After a while, Osborn unfolded his arms and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Are you not going to follow him? There he is, your quarry, all unattended. An opportunity for you.”
“Do not call him that!” she said, quite unjustly for had she not thought of the marquess in just such terms, as prey? “But it is hopeless. He has no intention of marrying. He has told his younger brother to prepare his son to inherit, in time.”
Osborn looked startled. “Has he so? That does seem very final. I am sorry for it, if so, for every man needs a wife eventually.”
“Does he?”
“I believe so, yes, especially a man of high estate. A wheelwright, perhaps, can rub along well enough as a single man, but the more responsibilities a man has, the more he needs a true companion by his side, to be his adviser, his helpmeet and comforter through the trials and adversities of life.”
“And to share the joys of life, too,” she said.
He smiled at her. “That, too. It is no different for a woman, is it? She needs a husband just as much as he needs a wife.”
“But for different reasons. A woman has no independent life, so she needs a man to support her financially. Whereas all a man needs is food put before him two or three times a day, and enough coals to keep him warm. He needs a housekeeper more than a wife.”
“Ah, Olivia,” he said gently, taking her hand in his. “Is that why you harbour hopes of the marquess? You see marriage as a practical arrangement, so you may as well have as much wealth and rank as you can manage, is that it? But marriage is so much more than that… or it can be. My sister Anthea… she and John were so happy, so absorbed in each other. Nothing touched them, for they existed in a protective bubble of joy. Even when the first baby died, they recovered from their grief because theywere together. Even now, John is content because he had those three years of perfect happiness.”
“What happened to her?”
“The second child… she died. They both died.” He fell silent, his expressive face unusually serious.
Olivia squeezed his hand. “And your brothers died, too. But you are here, and that must be the greatest comfort to your mama and your sisters. There is some value in being a foolish rattle, you see, for at least your nonsense makes everyone smile.”
He gave a little laugh. “Ah, you see? That is how it works — when I am sad, you manage to cheer me up.”
“By insulting you?” she said, although she could not help smiling back at him. He was a hard man to dislike!
“By teasing me,” he said, leaning back and folding his arms again. “You have no idea how refreshing that is. Everyone in my family seems to be so serious all the time. When I was merely the little-regarded youngest son, they ignored me, but now that I am an earl— Livvy, you cannot imagine how much I hate being an earl. My family, my stewards, my lawyers, my bankers, even my fellow peers talk to me of duty and responsibility and obligation, and I understand that, truly I do. I accept my fate, however unworthy I am for the great honour that has come to me. But deep inside me, buried but not forgotten, is the free-spirited young man I once was, who set out to make the world laugh. It gets harder and harder to remember him, butyoubring him to life again, my pretty ghost. You make me young and lighthearted again.”
“That is because I remind you of Izzy,” she said crisply, rising to her feet and smoothing her skirts. “In your mind, you are back in those days when you courted Izzy and had nothing else to think about but pleasure and amusement. But I amnotIzzy, my lord, and you are not Robert Osborn any longer.”
He jumped to his feet too. “No, no, no! Give me no‘my lords’, Livvy, I beg you. Ah, I should not have said so much, for now that delightful dimple is hidden away and who knows how much nonsense I shall have to shower on your head to reveal it again. Do not hide your dimple from me, sweet apparition.”
What was it about this man that charmed her so much? After such a speech, she could not help smiling again, whereupon he cried out in delight.
“Ah, there it is!” He caught up her hand again and dropped a kiss on it. “You see? You are so good for me, my lovely Livvy. If ever you decide to abandon your main project, you could do worse than marry me, you know. We would deal extremely well together, you and I.”
“Oh, tush! What nonsense you talk,” she said, but she felt herself blushing all the same. “I wish you would not flirt with me. It is not kind.”
“Whatever makes you think I am flirting?” he said, looking surprised.
She had no opportunity to reply, for Lord Grayling reappeared just then to invite everyone to the dining room for a cold collation. It was only later that she remembered that Osborn had used her Christian name. Olivia. Livvy, even, which no one had ever called her. And if he was not flirting, had he just proposed to her? How strange! He was an odd sort of man, but so easy to get along with.
Not like the marquess. However was she ever to get to know him better? And was there any point?
***
Robert watched Livvy walk away down the gallery with Grayling, scooping up the marquess and the noisy billiard players on the way. As they disappeared down the stairs, hestood, hands on hips, rather shocked. What had just happened? Had he proposed to Livvy? And how did she become Livvy, all of a sudden? What had happened to‘Lady Olivia’?
It was madness, complete madness, and yet…
What a wife she would be! So lovely and funny and quick-witted — he never had to explain his jokes to her, and she had given him some excellent advice on managing his estates. Imagine the delight of a wife with whom one might discuss crop rotation or woodland management, who would listen and then offer sensible suggestions. A wife who would always be on his side, who could put his mother in her place and order life around his wishes and not his father’s. All that, and an enchanting dimple, too — it would be paradise.
And yet… there was still the niggle of concern at the back of his mind that she was right, and he was reliving his courtship of Izzy all over again, and that would hardly be fair to Livvy… Lady Olivia.
In the dining room, Robert took a glass of wine, and retreated to a window seat. He had no desire for food. The only interest for him in the room was sitting composedly at the far end of the table, eating something creamy with a spoon. Beside her, the marquess sat, his face solemn, listening as she talked to him between mouthfuls. There was no dimple, he noticed sadly. Indeed, she looked as serious as the marquess.
Where was Grayling, who was supposed to be keeping her away from Embleton? He was at the other end of the table beside Lady Euphemia, their two heads bent together in intimate conversation. What was that all about? Still, better that he should turn his flirtatiousness in that direction. He did not want Grayling working his way into Olivia’s heart, which by rights should belong to Robert.
