Page 19 of A Sense of Misgiving
‘Is Mr Watson at home?’ Flora asked, as she stirred her tea and took a sip. ‘I should like to offer him my congratulations.’
‘He’s about estate business somewhere. I have no idea when he will be back.’
‘Never mind,’ Mary said. ‘Luke insists on holding a dinner to celebrate my birthday, which is what brings us here. It’s to be on Saturday, and naturally we hope you can come.’
‘We would be delighted to. We have no engagements. It will be lovely.’
Mary showed off her bracelet and Emma dutifully admired it.
‘I don’t need to ask how you are enjoying married life,’ Flora said, glancing around the room and noticing little elegant touches that spoke of Emma’s style. ‘You seem very comfortable.’
‘Oh, I am. Absolutely. Alvin has given me a free hand with the house.’
‘I can see remarkable differences since my last visit,’ Flora assured her. ‘Anyway, Mary and I are going on to Mrs Arnold’s to issue her invitation.’ Emma sent Mary a speculative smile and nodded. ‘May we leave her ladyship here and collect her on the way back? Too much time in the carriage tires her.’
‘You make me sound like an inconvenient parcel,’ the countess objected.
‘Of course you may,’ Emma said at the same time. ‘It will be delightful to have her to myself for an hour.’
‘Beware what you wish for,’ Flora said in an undertone to Emma as she put her cup aside and stood. ‘She is in a cantankerous mood today.’
‘Don’t worry. Nothing will spoil my high spirits.’
‘No.’ Flora gave Emma an affective kiss. ‘I am perfectly sure nothing will. No one deserves happiness more than you, and I am very pleased to see you looking so radiant.’
Flora and Mary continued on to Mrs Arnold’s home in companionable silence. The carriage turned between gateposts barely wide enough to accommodate it and stopped in front of a small manor house, the outside of which appeared somewhat neglected. Flora wondered if Mr Arnold’s business was doing as well as Mary had led her to believe. The early signs were not encouraging.
They were shown into a shabbily elegant drawing room that reinforced Flora’s suspicions about a shortage of funds. A very different future to the one that Lucy had anticipated for herself with Luke, she imagined. Did she harbour resentments, and were those resentments shared by her brother? Did the brother know about their father’s accusations regarding an unpaid debt of honour? And worse, did he think the late Lord Swindon was responsible for his father’s death? His murder?
Flora closed her eyes and concentrated hard, but conjured up only swirling grey, which was neither encouraging nor definitive. Even so, she already harboured deep suspicions about Lucy Arnold’s and her brother’s intentions.
A petite, very pretty lady with piercing blue eyes and soft waves of blonde hair stood to greet them. She enfolded Mary in a hug, expressing both surprise and pleasure at seeing her again so soon. Her affection for Mary seemed genuine, but Flora’s doubts about the woman intensified when Mary introduced her and Mrs Arnold seemed momentarily unsettled to be asked to entertain a paid companion.
‘You have heard me talk with the great affection about dearest Flora,’ Mary said, beaming. ‘She has worked wonders with Grandmamma, and I am delighted to call her a friend.’
‘You are very welcome to my home, Miss Latimer,’ Mrs Arnold assured her with icy politeness.
More tea was ordered, over which Mary issued the invitation to her birthday dinner.
‘Oh, how lovely. It’s been far too long since we were last at Beranger Court. Thank you, Mary, I shall be delighted to come. But Mr Arnold is still away, and I seldom see him.’
‘Your brother is naturally included in the invitation, if he is not already engaged,’ Mary said, blushing.
‘If he is, I am perfectly sure that he will alter his plans, if only for the pleasure of seeing you again. And to act as my escort, of course. He’s about the place somewhere and I dare say he will show himself when he hears that you are here.’
‘Are you settled in Wiltshire for the winter, Mrs Arnold?’ Flora asked into the ensuing silence.
‘Yes. We will go up to London for a few weeks after Christmas, once the season is under way, but we generally don’t mix much in society. Mr Arnold doesn’t have time for it.’
‘No more do we,’ Mary replied. ‘I have not been presented, and don’t intend to put myself through that particular form of torture, so it would be awkward. All my brothers tend to avoid it as much as possible. They get too much attention, they claim, but I think they are being unreasonable. We ladies are expected to marry, and marry well, but how can we become acquainted with eligible gentlemen when they hide themselves away? It’s all very well for you, Lucy. You found your heart’s desire here in the country, as did Emma. I wish I could have the same good fortune.’
‘I certainly did.’ Lucy looked away, but not so fast that Flora didn’t catch a brief glimpse of the bitterness in her expression. ‘But things do not always turn out the way one would hope.’
‘Yet you found Mr Arnold and seem very contented,’ Mary said, seemingly oblivious to her friend’s disappointment.
Flora wondered about Mary’s blinkered state. She knew about Lucy’s ambitions regarding Luke, but clearly thought that the affections of the frequently absent Mr Arnold had eradicated them. Somehow Flora doubted it. The lady thought well of herself, she sensed. Too well to admit that she had been disappointed and married in haste as a consequence. She must have held out until the last minute in the hope of receiving Luke’s proposal, no doubt rejecting other eligible offers because she’d set her heart upon becoming Luke’s countess. When his offer did not materialise, she was obliged to marry the first suitable man to ask her in order to avoid being left on the shelf. Bitterness in such a proud and beautiful creature seemed like an inevitable consequence.
As Mary and her friend chattered, Flora considered the disparity in their ages and wondered how the friendship had come about. Had Lucy befriended Mary in a deliberate attempt to remain close to Luke after her marriage? Why would she do that? What could she possibly hope to gain from the constant company of a man who had disappointed her? If she had made Mary her friend for that purpose, her tactic had backfired since Mr Arnold had dragged her around the continent with him, it seemed, for several years.
