Page 40 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

“Mama is staying with Izzy, so one letter will inform both of them,” she responded, although a little disappointed in him. Still thinking of Izzy! He had never got over the fact that she had married Lord Farramont instead.

“Then tomorrow I shall take Lady Euphemia out for a long ride — if Embleton gives his approval, that is.”

Effie glowered at him. “As if I need his approval for anything I wish to do!”

“Unfortunately, you do,” Osborn said, with a wry smile. “You are but eighteen years of age, he is your older brother and he is responsible for you while you are in his care.”

“But he keeps me a prisoner here!” she cried. “Surely there is no need for it. Why can we not make some visits? Or receive visitors here?”

“If anyone calls, you may join Mama and my sisters to receive them,” he said, “but Embleton has told me not to make a carriage available to you, and not to permit you to leave the estate. Happily, the estate is large, so we may enjoy some fine riding without breaching your brother’s conditions.”

“There is an old abbey that you might find of interest,” Olivia said. “Not that there is much of it left, but it is a fine place for a picnic in the summer, or an interesting ride at any time.”

“You have been there?” Effie said. “I thought you had never been to Strathinver before.”

“I have not, because there was usually no one here, but I have stayed at Lochmaben many times. It is only a few miles from here, and the abbey is a favourite spot with the family.”

“Lochmaben? The home of the Duke of Lochmaben?”

Olivia agreed to it. “They are our cousins. Grandmama’s sister married the previous duke. You would find men enough to flirt with there, for the duke and duchess always have the place filled to the rafters with visitors. What a pity you cannot even call there.”

“What a pity indeed,” Effie said lightly. “Olivia, have you eaten all those raspberry tartlets? Not even one left?”

“Oh dear,” Olivia said, staring guiltily at the empty plate. “I did not notice.”

That evening was perhaps the most pleasant Olivia had passed at Strathinver.

At dinner, she found herself without the least manipulation on her part seated beside Lord Embleton, and although she carried most of the conversation, out of consideration for his poor stutter, he was more than usually talkative.

He was surprisingly forthcoming about his home at Howland Manor, and the new house which was being built.

“B-B-Bridgeworth, it is to b-be c-called,” he said. “V-Very unim-maginative.”

“But most appropriate, to have your father’s principal seat named after his title,” she said. “Is it to be very large, like Blenheim? One always feels that a ducal seat should be very grand, much grander than a normal house.”

He pulled a face. “The architect would m-make it so, but m-m-my father only wants it to be m-m-modern.”

“Ah! I understand. Light and airy, and a proper range in the kitchen.”

He smiled. “The k-kitchen! How p-practical you are, Lady Olivia.”

“Kitchens are very important, Lord Embleton, together with draught-free windows, chimneys that do not smoke and no mice in the wainscoting.”

That made him laugh out loud. “You must c-come to visit us one day, to advise m-my father.”

“Surely your mother—?”

But he shook his head. “Not interested in d-domestic affairs. She is a p-painter.”

“Oh!” A duchess who preferred to paint rather than take an interest in kitchens was somewhat outside her experience.

In Olivia’s view, nothing could be more conducive to family harmony than an efficient kitchen, and, after the nursery, it was the principal duty of the lady of the house, but she could hardly say so.

Her ambition to be the next Duchess of Bridgeworth had veered back and forth lately, as the marquess’s temper had waxed and waned, but it had not quite evaporated, and that precluded her from any hint of criticism of the present one.

The marquess must have read her thoughts, however, for he smiled and said, “A duchess may do as she p-pleases.”

That too was a new concept, and as the marquess was drawn away to talk to Lady Kiltarlity on his other side, Olivia was left to eat in thoughtful silence, mulling over the oddity of anyone, even a duchess, who could do as she pleased.

If she were a duchess, would she do just what she pleased?

And what would that be? She could think of nothing except the tenets that her mother had drilled into her head for many years — that she must put her husband first, always, then her sons, followed by her daughters and the servants, and finally the tenant farmers and villagers and tradesmen and all those who depended upon her.

There was nothing about painting. An unmarried girl might indulge in sketching or watercolours, just as she learned to play an instrument and sing Scottish airs, as an accomplishment to attract a husband, but once she married, she had more serious responsibilities.

She considered her sisters and their marriages.

Josie was besotted by her babies, that seemed to be her primary concern.

As for Izzy, she liked to host society dinners, which she claimed helped her husband with his political interests, but she simply loved surrounding herself with lively company.

So in a way, both of them were doing as they pleased.

Only Mama, still refusing to marry Papa to leave him free to have legitimate sons, was determinedly doing what she felt was best for him and the family.

But what of Olivia herself? What would her life be like if she married Lord Embleton, leaving behind all the familiarity of home, and everyone she knew, and becoming part of an entirely new family?

She would grow accustomed, she supposed.

It was the fate of all women who married to leave their natal home and transplant themselves into alien soil, and with an amiable man, that would be no hardship, would it?

But then how amiable was Lord Embleton? He could be very pleasant when he chose to be, but she still shivered at the memory of his reproofs when he thought she had stepped out of line.

Well, she would just have to be very sure not to do so once they were married.

And somehow, this thought did not please her.

After dinner, the marquess approached her directly, and suggested a game of backgammon. Much as she wanted to enjoy a tête-à-tête with him, she had to confess that she was unskilled in the game.

“Chess?” he said with a smile. “Or cribbage, perhaps?”

“Oh, yes! Cribbage! I know that one! I play with my cousins all the time.”

And so they played cribbage, not talking much beyond the needs of the game, but to Olivia it felt for the first time as if Lord Embleton was courting her, or at least seeing her as a person worthy of his attention.

And she would not be human if she did not glory just a little in the undivided attention of a future duke.

So when she woke early the next morning, she sat down at the small writing table in her room, and dashed off a whole series of letters to Mama, Aunt Alice, Aunt Jane and Josie, to reassure them that she and Papa were well, and mentioning, quite as an aside, that Lord Embleton had talked of his family home to her at some length.

There was not much else to say of the marquess, but she knew her relations would be amused by Osborn’s funny little sayings, for he was vastly entertaining.

That filled the rest of the letters most satisfactorily, and she went down to breakfast in a cloud of virtuous awareness of a duty well completed.

Papa was still a little downcast, but the prospect of another day at the river brought a smile to his face when Osborn suggested it.

“Embleton?” Osborn said. “Would you care to fish again, or shall I open up the gunroom for you?”

“You are to ride w-with Effie this m-m-morning, I understand, K-Kiltarlity, in which case I shall ride with you. That g-girl needs to be watched. Is she not usually d-down by this t-time?”

“She is, yes,” Olivia said. “Shall I go up and see what is keeping her? Perhaps she is having a tray in her room this morning.”

But before this impulse could be acted upon, loud voices were heard outside, and the butler entered in some dismay.

“Whatever is it, Winthrop?” Osborn said, frowning a little at the unseemly disruption.

“My lord… I am afraid that—” He glanced at Lord Embleton. “It is the Lady Euphemia, my lord. She went riding this morning, and naturally a groom went with her, but…”

Lord Embleton set down his coffee cup with a crash. “Tell me the worst, Winthrop. Where has she gone?”

“To Lochmaben, my lord. The groom could not catch her to stay the horse, and once she was there, she declared that she would not return here. She sent him back with a letter for you, my lord.”

“A letter? Where is it?”

“He has instructions to deliver it into your own hands, my lord. He is in the hall now.”

They all trooped into the hall, where the groom, wild-eyed with anguish, and muttering apologies repeatedly, handed over a note. Lord Embleton read it, then, with a growl, crumpled it into a ball and pressed it into Olivia’s hand.

“This is your fault! You truly are the most meddlesome female it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. Now look what you have done! Kiltarlity, you can lend me a horse, I am sure.”

He stamped away towards the stables.

The note was brief. ‘Embleton, Since Olivia was so obliging as to remind me of the existence of Lochmaben, I have sought refuge there from your tyranny. Effie.’

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. It was so unfair! How could Effie’s wildness be laid at her door? And now that foolish girl had destroyed all Olivia’s hopes of Lord Embleton. Surely there could be no return from this final disagreement? She would never now be a duchess.