Had there been no debts, Marcus knew he wouldn’t have offered marriage to any lady. It was just not a path he had ever pictured his life following, not until he had discovered exactly what his father’s legacy of debt was after his death.
Sighing, Marcus returned the brass poker to its stand and turned away, swallowing the last gulp of brandy just in time as the door to his sitting room burst open.
Lady Sarah Silverton stood in the doorway, a picture of ruffles and excessive bows, her large and eager eyes drinking in the space before her. An elderly aunt, her face wrinkled like parchment, her grey eyes almost haunting in their power, she was always a sight to behold. Her face spread into an instant smile when her eyes found Marcus, and she bustled into the room, her small figure moving fast and struggling with the narrowness of the skirt of her gown. Marcus thought she rather trotted like a horse as she crossed the room.
“Marcus, Marcus, how are you, my dear nephew?” She hastened towards him and pulled on his arm. On reflex, he bent down, allowing her to kiss him on his cheek in greeting. “What’s all this quietness hanging about you this evening? So much silence. It will not do, Marcus; it simply won’t do.”
“Well, I –”
“Now, Lambton tells me you are to have a visitor this Friday. Is it true?” she asked excitedly, giggling happily.
Marcus smiled at his aunt. She was often a source of laughter for him, even when he struggled to find lightness in the world. He supposed it was partly because there was something in her that reminded him of his mother, her sister, but it was also her manner. She always complained Marcus was too quiet, simultaneously ignorant of the fact that she liked to do most of the talking. Far from being irked by such a thing, Marcus loved her all the more for it.
He'd stood in so many stuffy and stiff-upper-lipped rooms full of reserved people in his life that his aunt’s talkativeness was not just a breath of fresh air but like a great gusting wind.
“How wonderful!” she declared, clasping her hands together, not bothering to wait for Marcus’ answer. “Is it as we discussed? Is it the Earl of Woolworth’s daughter?”
“It is,” Marcus managed to edge into the conversation.
“Oh, even more wonderful. I have heard such lovely things about her, Marcus.” She took the empty glass from his grasp and gave it a strong sniff. “Oh, no, this will not do. No more of this, Marcus.” She turned and waved an eager hand at Lambton, who had appeared in the doorway. “Lambton, dessert wine, if you please?”
“Of course, Lady Silverton.” Lambton bowed and disappeared from the door.
“She is said to be a famous beauty indeed,” Sarah carried on as if she hadn’t made the diversion of the drinks order. She placed the brandy glass down on a table and sat down in the nearest armchair, crossing her heels neatly together. “Of course, I haven’t been up to London in some time, so I have not seen her myself, but I have heard plenty of gossip. Oh, and there’s this.”
“Aunt, please.” Marcus sat down in an armchair facing his aunt and rubbed his temple, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.
“Oh, you’ll like this,” she continued eagerly, having pulled out a scrap of paper from her reticule hanging at her wrist. She cleared her throat as if preparing for some great speech, then read from what Marcus quickly realized was a scandal sheet. “The beautiful Lady Caroline is, of course, much talked of by this publication. So many years on the marriage market, one must wonder if Lady Caroline will ever marry at all. With hair as black as night, she draws attention in any room, and –”
“Aunt, please.” Marcus, at last, managed to halt his aunt. She jerked her chin to face him with her lips still parted as if framing the next words on the page. It was clear it had taken her a second or so to realize he was talking at all. “I am not sure I wish to hear what the scandal sheets think about Lady Caroline. I wish to meet the lady myself on Friday and will make a judgement from there about what she is like.”
“Do you mean to say …” She dropped the scandal sheet, and it drifted to the floor, wandering back and forth like a tumbling autumnal leaf. “You may yet reject the betrothal?”
“No.” Marcus sighed and rubbed his temple again. “I am not sure I have the luxury of that choice.”
“Oh, my dear nephew.” She leaned forward and patted his other hand that rested on the arm of his chair, a sympathetic and loving smile on her face. “Your father left you in something of a pickle, did he not?”
“A pickle?” he asked, sitting straight. “Aunt, I could use some stronger language than that. He left me in a shi –”
“Dessert wine, My Lady,” Lambton declared from the doorway as he stepped into the room.
“Ah, wonderful, thank you, Lambton.” Sarah smiled broadly as Marcus slumped back in his seat again. He imagined she was very relieved for Lambton’s interruption. “Now, we must talk of the arrangements.”
Marcus reached for one of the glasses, ready to continue the discussion when he suddenly realized that his aunt wasn’t looking at him at all.
“Lambton, Lady Caroline must be given that fine chamber which overlooks the rose garden and the lake beyond. Oh, so beautiful it is, and roses of course, the flower of love. If we are to ignite her passion, this is the perfect chamber for her.”
“Aunt …” Marcus sighed tiredly, quite certain Lady Caroline would throw any rose back at his face, making sure she caught him with the thorns first, for she undoubtedly knew he had offered marriage without ever even meeting her.
“And you must have a variety for breakfast, none of this small stuff my nephew likes to eat in the morning. You must feast and impress her,” Sarah continued.
“Of course, My Lady.” Lambton inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“Now, let us discuss the flowers that will be placed in her room …” As Sarah launched into a new set of detailed arrangements, Marcus began to feel his presence was no longer needed.
He hid his smile behind his wine glass, taking the smallest of sips, before he stood and turned away from the pair, now talking together animatedly as they made preparations for his soon-to-be betrothed’s arrival. Marcus moved towards his writing bureau in the corner of the room. A small table, barely noticed by some, it was a place that meant much to him, for in this desk were the letters of those who truly mattered to him in this world – his dear friends.
He sat down in his chair, shutting out the sounds of his aunt and butler, as he reached for a letter he had tucked away in a drawer in the top part of the desk. He peeled it open with care, laying it flat on the desk as he peered at the handwriting.
