Page 1 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

CORLAND CASTLE, NORTH RIDING: SEPTEMBER

M iss Olivia Atherton sat at the elegant escritoire in her bedroom and read the newspaper report avidly.

It was the fourth time she had read it, and she still enjoyed the same little thrill as the first time, as if her very blood were fizzing with excitement.

Every such report was glorious, of course, but this one was unusually long and detailed.

‘An event of the greatest interest to students of the Latin language recently took place in the magnificent medieval setting of Landerby Manor in the county of Lincolnshire.’

Then a great deal about the house and its owners, the Duke and Duchess of Wedhampton, which was of little interest to Olivia. She jumped ahead to the important part.

‘Among the many distinguished guests, most notable of them was the Most Honourable the Marquess of Embleton, heir to His Grace the Duke of Bridgeworth. Lord Embleton graciously attended the entire event, and delighted all present by his contribution to the scholarly recitals, being a number of poems in classical Latin form, written by his lordship’s own hand and agreed by all to be of the highest calibre, and comparable to the works of the great poets of the Roman era themselves.

Lord Embleton being too modest to read his own works to the assembled company, this pleasant task was undertaken by Mr Bertram Atherton, nephew to the Right Honourable the Earl of Rennington.

Mr Atherton performed this office with the greatest eloquence, ensuring that the true beauty of the verses could be fully appreciated by the rapt audience. ’

Too modest! He suffered from a stammer, that much she knew, so naturally public recitals would be a great trial to him.

Well done, Cousin Bertram, for stepping forward to help his friend.

Then there was a great deal more about the other guests and the Latin readings, which she cared nothing about.

There was a brief mention of the Franklyns, and Lady Esther’s father, the Duke of Camberley was mentioned.

How the newspapers loved the nobility! But how frustrating that Bea Franklyn should be there and actually meeting all these illustrious people, when it was Olivia who had studied them obsessively for so many years and knew all about them.

And especially one of them in particular.

He had another mention later, for the gentlemen had held a fencing contest one day, which Mr Franklyn, astonishingly, had won, but the marquess had done almost as well.

‘The match between Lord Embleton and Lord Grayling was of especial note for the skill exhibited by both gentlemen, Lord Embleton’s performance being much admired for his graceful movements and Lord Grayling’s for his strength and determination.

The match was long and evenly-balanced, but in the end Lord Grayling prevailed. ’

Lord Grayling! That a mere baron should defeat a marquess and future duke was not how the world should be run, according to Olivia.

She liked the orderly nature of the nobility — the King and the Royal Family at the top, then the dukes, the marquesses, the earls, the viscounts and finally, the barons.

Within each rank, they were given precedence according to the date the title was created.

It was tidy, with everyone knowing his place in the world.

So it seemed wrong for a baron to be placed above a marquess, even briefly, and that a mere gentleman like Mr Franklyn should defeat all the assembled nobles seemed unconscionable.

Not that she had anything against Mr Franklyn, who was perfectly amiable, and allowed Lady Esther to hold the most magnificent entertainments at Highwood Place.

Besides, he had not himself defeated her marquess, so she could not object to him on that score.

Not that Lord Embleton was her marquess, or ever likely to be, for she had never met him.

It was nothing but a game, although an amusing one.

Ever since she was thirteen and her older sister Izzy had come back from her first London season glowing with success, with a viscount on her arm and eleven other offers to boast about, Olivia had wondered how she might outdo her.

She could not aspire to twelve offers, for she was a mere candle flame to Izzy’s shining sun, but perhaps she could manage one.

However, it would have to be the best. A duke — nothing would do for her but a duke, and so she had assiduously studied the peerage to make her selection.

It was a depressing business. Twenty-seven dukes, that was all there were in the entire kingdom, and who wanted to live in Scotland or Ireland?

A warmer, flatter southern county would be ideal, and preferably close to London.

That narrowed her options, and a distressing number of those remaining were either married already or too old or too young.

Gradually, she had come to realise that there was just one man who encompassed all her requirements.

The Marquess of Embleton. Ralph, for that was his Christian name, was heir to a dukedom in Buckinghamshire, of suitable age and unmarried.

She had begun to watch for the reports of his activities in the newspapers, carefully cutting out each one, the important points to be transcribed into a book she kept for the purpose.

For three years now she had tracked every ball he attended, every country house where he was a guest, every shooting party in which he participated, every horse race he watched.

Three years, ever since she was fifteen, and he was now thirty and still unmarried.

If she had gone up to town for her first season last spring, she would have met him there, and perhaps could have dazzled him with her knowledge of race horses, and the Latin verses she had memorised.

But Grandmama had been so very ill that the season had been postponed and thus Olivia had not met the man who, in her dreams, was to make her a duchess.

Nor was it ever likely to happen, not now, not when everything in her life had gone so horribly wrong.

Six months ago, she could have gone up to town as the Lady Olivia Atherton, legitimate daughter of an earl, and a catch worthy even of a future duke.

But in June their chaplain, and her uncle by marriage, had been murdered, which was dreadful enough, but the worst part was that he had never been ordained as a clergyman, and therefore her parents’ marriage, at which he had officiated, was not legal.

Her mother was no longer the Countess of Rennington, her eldest brother was no longer Viscount Birtwell and heir to the earldom, and all six of the earl’s children were rendered illegitimate.

Now she was merely Miss Olivia Atherton, still an earl’s daughter, still with the same dowry, but cast out of all good society, for surely no one would want to know her.

It was depressing, but despite her reduced prospects, she still kept up her careful watch on Lord Embleton.

Some girls practised on the instrument or painted in watercolours, but Olivia’s favourite pastime was following the marquess’s career.

A knock on the door heralded the maid. “Beg pardon, milady, but Lady Alice says to tell you there’s a caller.”

Company! Olivia jumped up excitedly. As usual, she forbore to remind the maid that she was no longer Lady Olivia. The servants all kept to the same form of address and although it was incorrect, it soothed her a little to still be ‘milady’.

“Who is it, Patsy?”

“Lady Esther, milady.”

Now that was interesting. Olivia had not seen her since her return from Landerby Manor, so she could ask about that and perhaps have the felicity of hearing mention of Lord Embleton. Ralph.

“Tell Aunt Alice that I shall be down very soon.”

A quick look in the mirror reassured her that there was nothing amiss with her appearance, but since it was Lady Esther, the daughter of a duke, she added a necklace to her attire — the amber cross was an elegant combination of demure piety and wealth.

Olivia skipped down the stairs, past Eustace’s ridiculous display of armoury on the half-landing, flanked by the Chinese urns, which she rather liked, and into the great hall, the upper walls lined with a vast array of weapons.

Corland Castle was not an ancient building, the scene of many battles, but the earl liked to pretend it was.

Her slippers making no sound on the tiled floor, she moved down the great hall into the passage beside the stairs and thence to the drawing room. She arrived just behind another group of callers.

“Lady Strong, Miss Strong, Miss Lily Strong, my lady,” intoned Simpson. Then, seeing Olivia coming up behind them, he added, “The Lady Olivia, my lady.”

At Corland, even the family had to be announced, so that Aunt Alice, who had been blind since a childhood illness, might know precisely who was in the room.

Her own daughter, Olivia’s cousin, Tess Nicholson, was inclined to creep into a room unnoticed and take her mother by surprise when she spoke, but Olivia was not so ill-mannered.

Crossing the room quickly, she gave Aunt Alice a hasty kiss, then moved aside for the Strongs to make their greetings. Lady Esther, who had been sitting beside Aunt Alice, now rose and moved across to the earl, who was looking a little bemused.

“Ah, Olivia!” he called out. “Come and sit beside your papa, and tell me all that you have been doing.”