Yes.
What a strange set of thoughts she had just had. A dream with her eyes open. It was as if her father’s death coming on the heels of her dalliance with the Earl of Burchester had shaken something loose in her mind and made her conceive of the inconceivable. First, to imagine a friend. Now, a husband!
She blinked several times as if that might clear her mind of such silly delusions. She knew she would never marry. She was a burden. She had nothing to offer and too much to hide.
But maybe Edmund might marry? He was long past the age when he should. At least her father had said so for years.
The infrequent times the two men had coincided at the manor, the marquess had berated Edmund about acquiring a wife and producing an heir. Most of the time, Edmund had either muttered under his breath or stormed from the room, but once, he had answered back. Caroline had been outside the drawing room, hovering, not wanting to enter while the two men were in such a temper.
“What’s wrong with you?” her father had shouted at Edmund. “Don’t you know your duty, you ungrateful arse?”
“I am never going to make some woman’s life a fucking hell on earth like you did to my mother, you miserable old man. Never. Is that clear?”
Her father had been silent for a few seconds. But only a few.
“You’re going to let those shitsacks, your cousins, inherit all this?”
“You’ll be dead, what do you care?”
“You’ll be dead, too.”
“Exactly!”
“You think either of your cousins or their sons are going to make allowances for your sister?”
“I’ll make sure Caro is taken care of.”
“You know they’ll put her in an asylum, don’t you? You’ll be dead, and your damn cousins’ sons will lock her away her in an asylum.”
“Like you’ve locked her away here?”
She had fled then to her bedchamber, not wanting to hear what next would be said about her and her future.
Sitting now in the drawing room with her brother, she realized her father had been right. Edmund should marry.
Again, how selfish she was. Because, yes, if he were to marry and have a son, the son would be her nephew. The boy would grow up with her, would accept her, and if his father, her brother, died before she did, the new Marquess of Sudbury would not put his Aunt Caro in an asylum, no matter how poor and halting her speech was.
She would be safe.
But more immediately if Edmund were to marry a nice woman, a good woman, Caroline might have a friend. Someone to sit with besides La. Someone who would tell her things and might be willing to wait, as her mother had been, to hear what Caroline had to say back.
Two birds, one stone. Or really, one woman.
Her brother was speaking.
“—you have everything in such good order here. We’ll stay through Christmas and after Epiphany, we’ll travel back to London.”
What? London? She couldn’t go to London. She opened her mouth.
“I won’t let you say no, Caro. I know you’ve been bullied so long by our father, it isn’t really fair for a brother to come along and bully you, too. But you must see it would be so good for you to come to London. I have been neglectful and yes, cowardly. I should have stood up to Father years ago and insisted you come to town.”
London. Did she dare go? Could she face the town house? All the people?
But once there, she might find a way to encourage her brother to marry. She might even be able to sway him in favor of a woman she would want as a friend.
“It’s October now,” her brother said. “It would be perfectly acceptable for both of us to be out of mourning by the end of March. But even in mourning, there would be so many delights for you in London in January and February.”
“C-can La c-c-come?” Lavinia heard her name and raised her head from where she had been lying at Caroline’s feet.
