Page 20 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)
“Your hair curls very prettily,” he said, lifting a strand from one side of her face and winding it round his fingers. “Very prettily indeed.”
“You cannot imagine how long it takes to make it do so, whereas a man need only run a comb through his locks to be ready. Or perhaps not even that,” she added, looking up in amusement at his wayward coiffure.
He laughed, and shook his head. “Ah, the innocence of youth! I would wager it takes my valet longer to arrange my hair than it takes your maid to arrange yours.”
“Really, Osborn, do not dignify that disorderly mess with the epithet ‘arrangement’. You look as if you have been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
“Which is entirely the intention. This style is known as the Brutus, a Brummell fashion, I believe.”
“Oh, him! Well, if Brummell does it, it must be all the crack, I suppose. My eldest brother, Walter, affects something of the sort, but I always assumed he simply fell out of bed looking like that, and forgot to brush it.”
The butler’s resonant voice stilled all conversation. “The Marquess of Embleton, madam.”
Olivia turned eagerly towards the door.
“I suppose you will not want to talk to me now,” Osborn said, with a rueful laugh. “I shall make myself scarce.”
She barely noticed his polite bow, or his back as he walked away from her, for her eyes were fixed on the marquess. He scanned the room, saw her, smiled and after the briefest of conversations with Miss Bucknell he moved directly across the room to the sofa where she still sat.
“L-lady Olivia.” He made her an elegant bow. “I m-must thank you again f-for making room f-for Effie. I c-c-cannot tell you—”
She stopped him with a wave of her hand.
“Pray say nothing of it. Lady Euphemia is my own age, and nothing could please me more than to enjoy her company. Both my own sisters have married and moved away, so I shall borrow yours for a little while. She is already proving to be an entertaining companion.”
He grimaced. “Really? I do not f-f-find her entertaining, p-p-persuading Arnold to bring her here. I have s-s-sent him home in d-d-disgrace, foolish boy. Effie is a m-m-minx.”
Olivia laughed. “I do not know about that! If it is so, then you must allow that she is an amusing minx.” She patted the seat beside her in invitation, and when he sat, she whispered conspiratorially, “I believe she has only come here to flirt. She is exercising her charms on Lord Grayling at this very moment.”
He smiled at her. “Effie is s-safe enough with G-Grayling. He likes to f-f-flirt too.”
The butler cleared his throat. “Dinner is served, madam.”
Olivia and the marquess rose in unison and then — glory of glories! — he offered her his arm with a little bow. “M-may I have the p-p-pleasure of your c-company, Lady Olivia?”
This was more like it! An hour, or maybe two, in his company, and he seemed amenable to liking her despite her faux pas at Corland.
She also had a little glimpse of the respect that would be accorded her if she should ever marry the marquess.
Even in the Bucknell household, where most of the company was related in some way to the Duke of Camberley, the future Duke of Bridgeworth was a person of great importance.
On his arm Olivia proceeded at the front of the procession to the dining room, and found herself almost at the head of the table.
Osborn managed to inveigle himself into the seat on her other side, but she could not object to that.
When the marquess was occupied with Miss Bucknell to his left, Olivia would have the frivolous Earl of Kiltarlity to talk to.
This did not work so well as she had hoped, for every time she tried to talk to the marquess, the earl would tap her elbow.
“A pork cutlet, Lady Olivia?” he would say blandly.
Or, “Try the woodcocks, do. They are delicious.”
“Thank you, but Lord Embleton will supply me, should I need anything,” she hissed at him.
“But he only has access to the mutton and sweetbreads. I can reach so much more. Can I tempt you to a little of the ham?”
By the time she turned back to the marquess, he was talking to Miss Bucknell. It was maddening.
When the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Lady Esther led her to a quiet sofa and whispered, “It is going very well, is it not?”
“Is it?” Olivia said crossly. “Lord Kiltarlity seems determined to interfere.”
“Oh, indeed! Such a good sign. He is jealous, you see, so he tries to distract you from the marquess, but you are managing them both beautifully. If one does not come up to scratch, you will be sure to secure the other.”
“But I do not want the other. I like the marquess, and he seems to like me, whereas the earl is merely irritating, like a bluebottle, constantly buzzing about to no purpose.”
Lady Esther gave a tinkling laugh. “You may see it that way, but I assure you his purpose is very plain to see. Do not push him away until you are absolutely sure of the marquess. You seem to get on well with Lord Kiltarlity. Am I wrong about that?”
“Oh… well, he is vastly amusing, I suppose, when he is not trying to distract me away from Lord Embleton.”
“There, you see?” she said triumphantly. “Two exceptionally eligible partis already forming an attachment to you. I congratulate you, my dear. You will be married before your first season, I wager. And we may congratulate ourselves on another success, too, do you not think?”
“Another success? What can you mean?”
“Why your father, of course, and Charlie Bucknell.”
“Miss Bucknell? And Papa? No!”
“Had you not noticed? I assure you, they are becoming closer by the hour. He is so relaxed in her company, it is wonderful to see, after all his tribulations of the last few months. He looks so happy! You mark my words, it will be a match.”
***
R obert watched as the ladies withdrew with mixed feelings.
It was a relief that Olivia was removed from Embleton’s company for a while, but she was also removed from his own company, and he could not be happy about that.
There was a rightness to her sitting at his side, even though she had been cross with him tonight.
Yet he knew that he could easily cajole her back to her usual sweet temper, if only Embleton were not there to distract her.
Once the ladies had all left and the door was closed, the gentlemen reformed around Mr Bucknell, and Embleton was drawn away to be the star attraction.
Robert stayed where he was, not being minded for the usual male conversation.
It would be all horses and sport, the last hunt gone over in exhaustive detail and the prospects for the next analysed to a tedious degree.
Robert enjoyed the hunt as much as any man, but tonight his thoughts were elsewhere, with a certain heart-shaped face surrounded by curls — laboriously obtained curls, he now knew. The thought made him smile.
“Do I intrude upon your meditations? Happy ones, to judge by your expression.”
The oily voice of Grayling.
“No intrusion,” Robert said, and meant it, for Grayling had brought the port with him.
Taking the chair so recently occupied by Olivia, his well-honed masculine form and golden hair banished the image of feminine beauty and dark curls that had filled Robert’s mind.
With the slightest of sighs, he accepted a glass of port and waited for Grayling to say what he had come to say.
That he had a point to make was certain, for he would not have wandered down to this end of the table at random.
At first, it was nothing but civil niceties — polite enquiries as to the improvements at Strathinver, and whether he planned to reopen the house in town, but then he added, “You seem to get along rather well with my sister.”
Robert had taken little notice of the girl on his other side, apart from the usual courtesies. He had not neglected her, but set against the manifold charms of Olivia, she could hardly compete.
Cautiously, wondering where this was leading, he replied, “Miss Grayling is an agreeable dinner companion.”
Grayling smiled. “She is! And pretty as a flower — would you not agree?”
“Very pretty, yes.” No lie needed there.
The baron swirled his port thoughtfully. “She seems very taken with you. Chatters on about you constantly.”
“She does?” he said blandly.
“Mm. But then you could always charm the ladies, Kiltarlity, even in the days when you were merely the youngest of the brood, with no prospect of the title. But now…” He hesitated, eyeing Robert speculatively.
Robert understood now what was being said.
Miss Grayling fancied being the Countess of Kiltarlity, that was the long and the short of it.
Well, she would be disappointed in that, but still, it was an opportunity to make use of Grayling.
Robert could not be everywhere, and another pair of eyes to keep watch on Embleton and protect him from Olivia would be useful.
He decided to help Grayling along.
“The title changes everything, of course. Having never had the expectation of it, I felt myself to be… free of restraint. Free of responsibility. But now, I have to take my position seriously and consider the future.”
“Indeed. As we must all do, those of us who have the honour to inherit a noble title.”
“My mother is urging me to marry sooner rather than later,” Robert said, grasping the nettle firmly. “It would be sensible… secure the succession, and so forth. I cannot put it off indefinitely. I suppose I shall have to put myself about next spring. ”
Grayling smiled. “Indeed. But perhaps circumstances might resolve the matter rather sooner than that, if you should happen to meet the right lady.”
“That would certainly be convenient,” Robert said neutrally.
“Sarah only has five thousand — that is all I can spare, but you have no need for a large dowry, have you? And she has other attractions that amply compensate. I do not think that is merely my fondness as a brother speaking.”
“No, she is a delightful girl,” Robert said. “I have no objection to getting to know her better, to see if anything develops.”
“She is an affectionate little creature,” Grayling said with a smile, thinking the game won.
“I have a small difficulty, however,” Robert said.
“You have met Lady Olivia Atherton? She is an ambitious little minx, and is determined to get her claws into Embleton. I came here with the intention of keeping him out of her clutches, but I cannot do that if I am to direct my attention towards Miss Grayling.”
“Embleton can look after himself, I should have thought,” Grayling said, looking amused. “He has been heir to the dukedom from birth, so he must be aware that he is the biggest prize on the market, and have ways to protect himself.”
“Oh, I am sure he does, but even a marquess is no match for a determined girl of eighteen, and they have been somewhat thrown together lately. I should not want him to succumb to any underhand tactics.”
“Hmm.” Grayling refilled their glasses. “I could undertake to distract the young lady, if that would help, Kiltarlity?”
It was not quite what Robert wanted, for Grayling was exactly the sort of handsome, smooth-talking man that an unsophisticated girl of eighteen might fall for, and that would be a disaster.
Not that Grayling was the marrying sort.
He had kept a string of mistresses over the years, and boasted that no one woman was enough for him.
Still, it would keep Olivia away from Embleton.
“That would be a kindness, Grayling.”
Grayling grinned wolfishly. “No penance, certainly. A lively little creature, quite charming, and so young and fresh. I love them young, do not you?”
“No foolishness, Grayling,” Robert said in sudden alarm. “She is the daughter of an earl, after all, with three brothers.”
Grayling chuckled. “You are quick to spring to her defence, my friend. If you had not just described her as ‘an ambitious little minx’ , I might suspect you of an interest there yourself. But fret not. I know her brothers, and some of her cousins, too, so I know she is well protected, and seduction of innocents has never been my game. But a little flirtation — yes, that would be amusing.”
Robert was left wondering if he had made a huge mistake in pushing Olivia into the clutches of a practised rake like Grayling.