Page 3 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

R obert Osborn, Earl of Kiltarlity, threw down his pen in disgust. How was a man ever to make sense of these endless columns of numbers?

And even if such a feat were possible, how could one then decide between the competing claims of his stewards?

Three stewards maintained all his estates and holdings, one for the vast Strathinver estate here in Scotland, one for the smaller estates scattered like windblown seeds over the entire Kingdom and the third for the mines, quarries and investments.

All of them claimed to have urgent matters requiring decisions, all of them clamoured for his attention, all of them made his head ache. How could he possibly decide?

Just at that moment, the hammering started up again.

He groaned. Arms resting on the desk, he laid his head on them and wished…

what did he wish? That this burden had never fallen onto his shoulders, primarily.

With three older brothers, he had thought himself safe.

He could live out his life in careless freedom, flitting from one amusing gathering to another like a bee in search of nectar, with nothing more to trouble him than whether to wear the blue waistcoat or the gold, or if he should attempt a more complicated knot in his neckcloth.

But there was nothing amusing about being an earl.

“The mail has arrived, my lord.”

Robert groaned again, and raised his head. The hammering was so loud he had not heard the butler enter the room. “Another mountain of bills, I suppose, Winthrop.”

“I am sure there will be more pleasant missives, too, my lord. There is a letter from Mrs Haggerty. That should make you smile.”

“Ah, yes. Great-aunt Jessica always cheers me up. Anything else?”

“One from Lord Harraby, my lord.”

“Harraby! I have not heard from him in an age, not since—” Not since the last of his brothers had died and left him as the sole heir. Not since his world had collapsed into a nightmare of responsibility.

Rifling through the mound of letters, he found the one bearing Harraby’s neat franking signature, and tore it open.

‘The Right Honourable the Earl of Kiltarlity, Strathinver Castle, near Dumfries, Scotland. Kiltarlity, or Osborn as I still call you in my head, Greetings, my old friend! I trust you are in good health and spirits there in your Scottish fastness, and not receiving as much rain as we are. If we are not careful, the North Riding will be entirely washed away. Jane is very well, but unfortunately is confined to barracks until this baby makes an appearance, so we cannot remove to balmier climes, or seek out congenial company. Necessarily, therefore, the congenial company must come to us. Can you tear yourself away from your duties to come and liven us up for a spell? Your sisters and mother would be company for Jane, and you would be company for me. I have Embleton here at present, and although he is an excellent fellow, he is no conversationalist. He is finally emerging from his misanthropic seclusion, however. At the advanced age of thirty, he has discovered that there are female personages in the world, and actually offered for one! Can you believe it? We could not, I assure you. Jane did not say a word for fully ten minutes when he told us, so that the servants all panicked and assumed she was having an apoplexy. And as if that were not astonishing enough, the girl turned him down! Can you imagine? Embleton is bemused rather than anything else, but you can see why lively company is required just now, and naturally you came to mind. Do come and cheer us up. If the rain ever stops, I can promise you some good shooting. I remain your very good friend, Harraby.’

Robert jumped up and sped down the corridor to the blue drawing room, where the ladies sat.

His mother, still in unrelieved black, was holding forth about something or other, while his sisters were involved in trimming a bonnet.

The hammering was louder here, for the builders were working in the very next room.

“How can you hear yourselves think with that racket going on?” Robert said.

“We cannot, of course,” Lizzie said sharply. “At least the repairs are underway at last.”

“Yes, we shall be much more comfortable once Strathinver is restored to its former glory,” Lady Kiltarlity said.

“True, Mother, but we are exceedingly un comfortable while the restoration is being undertaken,” he snapped. “How would you all like to pay a visit to Harraby?”

“I like Lady Harraby,” Lucy said. “How is she?”

“I assume she is well, but she cannot leave Harraby until after her confinement, so Harraby invites us there to provide some company for her.”

His mother grunted. “Kiltarlity, I am in no mood for amusement just now, with your father barely cold in his grave.”

“Then you may stay here, if you please, Mother. Lady Harraby is chaperon enough for Lizzie and Lucy. Aunt Tina would come and bear you company, I am sure.”

“No doubt she would! She is always ready for a free meal, that one.”

“She has a very modest jointure,” Robert said, making a mental note to check his aunt’s annuity and see if it might be increased.

“Then her husband should have made better provision for her,” Lady Kiltarlity snapped.

“Or else she should have made better provision for herself by marrying more sensibly. But no, if you imagine you three can go jauntering off to enjoy yourselves and leave me here alone to manage everything, you may think again. A change of scene might do me a little good, for heaven alone knows, nothing else is working. My very bones ache, and that foolish apothecary does nothing but give me another tonic. A tonic! Nothing but flavoured water, if you ask me. A bottle of brandy a day would do me more good. So let us go to Harraby and see if that helps. I might be able to offer some useful advice to Lady Harraby. Her first, is it?”

“Second.”

“Hmpf. Nevertheless, she does not know everything. I brought seven children into the world who all survived to adulthood, and if four of them have now left the mortal realm, the blame for that cannot be set at my door.”

She glared at Robert, as if it was his fault that his three brothers had chosen to join the army and had fallen in their country’s service, or that his eldest sister had died in childbirth. His sister… well, he could hardly be blamed for that, yet oddly, he somehow felt guilty about his brothers.

At least he would now have a brief reprieve from this dreadful weight on his shoulders.

“I shall write to Harraby at once,” he said. “Can we be on the road tomorrow, do you think?”

***

O livia was exultant — she would be a duchess! At least, she now had a plan and a supporter and a real prospect of meeting her chosen future duke, and if she could not charm him to the altar, it would not be for want of trying.

When all the morning callers had left, she escorted Lady Alice to the gallery, where she liked to sit sometimes.

Seeing the books under her aunt’s arm, she said, “Shall I read to you, aunt?”

“No, for Mr Alfred Strong has promised to call and continue the book we were reading yesterday.”

“Then I shall go and see Grandmama.”

“She is not having a good day, so you might find her asleep.”

“That does not matter. I can still talk to her while she sleeps.”

Aunt Alice sighed. “You are a good girl, Olivia. I wish Tess were half so reliable as you, but she has a wilful streak in her that there is no eradicating.”

Olivia made no comment on that. She had been close to her cousin Tess for many years, and they still shared a bedroom at the castle, but ever since her father had died, Tess had been tearing about the countryside doing who knew what.

If she were honest, Olivia rather admired the way Tess always did precisely what she wanted, but they no longer shared confidences as they once had.

“We are not close,” Aunt Alice went on. “A daughter should be close to her mother, should she not? I know you miss your mother dreadfully, but I do not think Tess misses me at all when she is away.”

Olivia did miss her mother, but she would miss her father more.

Her mother was a constant stream of criticisms, whereas her father only saw the best in her and made her feel as if she were someone special and not merely the baby of the family.

Worse than that, she was a pale imitation of her older sister.

Izzy was the great beauty of the family, the sparkling diamond at any gathering, who sang like an angel, danced divinely, and collected male admirers around her like moths drawn helplessly to her flame.

And Olivia was like Izzy in every way, but less, somehow.

Less beautiful, less lively, less witty, less musical, less admired by gentlemen.

It was very lowering. And even when Izzy screamed and shouted and broke things, she was still adored and forgiven.

Olivia never screamed and shouted. When she became upset, which admittedly was almost as often as Izzy, she wept and then everyone was cross with her.

‘Oh, do stop crying, Olivia!’ her mother would say. ‘Crying is such a waste of time.’