He looked back and raised his eyebrows—and it was almost as if she could read his thoughts. True ladies, that disdainful look seemed to say, were always prepared for unexpected visitors during the afternoon. He, of course, was looking as immaculate as ever—and as handsome and virile.
“How kind of you to have called,” Margaret was saying, behaving as if she were quite unruffled. “Do come up to the drawing room, where we can be more comfortable. Mrs. Forsythe will send tea.”
“I was extremely happy to hear from Elliott that you had insisted upon bringing your sisters with you, Merton,” Lady Lyngate said as they were ascending the stairs. “This is a large house for a young gentleman alone.”
“If he had not insisted, I would,” Margaret told her. “Stephen is only seventeen years old, and while he insists that he is as close to being an adult as makes no difference, I would not have known a moment’s rest if I had allowed him to come alone, with only Viscount Lyngate and Mr. Bowen for company.”
“That is quite understandable,” Lady Lyngate said while Stephen looked sheepish and Miss Wallace eyed him with interest.
“I would not have guessed you were seventeen,” that young lady said. “I would have thought you were older than I am, and I am eighteen.”
Stephen smiled winningly at her.
Katherine joined them after they had been in the drawing room just a few minutes. She looked tidy and clean with a shiny, freshly washed face. She also looked lovely, as she always did. But Vanessa, gazing fondly and critically at her, could see that she appeared quite unpolished in contrast with Miss Wallace.
“Perhaps,” Viscount Lyngate said, “we could excuse ourselves from taking tea with the ladies, Merton. I want to hear what you have accomplished since yesterday.”
Miss Wallace looked openly disappointed, but she transferred her attention to Katherine.
“Elliott says you are to go to town after Easter for a come-out Season,” she said. “It is to be my come-out too. We will be able to keep each other company. I wish my hair had golden highlights as yours does. It is lovely.”
Miss Wallace was very dark—like her brother. It was obvious that they got their coloring primarily from their mother, who looked very Greek with her silvering dark hair and strong, handsome features.
“Thank you,” Katherine said. “I am very much enjoying being at Warren Hall, I must confess. I am not so sure about London just yet, though. There is so much space to explore here and so much beauty to appreciate, and I am learning to ride.”
“Only learning?” Miss Wallace asked, all incredulity.
“I am afraid so,” Katherine said. “Meg learned when Papa was alive and we still had a horse. And Nessie rode at Rundle Park after she married Hedley, our brother-in-law. But I never had a chance. Constantine gave me a few lessons before he went away a few days ago, and now Mr. Taber, the head groom, is helping me.”
“I am so vexed that Con has left,” Miss Wallace said. “He never comes to Finchley these days and Mama will not allow me to come here alone. I adore him. Is he not the most handsome man you have ever seen?”
Katherine smiled and Lady Lyngate raised her eyebrows.
“Anyway,” Miss Wallace continued, “you simply must come to town for the Season. I brought a book of fashion plates with me—it is in the carriage. Do let me show it to you. Some of the newest styles would look wonderful on you—you are so beautifully tall and slender. Indeed, I am sure they all would.”
“Perhaps, Kate,” Margaret suggested, “you and Miss Wallace would like to take the book into the library, where you may enjoy its contents without interruption.”
They went off together, leaving Margaret and Vanessa alone with the viscountess. She smiled at them graciously but kindly enough, and they conversed politely on a number of topics while tea was served.
“You really do all need to make an appearance in town this spring,” Lady Lyngate said eventually, “though I can understand that the prospect may be daunting to you. Your brother is too young, of course, to mingle freely with his peers as he will be able to do in a few years’ time. Nevertheless, the ton will wish to have a look at him. They have been deprived of an Earl of Merton for long enough. Jonathan was a mere boy and incapable anyway of leaving here.”
“It is nevertheless tragic that he died so young,” Vanessa said. “He was your nephew, ma’am?”
“My sister’s boy,” the viscountess said. “Yes, it was sad indeed, especially as she died not long after his birth. But he was happy all his life, you know. Perhaps happiness compensates for a short life. I like to believe so. And he died suddenly and peacefully. It is your brother who belongs here now, however, and he seems to be a delightful young man.”
“We think so, of course,” Vanessa said.
“He owns a house in town,” Margaret said. “And so there would be no problem of accommodation if we were to go there. But there are all sorts of other problems, as you can see, my lady, just from looking at us.”
“You are extremely lovely,” Lady Lyngate said frankly, looking, of course, just at Margaret.
“Thank you.” Margaret flushed. “But that is not the point.”
“No, it is not,” Lady Lyngate agreed. “But if one of you were just married, your problem would be solved.”
“My husband is dead, ma’am,” Vanessa said. “He did not move in tonnish circles anyway, though his father is a baronet.”
“No,” the viscountess said, her eyes resting kindly upon Vanessa for a moment before moving back to Margaret. “The husband would have to be well placed in society, someone to give you position and countenance. And then with a presentation at court and the right clothes and a little polishing, you would be quite able to sponsor your sisters and find husbands for them too.”
Margaret’s hand crept to her bosom, and her flush returned. “I, my lady?” she asked.
“You have been caring for your brother and sisters for a number of years,” Lady Lyngate said. “You have behaved admirably. But valuable years have gone by. You are still lovely, and you have a natural grace of manner that will make it relatively easy for you to take with the ton. But it is, my dear, time for you to marry—for your own sake as well as for that of your siblings.”
“Meg does not have to marry for my sake,” Vanessa said, her eyes upon Margaret, whose flush had disappeared, leaving her looking rather white.
“No,” Lady Lyngate agreed. “But you have had your chance, Mrs. Dew. Your elder sister has not. And your younger sister will need her chance soon—she is older than Cecily. Forgive me. You may say that this is none of my business, and you would, of course, be quite right. However, you confess yourselves to be in need of help and advice. This is my advice to you, Miss Huxtable. Marry as soon as you may.”
Margaret’s color had returned and she looked suddenly amused.
“I am reminded of the old puzzle over the chicken and the egg,” she said. “I need to marry in order that we may make an easier entrée into society. But you must agree, my lady, that I would need to be in society in order to find a husband.”
“Not necessarily,” Lady Lyngate said. “Perhaps there is a prospective husband—an eminently eligible one—closer than you think.”
She did not elaborate but asked them if they had thought of sending to London for a lady’s maid who could help them learn something of the newest fashions and who could dress them and style their hair more fashionably. She would be very willing to see to acquiring one on their behalf, she told them.
“I would be very grateful,” Margaret told her. “I have only to look at you and Miss Wallace to understand how much we have to learn.”
It was only later, when they had strolled out onto the terrace to look down at the formal gardens while waiting for the carriage to come up and Miss Wallace and the viscount to join their mother, that she said what perhaps she had been hinting at earlier.
“Elliott has decided to take a bride this year,” she said. “He will be a brilliant catch for
any lady, of course. As well as the obvious attributes, he also has a loyal heart—even a loving one if he would but realize it. But the right woman will teach him to discover that. It is his intention—and my hope—to find a lady of character and principle. Beauty and grace would not come amiss either, of course. Perhaps he will not have to look too far.”
She spoke with her eyes on the empty flower beds below, as if she were thinking aloud.
Vanessa was not the only one who read the unspoken message. The carriage departed a few minutes later, Viscount Lyngate riding beside it. Katherine and Stephen walked off in the direction of the stables—they were going to ride into the village to visit the Graingers—leaving Vanessa and Margaret alone on the terrace.
“Nessie,” Margaret said after a few moments, when the clopping of the horses’ hooves grew fainter, “was Lady Lyngate saying what I think she was saying?”
“It would seem,” Vanessa said, “that she is trying to arrange a match between you and her son.”
“But that is utterly absurd!” Margaret exclaimed.
“It is not actually,” Vanessa said. “He is of an age to look about him for a wife—all gentlemen of property must marry, you know, whatever their personal inclination might be. And you are eligible. Not only are you single and beautiful and refined, but you are also the sister of an earl and the very earl over whom he is guardian. What could be more convenient than for him to marry you?”
“Convenient for whom?” Margaret asked.
“And he is very eligible,” Vanessa continued. “Just two weeks ago we were filled with awe just to know he was staying at the village inn and would be attending the assembly. He is titled and wealthy and young and handsome. And you yourself explained to Lady Lyngate the awkwardness of our situation, with no lady to introduce us to society.”
“And I would be able to do that for myself and for you and Kate if I were married?” Margaret asked, shivering and leading the way back toward the house.
“Yes,” Vanessa said. “I suppose you would. You would be presented at court as Lady Lyngate explained and then you might do as you pleased. And Viscount Lyngate would be able to do all in his power for us without any appearance of impropriety. It would be entirely proper if he were your husband.”
For some reason it was a ghastly thought—Meg and Viscount Lyngate. Vanessa tried to picture them together—at the altar during their nuptials, sitting on either side of a winter hearth in a domestic setting, and... No! She would not even try to picture that. She gave her head a little shake.
Margaret stopped beside the fountain. She set a hand on the edge of the stone basin, as if to steady herself.
“Nessie,” she said, “you cannot be serious.”
“The question is,” Vanessa said, “whether she is serious. And whether she can persuade the viscount to be serious about it too.”
“But would she even have dropped that less-than-subtle hint,” Margaret asked, “if he knew nothing about it? And why would she even have thought of such a thing if he had not somehow mentioned it to her as a possibility? She had never set eyes on us before this afternoon. Is it not likely that she came here today to take a look at his proposed bride? The fact that she said what she just did would surely indicate that she approves of his choice. But how could she? I look positively rustic. And how could he have considered such a thing? He has never given even the smallest indication that he is interested in making a match with me. Have I walked into some bizarre nightmare, Nessie?”
Vanessa realized that Margaret must be right. Viscount Lyngate had known from the start that their coming to Warren Hall with Stephen was going to pose a problem. It was altogether possible that he had thought to solve at least part of the problem by marrying Margaret. And according to his mother he had already decided that he must marry this year.
“But even if he offers,” she said, “you can say no, Meg. Would you wish to, though?”
“To say no?” Margaret frowned and said nothing for a long time.
...have I walked into some bizarre nightmare?
“Is it Crispin?” Vanessa asked softly.
It was the first time his name had been spoken between them for a long, long time.
Margaret looked sharply at her and then away again, but not before Vanessa had seen tears well into her eyes.
“Who?” Meg asked. “Do I know anyone of that name?”
There was such pain and such bitterness in her voice that Vanessa could think of no answer to give. Obviously the questions were rhetorical anyway.
“If I once did,” Margaret said eventually, “I know him no longer.”
Vanessa swallowed. She felt close to tears herself.
“If I were to marry,” Margaret said, “if Viscount Lyngate were to ask, that is, I would be able to make life considerably easier for Kate, would I not? And for you. And for Stephen.”
“But you cannot marry just for our sakes,” Vanessa said, aghast.
“Why not?” Margaret looked at her with bleak, empty eyes. “I love you all. You are everything to me, the three of you. You are my reason for living.”
Vanessa was appalled. She had never heard Margaret speak with such despair before now. She was always calm and cheerful, the anchor upon whom they all depended. But then Vanessa had always known about her broken heart. She had just not had the imagination to understand quite how it had emptied out her sister’s very soul. She ought to have understood.
“But now your obligation to us has been considerably eased,” she said. “Stephen is in a position to care for us and provide for us. All we need from you is your love, Meg—and your happiness. Do not do this. Please.”
Margaret smiled.
“Such a Cheltenham tragedy,” she said, “though we do not even know for sure that Lady Lyngate has picked me out as the viscount’s prospective bride. We do not know how he feels about the idea, or even if it has occurred to him. How lowering now, Nessie, if he does not come here offering for me.”
She laughed lightly, but her eyes were still bleak.
As they made their way into the house and into the library, where the fire had been built up again and was giving off a welcome warmth, Vanessa felt a heavy sense of foreboding.
Crispin would surely never come for Margaret. But if she married Viscount Lyngate, entirely for the sake of her sisters and brother, life would lose all meaning for her.
They were not Margaret’s reason for living. Hope was that, even if it had all but been snuffed out over the four years of Crispin’s absence.
Hope was what gave meaning to all lives.
Margaret could not be allowed to marry Viscount Lyngate. Perhaps he would not even offer, of course, but Vanessa was dreadfully afraid that he would. And if he did, she feared that Margaret would say yes.
Feared for Margaret’s sake.
Only Margaret’s?
But the question, verbalized in her mind, took her by surprise and shook her somewhat. What possible personal objection could she have to his marrying Meg? Or anyone else for that matter? It was true that she had almost fallen in love with him at the Valentine’s assembly, but even then she had realized that there was far more in him to repel her than there was to attract.
It just was not fair that he was so very, very good-looking.
But even if she were in love with him—which she certainly was not—she must surely be the very last woman he would ever think of marrying.
He must not be allowed to offer for Meg, though—she might accept him.
There must be a way of stopping him. She was just going to have to think what it was before it was too late, Vanessa decided.
Though she was already convinced that there was only one possible way.
An impossible way more like.
9
ELLIOTT had made a firm decision.
He was going to marry Miss Huxtable. If she would have him, that was, but he really could not see any reason why she would not.
It made a great deal of sense that
they marry each other. And his mother approved of her. She had liked all the Huxtables, in fact. She had found them amiable and unaffected.
“One thing I am sure you could count on if you were to marry Miss Huxtable, Elliott,” she had said, “is her loyalty and devotion. And those two qualities almost invariably deepen into affection and love. I see nothing but a bright future for you.“
She had looked hopefully at him. She had meant, of course, that his wife’s loyalty and devotion would provoke affection and love in him.
First Came Marriage Page 13