Chapter Eight
Drake
When Drake had suggested a walk, he’d intended it to give him and Miss Lucilla the opportunity to talk. Given Bane’s clear, if perplexing, interest in the formidable Miss Olivia, he assumed he could trust his brother to keep Miss Cilla’s sister entertained. Or busy, at least.
The addition of three more girls to their excursion foiled Drake’s plan, which was undoubtedly Lady Marple’s intention.
Bane put it in a nutshell, saying, “Lady Marple does not think us good enough for her nieces.”
“I picked that up, too,” Drake agreed. “She does not get the final say, however.”
“You’re right. We probably need to court their father as well as our ladies.”
“Our ladies?” Drake had already made up his mind to marry Cilla, if she would have him, but Bane had been counseling caution.
“They quash her, Drake,” Bane replied. “You don’t remember her as she was on Misrule Night—strong, triumphant, wickedly amused.
That is the real Olivia. That’s the woman I want as my wife.
But her aunt, her father, even perhaps her sister—they all tell her how to behave.
It makes her peevish. God knows, it would make anyone of spirit peevish.
I want to take her from them and set her free to be herself.
Whether she wants the same… why would she?
But I’ll make the attempt, even so. I’m better for her than dwindling away in her father’s shadow, that is for certain. ”
From Bane, that man of few words, the spate of explanation spoke of deep feelings.
“She should be proud to be your wife, Bane,” Drake insisted. “Any woman should.”
Bane ignored the compliment, as he always did. Their stepmother’s constant attacks had left Drake’s favorite brother with a deep sense of his own unworthiness. If Miss Livy was the person who would restore Bane’s confidence in himself, then Drake would bless her every day of his life.
“We’re here,” he commented, unnecessarily, as they arrived on the Marple doorstep. He knocked, and a few minutes later, after a brief wait in the front hall, they were on their way to the park, each brother with two maidens, one on each arm, and one walking on her own.
Unsurprisingly, it was Miss Olivia who strode along independently. Poor Bane, stuck between a couple of Marple misses. Drake at least had his preferred lady on his left arm, even if the girl on his right arm twittered like a sparrow.
She had an opinion on every gown and bonnet they passed, and was not in the least deterred by Drake’s less than enthusiastic, but polite, responses.
Cilla’s amused smile was his reward. “Ruby, darling, I don’t think Mr. Sanderson cares much about ladies’ fashions,” she said, after ten long minutes—the time it took them to reach the gates into the park.
“Oh,” said Miss Ruby. “Am I talking too much? What would you like to talk about, Mr. Sanderson?”
That put him on the spot. What did he normally talk about? Investment opportunities? Horse racing? Prize fights? Taxes? Gas lighting? The Luddites? None of those seemed likely to appeal to Miss Ruby Marple, though he had a suspicion that Cilla would hold her own on most of those topics.
“Horses, perhaps?” Cilla offered.
“Are you interested in horses, Miss Wintergreen, Miss Marple?”
“I had a dear little pony when I was a child,” Miss Ruby said, and she was off again, describing the pony minutely and detailing several “adventures” she’d enjoyed on said pony’s back.
Ahead of them, Bane and the other two Marple sisters had stopped by a woman wearing a large basket on her back and carrying a tray. Cilla’s sister looked around as Drake and his two ladies approached, and grinned at her sister, who raised her eyebrows in question.
Miss Livy pointed at the ducks, who were hastening toward the vendor and her customers.
Ah! Drake understood what had excited them.
Clearly, they knew what the vendor was selling, and what happened after that.
“My brother is buying bread to feed to the ducks, ladies. Would you enjoy feeding the ducks?”
“I would love to feed the ducks,” Miss Ruby declared.
Bane heard, and declared, “I have purchased enough for everyone who wishes.”
A cunning fellow, Drake’s brother. In less time than it took to tell, Miss Ruby was tearing small chunks off a loaf of bread and dropping them as she walked toward the Serpentine, a trail of ducks processing behind her.
Her sisters, with a loaf each, had hurried ahead, and were feeding those birds who had not joined the exodus.
Bane was carrying three more loaves under one arm and had offered the other to Miss Livy. They followed the Marple sisters and the ducks, but at a slower pace.
“Do you wish to feed the ducks?” Drake asked Cilla, hoping she didn’t, for Bane had bought them time to actually talk, and the bread would not last forever—or even for very long, given that every waterfowl in sight had converged on the three young ladies and quite a few blackbirds and sparrows were darting under the beaks of ducks, chasing crumbs that were too small for the larger birds.
“What I would like is for us to talk, Mr. Sanderson,” Cilla said.
“My aunt likes you as a person, but does not approve of you as a suitor. I will make up my own mind, however. And I want to know more about you before I do.” She blushed prettily.
“That is, if you are courting me. Do I need to apologize for speaking so openly?”
“You do not owe me an apology,” Drake told her.
“Straight talking saves a lot of misunderstanding, and I’m pleased you have spoken so honestly to me.
Yes, I am a suitor. Like you, I need to know more but I very much like what I have seen of you so far.
Will Lady Marple’s opposition cause problems?
For you or for us? Or is it your father’s approval that is most important? ”
She tipped her head on one side and regarded him with a steady blue gaze. “My approval is most important. If you gain that, Mr. Sanderson, I shall deal with my father and my aunt.”
“Then ask me questions,” Drake proposed, “and I shall tell you anything you want to know. And I shall ask you questions, so I can get to know you. I promise you that you can say anything to me, Miss Wintergreen. I shall not think less of you, and shall not repeat it to others.”
“A question for a question,” Cilla said. “I like it. Very well, you have my promise, also. What we disclose will be held in confidence. My first question is, what do you and your brother do? For a living, I mean.”
An interesting first question. How many other girls entering upper class society would ask it?
“Bane and I are investors. When our sister Larkspur married, our father gave us each the same amount that he’d allocated to Larkspur for her dowry.
We set out to grow it, and we are doing quite well.
The interest on the original money pays enough for our rooms and our food, and the rest is in a number of different ventures. ”
“Such as?” Cilla asked. “No. We don’t have time, for my cousins are nearly out of bread. I should like to hear more when we have the opportunity. For now, sir, please ask your question.”
Drake had been thinking about it. “What do you look for in a husband?” Her answer to that should be revealing.
She was silent for a moment as she considered her answer.
“In the best marriages I have seen, the husband and wife are partners and friends. I want that, Mr. Sanderson. I want a husband I can respect and who will respect me. I want to work with my husband for common goals. I want a father for my children who will take an interest in them—in the daughters as well as the son.”
No mention, Drake noted, of titles or wealth. “I like that,” he said. “I have not been privileged to observe that kind of marriage at close hand, but it sounds ideal. And yet, I think, achievable if both husband and wife work to the same end.”
“And that is the last of it,” Ruby said. “No, you horrid bird, I do not have any more. Mr. Sanderson, it is chasing me!”
Bane broke off his conversation with Livy to chase the most persistent of the ducks back into the water, and in moments, the rest of the group joined Drake and Cilla. Their interlude of private conversation was over.
*
Bane
For Bane, it had been an unexpectedly successful afternoon.
First, he and Drake had had lunch with Lord Andrew and his investor club.
They had expected a group of noble dilettantes who were dabbling in investment to amuse themselves.
And some of the group were aristocrats, it was true.
Lord Andrew himself, who was the fourth son of a duke, a couple of other younger sons, a baron, a viscount.
But there were also two lawyers, a man who bought old houses and renovated them for resale, a bookkeeper for a brothel, a gambling den operator, and others whose background didn’t come out in conversation and who were harder to place in the social strata.
What brought them together was information.
They shared ideas and news that helped them to decide where to invest, either as individuals or jointly.
Lord Andrew—he said to call him “Drew”—usually partnered with White, the bookkeeper, and Fullerton, a barrister.
They had roomed together at Oxford, Drew told the Sanderson brothers.
He and Drake were asked to explain their successes and failures with stocks, and how their broker had contributed, which led to talking about their other investments, and then to being invited to become part of the group, which met once a week at this time.
Cautious, they had reserved their decision, but Bane thought they’d probably do it, for being part of the group committed them only to sharing information, not to any particular investment.