Chapter Five
Gilbert spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, leafing through a book on mathematical equations that he had brought back from Oxford.
His one regret over leaving University was that he did not have a chance to compete for top prize in that subject in final exams. He knew he would have done well.
So engrossed in his book was he, that he barely had time to change for dinner.
He took extra care with his attire, not to please anyone in particular, but knowing it was expected for his homecoming celebratory dinner.
He also hoped it might lighten his mood to look well.
Once dressed, he studied himself in the mirror, admiring the fine cut of his jacket.
He ran his hand through his thick, wavy blond hair and thought that, in all modesty, he might be allowed to consider himself rather handsome—firm jawline, well-shaped nose, and eyes a deep blue that he knew most ladies found irresistible.
Such fortunate looks would have certainly given him his choice of brides had he spent a Season in London as the presumptive heir to a fine estate.
He would have been known as the well-favored, amiable young man set to inherit Clayton Manor, and his company would have been much in demand.
It likely would have led to an engagement with the daughter from a prominent family.
But, instead, he was expected to become a local curate, and what options for a bride might he have in Doddington—some local girl?
He would much rather make a match with one of his own class—one with a good dowry.
Then he could live the lifestyle to which he felt entitled, and his own small inheritance from his mother would be of little matter.
But as he pondered this idea, he realized his prospects were slim.
In the rest of the county, Gilbert could not think of over two or three young ladies from neighboring estates he would even consider as prospective brides—most were either already wed, too young, too old, or their dowries were likely insufficient.
As he continued to admire his clothes, it suddenly occurred to him that, should he even finish his degree and take this curate position, his wardrobe would become decidedly less dashing.
Instead of waistcoats of fine, embroidered fabric and shirts with an elegantly tied cravat, he would wear black, as all clergy did, with the simplest of neckwear.
And robes. Dear Lord, the robes. That would become his usual dress.
Nothing flashy or ornate. He would be forced to dress in such a drab manner because it was expected of the clergy to be sedate and to blend into the background—to stand out would be considered unseemly and disrespectful to his profession.
He thought of his brother-in-law. Charlotte sewed all of Frederick’s shirts, and even his shoes displayed only a modest buckle.
Frederick seemed quite content with it all, but Gilbert felt he should not be able to bear it.
As he went downstairs to join the family for dinner, he had but one thought in his mind.
I must escape this future the family has in mind for me. But how?
“Cousin Gilbert!”
When he entered the drawing room, Gilbert was greeted with enthusiasm by his cousin Selina, who dashed over and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Selina, it is good to see you.” He pulled her arms away and stepped back, holding her hands to admire her.
“My, you are so grown up since I last saw you at Charlotte and Frederick’s wedding.
How old are you now—fifteen?” His tone of voice betrayed his jest, and Selina pretended to be greatly affronted, as everyone in the room laughed.
“Fifteen? Oh, how hateful you are, Gilbert. I am now a very mature seventeen. Pray, look at me again. Do I not seem a very elegant young lady?” She twirled around for his inspection, clearly eager to show off her modest, but nicely embroidered muslin dress of light blue with three rows of ruffles along the hemline.
She then stood, smiling, deep dimples appearing on either side of her mouth, and her blue eyes, fringed with long lashes, sparkled in her heart-shaped face.
“Very elegant and very pretty,” Gilbert said with a smile.
She curtsied. “That is better, and I thank you. I do believe Papa worries about me, though. Why, at the last assembly in Doddington, he scared off one young man who was about to ask me for a second set. Now that I am out in society, I truly think Papa fears I shall run off to Gretna Green with the first man who asks me.” She giggled and tossed her head, making her dangling blonde curls dance.
“I hope that I reared you with more sense than that, daughter,” Hugh Whittington said, coming up to greet his nephew.
He was a short man who had put on a few extra pounds in the past couple of years, giving him a bit of a stomach.
Yet, he was so genial and his face, wreathed in white, wispy hair which was reminiscent of a halo, added to the kind image.
Indeed, the extra weight seemed to suit him.
“In either case, I dearly hope you have no plans to marry any time soon, Selina. I shall be so very lonesome when you do.”
“You see? What did I tell you, Gilbert? He wishes to keep me home always to sew his shirts and manage the house. I tell him he should marry again, but…” She shrugged.
“When one has had the best wife possible, there is no need to look again,” Hugh said. “I know you will marry one day, dearest, but just not too soon, if you please.”
Charlotte joined them. “Well, for a small fee, Uncle Hugh, I can arrange for Frederick to delay reading any banns as long as you desire—months, or even years, might elapse before you are forced to give Selina away.”
Selina gave a mock shriek of dismay. “You are all against me, I see, and I shall end up a wretched being, alone and unloved. Gilbert, you must defend me, else I shall have nothing to look forward to in my poor life.”
Gilbert took his cousin’s arm and patted it gently. “Set all your apprehension aside, dear cousin. Your fears have been most idly created by a wild imagination and your family’s teasing. I assure you they only want the best for you.”
She rewarded him with a bright smile, kissed him on the cheek, and flounced off to sit beside Lavinia.
Gilbert caught Lavinia looking at him with a knowing smile and recalled Frederick’s warning to him of her hopes of fostering a match between him and Selina.
He must be cautious not to raise expectations of a romance.
He would not let his teasing go beyond propriety.
She is sweet enough, but too young and unworldly for me to marry. Let her marry someone in Doddington—a clerk in her father’s business, perhaps. That would suit her very well.
The dinner bell rang, and everyone assembled to enter the dining room.
That evening, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, Gilbert wandered Clayton House, a glass of port in his hand.
He reflected on the lovely dinner. Lavinia had done everything to make it a very special celebration of his homecoming.
Six courses, all exquisitely prepared. He was doubly glad he had dressed so well, to show his appreciation for all of his family’s efforts to welcome him home.
Gilbert was also grateful that he had not been the main focus of attention during dinner.
He had so dreaded the possible many questions about his future plans.
Instead, the conversation was mostly about the upcoming assembly, rehashing the latest gossip, and the unusually wet spring, topics which Gilbert found easy to listen to without the need to comment in detail.
The one time everyone’s attention was focused on him was when his father had stood to raise a glass in a toast to his “long absent” son.
“To Gilbert,” Evan had said, smiling broadly, “who comes home to us from Oxford with his honors degree. May he look forward to a grand future.”
Everyone had raised their glasses and cheered, “To Gilbert!” While the subject of their admiration had firmly plastered a smile on his face, Gilbert’s stomach lurched with the knowledge of his deceit about his degree. Would their smiles be quite so loving if they knew the truth?
Now, as he sipped his port, he sought to turn his mind once more to what he might do.
His conversation with Nancy came back to him, and he considered her jest about drinking and gambling until his looks were gone.
That was not an appealing future, but… would it be possible for him to decline taking orders and just live for a time off his mother’s inheritance and possibly an allowance from his father?
If he had a heart-to-heart with Evan and confessed he had no stomach for the military or the church, might he be given another year to discern his plans?
After all, he would turn four and twenty in June and, then, there would be at least some income.
Not enough to indulge himself, but it would be sufficient, perhaps.
Convinced that was his best course of action, Gilbert headed upstairs to bed.
I shall simply tell Father that I need more time.