First Comes Marriage (16 page)

“No,” Lady Lyngate agreed. “But you have had your chance, Mrs. Dew. Your elder sister has not. And your younger sister will need her chance soon—she is older than Cecily. Forgive me. You may say that this is none of my business, and you would, of course, be quite right. However, you confess yourselves to be in need of help and advice. This is my advice to you, Miss Huxtable. Marry as soon as you may.”

Margaret’s color had returned and she looked suddenly amused.

“I am reminded of the old puzzle over the chicken and the egg,” she said. “I need to marry in order that we may make an easier entrée into society. But you must agree, my lady, that I would need to be in society in order to find a husband.”

“Not necessarily,” Lady Lyngate said. “Perhaps there is a prospective husband—an eminently eligible one—closer than you think.”

She did not elaborate but asked them if they had thought of sending to London for a lady’s maid who could help them learn something of the newest fashions and who could dress them and style their hair more fashionably. She would be very willing to see to acquiring one on their behalf, she told them.

“I would be very grateful,” Margaret told her. “I have only to look at you and Miss Wallace to understand how much we have to learn.”

It was only later, when they had strolled out onto the terrace to look down at the formal gardens while waiting for the carriage to come up and Miss Wallace and the viscount to join their mother, that she said what perhaps she had been hinting at earlier.

“Elliott has decided to take a bride this year,” she said. “He will be a brilliant catch for any lady, of course. As well as the obvious attributes, he also has a loyal heart—even a loving one if he would but realize it. But the right woman will teach him to discover that. It is his intention—and my hope—to find a lady of character and principle. Beauty and grace would not come amiss either, of course. Perhaps he will not have to look too far.”

She spoke with her eyes on the empty flower beds below, as if she were thinking aloud.

Vanessa was not the only one who read the unspoken message. The carriage departed a few minutes later, Viscount Lyngate riding beside it. Katherine and Stephen walked off in the direction of the stables—they were going to ride into the village to visit the Graingers—leaving Vanessa and Margaret alone on the terrace.

“Nessie,” Margaret said after a few moments, when the clopping of the horses’ hooves grew fainter, “was Lady Lyngate saying what I think she was saying?”

“It would seem,” Vanessa said, “that she is trying to arrange a match between you and her son.”

“But that is utterly absurd!” Margaret exclaimed.

“It is not actually,” Vanessa said. “He is of an age to look about him for a wife—all gentlemen of property must marry, you know, whatever their personal inclination might be. And you are eligible. Not only are you single and beautiful and refined, but you are also the sister of an earl and the very earl over whom he is guardian. What could be more convenient than for him to marry you?”

“Convenient for
whom
?” Margaret asked.

“And
he
is very eligible,” Vanessa continued. “Just two weeks ago we were filled with awe just to know he was staying at the village inn and would be attending the assembly. He is titled and wealthy and young and handsome. And you yourself explained to Lady Lyngate the awkwardness of our situation, with no lady to introduce us to society.”

“And I would be able to do that for myself and for you and Kate if I were married?” Margaret asked, shivering and leading the way back toward the house.

“Yes,” Vanessa said. “I suppose you would. You would be presented at court as Lady Lyngate explained and then you might do as you pleased. And Viscount Lyngate would be able to do all in his power for us without any appearance of impropriety. It would be entirely proper if he were your husband.”

For some reason it was a ghastly thought—Meg and Viscount Lyngate. Vanessa tried to picture them together—at the altar during their nuptials, sitting on either side of a winter hearth in a domestic setting, and... No! She would not even try to picture
that
. She gave her head a little shake.

Margaret stopped beside the fountain. She set a hand on the edge of the stone basin, as if to steady herself.

“Nessie,” she said, “you cannot be serious.”

“The question is,” Vanessa said, “whether
she
is serious. And whether she can persuade the viscount to be serious about it too.”

“But would she even have dropped that less-than-subtle hint,” Margaret asked, “if he knew nothing about it? And why would she even have
thought
of such a thing if he had not somehow mentioned it to her as a possibility? She had never set eyes on us before this afternoon. Is it not likely that she came here today to take a look at his proposed bride? The fact that she said what she just did would surely indicate that she approves of his choice. But how
could
she? I look positively
rustic
. And how could
he
have considered such a thing? He has never given even the smallest indication that he is interested in making a match with me. Have I walked into some bizarre nightmare, Nessie?”

Vanessa realized that Margaret must be right. Viscount Lyngate had known from the start that their coming to Warren Hall with Stephen was going to pose a problem. It was altogether possible that he had thought to solve at least part of the problem by marrying Margaret. And according to his mother he had already decided that he must marry this year.

“But even if he offers,” she said, “you can say no, Meg. Would you wish to, though?”

“To say no?” Margaret frowned and said nothing for a long time.

...have I walked into some bizarre nightmare?

“Is it Crispin?” Vanessa asked softly.

It was the first time his name had been spoken between them for a long, long time.

Margaret looked sharply at her and then away again, but not before Vanessa had seen tears well into her eyes.

“Who?” Meg asked. “Do I know anyone of that name?”

There was such pain and such bitterness in her voice that Vanessa could think of no answer to give. Obviously the questions were rhetorical anyway.

“If I once did,” Margaret said eventually, “I know him no longer.”

Vanessa swallowed. She felt close to tears herself.

“If I were to marry,” Margaret said, “
if
Viscount Lyngate were to ask, that is, I would be able to make life considerably easier for Kate, would I not? And for you. And for Stephen.”

“But you cannot marry just for our sakes,” Vanessa said, aghast.

“Why not?” Margaret looked at her with bleak, empty eyes. “I love you all. You are everything to me, the three of you. You are my reason for living.”

Vanessa was appalled. She had never heard Margaret speak with such despair before now. She was always calm and cheerful, the anchor upon whom they all depended. But then Vanessa had always known about her broken heart. She had just not had the imagination to understand quite how it had emptied out her sister’s very soul. She
ought
to have understood.

“But now your obligation to us has been considerably eased,” she said. “Stephen is in a position to care for us and provide for us. All we need from you is your love, Meg—and your happiness. Do not do this.
Please.
”

Margaret smiled.

“Such a Cheltenham tragedy,” she said, “though we do not even know for sure that Lady Lyngate has picked me out as the viscount’s prospective bride. We do not know how
he
feels about the idea, or even if it has occurred to him. How lowering now, Nessie, if he does
not
come here offering for me.”

She laughed lightly, but her eyes were still bleak.

As they made their way into the house and into the library, where the fire had been built up again and was giving off a welcome warmth, Vanessa felt a heavy sense of foreboding.

Crispin would surely never come for Margaret. But if she married Viscount Lyngate, entirely for the sake of her sisters and brother, life would lose all meaning for her.

They
were not Margaret’s reason for living.
Hope
was that, even if it had all but been snuffed out over the four years of Crispin’s absence.

Hope was what gave meaning to all lives.

Margaret could
not
be allowed to marry Viscount Lyngate. Perhaps he would not even offer, of course, but Vanessa was dreadfully afraid that he would. And if he did, she feared that Margaret would say yes.

Feared for Margaret’s sake.

Only
Margaret’s?

But the question, verbalized in her mind, took her by surprise and shook her somewhat. What possible personal objection could she have to his marrying Meg? Or anyone else for that matter? It was true that she had
almost
fallen in love with him at the Valentine’s assembly, but even then she had realized that there was far more in him to repel her than there was to attract.

It just was not fair that he was so very, very good-looking.

But even if she
were
in love with him—which she certainly was not—she must surely be the very
last
woman he would ever think of marrying.

He must not be allowed to offer for Meg, though—she might accept him.

There must be a way of stopping him. She was just going to have to think what it was before it was too late, Vanessa decided.

Though she was already convinced that there
was
only one possible way.

An
impossible
way more like.

9

ELLIOTT had made a firm decision.

He was going to marry Miss Huxtable. If she would have him, that was, but he really could not see any reason why she would not.

It made a great deal of sense that they marry each other. And his mother approved of her. She had liked all the Huxtables, in fact. She had found them amiable and unaffected.

“One thing I am sure you could count on if you were to marry Miss Huxtable, Elliott,” she had said, “is her loyalty and devotion. And those two qualities almost invariably deepen into affection and love. I see nothing but a bright future for you.“

She had looked hopefully at him. She had meant, of course, that his wife’s loyalty and devotion would provoke affection and love in
him
.

“I am in total agreement with you, Mama,” he had said.

But love? He had never been in love—whatever that term meant. He was not
in love
with Miss Huxtable. Or with Anna, for that matter, or any of the mistresses who had preceded her or any of the ladies who had occasionally taken his fancy. At least, he did not
think
he had been. If he sometimes dreamed of finding that elusive magic
something
that might after all make marriage appealing to him, he did not expect it. It was never going to happen. But of course there had never been any question of his
not
marrying when the time came. It was one of his primary duties to do so.

The time had come, that was all.

And he would do his duty. And he would be sensible at the same time.

He rode again to Warren Hall the day after his mother’s visit there, but this time he went to pay his addresses to Miss Huxtable. He was feeling damnably depressed, if the truth were known. Really, he scarcely knew her, did he? What if . . . ?

But he had never been one to indulge in what-ifs. He could only deal with present reality.

His decision had been made, so here he was.

By the time he rode into the stable yard and turned over his horse to a groom’s care, he was feeling decidedly grim, which was not the way one would wish to feel when about to make a marriage offer. He turned his steps resolutely in the direction of the house. He was not going to allow himself to get cold feet at this late stage of the game.

He rounded the corner of the yard and ran almost headlong into Mrs. Dew—of all people to meet when he was feeling irritable. They both stopped abruptly, and he took a step back so that there might be more than three inches of space separating them.

“Oh!” she said.

“I do beg your pardon, ma’am.”

They spoke simultaneously.

“I saw you riding up the driveway,” she said. “I came to meet you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am flattered,” he said. “Or am I? Has something happened? You look agitated.”

“Not at all.” She smiled—and looked even more so. “I was wondering if I might have a private word with you.”

To deliver another scold? To enumerate more of his shortcomings? To ruffle more of his feathers? To worsen his mood even further?

“Of course.” He cupped her elbow in one hand and drew her away from the stables and the house. They began to walk across the wide lawn that led to the lake.

“Thank you,” she said.

She was wearing a pale blue dress with a matching cloak, he noticed. Her bonnet was a darker blue. It was the first time he had seen her out of mourning. She looked marginally more attractive than usual.

“How may I be of service to you, ma’am?” he asked curtly when they were out of earshot of anyone at the stables.

“Well,” she said after drawing an audible breath, “I was wondering if you would be willing to marry me.”

He had already released his hold on her elbow—which was probably a good thing. He might have broken a few bones there when his hands clenched involuntarily into fists. But—could he have heard her correctly?

“Marry you?” he asked in what sounded shockingly like his normal voice.

“Yes,” she said. She sounded breathless—as if she had just run five miles without stopping. “If you would not mind terribly, that is. I believe your primary concern is to marry someone eligible, and I do qualify on that count. I am an earl’s sister and the widow of a baronet’s son. And I think your secondary concern is to marry one of
us
so that you may more easily deal with the problem of bringing us out into society. I know you think you would prefer Meg. I know you do not even like me because I have quarreled with you on more than one occasion. But really I am not quarrelsome by nature. Quite the contrary—I am usually the one who makes people cheerful. And I do not mind . . .”