Margaret cast her a sidelong glance. “Have I ever mischaracterized a situation before, my dear Harriet?”
Her friend frowned rather churlishly. “She has not looked at him even once since she arrived.”
"She has looked at him," Margaret replied, without inflection.
From her spot by the mantel, Corinna laughed at something Mr. Atherton said, drawing Margaret’s notice. If only Mr. Atherton was a viable?—
“When?” Harriet scowled in the same direction.
"She has looked at him, twice." Margaret told her friend in sotto voce. "Both times when his back was turned."
Harriet turned to stare at her. "When? How did you?—"
"Because I was watching her," Margaret said matter-of-factly. "And she was being very careful that no one else was." Which was, in all honesty, more sophisticated than she would have thought Corinna capable of being.
Harriet was quiet for a moment. Then the worry marks that had been so prevalent in the last few months appeared upon her brow once more. " I fear it is of little hope at this point. Linthorpe…”
When her friend said nothing else, Margaret turned slightly in her spot to see the countess better. “There’s no reason to sound so despondent.”
Harriet shook her head. “That is, I am not sure he will ever truly recover from losing Alice."
"Your nephew is eight and twenty," Margaret replied evenly. "Too young to live the rest of his life alone." Even if he didn’t fall desperately in love with Corinna, Linthorpe had ample time to find someone with whom to share the rest of his life.
"I don’t disagree in theory," Harriet said, worrying her lip just a bit.
There was something in her friend’s tone that gave Margaret pause. Was something going on? Something else she didn’t know about?
"But Linthorpe is another matter altogether,” Harriet continued as though to smooth over her earlier tone. “He was devoted to Alice. You know he was. And since her passing, he’s retreated so blindly into his ducal duties that I’m not certain he remembers what it is to want something for himself." She glanced once more in Corinna’s direction before taking another sip of her drink. "And, your Miss Corinna is young. He may not even see her as?—"
"He did notice her," Margaret told her friend.
Harriet blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"A few minutes ago. She laughed at something Mr. Atherton said, and Linthorpe glanced toward her. Just for a moment, mind you." Margaret kept her gaze forward, her expression pleasant. "He looked away almost immediately. But I was watching, and he definitely noticed her."
Harriet absorbed this in silence, her ratafia momentarily forgotten. "Even so," she said at last, carefully. "They may not suit. He is so serious, and she is so—" she gestured slightly in Corinna's direction, where the girl in question had just made Lucien smile, which was no small feat in and of itself "—Well, she is so very cheerful, isn’t she? I don’t think that word has ever been used to describe Linthorpe even before Alice’s passing."
"That’s true," Margaret admitted. "And I make no promises. They may find they have nothing whatsoever to say to one another." She smoothed her skirts in front of her. "But we cannot know that until they are properly introduced. This evening will be a good first step.”
“If there’s a spark,” Harriet began hopefully. “Perhaps a fortnight at Acklan together for Daniel’s wedding…”
Which worried Margaret more than a little. A fortnight at Acklan might do the trick, then again… “Linthorpe should have gone home to Acklan a month ago." She paused. "He avoids it, Harriet. You know he does. After his wife died in that house, he’s found one excuse or another to stay away ever since."
They were both quiet a moment. The truth of those words weighing on both of them.
Margaret glanced once more at Bernard’s most tenderhearted daughter. “You are right, of course. If Corinna can make Acklan feel like home to him again, that will tell us everything we need to know. But Linthorpe needs to be on his own ground, with time, and without the ability to leave early."
At that, Harriet's expression sharpened. "Agreed.” She nodded most fervently. "Then we can turn our attention to Captain Gates.”
Margaret let her gaze drift to her favorite grandson. “I am trying to let Lucien manage his own affairs. Should he decide to court Miss Atherton of his own accord, I will hail him as being blessed with inheriting Hythe’s good sense. But I must see Corinna settled first.” After all, the Beckett fortune was dangling by a thread and parliament’s decision on the salt trade could very well be the end of it all. Not that Margaret would even breathe those words aloud for fear of bringing them into existence. The fact remained, however, that getting Corinna properly settled was more urgent than seeing to Lucien’s future, at least for the moment.
Harriet glanced in Linthorpe’s direction. "So, we focus on Corinna, and if Captain Gates does not have the sense to sort himself out, we’ll help him along."
“For now,” Margaret agreed. And as Lucien was the most sensible of her grandchildren, there was hope.
"You know, Margaret, " Harriet began with great feeling, "you are the most brilliant woman I have ever known. So?—"
"You are too kind." She cast her friend a sidelong glance. "But you are grinning, Harriet, like the cat that ate the cream. Do stop. If Linthorpe looks over here and sees you, he will suspect something is afoot."
