The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter seventeen - Mr. Fielding states his case

Thomas Latimer studied the visiting card that Mrs Crossley had given him. "Mr. Fielding? At this hour of the morning?"

"Yes, sir."

He pulled out his pocket watch, squinting at the dial. "Very well. Ask him to wait in my book room and I will be down as soon as I can."

When he opened the door less than fifteen minutes later Mr. Latimer found his visitor standing awkwardly in the centre of his modest library, twisting a pair of leather gloves between his hands.

There seemed to be something subtly different about the well-dressed young man, although he could not quite put his finger on what had changed. Perhaps it was the fashionable cut of his morning coat, the diamond pin nestling within the precise folds of his neck-cloth, or the manner in which he gripped his silver-topped cane.

Appearing as he did, none but a fool would mistake Mr. Fielding for a steward.

Mr. Latimer lowered himself into his usual seat behind the desk, leaning his crutches against the wall behind him. He then gestured to an overstuffed leather armchair; the worn patches on its arms hinting at countless years' service to the Latimer family. "Would you care to sit down? The chair is far more comfortable than it looks, and it would save me the inconvenience of a stiff neck later."

Mr. Fielding begged his pardon and perched on the edge of the deep cushion, appearing more uncomfortable than he had been while standing.

"May I offer you something to drink? I have a passable madeira that should not offend your palate."

"No, thank you."

Mr. Latimer sat back, lacing his fingers across his stomach. "Then may I ask to what I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

The younger man tugged at his cuff and cleared his throat. "I would like to speak to you about your daughter."

"As I have been blessed with a number of them I am afraid you will have to be more precise."

His visitor returned an impatient glare. "I refer, of course, to your eldest, Miss Anabelle Latimer."

Mr. Latimer smiled inwardly. He had forgotten how the pangs of newly-minted affection could inhibit a young man's sense of humour. "Yes, of course you do. I hope you are not here to demand I hire an extra maid to follow Belle around. I can tell you now she will not stand for being molly-coddled."

"That was not the reason for my visit." He slid further back in the chair and frowned as he sunk into its comfortable depths, forcing him to lean forward to compensate.

Although Mr. Latimer did not know Mr. Fielding well, he sensed an agitation in the young man's demeanour that had not been present during their last meeting. He wondered if it was in any way connected to his daughter's uncharacteristic manner the previous evening, when she had displayed an apathy and want of cheerfulness at odds with her usual self. This matchmaking business was more fatiguing than he had anticipated, and he would be glad to be done with it at the first possible opportunity.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Fielding decided to come to the point. "You will, I hope, excuse my blunt speech. I am desirous to know your objections against my marrying your daughter."

Mr. Latimer blinked, the question taking him quite by surprise. "Are you requesting my permission to address Anabelle? I understood the prevailing fashion leans towards the father being the last to know."

"No, I only ask whether you have any reason to withhold your consent."

"Given what you previously told me about your situation, and from everything I have since learned for myself, I could have no objection at all. Indeed, I should be delighted for you to marry Anabelle. While your position and wealth marks you above anything I could desire in a son-in-law, the most important thing is that my daughter holds a great respect for you, and I believe you would make her happy. In the end that is the best any father can hope for."