bankrupt.’ Esmond let out his breath slowly. ‘You wouldn’t find an heiress then; and dear old Richard would change his will. Hard times, Clinton.’
‘There’s no chance he’ll last seven years. We both know that.’
Esmond nodded.
‘The odds are in your favour. I’d say five to two. But that’s not good enough when losing means destitution. You must marry her and that’s an end of it. Either that or sell Markenfield.’
‘What would you think of any nobleman who sold what he held in trust for future generations of his family? I can’t throw away two hundred years.’
‘I understand that; it’s not something father would ever have done … One of the few things that can be said in his favour.’ Esmond shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Clinton, he was a good father to you. I doubt if we remember the same man. A pity really.’
Looking at his brother’s sad unforgiving eyes, Clinton wondered how he had ever allowed himself to believe that he might help him. Of course Esmond had turned him down; there had never been any other possibility. Between them the past still flowed like an impassable river, treacherous and deep. His anger and disappointment were fading now, rather as though an icy wind had swept the inside of his skull leaving nothing behind. He supposed that he had been humiliated, but it did not trouble him; instead, to his surprise, Clinton felt a confused sense of freedom; there was nothing else to be done; no more hopes to be destroyed. With a detachment, far less solemn than resignation, he imagined himself in a country garden, mouthing conventional endearments to a girl who meant little to him. The scene, though vivid, was as if glimpsed from a great height—the human figures mere specks in the landscape.
Only when he had left the room did the staircase remind Clinton of the girl. He brought the scrap of lace from his pocket and went in again.
‘A young lady gave me this,’ he said, dropping the child’s cuff on Esmond’s knee.
‘That wasn’t quite what I heard,’ Esmond replied mildly. ‘Her name’s Louise … my mistress’s child.’
‘You a father?’ laughed Clinton, genuinely astonished.
‘Her mother was married. She’s a widow.’
‘You lucky dog,’ sighed Clinton, pleased by the lines of irritation on Esmond’s brow. ‘I like older women too.’
‘If I shared that taste, my mistresses would be old enough to be grandmothers. Men of my age find women of thirty delightfully youthful.’
Clinton smiled.
‘Calculation and sensuality; that’s what I like about women that age. They enjoy the present but always keep something back for the future. Young girls offer the whole dish at once. Lechery’s fed better in careful spoonfuls.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Esmond twisted his lips disdainfully. ‘You never had much time for love, did you, Clinton?’
Clinton leant nonchalantly against the mantelpiece.
‘Maybe once or twice a century.’ He picked up a head of Pailas Athene and kissed her marble lips. ‘In the meantime vanity must have its little conquests and boredom its diet of excitement.’
‘I wonder if you’re really as cynical as you pretend.’
Clinton’s hand shook slightly as he replaced the head on the mantelpiece.
‘I’m afraid one has to have one’s capital intact for romantic passions; wouldn’t you say mine’s dribbled away in the small change of flirtation?’ He took a step towards Esmond. ‘Men who marry for money can’t be expected to babble on about sentimental attachments.’
‘I meant no offence.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ Clinton looked at him quizzically. ‘I suppose you’re going to make her an honest woman … being a man of principle.’
‘I intend to marry her if that’s what you mean.’
Clinton smiled ingenuously.
‘It’s a most remarkable thing … I’ve known about a dozen men who intended to marry their mistresses; but somehow, God knows why, they never seemed to find the right
‘There’s no chance he’ll last seven years. We both know that.’
Esmond nodded.
‘The odds are in your favour. I’d say five to two. But that’s not good enough when losing means destitution. You must marry her and that’s an end of it. Either that or sell Markenfield.’
‘What would you think of any nobleman who sold what he held in trust for future generations of his family? I can’t throw away two hundred years.’
‘I understand that; it’s not something father would ever have done … One of the few things that can be said in his favour.’ Esmond shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Clinton, he was a good father to you. I doubt if we remember the same man. A pity really.’
Looking at his brother’s sad unforgiving eyes, Clinton wondered how he had ever allowed himself to believe that he might help him. Of course Esmond had turned him down; there had never been any other possibility. Between them the past still flowed like an impassable river, treacherous and deep. His anger and disappointment were fading now, rather as though an icy wind had swept the inside of his skull leaving nothing behind. He supposed that he had been humiliated, but it did not trouble him; instead, to his surprise, Clinton felt a confused sense of freedom; there was nothing else to be done; no more hopes to be destroyed. With a detachment, far less solemn than resignation, he imagined himself in a country garden, mouthing conventional endearments to a girl who meant little to him. The scene, though vivid, was as if glimpsed from a great height—the human figures mere specks in the landscape.
Only when he had left the room did the staircase remind Clinton of the girl. He brought the scrap of lace from his pocket and went in again.
‘A young lady gave me this,’ he said, dropping the child’s cuff on Esmond’s knee.
‘That wasn’t quite what I heard,’ Esmond replied mildly. ‘Her name’s Louise … my mistress’s child.’
‘You a father?’ laughed Clinton, genuinely astonished.
‘Her mother was married. She’s a widow.’
‘You lucky dog,’ sighed Clinton, pleased by the lines of irritation on Esmond’s brow. ‘I like older women too.’
‘If I shared that taste, my mistresses would be old enough to be grandmothers. Men of my age find women of thirty delightfully youthful.’
Clinton smiled.
‘Calculation and sensuality; that’s what I like about women that age. They enjoy the present but always keep something back for the future. Young girls offer the whole dish at once. Lechery’s fed better in careful spoonfuls.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Esmond twisted his lips disdainfully. ‘You never had much time for love, did you, Clinton?’
Clinton leant nonchalantly against the mantelpiece.
‘Maybe once or twice a century.’ He picked up a head of Pailas Athene and kissed her marble lips. ‘In the meantime vanity must have its little conquests and boredom its diet of excitement.’
‘I wonder if you’re really as cynical as you pretend.’
Clinton’s hand shook slightly as he replaced the head on the mantelpiece.
‘I’m afraid one has to have one’s capital intact for romantic passions; wouldn’t you say mine’s dribbled away in the small change of flirtation?’ He took a step towards Esmond. ‘Men who marry for money can’t be expected to babble on about sentimental attachments.’
‘I meant no offence.’
‘I’m sure you didn’t.’ Clinton looked at him quizzically. ‘I suppose you’re going to make her an honest woman … being a man of principle.’
‘I intend to marry her if that’s what you mean.’
Clinton smiled ingenuously.
‘It’s a most remarkable thing … I’ve known about a dozen men who intended to marry their mistresses; but somehow, God knows why, they never seemed to find the right
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