“Is it not thrilling?” she gushed, as they readied themselves for bed the evening before the proposed outing. “Grayling Hall is not a piffling little place that takes two minutes to walk around. There are all manner of odd corners and forgotten wings — oh, we shall have so much fun!”
“What sort of fun?” Olivia said cautiously, for she was learning to be wary of Effie.
“Oh… you know what I mean… fun withmen!”
“You mean flirting?”
Effie laughed uproariously. “That is just how one sorts out the men one wants to play with — the soup, if you will, before the meat appears. I have decided whoIwould most like to play with, but he has been following you around like a little puppy dog, so if you want him for yourself, I shall work on Kiltarlity instead.”
“Oh! You mean Lord Grayling? You may have him with my blessing.”
Effie gasped. “You do not like him? But he is an angel come to earth… in appearance, anyway. I very much hope he is less than angelic in other ways.”
“I do not dislike him,” Olivia said cautiously, “but Lady Esther told me he is not looking for a wife.”
She laughed again, a noisy laugh, not at all delicate. “I should hope not! But there again… that might be an interesting challenge. So you will play with Kiltarlity, will you? You will have to get him away from the Grayling girl first.”
“Pft! He is even more of a flirt than Lord Grayling. The only sensible man by some margin is your brother.”
Effie pulled a face. “Oh, you will catch cold with Embleton, my dear. Not a man for fun and games — far too serious.”
“I do not want to play games with him,” Olivia said with dignity. “I should like to get to know him better, that is all.”
“I wish you joy ofthat,” Effie said. “We all thought that Embleton would never marry. Well, he said so himself. But then… I do not know quite what spell this Bea Franklyn cast on him, but he offered and was rejected, and it seems to have hardened his resolve. He even told Harold — the next in line, you know — to prepare his son for the dukedom.”
“Oh!” That was a blow. Had the marquess been so in love with Bea Franklyn that he could not contemplate marriage to anyone else? “I did not know that his heart was broken. Poor man! How he must have felt it!”
Effie chuckled. “Broken-hearted? Not him! He has a heart of stone. Not that he is not a good brother, if a little too restrictive for my liking,” she added, with another chuckle, “but he has never been in love.”
“But then—?” Olivia stopped.
Effie cried, “Bea Franklyn? If you had read his letter to Papa relating the whole, you would not be so sentimental as to imagine his heart was involved. I never met a less romanticman. My dear Olivia, you have no idea how much more human Embleton would be with a desperate love affair in his past, for I have to tell you, it is very wearing to have a brother who is perfection itself.”
“Is he perfection?” Olivia said, fascinated by this glimpse of family feelings.
“Not in his speech, of course, but he cannot help that, and Papa has always said it is character that matters, not glib words, and Embleton has character by the wagon load. Such a gentleman, always. It is so annoying when one wants to do something, quite an innocuous thing, one would think, and Embleton sits one down and lists half a dozen perfectly sensible reasons why it is not to be thought of. And he is always right, that is the worst of it.”
“That would be wearing indeed, to have a brother who is always right,” Olivia said. “Are all your brothers like that?”
The two ended the day in a harmonious discussion of the annoying habits of brothers, and nothing more was said about Lord Embleton’s broken heart.
13: A Visit To Grayling Hall
Olivia woke full of excitement on the day of the visit to Grayling Hall. The breakfast parlour was busy, the ladies who normally whiled away the morning hours in bed being abroad early for once. Lady Esther was deep in conversation with Miss Bucknell when Olivia arrived, but after a while she moved around the table to an empty chair beside Olivia.
“Excellent news!” she said in an undertone. “Lord Grayling has been making enquiries about you.”
“About me?” Olivia said, startled. “What sort of enquiries?”
“Dowry,” Lady Esther said meaningfully. “Now we have three strings to your bow.”
Olivia could not see this as good news at all. Having Osborn as a potential suitor was bad enough, but at least he was amusing. Lord Grayling was nothing but an oily flirt. He looked well enough, that much she had to admit, but she could not trust a man who flattered her so outrageously.
The Franklyns’ commodious carriage conveyed Olivia, Effie, Lady Esther and Mr Franklyn the short distance to GraylingHall. Lord Rennington and many of the gentlemen preferred to ride, but one carriage after another fell in behind them on the road, making a notable procession for a grey November day.
“We shall have rain later, I dare say,” Mr Franklyn said, peering through the window at the skies.
Olivia cared nothing for rain, for there would be enough pleasure to be found inside the house, she sincerely hoped. Surely this would be the ideal opportunity to further her acquaintance with the marquess? A whole day under the same roof, with nothing to distract him — there was bound to be time for quiet conversation, and if he was at all susceptible… but Effie said he was not, and had no intention of marrying, so perhaps she was wasting her time. How very difficult it all was.
