She was forced, by the tempting aromas of the fish on her plate, to pause while she ate a few mouthfuls, and the marquess politely jumped into the breach.
“I have f-f-found that m-m-m…” He stopped, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Myhorses are not t-t-t…” Another deep breath. “Temperam-m-m…”
“Temperamental,” she said, without thinking.
“Yes. C-c-crown S-s-s…”
“Crown Star. Oh!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “So sorry.”
His lips flickered into a smile, instantly lost. “Everyone d-d-does it. Think n-n-nothing of it.”
“But it is sorudeto draw attention to your…” She was about to say‘disability’, but some vestige of good sense prevented her.
There was a flash of anger in his eyes as he said in curt tones, “My affliction. Indeed. Your fish will get c-cold.”
Thus rebuked, she could only fall into miserable silence and fork tiny bites of fish into her mouth, but everything tasted likeashes. She wished she could crawl away and hide in a dark place, for tears were not far below the surface.
The marquess turned to Lady Alice for a while, who listened to his hesitant words with her customary placidity. On Olivia’s other side, Bertram leaned towards her and whispered, “It takes extraordinary levels of restraintnotto finish his words for him.”
“It must be so irritating for him, poor man,” she whispered back. “I do try, but I cannot always stop myself in time.”
“At least you try,” Bertram said. “So many people do it all the time, and flatter themselves they are being helpful.”
The fish was removed with a haunch of venison and a chine of mutton, and the dinner guests devoted themselves to the interesting business of sampling the many tempting dishes laid out before them. Lord and Lady Rennington had for many years prided themselves on the generosity of their table, and even though Lady Rennington was no longer at the castle and the diners numbered only fourteen, the cook made no reduction in the amount provided. There were always to be two full courses every day except Sunday, and the table laden to capacity.
Olivia ate sparingly of the first course, knowing that the second would be well supplied with her favourites — tarts and cakes and various creams and jellies. When she next fell into conversation with the marquess, she had herself fully under control. She talked a great deal herself, as planned, to spare him from the necessity himself, but when he did speak, she listened courteously and patiently as each word limped to completion. He would never be a scintillating conversationalist, but she felt that their discussion had been as enjoyable as possible under the circumstances.
After dinner, it was merely a matter of waiting for the gentlemen to make their way back to the drawing room. Olivia was too astute to approach the marquess directly he reappeared, so she stayed beside Aunt Alice while Aunt Jane and CousinPenelope attempted to get a coherent sentence from the poor man. Half listening to their conversation, and trying not to smile whenever Penelope jumped in to finish for him, she wondered for the first time what it would be like to be married to such a man. It was incomparably better than a husband who gambled himself into debt or kept a series of mistresses, but that stutter might come into the category of irritating little habits which one could easily survive for an evening or two, but which would drive one to distraction over a lifetime. Or would one simply stop noticing after a while?
And yet… he was a marquess and would one day be a duke, so he and his wife would live the sort of lives typical for their class. He would be out and about, seeing to his estates and tenants and so forth, while she would make sure their current home ran smoothly, raise the children and dispense charity amongst the deserving poor, and possibly the undeserving poor, too, if she felt especially charitable.
She would hardly see her husband except at dinner, when they would be at opposite ends of a very long table. There would be very little occasion to actually talk to him, except perhaps to report on the children’s doings.‘Henry’s Latin is coming on wonderfully, his tutor says, and he will be quite ready for Harrow next year.’Or perhaps it would be Eton. Where had the marquess been educated? She knew so little about him. Schools, she must ask him about his schooling.
Oddly, this little vision of her perfect future as a duchess did not sound quite as alluring as she might have supposed. That might be a typical life for the nobility, but it differed markedly from her own family. With two older sisters and three brothers, not to mention a host of cousins, she had always had someone to talk to, to joke with and tease. Her sisters had married and gone away, her brothers were seldom there and even Mama had left.She felt her present loneliness acutely, so why was she so keen to embrace an even lonelier life?
For a moment, her resolve wavered, but then she recollected that, as duchess, she could order her life how she chose. One of her cousins could bear her company — Emily, perhaps, being the same age, and so shy that she would make the perfect retiring companion. Or she could follow Izzy’s lead and fill her house with amusing guests. She would never be lonely then, would she?
She had, she felt, made some progress already with the marquess, after a somewhat shaky start. But her next step was clear to her — she had to kiss him, and she already had a plan for that. But first, she needed to get him alone, for kissing was not a thing one attempted in a crowded drawing room. Thus, when the tea things came out, and there was a general mingling, she dared to approach the marquess again.
“What do you think of Corland Castle, Lord Embleton, now that you have seen a little more of it? A most impressive stronghold, is it not? And yet it is entirely false, a modern construction masquerading as a medieval fortress. But no sieges have ever damaged its stout walls, nor have battles been fought on its lawns, the defenders’ pennants fluttering bravely from the battlements. Even the moat is a fraud, providing access to the basement and stables.”
“It is a m-most com-m-m…” He paused, took a breath. Olivia held her own breath, practically biting her tongue in the effort to stay silent. “Commodioushouse,” he managed at last. “Ch-charmingly original.”
“The previous house, which was a real castle surviving real battles, was not in the least commodious, by all accounts. Family tradition is that it was always cold, and everything in it was cold, too. Cold soup, cold bath water…” She shivered. “It makes me feel chilly just thinking about it. But it was exceedinglypicturesque. We have a painting of it, before it was knocked down. Should you care to see it? I am no expert, but it is generally accounted a work of great skill. The artist was rather famous in his day, I understand.”
“I should be m-m-most happy to see it.”
“Excellent! It is in the library, but we can go through the dining room. This way.”
With so many people milling about, and the marquess not being a great, tall fellow, they were able to slip away unnoticed. A couple of footmen in the dining room paused in their work to bow as they passed through. Olivia took up a candelabrum that stood on a sideboard and threw open the further door. Beyond, the library lay in darkness.
The marquess stopped, frowning.
“Lord Embleton?” Olivia said. “It is just in here.”
“No.”
“I… I beg your pardon?”
