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

He nodded and turned obediently to Olivia as the soup was handed round, and for a while the whole company attended to the needs of the appetite.

As soon as the soup had been removed with the fish, and conversation had begun again, Olivia began on her list of topics with which to entertain and, she hoped, beguile Lord Embleton.

“I have been following the triumphs of your race horses, sir,” she began. “Such a success at Newmarket last year! Two winners, was it not?”

“Yes, I—”

“And a third later, as well. How proud you must have been! Such a proof of the efficacy of your methods. But this year was not quite so promising. So unfortunate! Crown Star must have been having an off day, such as all horses must have from time to time. My own horse is much the same. Some days he is full of life and keen to take me wherever I wish to go, and other days there is a reluctance in him, as if life is an effort, somehow. But then, people are just the same, is it not so? We all have good days, when we are full of energy and anything seems possible, and bad days, when we do not particularly wish to leave our beds.”

She was forced, by the tempting aromas of the fish on her plate, to pause while she ate a few mouthfuls, and the marquess politely jumped into the breach.

“I have f-f-found that m-m-m…” He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “ My horses are not t-t-t…” Another deep breath. “Temperam-m-m…”

“Temperamental,” she said, without thinking.

“Yes. C-c-crown S-s-s…”

“Crown Star. Oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “So sorry.”

His lips flickered into a smile, instantly lost. “Everyone d-d-does it. Think n-n-nothing of it.”

“But it is so rude to draw attention to your…” She was about to say ‘disability’ , but some vestige of good sense prevented her.

There was a flash of anger in his eyes as he said in curt tones, “My affliction. Indeed. Your fish will get c-cold.”

Thus rebuked, she could only fall into miserable silence and fork tiny bites of fish into her mouth, but everything tasted like ashes. She wished she could crawl away and hide in a dark place, for tears were not far below the surface.

The marquess turned to Lady Alice for a while, who listened to his hesitant words with her customary placidity. On Olivia’s other side, Bertram leaned towards her and whispered, “It takes extraordinary levels of restraint not to finish his words for him.”

“It must be so irritating for him, poor man,” she whispered back. “I do try, but I cannot always stop myself in time.”

“At least you try,” Bertram said. “So many people do it all the time, and flatter themselves they are being helpful.”

The fish was removed with a haunch of venison and a chine of mutton, and the dinner guests devoted themselves to the interesting business of sampling the many tempting dishes laid out before them.

Lord and Lady Rennington had for many years prided themselves on the generosity of their table, and even though Lady Rennington was no longer at the castle and the diners numbered only fourteen, the cook made no reduction in the amount provided.

There were always to be two full courses every day except Sunday, and the table laden to capacity.

Olivia ate sparingly of the first course, knowing that the second would be well supplied with her favourites — tarts and cakes and various creams and jellies.

When she next fell into conversation with the marquess, she had herself fully under control.

She talked a great deal herself, as planned, to spare him from the necessity himself, but when he did speak, she listened courteously and patiently as each word limped to completion.

He would never be a scintillating conversationalist, but she felt that their discussion had been as enjoyable as possible under the circumstances.

After dinner, it was merely a matter of waiting for the gentlemen to make their way back to the drawing room.

Olivia was too astute to approach the marquess directly he reappeared, so she stayed beside Aunt Alice while Aunt Jane and Cousin Penelope attempted to get a coherent sentence from the poor man.

Half listening to their conversation, and trying not to smile whenever Penelope jumped in to finish for him, she wondered for the first time what it would be like to be married to such a man.

It was incomparably better than a husband who gambled himself into debt or kept a series of mistresses, but that stutter might come into the category of irritating little habits which one could easily survive for an evening or two, but which would drive one to distraction over a lifetime.

Or would one simply stop noticing after a while?

And yet… he was a marquess and would one day be a duke, so he and his wife would live the sort of lives typical for their class.

He would be out and about, seeing to his estates and tenants and so forth, while she would make sure their current home ran smoothly, raise the children and dispense charity amongst the deserving poor, and possibly the undeserving poor, too, if she felt especially charitable.

She would hardly see her husband except at dinner, when they would be at opposite ends of a very long table.

There would be very little occasion to actually talk to him, except perhaps to report on the children’s doings.

‘Henry’s Latin is coming on wonderfully, his tutor says, and he will be quite ready for Harrow next year.

’ Or perhaps it would be Eton. Where had the marquess been educated?

She knew so little about him. Schools, she must ask him about his schooling.

Oddly, this little vision of her perfect future as a duchess did not sound quite as alluring as she might have supposed.

That might be a typical life for the nobility, but it differed markedly from her own family.

With two older sisters and three brothers, not to mention a host of cousins, she had always had someone to talk to, to joke with and tease.

Her sisters had married and gone away, her brothers were seldom there and even Mama had left.

She felt her present loneliness acutely, so why was she so keen to embrace an even lonelier life?

For a moment, her resolve wavered, but then she recollected that, as duchess, she could order her life how she chose.

One of her cousins could bear her company — Emily, perhaps, being the same age, and so shy that she would make the perfect retiring companion.

Or she could follow Izzy’s lead and fill her house with amusing guests.

She would never be lonely then, would she?

She had, she felt, made some progress already with the marquess, after a somewhat shaky start.

But her next step was clear to her — she had to kiss him, and she already had a plan for that.

But first, she needed to get him alone, for kissing was not a thing one attempted in a crowded drawing room.

Thus, when the tea things came out, and there was a general mingling, she dared to approach the marquess again.

“What do you think of Corland Castle, Lord Embleton, now that you have seen a little more of it? A most impressive stronghold, is it not? And yet it is entirely false, a modern construction masquerading as a medieval fortress. But no sieges have ever damaged its stout walls, nor have battles been fought on its lawns, the defenders’ pennants fluttering bravely from the battlements.

Even the moat is a fraud, providing access to the basement and stables. ”

“It is a m-most com-m-m…” He paused, took a breath. Olivia held her own breath, practically biting her tongue in the effort to stay silent. “ Commodious house,” he managed at last. “Ch-charmingly original.”

“The previous house, which was a real castle surviving real battles, was not in the least commodious, by all accounts. Family tradition is that it was always cold, and everything in it was cold, too. Cold soup, cold bath water…” She shivered.

“It makes me feel chilly just thinking about it. But it was exceedingly picturesque. We have a painting of it, before it was knocked down. Should you care to see it? I am no expert, but it is generally accounted a work of great skill. The artist was rather famous in his day, I understand.”

“I should be m-m-most happy to see it.”

“Excellent! It is in the library, but we can go through the dining room. This way.”

With so many people milling about, and the marquess not being a great, tall fellow, they were able to slip away unnoticed.

A couple of footmen in the dining room paused in their work to bow as they passed through.

Olivia took up a candelabrum that stood on a sideboard and threw open the further door. Beyond, the library lay in darkness.

The marquess stopped, frowning.

“Lord Embleton?” Olivia said. “It is just in here.”

“No.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

She turned to face him and saw that his face was dark with anger. “How old are you, Lady Olivia?”

“I am eighteen years of age, sir.”

“You have much to learn,” he said coldly.

She was more astonished by the lack of stuttering than his manner — when he was angry, he did not hesitate at all.

How fascinating! She stared at him wonderingly, while he glared back at her, his nostrils flaring.

He was rather splendid in such a mood, and she had a brief glimpse of the duke he might one day be, mostly placid but capable of towering displays of temper when roused.

His servants would tiptoe round him, terrified of setting him off.

A voice from behind them broke the silence.

“Olivia, dear! Ah, there you are. Are you going to show Lord Embleton some of our fine paintings? I am sure he will be pleased with them, but do let me come with you, for in your enthusiasm I suspect you have forgotten your mama’s advice on the subject of being alone with a gentleman, have you not? ”

Not exactly forgotten, no, for that was the whole point of the exercise, but it had failed anyway.

Lord Embleton was far too experienced a man to be caught in that way.

Such an eligible gentleman does not reach the advanced age of thirty still unmarried without developing good instincts for ambitious females.

Not that Olivia had any thought of compromising him.

No, a kiss was all she had wanted, and let what may come of it, but, with an inward sigh, she abandoned her carefully laid plans and allowed Aunt Jane to accompany them into the library.

“Not that Lord Embleton would ever take advantage of your innocence,” Aunt Jane went on in her bright society voice, “but one must always be aware of the possibility of less honourable men. Shall we go in?”

Olivia followed them in, trying not to laugh at the marquess’s thunderous face.

He had already been insulted by Olivia trying to be alone with him, and now Aunt Jane was talking about him taking advantage of her!

Poor man, he was not having a good evening.

But between her own chatter and Aunt Jane’s, they managed to entertain him for quite some time before Papa came looking for them, to see about making up a four for whist. Lord Embleton’s expression brightened at the thought, and within minutes he was settled at a table with Papa, Uncle George and the fashionable lawyer from London, Mr Willerton-Forbes, who had arrived with the murder investigators and now was involved in Papa’s affairs and become almost a permanent fixture.

For some time, Olivia played a little and read a little and even took up her needlework briefly, while trying to listen in to the conversation from their table, but whenever she caught snatches, it was Mr Willerton-Forbes talking about Papa’s finances, which was not interesting in the slightest. Eventually, the Westwick Heights family went home and Aunt Alice went to bed, but Kent took over Uncle George’s seat at the card table, and they played on.

Olivia gave it up and went to bed. By the time she rose, early by her standards, the marquess had already set out for Harraby Hall, and there was nothing for Olivia to do but to reflect on an unsatisfactory evening, and plan the next phase in her campaign.

But next time she met the marquess, she would not attempt to kiss him, for such stratagems would only give him a disgust of her.

She would merely be herself, and perhaps he would like her or perhaps he would not, but even if nothing came of it, it would still be good practice for her proper come-out next spring.