for calls by friends or for family gatherings. Wondering who might have arrived that would induce her mother to choose that more intimate space, Emma walked past the front parlour and entered the Green Salon.
Where she found, not Lady Henley and some bosom friend, but Mr Paxton Nullford, pacing nervously before the hearth.
Alarmed and irritated in equal measures, she whirled about, intending to immediately quit the room. Mr Nullford hurried over to seize her arm and prevent her escape.
‘Please, Miss Henley, won’t you allow me to speak?’
‘That is entirely unnecessary, Mr Nullford,’ she replied. ‘I expect my mother must have encouraged you, but surely you remember that I have made it quite clear on several occasions that—’
‘I know, I know,’ he interrupted. ‘But won’t you hear me out? You may be…mistaken in what you think I intend to say.’
She wanted to snap back that there was nothing he could say that would be remotely of interest to her. But the earnest expression on his broad face and the pleading look in his watery blue eyes made her hold her tongue.
He might be stocky and stodgy, and not very intelligent—certainly, he seemed not to have taken to heart any of the repeated, quite definite indications she’d given him that she was not interested in his pursuit—but he was also inoffensive and well meaning. She couldn’t quite bring herself to rudely dismiss him.
Maybe it would be better to let him come out with the declaration she’d been trying to avoid for the last month, turn him down with a finality even he must understand and be done with it.
‘Very well, Mr Nullford,’ she capitulated. Avoiding the sofa, where he might try to sit beside her, she took instead one of the wing chairs by the hearth. ‘Say what you must. But please—’ she held out a hand as he seemed prepared to lower his thick body to one knee ‘—say it standing or seated.’
He gave her a brief smile. ‘Seated, then, like the sensible individuals we are.’
Please, Heaven, be sensible enough to depart quickly, she thought, not wishing to drag out what was certain to be an uncomfortable interview.
After choosing the wing chair opposite, he began, ‘I know you have not…actively encouraged my suit.’
‘Without wishing to be unkind, Mr Nullford, it would be more accurate to say I have actively discouraged it.’
‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Lady Henley explained to me that you have this…unusual aversion to marriage. But she and I both believe that, sooner or later, you will realise that, as a gently bred lady, marriage is the only option that will secure for you a comfortable future. Surely you don’t intend to…to take up a trade? Hire yourself out as a governess or companion, or some such?’
‘No,’ she said shortly, irritated anew that her mother had discussed her future with a man to whom she’d given not a particle of encouragement. ‘As my mother evidently did not inform you, I have funds from an aunt that will allow me to maintain a household of my own, without having to seek the sort of employment available to a genteel lady.’
‘You are mistaken; she did tell me of your intentions. But you cannot have seriously thought through the consequences of such a choice. A single woman living alone, even with a companion? You would be thought such an oddity! I expect your family would continue to receive you, but over time, most of society would stop including you. She and I both fear that, as you grow older, you would find yourself increasingly isolated and, as your family passed, virtually friendless.’
Though Emma was reasonably confident she could build a full, satisfying life on her own, the niggle of doubt in the back of her mind made her hesitate.
And thereby missed the chance to interrupt before Nullford continued, ‘I know you don’t have any great enthusiasm for my company, but I don’t think you…dislike me, do you?’
‘No, Mr Nullford. In fact, if you cease to be a suitor, I think I could like you quite well,’ she replied with a smile.
‘That’s a start. I think we could live…comfortably together. I know I’m not handsome, or witty, or clever, but unlike most of the unmarried girls I’ve met, especially the pretty ones, you’ve always been…too kind to show that you hold that opinion. Though you are far more clever than I am, you’ve disparaged marriage, but not the man,’ he added with a slight smile.
Emma squirmed, feeling somewhat guilty. Though she might never, by word or implication, have expressed derogatory sentiments to him, she’d certainly thought them. Even as far as to mentally refer to him as ‘Mr Null’, devoid of looks, personality and wit.
However, having been disparaged herself by a society that prized beauty more than kindness or character, she felt an unwanted swell of sympathy for the earnest man before her.
And so she remained silent as Nullford continued, ‘Society wouldn’t consider me rich, but I have sufficient funds to maintain you in style, with Seasons in London and summers at my country estate. I can offer you respect, fidelity and the certainty that you can live out your life surrounded by the friends, family and society in which you’ve grown up.’
Despite her entreaty, at this point he came over, dropped down on one knee and seized her hand. ‘Miss Henley, we are both sensible enough to recognise that neither of us are the sort to inspire…an all-consuming passion. But we could build a quiet, satisfying life together.’
Her sympathy evaporating, Emma wasn’t sure whether she was more dispirited—or furious. A ‘comfortable’ life married to man who inspired in her nothing but a tepid respect wasn’t any more attractive a prospect than becoming the neglected wife of a handsome man she desired. And though she’d always known in her heart that she wasn’t pretty enough to inspire passion, it still stung to have him point that out.
‘So you propose a marriage devoid of passion?’ she flung back.
‘Well, not exactly,’ he tempered. ‘Of course, I’d be prepared to offer you…’ His words trailed off and his face went scarlet. ‘The, ah, prospect of conceiving children.’
She might be an unmarried lady around whom no one discussed the details of the marital embrace, but having grown up in the country, she had a good notion of what it involved. The idea of submitting to such intimacy with a man for whom she felt…nothing seemed unendurable.
Especially since, if her thoughts strayed towards passion, a very clear image came to mind.
Struggling to banish the memory of Lord Theo Collington’s handsome face and control the volatile emotions that made her want to scratch Nullford’s eyes out, she pulled her hand free.
‘While I appreciate the kindness of your offer—’ to this plain, unfortunate female who will never inspire passion ‘—I cannot accept it. My helpful mother should also have informed you that I aspire to something different than the normal female role of running a household and raising children. I wish to be involved in political causes—indeed, I have already begun to involve myself. I doubt you would appreciate having a wife who abandons the domestic realm to go about speaking in public, or who writes letters to Members of Parliament urging passage of legislation restricting child labour and extending the vote. Activities for which, unlike marriage, I feel a great deal of enthusiasm. As I am already two-and-twenty, and well on the shelf, that enthusiasm is unlikely
