrassments and perplexities were weighing down his health. Well, that anxiety was at least lightened. She would be able to help in smoothing away his difficulties. Surely the man of millions would place her in a position to do so! He had almost undertaken to do so.
The glad thought nerved her to face the future she had chosen. She was even very faintly conscious of a mitigation of her antipathy for the man who had made himself her master. Besides, even though married to him, she surely need not see much of him. She knew that he spent the whole of his day in the City. She would still be free to spend hers as she listed.
And so, when she saw him that evening, when his momentous interview with her father was over, she was moved to graciousness for the first time. A passing glimpse of her father's face assured her that all had gone well, aye, more than well.
As for Wingarde, he waived the money question altogether when he found himself alone with his _fiancee_.
"Your father will tell you what provision I am prepared to make for you," he coldly said. "He is fully satisfied--on your behalf."
She felt the sting of the last words, and flushed furiously. But she found no word of indignation to utter, though in a moment her graciousness was a thing of the past.
"I have not deceived you," she said, speaking with an effort.
He gave her a keen look.
"I don't think you could," he rejoined quietly. "And I certainly shouldn't advise you to try."
And then to her utter surprise and consternation he took her shoulders between his hands.
"May I kiss you?" he asked.
There was not a shade of emotion to be detected in either face or voice as he made the request. Yet Nina drew back from him with a shudder that she scarcely attempted to disguise.
"No!" she said vehemently.
He set her free instantly, and she thought he smiled. But the look in his eyes frightened her. She felt the mastery that would not compel.
"One more thing," he said, calmly passing on. "It is usual for a girl in your position to wear an engagement ring. I should like you to wear this in my honour."
He held out to her on the palm of his hand a little, old-fashioned ring set with rubies and pearls. Nina glanced at him in momentary surprise. It was not in the least what she would have expected as the rich man's first gift. Involuntarily she hesitated. She felt that he had offered her something more than mere precious stones set in gold.
He waited for her to take the ring in absolute silence.
"Mr. Wingarde," she said nervously, "I--I am afraid it is something you value."
"It is," he said. "It belonged to my mother. In fact, it was her engagement ring. But why should you be afraid?"
For the first time there was a note of softness in his voice.
Nina's face was burning.
"I would rather have something you do not care about," she said in a low tone.
Instantly his face grew hard.
"Give me your hand!" he said shortly. "The left, please!"
She gave it, the flush dying swiftly from her cheeks. She could not control its trembling as he deliberately fitted the ring on to the third finger.
"Understand," he said, "that I wish this ring and no other to be the token of your engagement to me. If you object to it, I am sorry. But, after all, it will only be in keeping with the rest. I must go now as I have an appointment to keep. Your father has asked me to lunch on Sunday and I have accepted. I hope you will pay me the compliment of being at home."


III
THE HONEYMOON

The first of June fell on a Saturday that year, and a good many people remained in town for it in order to be present at the wedding of Lord Marchmont's only daughter to Hereford Wingarde, the millionaire.
Comments upon Nina's choice had even yet scarcely died out, and Archie Neville, her faithful friend and admirer, was still wondering why he and his very comfortable income had been passed over for this infernal bounder whom no one knew. He had proposed to Nina twice, and on each occasion her refusal had seemed to him to be tinged with regret. To use his own expression, he was "awfully cut up" by the direction affairs had taken. But, philosophically determined to make the best of it, he attended the wedding with a smiling face, and even had the audacity to kiss the bride--a privilege that had not been his since childhood.
Hereford Wingarde, standing by his wife's side, the recipient of congratulations from crowds of people who seemed to be her intimate friends, but whom he had never seen before, noted that salute of Archie Neville's with a very slight lift of his black brows. He noted also that Nina returned it, and that her hand lingered in that of the young man longer than in those of any of her other friends. It was a small circumstance, but it stuck in his memory.
A house had been lent them for the honeymoon by one of Nina's wealthy friends in the Lake District. They arrived there hard upon midnight, having dined on board the train.
A light meal awaited them, to which they immediately sat down.
"You are tired," Wingarde said, as the lamplight fell upon his bride's flushed face and bright eyes.
His own eyes were critical. She laughed and turned aside from them.
"I am not at all tired," she said. "I am only sorry the journey is over. I miss the noise."
He made no further comment. He had a disconcerting habit of dropping into sudden silences. It took possession of him now, and they finished their refreshment with scarcely a word.
Then Nina rose, holding her head very high. He embarrassed her, and she strongly resented being embarrassed.
Wingarde at once rose also. He looked more massive than usual, almost as if braced for a particular effort.
"Going already?" he said. "Good-night!"
"Good-night!" said Nina.
She glanced at him with momentary indecision. Then she held out her hand.
He took it and kept it.
"I think you will have to kiss me on our wedding night," he said.
She turned very white. The hunted look had returned to her eyes. She answered him with the rapidity of desperation.
"You can do as you like with me now," she said. "I am not able to prevent you."
"You mean you would rather not?" he said, without the smallest hint of anger or disappointment in his tone.
She started a little at the question. There was no escaping the searching of his eyes.
"Of course I would rather not," she said.
He released her quivering hand and walked quietly to the door.
"Good-night, Nina!" he said, as he opened it.
She stood for a moment before she realized that he had yielded to her wish. Then, as he waited, she made a sudden impulsive movement towards him.
Her fingers rested for an instant on his arm.
"Good-night--Hereford!" she said.
He looked down at her hand, not offering to touch it. His lips relaxed cynically.
"Don't overwhelm me!" he said.
And in a flash she had passed him with blazing eyes and a heart that was full of fierce anger. So this was his reception of her first overture! Her cheeks burnt as she vowed to herself that she would attempt no more.
She did not see her husband again that night.
When they met in the morning, he seemed to have forgotten that they had parted in a somewhat strained atmosphere. The only peculiarity about his greeting was that it did not seem to occur to him to shake hands.
"There is plenty to do if you're feeling energetic," he said. 'Driving, riding, mountaineering, boating; which shall it be?"
"Have you no preference?" she asked, as she faced him over the coffee-urn.
He smiled slightly.
"Yes, I have," he said. "But let me hear yours first!"
"Driving," she said at once. "And now yours?"
"Mine was none of these things," he answered. "I wonder what sort of conveyance they can provide us with? Also what manner of horse? Are you going to drive or am I? Mind, you are to state your preference."
"Very well," she answered. "Then I'll drive, please, I know this country a little. I stayed near here three years ago with the Nevilles. Archie and I used to fish."
"Did you ever catch anything?" Wingarde asked, with his quiet eyes on her face.
"Of course we did," she answered. "Salmon trout--beauties. Oh, and other things. I forget what they were called. We had great fun, I remember."
Her face flushed at the remembrance. Archie had been very romantic in those days, quite foolishly so. But somehow she had enjoyed it.
Wingarde said no more. He rose directly the meal was over. It was a perfect summer morning. The view from the windows was exquisite. Beyond