Page 19 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)
O livia did not see Osborn leave, so once the crowd clustering around her had dispersed somewhat, she had the dispiriting exercise of looking for him and slowly realising that he was no longer there.
The room had felt brighter, in some indefinable way, when he was in it, and now it was a little dimmer, as if two or three candles had been snuffed out.
There was not long to suffer this disappointment, however, for Lady Esther came hurrying over, or at least moving with more than her customary stateliness, from her post by the window.
“A carriage has just gone past, and who do you think it is?” she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Lord Kiltarlity,” Olivia said glumly. “He has left already.”
“Kiltarlity?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh… leaving. Yes, he departed a few minutes ago, just after the Graylings. No, this is an arrival, and it is very good news. The blinds were down, but I am tolerably certain of the occupant.”
“Did you recognise the carriage?” Olivia said.
“No, no! Heavens, who has time to remember carriages? But the coat of arms — that I recognised, and I think… I hope you will be pleased. Oh, here he is now.”
The door opened, and the butler made his announcement. “The Marquess of Embleton, the Lady Euphemia Howland, the Lord Arnold Howland, madam.”
Lady Esther gave a low moan of pure pleasure.
Olivia was excited, too — not only the marquess himself, but a younger brother and sister, too!
She had pored over the Peerage so much that she knew all about the family.
These two were the eldest offspring of the duke’s second marriage.
Lady Euphemia was Olivia’s own age, with the sort of features usually described as handsome rather than beautiful.
Lord Arnold at seventeen was bidding fair to be a great inspiration to the young ladies of the ton in the future, although being the fourth son of a duke reduced his eligibility somewhat.
Still, he was tall enough to be in the Guards, and a uniform would aid his cause wonderfully.
The newcomers stood for some time talking in low voices to Mr and Miss Bucknell. Mr Bucknell smiled and rubbed his hands together, but his sister frowned anxiously, and once or twice shook her head. Olivia was sitting near enough to catch snatches of their conversation.
“….m-m-much obliged…”
“…full… every… taken…”
“I would be no trouble at all.” That was Lady Euphemia’s higher voice.
“…maybe… at a pinch… could move Auntie…”
“…v-v-very… inconv-v-venient…”
“I can squeeze in anywhere.”
Olivia jumped to her feet and moved nearer.
“I beg your pardon, but I could not help overhearing. If Lady Euphemia needs a bed for the night, there is more than enough space for two in my room. I have been most generously accommodated, and would be delighted to share, if Lord Embleton has no objection to such an arrangement for his sister.”
They all turned on her with surprised expressions, quickly transformed into smiles.
Lady Euphemia bounced excitedly. “There, you see, Embleton?”
“How very kind,” murmured Miss Bucknell. “But perhaps Lord Embleton… I mean, he may prefer…” She tailed off in a morass of mumbled nothings, but Olivia understood her. If Lord Embleton prefers his sister not to consort with an illegitimate girl. That was what she meant.
But Lord Embleton was a gentleman through and through, for he bowed to Olivia. “How v-v-very k-kind.”
Miss Bucknell rushed in with introductions, Lord Embleton and his brother were invited to join them for dinner, and then, tucking Lady Euphemia’s arm into hers, Olivia led her triumphantly up the stairs to her room.
“Oh, lovely,” Lady Euphemia said, giving the room a cursory glance before sitting on the edge of the bed. “So tell me, who is here of interest?”
Olivia named a few people, but Lady Euphemia stopped with an imperious wave of one hand.
“No, no! Spare me the details of matrons and old married men. I mean young men, men to flirt with. I thought I was in heaven at Embleton’s hunting box, for all his friends are young and have that look in their eyes — you know what I mean, I am sure.
Roguish. Game for anything. But Embleton would not have it.
No chaperon, you see, and he was all for taking me straight back to Papa except that I thought of the Bucknells and hoped they might squeeze me in.
Which they have! Is this not delightful?
And you can tell me all about the young men here.
Is there anyone exciting? Or merely amusing? I do so like to be amused.”
Olivia dutifully listed the unmarried men, although she made no mention of her father.
It was unsettling enough to see him under siege from women looking to become a countess, but she was not going to let anyone of a flirtatious nature near him.
To see her own father flirting would be distressing enough, for the father of a grown family should have left off such childish behaviour years ago, but imagine if he should be caught!
To think of him in love, or worse, broken-hearted, would be too dreadful for words.
The housekeeper came in just then, with a little train of maids behind her, and then footmen labouring with trunks, with Lady Euphemia’s own maid watching them closely. Finally, Lady Esther appeared. Olivia made the introductions.
Lady Esther looked around the room, as if assessing whether it were suitably grand for the daughter of a duke. “Well now, Lady Euphemia, I hope this meets with your approval?”
“Oh, yes. Lovely!”
“Your brother has very graciously allowed me to be your chaperon while you are here. I have Lady Olivia in my charge, so one extra will be no trouble at all, and your brother will be dining here every night, so you will still see plenty of him.”
Every night! Olivia fizzed with excitement. Here was an opportunity she had not expected!
As soon as Lady Esther had left, and the lady’s maid was busy unpacking, Lady Euphemia grabbed Olivia’s arm. “Franklyn?” she hissed. “She is not… is she… related to a Miss Beatrice Franklyn?”
“Stepmother. Bea’s father is here, too.”
“Is she here? Beatrice… Bea? I like Bea better. Busy like a bee, which she must have been to catch Embleton in her web… do bees spin webs? Toils, then. Is she here?”
“No. She has recently married my cousin, Mr Bertram Atherton, and is on a wedding tour.”
Lady Euphemia’s mouth opened so wide she could have swallowed an entire Bath bun. “No! Embleton offered for her, and now she is married… to your cousin? How did that happen?”
Olivia laughed. “In the usual way, I imagine. They decided, when they considered the matter carefully, that they would quite like to be married.”
Lady Euphemia looked startled, then laughed, a loud, honking noise. “You are funny, Olivia! May I call you Olivia? And you must call me Effie.”
“Oh, may I? For Lady Euphemia is rather a mouthful, and Effie is such a pretty name. Oh, what a lovely gown! That has to be the work of a French modiste.”
And after that, as Effie’s wardrobe emerged from its boxes, the conversation was entirely taken up by a discussion of the relative merits of sarsenet, lustring and Persian silk, whether tippets were in style or completely exploded, the minimum number of pairs of dancing slippers required for the exigencies of the season and many other topics of a similar fascinating nature.
***
W hen Olivia entered the drawing room that evening, arrayed in her very best gown for Lord Embleton, arm in arm with her new friend, she had no thought beyond the marquess.
It was therefore something of a disappointment that he had not yet arrived.
Instead, she saw several familiar faces.
Lord Grayling and his sister smirked at her from one side of the room, and from the other, Osborn smiled and waved to her.
The two girls were immediately under siege from the bachelors present, at least those from the Bucknell family.
Not that any of them were very promising, either as marriage possibilities or as flirts, for in appearance they were either rail thin or tended to stoutness, none were handsome or witty, and being distant cousins or younger sons meant their prospects were poor.
Lady Esther had already warned Olivia not to encourage any of them, and she had likewise informed Effie.
“I do not care two straws for their eligibility,” she had said airily, “so long as they can flirt amusingly. Flirting is so much fun, do you not agree?”
Now, while she sparred with one or two of the Bucknell men, perhaps as a warming up exercise, she was also looking about her for more promising material.
Olivia watched her anxiously, but although Effie’s gaze lingered on Osborn, who was still smiling winningly in their general direction, she settled in the end on Lord Grayling.
“Who is the Adonis?” she whispered to Olivia.
“Lord Grayling.”
“Indeed? He has that look in his eye. Very promising. Will you introduce me?”
This took very little effort, for Lord Grayling was already ambling across the room with the same objective in mind, his eyes fixed on Effie.
Almost before the introductions had been concluded, he escorted Effie to an empty sofa and said something which made her lower her eyes and tap him reprovingly on the arm with her fan.
“Good evening, fair ghost,” murmured a voice at Olivia’s shoulder.
“Osborn! I did not expect to see you here, or the Graylings, either.”
“The invitation was a pleasant surprise. I believe Miss Bucknell is indulging in a spot of match-making. She was whispering with the Graylings as I was leaving earlier, then she invited me to dinner and here they are, too. She steered me towards Miss Grayling as soon as I arrived.”
“She is very pretty,” Olivia said. “All those blonde curls! I imagine she does not have to sleep in curling papers, or singe her hair with irons to induce a slight twist, which drops out within the hour. Straight hair is a great trial to a lady.”