Lord Ravensden's Marriage

She would be glad to be home!

“You’re soaked to the skin, my love,” Nan said, fussing over her the moment she entered her father’s house. “We have been on the look for you this past hour or more. Whatever do you mean by worrying your poor father so?”

They progressed to the parlour, Beatrice having left her sodden cloak in the hall. She moved closer to the fire, holding her hands to the flames until she had stopped shivering, then went over to the large oak and upholstered Knole settee, carefully moving her aunt’s embroidery before sitting down.

“Have I worried Papa?” Beatrice thought it improbable. Her father would most likely be in his study, working on one of his inventions—the marvellous, wholly useless objects he was forever wasting his time on, which he believed were going to restore his fortune one day. “I think you were worried, Nan. Poor, dear Papa can hardly have noticed. Now, if I were not here for dinner—then he might begin to worry. Especially if it meant waiting for his meal.”

“Beatrice!” Nan scolded. “Now that is unkind in you. I know your humour, my dear—but it sounds harsh in a young woman to be so cynical. It is little wonder that…” She broke off, biting her lip as she saw the look in her darling’s eyes.

“Yes, I know I have driven them all away—all my suitors,” Beatrice said ruefully. “I really should have taken Squire Rush, shouldn’t I? He has three thousand a year, I dare say…but he has buried three wives and that brood of his was really too much!”

“There were others,” her aunt said. Mrs Nancy Willow was a widow in her early forties: a plump, comfortable, loving woman, who was extremely fond of her eldest niece. She had come to her brother’s house only after her husband (a soldier turned adventurer) had died of a fever. She sometimes thought it would have been better if she had been there before her lovely but slightly bird-brained sister-in-law had died, but she and Eddie had been in India at the time. “I understand there was a suitable admirer once…”

“And who told you that, aunt?”

Nan frowned. Beatrice rarely called her “aunt’ in just that way: she was clearly touching on a sore place.

“Well, well, it doesn’t matter,” she said. “But should another suitable young man come along…”

“I could not leave Papa,” Beatrice said at once. “Besides, it will not happen. I am nearly at my last prayers.”

“Now that you are not!” Nan said. “You have many qualities, Beatrice. A discerning man would know that the minute he laid eyes on you…”

“…and fall instantly in love with me?” Beatrice said, amused by her aunt’s romantic notions. “Only find me this suitor, Nan dearest—and, if he is not too dim-witted, which I think he may have to be, I will engage to do my best to snare him.”

“You and your wicked, wicked tongue,” her aunt said, smiling even as she shook her head. “And as for not being able to leave your papa—you know that is not so. You were obliged to give up all thoughts of marriage when your mama fell ill. To have left your father then would have been careless in you—but my brother has been kind enough to offer me a home for the rest of my life…”

“Unless you receive an offer of marriage, Nan!”

Her aunt pulled a wry face. “I could not be tempted. I am comfortable here, and here I shall stay. Since it does not take two of us to run this house, you are free to do as you wish…”

“Yes, I see that it makes a difference…” Beatrice looked serious. “It might be better if I started to look for a position…Papa’s funds are limited, and since…”

“He would never hear of it, and nor should I,” declared Nan roundly. “If anyone should look elsewhere, it must be me.”

“No!” Beatrice spoke quickly. She had been afraid her aunt would take that attitude, which was why she had not spoken her thoughts aloud before this. “You do not understand, Nan. I am not speaking of hiring myself out as a governess or a companion…I would only leave here if I could go back to Mrs Guarding’s school as a teacher.”

Her aunt stared at her, eyes narrowing. “Is that why you have been so long this afternoon?”

“No, indeed, for I have not yet spoken to Mrs Guarding about my idea. I went to see Ghislaine de Champlain, who, as I told you, is the French mistress there. We spent some time talking, and then had tea together in her room, which overlooks the river. It really was most pleasant.”

“You speak of Mademoiselle Champlain often—and of the time you spent at the school,” Nan said. “Would it really make you happy to return there, dearest?”

“Yes, I think so,” Beatrice replied, smothering a sigh. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her life in her father’s house, but she sometimes longed for some stimulating company—a friend she could sharpen her wits on now and then without feeling that she was either hurting or bewildering that friend.

She briefly remembered her long-dashed hopes, which had been destroyed when she was a girl of nineteen—just the same age as her sister was now!—but their situations had been very different. Olivia was in London enjoying a brilliant season, and engaged to one of the best “catches’ of the Season. For Beatrice there had been no Season, and only one suitor she might have taken—if he had asked. However, after toying with her hopes and affections for a whole month one summer, he had taken himself back off to London and proposed to an heiress!

“Pray do not look so sad, my love,” Nan said. “Come, sit by the fire and let me dry your poor feet. You look as if you have had a tumble in the mud!”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Beatrice said, forgetting her disappointments as she recalled what had happened to her that evening. “I walked home through the Abbey grounds, Nan.”

“You never did!” Nan looked horrified. “Never say that monster attacked you?”

“In a way,” Beatrice replied, then shook her head as Nan looked fit to faint. “Oh, nothing like that. I heard something…a scream, I think…then this horse and rider came up out of the darkness and I was forced to throw myself out of his path. Had I not done so, I must have been crushed beneath the hooves of the horse. I am sure it was the Marquis himself, and in a fearful mood.”

Nan crossed herself instinctively. Neither she nor any member of her family were Catholics, but in a matter such as this, the action could be very comforting.

Beatrice laughed as she saw her aunt’s reaction. “I must admit to doing much the same as you when I heard the scream,” she admitted. “It was the most horrifying sound imaginable…” She broke off as their one little maid came into the room, carrying a silver salver. “Yes, Lily—what is it?”

“Bellows fetched this letter for you from the receiving office this afternoon, Miss Roade. It’s from London.”

“Then it must be from Olivia,” Beatrice said, feeling a flicker of excitement. “Perhaps it is an invitation to the wedding at last.”

The longcase clock in the hall was striking the hour of five as Beatrice took the sealed packet from her servant.

Beatrice had been anxiously awaiting the invitation since learning from her sister that she was about to become engaged to Lord Ravensden, the wealthy Lord Burton’s heir. Not that Lord Burton’s wealth was of any interest to his heir, who, according to rumour, already had far more money than any one person could possibly need.

Olivia had been adopted by their rich relatives when she was a child. She had been loved and petted by them ever since, living a very different life from her elder sister, who had been overlooked by Lord and Lady Burton when they agreed to take one of the children as their own.

The sisters’ parting had devastated Beatrice, who, being the elder, had understood what was happening, and why. She had kept in touch by letter since the day Olivia was taken away, but they had met only twice since then, when her mother’s sister-in-law had brought Olivia on brief visits. Having seen the engagement announced in The Times, which her papa continued to subscribe to despite his meagre funds, Beatrice had expected to hear from her sister almost daily, and was beginning to think she was to be left out of the celebrations.

She ripped the small packet open eagerly, then read its contents three times before she could believe what she was seeing. It was not possible! Olivia must be funning her…surely she must? If this was not a jest…it did not bear thinking of!

“Is something the matter?” asked Nan. “You look upset, Beatrice. Has something happened to your sister?”

“It is most distressing,” Beatrice said, sounding as shocked as she felt. “I cannot believe this, Nan. Olivia writes to tell me that she will not now be marrying Lord Ravensden. She has decided she cannot like him sufficiently…and has told him of her decision.”

“You mean she has jilted him?” Nan stared at her in dismay. “How could she? She will be ruined. Has she no idea of the consequences of her actions?”

“I think she must have.” Beatrice gave a little cry of distress as she read over the page something she had missed earlier. “Oh, no! This is the most terrible news. Lord and Lady Burton have…disowned her. They say she has disgraced them, and they will no longer harbour a viper in their home…”

“That is a little harsh, is it not?” Nan wrinkled her brow. “What she has done is wrong, no one could deny that—but I should imagine Olivia must have her reasons. She would not do such a thing out of caprice—would she?”

“No, of course not,” Beatrice defended her sister loyally. “We do not know each other well—but I am sure she is not so cruel.”

“What can have prevailed upon her to accept him if she did not mean to go through with the marriage?” Nan asked, shaking her head in wonder. Jilting one’s fiancé was not something to be undertaken lightly—and a man as rich as Lord Ravensden into the bargain!

“She says she has realised that she cannot be happy as his wife,” Beatrice said, frowning over her sister’s hurried scrawl. “And that she was cruelly deceived in his feelings for her.”

“What will she do now?”

“Lord Burton has told her she has one week to leave his house—so she asks if she may come here.”

“Come here?” Nan stared at her in dismay. “Does she realise how we go on here? She will find it very different to what she has been used to, Beatrice.”

“Yes, I fear she will,” Beatrice replied. “However, I shall speak to Papa at once, and then, if he agrees, I shall write and tell her she is welcome in this house.”

“My brother will agree to whatever you suggest,” Nan said a little wryly. “You must know that?”