Simon was not much interested in Mrs Richard Merrington’s baby, except that if it should die, there would probably be no orangery for a while. And if the lady herself were to die, no orangery at all, he supposed. But still, the muse was upon him, so he drew on, first the rough sketches and then he began work on the full drawings.
Hiding in his room did not protect him from Juliet, however, who interrupted him numerous times to bring him the latest news.
“You do not need to tell me this,” he said, trying not to sound too exasperated. “Robert keeps me fully informed.”
“Did he tell you about the gardeners? There is some trouble, apparently, but I cannot find out what it is about.”
Without looking up from the table where he was working, he said, “He mentioned something about it, but I was not attending.”
“Not attending! Really, Simon, you are hopeless. Ask him about it, next time he comes. I took a stroll through the kitchen gardens, but all seemed perfectly normal to me. The snow is melting fast, did your Robert tell you that? There might be rain later. That will keep the roads well mired in mud, so we shall not be able to go home just yet. I am not quite ready to go back to cheap coal and tallow candles. How are you getting on with Sophia?”
“I have not seen her since we returned.”
“Hmm, well, everything is a little topsy-turvy just now, but do not leave it too long. Be sure to come down for dinner this evening. Now that the oily Lord Daniel is no longer encroaching, you should have a clear field.”
Simon lifted his head to stare at her, bemused. “I am not sure that the son of a marquess can be said to be encroaching, sister.”
“Well… encroaching on your territory, then. Sophia is yours, and once this wretched baby business is out of the way, you can get on with securing her.”
“The wretched baby business, as you call it, is a matter of life and death to this family, Juliet. Have a little compassion.”
She had the grace to look a little shame-faced. “I know, I know. I am not unsympathetic, I assure you, but our own situation is, if not quite a matter of life and death, almost as dire. We are facing destitution, brother. I might even have to sell the house.”
“Is it truly as bad as that?”
She nodded slowly. “The hundred pounds from your mama was very timely, and will stave off the creditors for a while longer, but we must have a source of income soon or matters will become desperate.”
“You kept all this to yourself,” he said quietly. “If I had known—”
“Now, what could you have done?”
“I could have found salaried employment — as a secretary, or some such. I could still have worked on my designs in my spare time. You should have told me.”
“I always supposed that you would have established yourself by now. I cannot understand why no one engages you. Still, perhaps Mr Thwaite will settle on one or other of your designs for him… or this orangery, perhaps. Then your name will be made.”
“And we will be rich.”
“Precisely.” She gave a gurgle of merriment. “In the meantime, you will marry Sophia Merrington, and her dowry will buy us a little more time.”
After she had gone, Simon sat for a long time, twisting the pencil in his hands and pondering the situation. Even with his abbreviated education, the formal part cut short at the age of fifteen and continued somewhat erratically by Juliet and her Aunt Tabitha, he understood the gentleman’s code of honour. His father, he supposed, had inculcated that much into him, with the aid of his tutors and the masters at Eton. Even the exigencies of his present life were not sufficient to cause him to set aside those principles.
And yet… if he did nothing, and the duke rejected his orangery design, and Mr Thwaite decided against his great house, what then? Lodgers in the house, or perhaps no house at all.
He shivered. He would have to do it, he supposed, and felt a little burst of excitement at the thought. If he had to marry, and it seemed that he did, then who could possibly suit him better than Sophia, who drew him so powerfully? Ever since the almost-kiss, she had haunted his mind, rather. In odd moments, when he surfaced from a prolonged bout of thinking about his orangery, her face rose unbidden in his mind. Such an agreeable person, who always looked well, talked intelligently, and yet was capable of remaining silent. Yes, she would suit him perfectly.
So that was settled. Sophia Merrington would become his wife and her two and a half thousand pounds would pay for coal and mutton and claret — he hoped there would be claret — for a few years. But what then? If he was still not earning, there would be Juliet and Sophia and a string of growing children to be fed and shod and educated, and eventually the money would run out.
No, he could not do it. He could not draw a lovely girl like Sophia into poverty. That was not the action of a gentleman. But if he could just secure one, at least, of his current projects, that would be a different matter. He would know soon enough whether the duke would accept his design, but he must bring Thwaite to the point, once and for all. He determined that he would write to him and ask him, very politely, to make a decision.
Then he would know what to do.
***
Sophia woke to find that nothing had changed. Rowena laboured on, and Richard, dressed now, although somewhat haphazardly, still paced about the library. The duke, having emptied the brandy decanter, snored gently on a chaise longue.
As the day wore on, the household gathered in the library awaiting news. Cousin Hester and Charlotte, busy below stairs for most of the day, came and went, and Mama and Georgie stayed with Rowena, but everyone else was there. Sophia, Augusta and Maria sat in a little group, talking in low voices. Mr Hammond, the duke’s secretary, and his father worked on papers in the study next door, but with the door wide open to hear any news at once. Mr Pyott, the comptroller, sat placidly reading the newspaper, a glass of wine at his elbow, enjoying a respite from his usual labours. Mr Godley, the chaplain, read the Bible. Only Mr Payne was absent.
Lady Juliet Payne crept in last of all and, after ascertaining that the baby had still not put in an appearance, sat quietly in a corner by herself. Even after many days in her company at Marshfields, Sophia did not feel she knew her well, for Lady Juliet’s age put her firmly into the orbit of the older matrons. Now, as she had no one to else to talk to, Sophia crossed the room to sit beside her.
