Page 44 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

“No, no, more slowly,” she said, loudly enough that half the room heard her. “Take a deep breath, look into my eyes and above all, speak slowly.”

The marquess frowned, and the duke murmured, “Miss Plowman, I do not think—”

“No, it’s possible to overcome it,” she said briskly.

“All he has to do is to speak more slowly and stop thinking about it so much. I’ve done it with Marian, and though she’ll never be a chatterbox, she doesn’t stutter any more.

Why don’t you try again? Deep breath, look into my eyes and speak slowly. ”

“I… d-do not th-think—”

“Slowly!” she cried. “Very slowly.”

By this time, the room was almost silent, conversations drifting into nothingness as all eyes were fixed on the little grouping near the door.

“I… do… not… think… we… have… been… intro… duced, ma’am.”

“Oh, very good!” she cried, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Ruth Plowman. And you are—?”

“The M-M-Mar—” He gave a huff of annoyance, then breathed in and exhaled slowly. “The… Mar… quess… of… Emb… le… ton.”

“Ooh, another marquess! Pa will be so proud of me, mingling with all these great people. Are you going to be a duke, like the Marquess of Galloway? He’ll be the next Duke of Lochmaben.”

“I kn-know. I… know. My… father… is… Duke… of… Bridge… worth.”

And he spent the rest of the evening locked in slow but unstuttering conversation with Miss Plowman and her sister.

From then onwards, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in their company, Miss Plowman chattering away, the marquess responding in a ponderous way and even Miss Marian Plowman taking a share in the conversation.

It was not precisely that Olivia was jealous, for she was engaged to the marquess and Miss Plowman was not, but she could not help noticing that, although he was taciturn with Olivia, as with most people, he was much more talkative with the Plowman sisters, and even smiled occasionally.

***

A bout a week after Olivia had arrived at Lochmaben, the great bell in the tower above the entrance clanged to announce the arrival of visitors.

This was a regular occurrence, for the duke and duchess were hospitable, and even in December there were guests arriving to stay or simply to pay a morning call.

The bell was the signal for the duke and duchess and those of a curious nature to make their way to the entrance hall to greet the arrivals, and Olivia was amongst the many who thronged there, waiting to see who walked through the great double doors, and how wet or bedraggled they would be, for the weather was foul.

A man walked in dripping from head to foot, despite the valiant efforts of a footman with an umbrella. As soon as he removed his sodden hat, Olivia knew him, for no one else had quite such a distinctive head of golden hair.

“Lord Grayling!” she said, but before she could move forward, a figure shot past her.

“Julian!” cried Effie. “Have you come to rescue me?”

He smiled at the sight of her. “I have, but I am afraid you will have to marry me first. Your father insists upon it.”

“You have talked to Papa?”

“I have, and he has given his permission. I have been chasing about to find you ever since. I thought you were at Strathinver.”

“It was too boring there for words. Can we leave at once, before Embleton can interfere?”

“Grayling is welcome to you,” came a voice from behind them, as Embleton emerged from the throng. “You are the most pestilential female any man was ever saddled with, and I shall be heartily glad to be rid of you.”

Effie laughed. “And you are the stuffiest brother any girl could have. Give me half an hour to pack, Julian, and we can be away.”

“Of course. We will go to Carlisle to obtain a bishop’s licence and be married forthwith.”

“Oh Julian, we shall have so much fun! And who cares if we get married or not?”

“Your father, for one, and Lord Harold, for another.”

“Harold? What does my brother have to do with this?”

“He is waiting in the carriage as we speak. He will travel with us to ensure there is no fun until we are respectably married, so if your objective is to put off the wedding, then you had best say so now, and we will part with no hard feelings.”

She pulled a face. “Harold is almost as stuffy as Embleton. How long will it take us to reach Carlisle?”

“Three or four hours, if we are lucky. We might make it before dark.”

“I can last half a day without fun,” she said. “Very well. It shall be as you wish.”

She scampered away to organise her packing.

Lord Embleton shrugged and offered Lord Grayling his hand. “Good l-luck, Gray… ling. You… will… need… it.”

“Thank you, my lord. I shall try my utmost to keep her out of mischief, or if that proves impossible, at least out of your way.”

They shook hands with smiles all round and within the hour Effie was gone to be married to Lord Grayling, leaving Olivia a little breathless and bemused, but quietly pleased.

***

T he very next day, the arrivals bell clanged again, even though the rain had now turned to light snow, and again a crowd flocked to the entrance hall to greet the newcomers.

Three figures arrived in a veritable cloud of snow, their breath steaming in the cold air despite the massive logs burning in two great hearths.

Three figures shrouded in thick winter garments and swathed in blankets, but Olivia knew them at once, although they were the last people she had expected to see at Lochmaben.

Beside her, Papa said dubiously, “Surely that cannot be—?”

“I think it is,” Olivia said. “Look, the tall man has removed his hat, and no one else has such distinctive red hair.”

“Farramont? Then the ladies must be…”

“Izzy, yes.” And in a whisper she added, “And Mama.”

Her father made a strange noise in his throat, like a growl. “Caroline… Caroline!” And then he was off across the entrance hall, cutting unseeingly through little knots of people, practically knocking over one hapless footman. “Caroline! Caroline!”

Mama turned, saw him, her face melting into a smile. “Charles.”

He came straight up to her, wrapped his arms around her, heedless of the snow clinging to her cloak, and burst into tears.

“Oh, Charles! My dear!” Her arms were around him, and she was crying too, oblivious of the crowd gathering excitedly around them.

Eventually he surfaced, his face still streaked with tears. “Dearest Caro, I have missed you abominably. I have not been right since the day you left. Everything has gone wrong. I cannot manage without you, my love. Will you not come back to me?”

“Charles, are you proposing to me?”

“Yes!” he yelled, then laughed suddenly.

“Marry me, Caro. No, no, I have to do this properly.” Dropping to his knees, he took her gloved hands in his.

“Caroline Horncastle, will you make me the happiest of men once more and do me the very great honour of becoming my wife again? Because my life is insupportable without you.”

“And mine without you, I have discovered,” she said. “Oh Charles, but you will have no legitimate heirs. I am far too old for that.”

“I have no legitimate sons ,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet, her hands still firmly in his, “but I have a brother and several nephews who will take very good care of the earldom after I am gone. How soon can we be married, dear heart? You will not make me wait, I hope?”

“But how can it be done?” she said, frowning. “A special licence can only be had from London, and even a bishop’s licence will take several days to obtain with this weather.”

The Duke of Lochmaben chuckled. “We can do rather better than that. You are in Scotland now, so you need only say you are married in front of witnesses, and it is so.”

“Truly?” Papa said. “So I need only say… we are married?”

“Congratulations,” the duke said smoothly. “I now declare you man and wife. Rennington, you will want to show your wife where she will be sleeping.”

There was a burst of cheering from the assembled crowd, but Olivia’s throat was too tight from weeping to cheer. At last, Papa would be happy again and Mama would come home to Corland, where she belonged, and at least there would be some semblance of normality after the last terrible six months.

She felt an arm round her shoulders. “Come, sister, let us escape from this mêlée. Where is your room?”

“Izzy? What are you doing here?” Olivia said between sobs.

“I was just about to ask you the same question,” Izzy whispered. “We thought you were at Strathinver. Farramont, where are you? Ah, there you are. Will you see about rooms and luggage and such like, while Olivia and I have a cosy chat? No doubt you will have letters to write, as well.”

“No doubt I will,” he said, smiling affectionately at her, before disappearing towards the footmen dealing with mounds of luggage.

The two sisters retreated to Olivia’s room, where a fire burned low in the hearth.

“Let us get a bit of a blaze going,” Izzy said, taking up the coal tongs and rapidly tossing lumps of coal onto the fire.

“Goodness, but I am chilled! One forgets how dismal the roads are in December. I cannot remember the last time I was warm. Will you ring the bell for some wine for me? The fire will warm my hands and feet, but I must have something to warm me inside, as well.”

“Why on earth are you travelling at all?” Olivia said. “In your condition, you should be safely tucked up at Stonywell, warm and snug.”

Izzy only chuckled. “I am past the sickly stage and not yet at the elephant stage,” she said with a little shrug. “Besides, when one travels with Ian, nothing can possibly go wrong. He will not allow it. As to why, we came because of you, sister dear. We were concerned for you.”

“For me? But I have Papa with me. There is nothing to be concerned about.”

“Is there not? Your last letter — six pages, Olivia, and on the one hand telling all your hopes for Lord Embleton, and on the other rattling on for pages about the oh-so-amusing Lord Kiltarlity — or Osborn, as you are pleased to call him. You sounded in a sad muddle, and Mama insisted we come haring up here to sort you out. But what has brought you to Lochmaben, sister? We quite thought you were settled at Strathinver with the two men you are dithering over. What happened? Did you fall out with Lady Kiltarlity? She can be a bit of a she-dragon sometimes.”

“No falling out.”

“Then…?”

“I am betrothed to Lord Embleton.”

Izzy gave a squeak of surprise. “That was sudden! My goodness, so you have achieved your ambition, young lady, and Josie and I are quite put in the shade. A marchioness… and a duchess, eventually. My dear Olivia, my sincere felicitations. If you knew how many caps have been tossed Embleton’s way over the years, and he has ignored them all, yet you, not even properly out of the schoolroom, have succeeded where everyone else has failed. How did you do it?”

Olivia gave a rueful smile. “I have no idea. I was crying… about something… and he just proposed.”

“You were crying? Well, you often find something or other to cry about. A broken lace, the stable cat bringing home a dead bird…”

“It was nothing like that!” Olivia said sharply. “I may cry easily, Izzy, but I am not a child any more, or perhaps you have not noticed?”

“I beg your pardon,” Izzy said. “It is abominable of me to tease you at such a time. But will you not tell me the whole story? Of both your young men, that is, for there is more to this than meets the eye, I fancy.”

So Olivia told the tale, what little there was to tell, as Izzy walked about the room, a glass of wine in her hand, asking the occasional question but mostly simply listening.

Tea and cakes had arrived with the wine, so Olivia fortified herself suitably as she talked, and gradually she began to feel better.

As she laid out the whole of her dealings with the marquess, she began to feel it was all perfectly reasonable.

There was nothing there to unsettle her, was there?

She had set her heart on the marquess, but she had not flirted or tried to compromise him or even thrown herself in his way.

And when he proposed, she had accepted, so what was wrong with that? She was happy, was she not?

At the end of the recitation, as she reached for another cake, for there was nothing like cake for reassuring one, Izzy laughed.

“Oh sister, what a mess you have made of it!”

“Have I?” Olivia said, dropping the cake in surprise.

“Of course. Can you not see it? You quarrelled with Lord Embleton, and you were angry. Robert proposed but you were too angry to listen. Then you cried, Lord Embleton found you crying, thought it was all about him, so he proposed.”

“And I accepted,” Olivia said. “It is what I want.”

“Has he told you he loves you?”

“No, but—”

“Has he kissed you?”

“No, but—”

“Do you want him to?”

Silence.

“Do you want Robert to kiss you?”

Olivia burst into tears.