Page 24 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)
“It went to our heads, rather,” Lizzie said. “So that possibility is gone, Lord Grayling is far too astute to be drawn into matrimony, and there is no one else here except younger sons — dilatory clergymen and unambitious army officers and ne’er-do-wells, the lot of them.”
Lucy nodded. “Not a one has the wherewithal to marry.”
“Well… not in a style we would enjoy,” Lizzie added, chuckling. “We must just resign ourselves to eternal spinsterhood, sister.”
Robert shook his head at them. “Nonsense! Everything has been a bit topsy-turvy the last two or three years, but I promise you, I mean to open up the London house for the season — even the ballroom! So few houses in town can boast of one, so we might as well make use of it. I shall throw a ball or two for you, and you will be sure to find someone to your liking.”
“Yes, but will we find anyone who likes us?” Lucy said with a sigh.
He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, wondering how much he ought to probe.
But these were his own dear sisters, and he wanted above all to see them comfortably settled.
This talk of eternal spinsterhood and desperate grasping at every eligible man who came into view was not helpful.
And they were alone, so perhaps they would speak freely.
“You have both of you managed before to find men who liked you… who liked you very well. Lizzie, you would have been the wife of a fine naval officer — a captain! — if Father had not caught up with you on the road north and dragged you back to town. Why did you not wait until we next went to Strathinver? Being in Scotland already makes for a far more convenient elopement, I should have thought.”
Lizzie reddened, but she answered composedly, “That was foolish of us, to try to elope from town, but Mark was due to be ordered to sail in a matter of days, and we simply wanted it settled. I was to stay with his parents until he next had leave. But Papa was too clever for us.”
“But why did he never return for you? He has not been at sea for all these years, I am sure.”
“Papa knew people at the Admiralty,” she said, with a resigned shrug of one shoulder. “He could have destroyed Mark’s career, and I never wanted that. Better never to marry than to be the means of ruining a good man, Robert.”
He nodded, and then turned to Lucy.
“Do not look at me like that,” Lucy said.
“I know I had offers… several very eligible offers, but— Oh, it was so difficult! You cannot imagine, brother, what it is like to be a woman and have to wait for a man to size you up, like… like a racehorse , and decide whether you are worth the wager. And then the offer is made, and how does anyone decide? Should I take this one, who is rich but sniffs constantly, or hold out for the one who is heir to a title but so, so ugly? Why is it that the handsome, charming ones are all fortune hunters and rakes? And if I turn this one down, will that one come up to scratch or leave me dangling? And all the while, the lovely, shy, perfect one is nowhere to be seen. It is all too difficult!”
“Was there one who was perfect?” he said gently.
“There was. His name was Archie… Archibald Whitwell, the heir to a barony. He was there in the background for two whole seasons, Robert — two years! And he was just the sort of man I should love to marry, not arrogant or bumptious or rakish or a gambler, but sweetly solicitous. But we quarrelled over the most trivial thing — I asked him to fetch me a lobster patty at a ball supper and he brought me a strawberry tart instead, and then he claimed it was because I had asked him for it and I had not, Robert, I swear it! I asked him for a lobster patty, I know I did. But we fell out over it and he left the ball and never came back. I never saw him again, and no one else would ever suit me so well. So you see, it does not matter whether I marry or not, for my life is ruined, quite ruined.”
She sobbed piteously, and even the combined handkerchiefs of the three of them were not enough to mop up the tears. The two sisters left, Lizzie with her arm round Lucy, for the solace of their room and the dispiriting prospect of packing for the journey north.
***
O livia was excited at the prospect of a day at Grayling Hall.
Unlike most of the hunting boxes of Leicestershire, which were small and cramped, with stables considerably bigger than the house, Grayling Hall was a venerable old manor house dating back to Tudor times.
Having only glimpsed it in the distance, she was keen to have a closer look and explore the many highly decorated chambers of which Lord Grayling boasted.
Effie was excited, too.
“Is it not thrilling?” she gushed, as they readied themselves for bed the evening before the proposed outing. “Grayling Hall is not a piffling little place that takes two minutes to walk around. There are all manner of odd corners and forgotten wings — oh, we shall have so much fun!”
“What sort of fun?” Olivia said cautiously, for she was learning to be wary of Effie.
“Oh… you know what I mean… fun with men!”
“You mean flirting?”
Effie laughed uproariously. “That is just how one sorts out the men one wants to play with — the soup, if you will, before the meat appears. I have decided who I would most like to play with, but he has been following you around like a little puppy dog, so if you want him for yourself, I shall work on Kiltarlity instead.”
“Oh! You mean Lord Grayling? You may have him with my blessing.”
Effie gasped. “You do not like him? But he is an angel come to earth… in appearance, anyway. I very much hope he is less than angelic in other ways.”
“I do not dislike him,” Olivia said cautiously, “but Lady Esther told me he is not looking for a wife.”
She laughed again, a noisy laugh, not at all delicate. “I should hope not! But there again… that might be an interesting challenge. So you will play with Kiltarlity, will you? You will have to get him away from the Grayling girl first.”
“Pft! He is even more of a flirt than Lord Grayling. The only sensible man by some margin is your brother.”
Effie pulled a face. “Oh, you will catch cold with Embleton, my dear. Not a man for fun and games — far too serious.”
“I do not want to play games with him,” Olivia said with dignity. “I should like to get to know him better, that is all.”
“I wish you joy of that ,” Effie said. “We all thought that Embleton would never marry. Well, he said so himself. But then… I do not know quite what spell this Bea Franklyn cast on him, but he offered and was rejected, and it seems to have hardened his resolve. He even told Harold — the next in line, you know — to prepare his son for the dukedom.”
“Oh!” That was a blow. Had the marquess been so in love with Bea Franklyn that he could not contemplate marriage to anyone else? “I did not know that his heart was broken. Poor man! How he must have felt it!”
Effie chuckled. “Broken-hearted? Not him! He has a heart of stone. Not that he is not a good brother, if a little too restrictive for my liking,” she added, with another chuckle, “but he has never been in love.”
“But then—?” Olivia stopped.
Effie cried, “Bea Franklyn? If you had read his letter to Papa relating the whole, you would not be so sentimental as to imagine his heart was involved. I never met a less romantic man. My dear Olivia, you have no idea how much more human Embleton would be with a desperate love affair in his past, for I have to tell you, it is very wearing to have a brother who is perfection itself.”
“Is he perfection?” Olivia said, fascinated by this glimpse of family feelings.
“Not in his speech, of course, but he cannot help that, and Papa has always said it is character that matters, not glib words, and Embleton has character by the wagon load. Such a gentleman, always. It is so annoying when one wants to do something, quite an innocuous thing, one would think, and Embleton sits one down and lists half a dozen perfectly sensible reasons why it is not to be thought of. And he is always right, that is the worst of it.”
“That would be wearing indeed, to have a brother who is always right,” Olivia said. “Are all your brothers like that?”
The two ended the day in a harmonious discussion of the annoying habits of brothers, and nothing more was said about Lord Embleton’s broken heart.