Page 19 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

STAVE V.

A Most Unsuitable Suitor

F IVE G OLD R INGS

Ambrosia Pépin, third Viscountess Wakely, had always been an optimistic woman.

She was one of those singular creatures who saw the best in every body and every thing, even when others did not.

Indeed, Ambrosia prided herself on such a quality, and for many a year such virtuousness of heart had held her in good stead – it was often remarked upon that she was a generous hostess and the kindest of mistresses, as well as a doting mother and loving wife.

It seemed to Ambrosia that, by always shewing such encouraging fortitude of mind, fortune might continue to smile down upon her, and so it was with this outlook on life that she hoped her greatest wish should eventually be realised …

to see each of her five daughters happily married.

Of course, she had already achieved a splendid match for her eldest, though for some time Ambrosia had worried the happy event would never take place at all.

Such a pronounced delay had been a surprise to everybody, for Juliette Pépin was blessed so truly that there had been no shortage of suitors.

Aside from her many accomplishments and beauty (a trait which should Ambrosia have been of a vain inclination she might have attributed to herself), Juliette was, above all things, kind, and had been the darling of the county from the moment the Pépins entered it.

Everywhere Juliette went she was admired and loved, always making time for each of Merrywake’s residents whether they were lowly milkmaids or one of the proud (and often obnoxious) family of Busgrove Bank.

The moment she entered society, Juliette received countless gentlemen vying for her hand.

However, she was of a particularly discerning temperament, and by the time Juliette was nearing the age of two-and-twenty she had not only refused the offers of four eligible men, but almost shied off from the marriage mart altogether, for not one of the haut ton appeared to please her.

In fact, during the last London season she had flatly refused to attend a single ball.

Little had Ambrosia known (for Juliette possessed a quiet and private mind), that her heart was already engaged elsewhere.

It was her friend Nicolas Toussaint who had engaged it, and what a relief when he finally announced his intentions and she accepted them!

The seigneur was already well known to the family – Nicolas’ father Louis (named after the French King) had been a childhood friend of Fernand’s, and at his request the son had frequented Wakely Hall for the last four summers after Louis’ death.

Thus, a true and wholesome romance blossomed and grew between him and Juliette, away from the ballrooms of London and the assemblies of Bath.

Out of all the gentlemen who had attempted to court her, only Nicolas could make Juliette blush so rosily and smile so widely, and in turn only Juliette could evoke a laugh so delighted in Nicolas and produce in him so fierce an affection, that their love of each other could not be doubted by anyone who saw them together.

And so, having one daughter finally married, Ambrosia hoped that equally successful matches might be made for the rest of her brood.

Unfortunately, Ambrosia could not fathom a way to achieve it, for each of her four remaining daughters posed a rather difficult problem.

The viscountess sighed from where she stood at the window of Wakely Hall’s drawing room, and turned her fine head so she might look upon the girls in question.

Maria, her second child, a spritely maiden of one-and-twenty, had a particular love of balls and any sort of frivolity, which often made her the talk of the season …

but not in a way that could be construed in an encouraging light.

Maria – being vivacious and pretty – was no less popular than her elder sister but she was a lively creature, lacking Juliette’s tact.

More than once had it been necessary for Ambrosia to call for the carriage after Maria let her tongue run to the point of insult, thereby reducing her marriage prospects to such a degree that she was still unwed after her fourth year out.

Her third daughter, Charlotte, was at that very moment ensconced on the sopha nose-deep in a copy of – Ambrosia squinted at the spine and frowned in displeasure – A New Account of Some Parts of Guinea, and the Slave-Trade .

Charlotte was, it might be inferred from such an observation, rather too inclined to turn her mind to matters of which no lady should have any notion, and held no interest in marriage whatsoever.

Charlotte had stated quite earnestly only that very morning at breakfast that she thought it no problem at all for her to remain unmarried since all men were ‘louts and coves’, and so she had no intention of subjecting herself to one of them, thank you very much.

This then left her youngest girls, Louisa and Rosalie, who, though sweet and biddable at nineteen and seventeen years of age, possessed a deficiency of aptitude in any of the expected ladylike pursuits.

It was not that either girl had stinted in her efforts (nor had their governess, who had tried very hard to teach them), but neither girl could sing or play the pianoforte, displayed no proficiency in any language but English (which was rather a sore point with the viscount), and their embroidery was exceedingly poor.

In such circumstances one might hope that Louisa and Rosalie should make up for their shortcomings by being, at the very least, handsome like Charlotte was, but it appeared that nature saw fit to allow the girls to fall short in that department too.

Most would be inclined to describe them as plain, which Ambrosia supposed was better than being considered completely ill-favoured, and at least they could be depended upon to be well behaved at social events.

If all that were not enough, each of the girls (Charlotte aside), had set her eyes upon the only man in the world whom Ambrosia could not bring herself to see the best in:

Sir Robert Grey, Duke of Morley.

No worse a scoundrel could be found in all of England, Ambrosia was quite sure.

To begin with, Nicolas’ friend – whom he met during the course of his education at Cambridge – had not aroused in Ambrosia any particular suspicion, but then rumours started to circulate about town last season of the duke’s scandalous relations with a Covent Garden actress, and Ambrosia herself had been witness to a rather imprudent flirtation at the Pump Room in Bath.

All that aside, he carried a particular air of arrogance and self-satisfaction Ambrosia did not like, and in consequence she had not wished to have the Duke of Morley stay at Wakely.

However, as Nicolas’ best man she could hardly refuse, and so the viscountess was forced to hold her tongue.

Unfortunately, the moment the cad stepped across Wakely Hall’s threshold Maria, Louisa and Rosalie lost all sense of decorum and had been making doe-eyes at him ever since.

Ambrosia confided in Fernand her concerns, but he merely replied that the girls were being silly ( Ah, jeune amour!

) and he felt sure that a man of Sir Robert’s station would not insult the family of his friend’s wife, nor his friend, by behaving in a rakish manner towards any member of the household.

She was not to trouble Nicolas or Juliette about the matter. To which Ambrosia had dutifully agreed.

But oh, how she wished to speak with them!

If Nicolas knew her fears, Ambrosia felt sure he would consider them and act accordingly.

As he was by way of marriage now the brother of her other daughters, it was up to Nicolas to take matters up with the duke if he were to shew any signs of acting improperly.

If the viscountess had been blessed with a son, she could have trusted him to take the matter subtly in hand.

Ambrosia turned back to face the window.

There had been much hope of a son in those early years.

Ambrosia often wondered what little Edmond might have been like had he lived.

He would surely have possessed a good and generous nature like his father, and perhaps would have looked like him too; pleasing to observe, with a regal standing and warm brown eyes.

Not the poor bloodied thing that Martha Lucas had so gently wrapt in a linen shawl and placed in Ambrosia’s shaking arms for her to mourn …

She looked out onto Wakely’s lawns and the long line of yew trees which led down to the ice-capped pond at the far end.

Edmond’s monument lay in the middle, a stone urn on which was carved a dove, his tiny body long committed to the earth beneath, never to grow a day older, never to inherit Wakely Hall and its lands.

How wretched she had been when she lost him.

Him, and all that might have been. But – as Martha told her gently – one might begin again, and at length she did, the pain of Edmond’s loss fading day by day in the wake of her five healthy daughters, for whom Ambrosia wished nothing but happiness and husbands.

But what good was that when she could not secure suitable matches to make such wishes a reality?

‘ Maman ,’ ventured Louisa from where she lay supine on the sopha, her fingers dipped lazily into a bowl of gold and silver sugared almonds. ‘Is Lord Heysten coming to the ball next week? I should so like to apologise for being so clumsy. He did not stay long enough for me to speak with him.’

‘He has been invited,’ replied her mother, turning away from the window. ‘Of course, whether he should see his way to attending I cannot tell you, not after the scene you caused last week.’