Page 45 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

O livia wept for a long time, while her sister held her tightly. What she was weeping for, she could not quite say, except that she wished it were Robert holding her, for only he had the power to make her feel better, whatever the crisis. Nothing was so terrible when Robert was with her.

“Do you think,” she said, when the sobs had abated somewhat, “that I have chosen the wrong man?”

“I cannot answer you,” Izzy said. “What do you think?”

“How can I tell?” she wailed. “How did you decide? You had four men chasing you. What made you settle on Ian?”

Izzy laughed throatily. “His title, principally. And his income.”

“But… there must have been something more than that? Who was the bald, fat, wheezy one who offered for you at Almack’s, in front of half the patronesses? He had a title and a huge income, did he not?”

“Oh, yes, and he was sixty if he was a day! If I had been minded to be a merry widow in very short order, he would have done perfectly, for he is dead now, you know. But one must have some standards. The four who persisted were all men I could willingly marry. Godfrey Marsden, who was rich as Croesus. Sydney Davenport, who wrote poetry for me — so romantic. Robert Osborn, the charming flirt. And Ian, the steady one.”

She smiled, her face radiant with affection.

“Dear Ian!” she went on. “The moment I knew it would be him was at some impossible squeeze at Carlton House. We were so late, the place was full to overflowing, and I was terrified that we would be so late that we would arrive after the Prince of Wales and be ostracised for ever more. I had never been to Carlton House before, so it was all new and thrilling, but frightening, too. I was beginning to realise how easy it would be to make a misstep in society, and my confidence was dreadfully wobbly. But as we entered the room, there on the far side was that distinctive head of red hair rising above the sea of turbans and tiaras, watching me, and I knew it would be all right. I would always be safe with Ian.”

“You felt safe with him,” Olivia repeated wonderingly. “Is that what love is, feeling safe with a man?”

“That is part of it, certainly. Do you feel safe with Lord Embleton?”

“Oh yes! He is very steady, like Ian. Very dependable. Although… he gets angry with me, too. When he thought I was trying to trick him into compromising me, and I was not, not in the least! That would be despicable, and I would never stoop so low. I was insulted that he would even think it of me. And his sister… he thinks it is my fault that she ran away from Strathinver, but honestly, if he could not control her himself, he should have taken her home for her father to deal with, for she was not fit to be in society, I swear. She did nothing but flirt with every unattached male.”

“Did? She does not do so any longer?”

“No, for she will be married to Lord Grayling by now, and I imagine he will not be amused if she tries her games with anyone now.”

“Grayling? Goodness! I had no idea he was looking for a wife, but then there were rumours that he was all to pieces and I dare say Lady Effie has a fine dowry.”

“Fifty thousand pounds.”

“Well! I am sure I wish them joy of each other, the flirt and the fortune hunter. But did she flirt with Robert?” Izzy said, picking up her wine glass again.

“No, for she said he was very disobliging and would only flirt with me,” Olivia said, giggling.

“Did he flirt with you?”

“Well… he talked a lot of nonsense. I assumed he was flirting.”

Izzy’s eyebrows rose. “Even when he proposed to you?”

Olivia jumped up, too agitated to sit still.

“Oh no, that was not flirtation! That was an insult. Do you know why he wants to marry me, Izzy? Because I look like you! He fell in love with you five years ago, he has never found anyone to compare with you and now that he is the last son and has to marry, he thinks to have me because I remind him of you, in a small way. Insufferable man!”

The tears were prickling again, but she dashed them angrily away.

Izzy sipped her wine, frowning. “I think you are wrong about that, sister dear. I saw Robert in the summer, remember, when I was briefly unmarried, and he made no effort to attach me. In fact, he told me very clearly that he no longer had any wishes in that direction, so if he proposed to you , it is you he wants. Did he tell you that he loves you?”

Mutely, Olivia nodded. It was true! He had said that he loved her but she had not believed him, had in fact thrown his words back in his face contemptuously. Oh, what a horrid, ungrateful girl she was!

Sitting back down beside Izzy in a swirl of skirts, she said in a small voice, “What am I to do?”

With a chuckle, Izzy said, “It seems Mama and I arrived not a moment too soon! You are already betrothed, so Robert is out of the question, for now. The first thing you must do, little sister, is to talk to Lord Embleton, and discover, if you can, his feelings on the matter. It may be that he has a deep passion for you, and your tears merely brought things to a head. But if not…”

Olivia nodded. “But what am I to do , Izzy? Must I marry him? Should I marry him? I have wanted this for so many years, yet now that the moment has come, I cannot decide. Whatever decision I reach will affect my whole life… decades and decades to regret my choice, perhaps. How do I know that I will be happy with him… or not?”

“Sister,” Izzy said gently, “all I can tell you is that I chose Ian for largely pragmatic reasons, and I never regretted it. Marriage to a good, honourable man brought me great contentment, and whatever unhappiness I felt was within myself, and nothing to do with Ian. But I did not know true happiness until he showed me the passion within him, the love that he had kept swathed in secrecy for five years. If Lord Embleton can show you that sort of passion, then you may be sure that he can bring you happiness.”

“But he cannot express it!” Olivia cried. “Words are so difficult for him.”

“Love does not need words,” Izzy said firmly. “Love is in the way he smiles at you, the fire in his eyes, the ardour with which he kisses you.” She paused with a little sigh, and a faraway look in her eyes. “And if he does not even kiss you… then you have your answer.”

***

O livia eventually tracked down Lord Embleton in the sewing room, a tiny apartment high in one of the castle’s many towers.

The two Miss Plowmans were there, both with stitchery in their hands, and one of the elderly Lochmaben cousins acting as chaperon, reading a book beside the fire.

She and the younger Miss Plowman were silent and industrious, but Lord Embleton and Miss Plowman had their heads close together, laughing — laughing!

Olivia could not recall seeing the marquess so lighthearted before.

The scene was so intimate that she cried out, “Oh, forgive me for intruding!” before remembering with a spear of resentment that she was engaged to Lord Embleton and need never apologise for claiming a little of his time.

He looked up at her, the laughter dying away, leaving his usual imperturbable expression. He rose and bowed politely. “Lady Ol… Olivia.”

There was no pleasure in her arrival, no expression of delight to see his future wife, not even so much as a smile. Almost she had her answer on the spot, but she owed it to him to give him the chance to explain himself fully.

“I wonder if I might have a word with you, my lord. In private. If Miss Plowman can spare you.”

“Of c-c-…” A huff of annoyance, then he took a deep breath. “Of… course.”

“Well done, Ralph!” Miss Plowman trilled. “Remember, deep breaths, speak slowly. We’ll leave you two to have a coze. Come on, Marian. Lady Sophia.”

Ralph! They were on first name terms, then.

The ladies left, and only Lord Embleton remained, his expression wary.

Olivia took the seat vacated by Miss Plowman, right beside the marquess, so that if he should wish to hold her hand or press impassioned kisses on her lips, he would not have to do more than lean forwards a short distance.

She was not sure she wanted him to do either of those things, but she felt she ought to give him the opportunity.

“Lord Embleton, I believe we should talk seriously about… well, about ourselves. We never have, and I know you are not a great one for talking but it is a conversation we need to have, I believe.”

He nodded. “Indeed. I have… written… to… my… father… telling… him… about you, but… he… will… not… dis… approve.”

“No, no! That is not what I mean. I suppose what I am saying is that I should like to know why you so obligingly offered for me.”

He looked at her blankly, a little puzzled. “I…” He stopped, frowning.

How could she explain it to him? It was awkward, for she could hardly say, ‘Are you in love with me?’ She had no wish to push him into a corner where he might feel obliged, by some obscure gentlemanly rule of honour, to declare an affection for her that he did not feel.

And he could hardly say, ‘I do not love you, but I am quite prepared to marry you anyway.’ It was not exactly chivalrous, even if true.

But she needed to know beyond all doubt what was in his heart, and perhaps the most honest way to approach the problem was to tell him what she herself felt.

“Well, let me explain my position first,” she said.

“When my older sisters married, both of them to viscounts, I determined that I would outdo them.

For my husband, I decided, nothing would do for me but a duke.

Or the heir to one." His eyebrows lowered alarmingly, but he said nothing.

“So I set myself the task of identifying the most likely prospects. There are not very many of them, as I am sure you are aware. Once I had eliminated all those who were married, too young or too old, or lived in Scotland, I—”

The eyebrows rose again. “Scotland! Wh-what is… wrong… with… Scotland?”