Josephine steeled herself. There was nothing else for it but to ask directly. ‘Have you undergone a change of heart, Matty?’ she ventured softly. ‘Would you rather not have a season and… marry earlier perhaps? You’re entitled to change your mind, of course, it’s perfectly natural…’
‘What on earth gave you that idea?’ Matilda exclaimed as she filled Misty’s feed trough. ‘Because I have an opinion about the type of gentleman I admire? That’s not the same as wishing to enter the wedded state this instant, Jo, even though your favourite novels do often mix the two up!’
Josephine bit her tongue, in part relieved, but also confused by her sister’s clear irritation.
‘And another thing,’ Matilda snapped, ‘I cannot abide the way Fred allows himself to be thrown into the shade by Sir Francis! Have you not noticed the way he’s tongue-tied around him, when we all know he’s just as well-read? You’re nearly as bad,’ she rattled on without pause. ‘Blushing and accepting his arm whenever he is near. It’s little wonder Lord Huntingly reacted the way he did at the soiree!’
Josephine swallowed, hardly believing her ears. She’d made no secret of her admiration for Sir Francis because she believed there was little chance of his returning any– but shecertainly hadn’t intended to appear flirtatious. And, while Fred had always seemed in awe of his knowledgeable, golden friend, she’d spied only derision on Huntingly’s face the night of the soiree. Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted.
‘I have no special regard for, or expectation from, Sir Francis, Matilda,’ she replied quietly, ignoring the tightening in her chest. ‘In fact, I have reason to believe he has been as good as engaged to Miss Amelia Carlisle for a number of years. And if Lord Huntingly looked a particular way at the Davenports, it is probably because I gave him sufficient reason to call our whole betrothal off!’ She drew a steadying breath while Matilda stared at her revelations. ‘So, if you’re quite finished, I’ll return to my room and accept Sophie’s invitation, for a short break apart may be good for us both.’
ChapterTwelve
Rotherby House; Gigot Sleeves and Looped Knots
One week later
‘In all truth, Jo, I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve asked the nanny to bring them to luncheonat midday, but she is so married to the traditional ways! I have, however, insisted that boiled potatoes and mutton belong to yesteryear and Harriet can have as many puffed pastries as she desires, for I do not believe they are bad for a child’s digestive system,or morals, contrary to what everyone says! The idea! Fortunately, Louisa does not care for them so it is not so much of an issue, though she does like sugared candy, which might perhaps explain the cherry bowl tooth drama at the Hamptons’– mightn’t it, dearest?’ Sophie rattled in one breath, while reaching forward to tickle her youngest under the chin.
Josephine gazed at her chuckling niece, torn between admiration for Sophie’s maternal instincts and an even stronger desire to laugh at the absurdities of her domestic life. ‘I’m sure Harriet and Louisa are lucky to have you as their mother, Sophie.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not sure I’d have half your patience.’
‘Oh, nonsense, dearest!’ Sophie remonstrated. ‘This will be your life soon enough, and you shall be the one delighting me with stories of your firstborn’s first word or steps. Oh, what special moments await, dearest. Has Thomas set a date yet? I wager Huntingly won’t want to wait long for an heir. He’s been out of the country for some time, hasn’t he?’
At this easy reference to her impending nuptials, Josephine caught her breath. She’d managed to avoid too much detailed conversation since her arrival the day before, but there was only so long she could hold out against Sophie’s infamous inquisitorial skills.
‘I imagine Thomas must be delighted to enact stage three of his Monstrous Marriage Masterplan, particularly as Matilda’s season is coming up so soon.’ Sophie chattered on, entirely unaware of Josephine’s shift in mood. ‘He will soon be rattling about Knightswood all by himself, for Fred and the twins are hardly likely to live in the country when everyone is in town. Oh, do say you’ll keep a house in town, dearest, for we shall be able to see each otherallthe time, and Dominic and Huntingly…’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Do you know I’ve no idea of his given name… shall go to Whites, while we visit fashionable friends and take our children to the park and?—’
‘Do you know anything of Sir Francis Dashton, Sophie?’ Josephine interrupted, hardly able to bear her sister’s description of domestic bliss a moment longer. Matilda’s criticism had rung in her ears since leaving Knightswood, so that she hardly knew what to think anymore. Sophie could be relied upon to know everyone, however, and to provide candid insights too.
‘Sir Francis, Fred’s companion?’ Sophie replied, clearly surprised Josephine wished to talk of anything other than her impending nuptials. ‘Why… he’s a very personable young man, to be sure, though I do believe he’s developed an understanding of late?’ She frowned.
‘With Miss Amelia Carlisle?’ Josephine returned.
Sophie paused. ‘MissCarlisle? Younger sister to Aurelia? Oh no, no, dearest, withIsabella! The eldest of the Hamptons? Or so I’ve been led to understand, anyway. They’re well-matched, I’d say, both from old families…’
Josephine stared as Sophie rattled on, wondering if her society queen of a sister could be mistaken for once– ton gossip was notoriously unreliable– and yet she seemed quite certain.
‘Anyway, I’ve accepted an invitation to the Hamptons’ last soiree of the season next week, theirGrand Ball, so you can swap betrothal details then. Before that, I thought we might pay a visit to my modiste here in London. She’s not Madame Montmartre, of course, but one must make sacrifices when one is not in Paris. And I did think we could send your preferred designs to my dear friend, once you have quite decided?’ she added, her eyes shining at the thought of wedding dress designing. ‘I am quite convinced that some of the new Romantic fashions are so well timed for you, dearest, for who could be more worthy of a gown that says Byron or Keats in a single glance, than my own most romantic, novel-obsessed sister? Truth be told, I have just the gown in mind for you, with a nipped-in waist into which we shall pleat yards of the skirt, so it creates the most beautiful bell as you sweep down the aisle. And you shall have the widest gigot sleeves, of course, adorned with small pearls to signify… well you must choose, of course, dearest, but as you can tell I am SO excited…’
* * *
15th June 1826
Dear Fitzwilliam,
No one in the world could be more excited for a betrothal than Sophie, for she has talked of nothing else since I arrived! I have tried diverting her, but even talk of Harriet and Louisa comes back to the same thing and, in truth, I’m not sure how much longer I can last. How do I tell her there may not be a betrothal, after all? That I’m not sure there should have ever been one? I assumed so much– that Thomas was right about Huntingly, that protecting Matilda was all that mattered… but now I couldn’t be less sure.
And there has never been any kind of understanding between myself and Sir Francis, so why am I so affected by news of his ‘attachments’? Is Matilda correct? Have I allowed myself to dream too much of a gentleman who seems the living embodiment of every fictional hero I ever read? Indeed, how can I think clearly at all, when my thoughts are determined to replaythatmoment in the library quite incessantly?!
Josephine broke off to chew the end of her quill, as the tension in her chest intensified. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing before it subsided again, though her anxiety remained. A week had passed without any word from Lord Huntingly. She had no expectation of love letters, of course– those dreams belonged to a previous life– but the absence of any contact at all only confirmed her worst suspicions.
What did silence mean? That the betrothal was over? What if, at this very moment, he was penning a letter to Thomas explaining his withdrawal on the basis of repugnant dislike?
Josephine’s face flamed with embarrassment at the thought. Surely, being thought abluestockingorwallflowerwas far preferable to being the one even a shamed lord wouldn’t marry?She swallowed, conjuring his wild and nonchalant manner when she arrived at his dilapidated manor. Hadn’t Thomas warned her he was looking for a wife to help dispel the rumours, not one who would accuse him of murder herself!
And yet how could she ignore such a likelihood? Had this moment been fated from the moment she asked him to marry her? Was he reconsidering Thomas’s offer of Matilda’s hand instead?
She exhaled as the oddest ache snaked up from her stomach and dissipated through her taut limbs. Pensively, she drew Thomas’s most recent letter forward. It had arrived only yesterday and contained a jubilant description of his win at the races before he reached the real point of his missive:
