William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

her face and it seems to me as if it is quite unreal to her. It is the wedding itself which has occasioned such enormous preparation, the gown, the wedding breakfast, who will be invited and who will not, what society will think.”
    Rathbone found himself smiling with the same half-ironic appreciation of frailty and fear that he had seen in Melville’s eyes. He had some slight experience of society matrons who had successfully married a daughter, to the envy and the chagrin of their friends. Appearance far outweighed substance at that point. They had long ago ceased to consider whether the bride was happy, confident, or even what she actually wished. They assumed it must be what they wished for her, and acted accordingly.
    Then he was afraid Melville might think he was laughing at him, which was far from the case. He leaned forward.
    “I sympathize, Mr. Melville. It is most unpleasant to feel manipulated and as if no one is listening to you or considering your wishes. But then, from those of my friends who are married, I believe it is a not uncommon experience at the time of the ceremony itself. The bridegroom can seem little more than a necessary part of the stage property and not a principal in the act. That will pass, immediately after the day itself is over.”
    “I am not suffering from nervousness of the day, Sir Oliver,” Melville said levelly, although such self-control obviously cost him a great effort of will. “Nor do I feel any pique at being placed at the side of events rather than in the center. I simply cannot”—he seemed to have difficulty forming the words with his lips—“bear … to find myself married to Zillah … Miss Lambert. I have no desire to be married to anyone at all. If at some time I shall have, it will be of my own choosing, and of theirs, not something that has been assumed by others and organized around me. I …” Now at last there was a thread of real panic in him, and his knuckles were white where he gripped the ends of the chair arms. “I feel trapped!”
    Rathbone could see that he spoke the truth.
    “I assume you have done what you can to escape the contract—”
    “There was no contract!” Melville cut across him. “Simply an assumption, which I did not realize soon enough to deny with any dignity or sensitivity. Now it is too late. My refusal, all my arguments, will be seen as a breach of promise.” His green-blue eyes were growing wilder, his words more rapid. “They forget what was actually said and remember the facts quite differently from the reality. I cannot stand there and argue ‘You said this’ and ‘I said that.’ “He jerked one hand up sharply. “It would be absurd and degrading, and achieve nothing but mutual blame and hurt. I assure you, Sir Oliver, Mrs. Lambert is never going to admit she presumed something which was not so and that I gave her daughter no proposal of marriage, literal or implicit. How could she, now that she has announced it to the world?”
    Rathbone could see that that was indeed so unlikely as to be considered impossible.
    “And Mr. Lambert?” He made a last attempt, more out of habit than a belief he would learn anything which would provide a defense.
    Melville’s expression was difficult to read, a mixture of admiration and despair. He sank back in the chair. “Mr. Lambert is an honest man, straightforward in word and deed. He drives a hard bargain, which is how he made his fortune, but strictly fair.” The lines around his mouth softened. “But of course he loves his daughter, and he’s fiercely loyal. He’s sensitive about his northern roots and he sometimes fancies high society thinks the less of him because he earned his money in trade … and for that matter, so they do.” He winced a little. “I suppose it was unnecessary to say that. I apologize.”
    Rathbone waved it aside. “So he would be quick to defend her from anything he saw as an insult,” he concluded.
    “Yes. And there is hardly a greater insult than to break a contract of marriage.” The fear was sharp in Melville’s voice again. “He cannot afford to believe me that there was none. Mrs. Lambert is a formidable woman—” He stopped abruptly.
    “I see.” Rathbone did see, extremely clearly, the nature of the predicament. He also felt increasingly certain that Melville was withholding something which he knew to be of importance. “Have you told me all the facts, Mr. Melville?”
    “All that are relevant, yes.”