“Her older sister makes up for it, however. Well, how like Izzy to stir things up!”
He laughed. “Indeed. Never a dull moment with her. Nor with you — betrothed to Embleton, indeed! Not the marrying kind, one might have supposed, but there we are. You Atherton girls draw us poor men like moths to the flame.”
“I hope we do not burn anyone,” Olivia said, rather offended. “Like bees to the blossom, perhaps, would be a more flattering description.”
But he only laughed before turning to his companion on the other side.
Later that evening, however, Olivia’s attention was drawn to Miss Plowman in the most unexpected way. The gentlemen had just begun to rejoin the ladies after dinner, amongst them Lord Embleton, who was deep in conversation with the duke, in his usual stuttering way. Miss Plowman broke off her own conversation with an‘Oh!’of surprise, then, to Olivia’s astonishment, she rose and with quick steps crossed the room to place herself before the marquess.
“No, no, more slowly,” she said, loudly enough that half the room heard her. “Take a deep breath, look into my eyes and above all, speak slowly.”
The marquess frowned, and the duke murmured, “Miss Plowman, I do not think—”
“No, it’s possible to overcome it,” she said briskly. “All he has to do is to speak more slowly and stop thinking about it so much. I’ve done it with Marian, and though she’ll never be a chatterbox, she doesn’t stutter any more. Why don’t you try again? Deep breath, look into my eyes and speak slowly.”
“I… d-do not th-think—”
“Slowly!” she cried. “Very slowly.”
By this time, the room was almost silent, conversations drifting into nothingness as all eyes were fixed on the little grouping near the door.
“I… do… not… think… we… have… been… intro… duced, ma’am.”
“Oh, very good!” she cried, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Ruth Plowman. And you are—?”
“The M-M-Mar—” He gave a huff of annoyance, then breathed in and exhaled slowly. “The… Mar… quess… of… Emb… le… ton.”
“Ooh, another marquess! Pa will be so proud of me, mingling with all these great people. Are you going to be a duke, like the Marquess of Galloway? He’ll be the next Duke of Lochmaben.”
“I kn-know. I… know. My… father… is… Duke… of… Bridge… worth.”
And he spent the rest of the evening locked in slow but unstuttering conversation with Miss Plowman and her sister. From then onwards, he seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in their company, Miss Plowman chattering away, the marquess responding in a ponderous way and even Miss Marian Plowman taking a share in the conversation. It was not precisely that Olivia was jealous, for she was engaged to the marquess and Miss Plowman was not, but she could not help noticing that, although he was taciturn with Olivia, as with most people, he was much more talkative with the Plowman sisters, and even smiled occasionally.
***
About a week after Olivia had arrived at Lochmaben, the great bell in the tower above the entrance clanged to announce the arrival of visitors. This was a regular occurrence, for the duke and duchess were hospitable, and even in Decemberthere were guests arriving to stay or simply to pay a morning call. The bell was the signal for the duke and duchess and those of a curious nature to make their way to the entrance hall to greet the arrivals, and Olivia was amongst the many who thronged there, waiting to see who walked through the great double doors, and how wet or bedraggled they would be, for the weather was foul.
A man walked in dripping from head to foot, despite the valiant efforts of a footman with an umbrella. As soon as he removed his sodden hat, Olivia knew him, for no one else had quite such a distinctive head of golden hair.
“Lord Grayling!” she said, but before she could move forward, a figure shot past her.
“Julian!” cried Effie. “Have you come to rescue me?”
He smiled at the sight of her. “I have, but I am afraid you will have to marry me first. Your father insists upon it.”
“You have talked to Papa?”
“I have, and he has given his permission. I have been chasing about to find you ever since. I thought you were at Strathinver.”
“It was too boring there for words. Can we leave at once, before Embleton can interfere?”
“Grayling is welcome to you,” came a voice from behind them, as Embleton emerged from the throng. “You are the most pestilential female any man was ever saddled with, and I shall be heartily glad to be rid of you.”
Effie laughed. “And you are the stuffiest brother any girl could have. Give me half an hour to pack, Julian, and we can be away.”
“Of course. We will go to Carlisle to obtain a bishop’s licence and be married forthwith.”
“Oh Julian, we shall have so much fun! And who cares if we get married or not?”
