Page 36 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Miss Blessing?” Gervaise echoed. “Surely not, Uncle. You must have married the chit by now.”

A hunted look came over George Langdon’s face. “Who told you about that?” he demanded hoarsely.

Gervaise’s eyebrows rose. “Why you did, Uncle. Don’t you remember? You said that if I did not have the good sense to secure Miss Blessing’s hand in marriage, then you most assuredly would.”

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” The older man retrieved a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped his brow. “Fool that I am,” he muttered under his breath.

“And you are a man of your word,” Gervaise reminded him.

“Yes, I am!” the other agreed hollowly. “Which is why I now find myself in this appalling predicament!”

“Miss Beryl does not appear in the light of blessing, now that it is you who are required to march up the aisle with her?” his recalcitrant nephew enquired politely.

His uncle regarded him coldly. “Miss Blessing is a pearl among women,” he began again. “Any man would be fortunate indeed to call her his wife!”

“And I offer you both my hearty felicitations for your upcoming nuptials,” his nephew responded blandly. He reached into his jacket and withdrew his cigarette case.

“I cannot possibly marry her!” his uncle cried. “I am far too old and stuck in my ways to take on such a young wife at my time of life. Such a thing would be absurd! No, the only viable solution is for you to marry Miss Blessing and to do so at once!”

Gervaise paused, lifted his whisky glass, and drained it, then set it carefully down. “Alas, Uncle, I am no longer the carefree bachelor I once was,” he said briskly. “May I introduce to you your new niece by marriage?” He turned to Caroline, taking her hand in his and carrying it to his lips. George Langdon’s mouth opened and closed without speech.

“My wife’s name is Caroline,” he prompted when word seemed to fail the old man. “You must offer us your congratulations. We were married by Canon Petrie of St. Catherine’s church and have been man and wife these past four days.” Caroline managed to hold his gaze, though she could feel the color creeping into her cheeks. What mad start was this?

“Greet your new uncle, my darling,” Gervaise said blandly.

Mercifully, years of being placed in deplorable social situations had prepared her well for such challenges. “How do you do, Mr. Langdon,” she uttered politely. Gervaise’s uncle turned a rather unbecoming shade of purple.

“You mean to tell me,” the old man huffed, glaring at Gervaise, “that you have had the temerity to marry without my permission?”

“I have,” Gervaise supplied smoothly.

“Despite knowing it was the fondest wish of my heart that you should be joined in holy matrimony with Miss Blessing?”

“Afraid so, old boy,” Gervaise confirmed, flipping open his cigarette case and placing one between his lips.

“Gervaise,” his uncle pronounced grandly, drawing himself up to his fullest height. “You have disappointed me.”

“Neither for the first nor the last time, I suspect,” his nephew replied, striking a match.

“Grievously!” his uncle huffed.

“Allow me to tell you some of Caroline’s finer points,” Gervaise suggested. “They might cheer you up.”

“I do not wish to hear them!” Uncle George retorted with spirit. Caroline felt a flicker of disappointment. She would have liked to have heard what points she possessed that Gervaise considered an asset. “I consider your actions an outrage! An insult to both me and the Blessings. As my heir—”

“But Uncle, I understood you had quite disinherited me,” Gervaise protested, blowing out a plume of smoke.

“Of course I have not, sir! I hope I know my duty toward our family name rather better than that!”

Gervaise clicked his tongue. “Well, if I had not thought my cause to be altogether hopeless perhaps I would not have taken such a perilous step,” he said sorrowfully. “Our last meeting cast me into such a flat despair that it scarcely seemed to matter who I married after that.”

His uncle seethed in his seat as Caroline reflected it was just as well she was not really Gervaise’s four-day bride. The blow to her pride would have been considerable.

“I must ask you to leave my house, Gervaise,” George Langdon said with affronted dignity. “I am disappointed beyond belief, aggrieved, appalled, and inconsolable.”

“I quite understand,” Gervaise said, springing up from his seat. He extended his hand to Caroline. “Come along, my precious. Let us leave forthwith. We are cast out into the street it seems.”

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