Chapter 26
Before any theory or design could be tested, Lucy was required to return to her other world, which now held only distractions from her two fixations of the moment – the potential of her coach and the mystery of the robberies. Captain Dashwood was absolutely not a third fixation.
The events of her day took precedence in Lucy’s mind even as Margaret did her best to engage her.
‘I suppose it is a match that could be most sensible,’ the elder Elliot sister opined as they sat in the parlour.
Spring at Atherton could be a difficult season – too warm for the fire, but cool enough to require a shawl if seated for too long.
Margaret was working on her sketches, another craft in which she had improved more through effort than natural talent and in which she had overtaken her sister in their teenage years.
Lucy had a precise hand and an eye for detail, but beyond the technical she found it difficult to improve.
She struggled when sketching nature or animals and was worst of all with people.
It confounded Lucy to the point of frustration that she might draw a precise likeness yet somehow capture nothing of the character of the subject.
Her images always appeared as if a sketch of a waxwork, somehow a step removed from the real thing.
It was a hurdle she saw no path to overcome, so she had abandoned her practice.
‘Though it seems curious that one may call the match sensible when neither party is particularly of that nature themselves.’ Margaret glanced up at her sister, sitting silently at her needlepoint. ‘Do you not think so, Lucy?’
‘It is frustrating,’ she replied, ‘that steel cannot be produced in effective quantity to be used in coaches.’ She paused for a moment then turned to Margaret. ‘You said something about sensibility?’
‘You have not heard a word I’ve said, have you? I cannot imagine your thread work is so enthralling.’
‘In truth, I do it only to keep my hands busy while I think. I apologise. My thoughts have been on coaches all day.’
‘And shall be for a good few days more, knowing you. But might you pay attention long enough to absorb what I am saying? If you express surprise at it later, it will reflect badly upon both of us.’
Lucy nodded and tried to focus her attention.
‘George St Martin and Charlotte Wyndham are engaged.’
‘To each other?’ Lucy expressed her surprise.
‘That was my reaction too.’ Margaret laughed.
‘Though I did a better job of stifling it in company. Upon reflection, it is not so odd a match as it might seem. They are both of a flighty nature, given to cheerfulness and storytelling. I dare say they might make a happy couple so long as their personalities balance and don’t amplify. ’
‘The difference of standing is of note,’ Lucy mused, momentarily distracted from her other thoughts. ‘Sir Walter St Martin might have some reservations. It would make sense if they were ill of fortune, but they are well furnished.’
‘The Wyndhams have acquitted themselves well enough since moving to the district,’ Margaret countered. ‘Though their wealth may have been amassed through the colonies, they have no scandal or disrepute to their name. However, the moods of their daughter might lean towards fancy.’
‘How could a headless horseman even see where to go?’
‘That is not the point, Lucy.’
‘I suppose not. I have noted in the past that the character of George is ill-suited to you or me, so Charlotte might fit him well.’
‘I never thought the man would be an ill match for me. Only I for him.’
‘You should not hold yourself in such low esteem.’
‘There is a simple and idle nature in him, Lucy. I should not trust him to put effort into seeing past my imperfections.’
‘Then that is his failing and not yours,’ Lucy asserted. ‘Had you the wealth of Charlotte Wyndham, you should make a fine match for Oliver St Martin.’
‘Perhaps. But we do not have the wealth of the Wyndhams.’
There was a stillness and Lucy felt that she had offended her sister in some way. Out of a fear of worsening this offence, she allowed the silence to stretch on until her sister broke it.
‘In any case, I should think that if the district were to wager on which Elliot sister were to marry first that you should have the greater odds.’
‘Now you do yourself a greater wrong,’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘My nature is known by all to be a peculiar one and that surely puts me below you in marriageability.’
‘Perhaps in the past. But recent connections cannot be overlooked.’
‘Connections?’
‘Lucy, you cannot be so obtuse as to think that technical acumen was the sole object of Captain Dashwood’s interests. It is unthinkable that he does not have at least an awareness of other motives.’
‘You mean … marriage?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Of course. What else would I mean?’
Gambling, racing and espionage? thought Lucy. Marriage was a topic she had done her best to avoid thinking of, not least of all because it raised more anxiety in her than the other three put together. As she focused on steadying her heart rate, her sister filled the silence.
‘He is an eligible gentleman, Lucy. He invited the family to dinner and you spent the day together engaged in an activity he knew interested you. Coach-building cannot be his sole focus. Can you honestly say you were blind to this?’
‘It is, upon objective reflection, a reasonable conclusion to be reached by anyone.’
‘Well that is not exactly a heartfelt endorsement of the possibility.’
‘I am … uncertain as to my feelings. I thought it prudent to … reserve judgement as I did not consider it primary among his intentions.’
‘What other intentions do you know of?’
‘My impression is that Captain Dashwood is a man dedicated to his profession. I cannot tell if marriage is in his intentions at all. He has lived a life of travel and may do so again.’
‘That is a fine evasion, and an unconvincing one, as he seems quite content to spend a season in the district at the behest of his father.’
Sworn to secrecy as she was, Lucy could defend neither her claim, nor the loyalty of Captain Dashwood.
‘If it were his intent to marry, what should be your reply?’ Margaret asked.
‘That is quite irrelevant!’ Lucy sputtered, wishing she were able to answer to herself as well as her sister. ‘There are, to date, a great many unknowns, both of myself and him, and to think of a proposal is not a sensible use of my time.’
‘There will always be unknowns, Lucy. Life is not an equation that can be neatly balanced.’ Margaret put her sketchbook aside and stood.
‘I am going to bed. We have both been invited to see Charlotte tomorrow morning and extend our good wishes for her impending marriage. As to your possibilities, I should never wish for an option that was not your ardent intention. I merely address it to make sure you give thought to those opportunities, as frightening as you may find them.’
‘I shall. Goodnight, Margaret.’
‘Goodnight, Lucy.’
Left alone in the parlour, Lucy replayed their conversation.
She was aware of her opportunities. Before the arrival of Captain Dashwood she could never have imagined herself to have so many.
Were it not for the Night Races or the mystery of the coaches, she might have no hesitation in accepting a proposal from such a man.
But without those two elements, would they even be drawn together at all?
If their connection was only one of utility then she could hardly expect a proposal, let alone a future.
Their conversations had been captivating and he seemed to enjoy her company, but she knew her instinct for assessing such things could be sorely lacking.
He trusted her, that much she was sure of.
Twice now he had instantly replied to her urgent warning without hesitation.
He had entrusted her with a dangerous professional secret and should not have done so frivolously.
That thought brought her mind back to a sticking point.
Were it simply a matter of marriage and society, she might have puzzled it out from the rulebook she knew.
But faced with secrecy and the security of the empire, she found herself hurtling into the night with no idea of what path lay ahead.
The memory of orange and lavender crossed her mind. The room really was uncomfortably warm. Sleep, she knew, would not come easily yet. She placed her needlepoint aside and took up Margaret’s sketchpad. Furniture, she found, made for an unexciting, but cooperative subject.