Page 31 of A Season for Scandal

“I wasn’t sure of his feelings,” I said, sticking to the story I had devised with Mrs Finch. “We began writing to one another and it was only recently that I learned he returned my affections.” I didn’t have to feign the flush on my cheeks that accompanied this particular piece of fantasy.

“Well, I think it’sdeeplyromantic,” Daisy said, dropping into a chair and clutching at her heart. “To think he took such a fancy to you that for six months he’s been wooing you with love letters. I can’tbelieveyou won’t let me read them.” She pouted. “Me! Your only sister and a burgeoning romantic heroine at heart. And now he wants to whisk you off to his big house and show you all that could be yours. It’s like something from a novel!”

I cleared my throat. “It is certainly like a work of fiction,” I agreed.

“This just seems so sudden,” Mother said, wringing her hands.

When we had been sitting in Izzy’s sitting room yesterday, this part of the plan had seemed like an awkward necessity, but suddenly faced with the very real prospect of breaking the news to my family, I was realizing the various pitfalls.

“But does this mean you plan to move to Yorkshire?” Grandfather asked.

Pitfalls like that.

“We haven’t discussed the details,” I said as airily as I could manage. “But we will. I’ll be back in a week, and we can talk it over then.”

“It all seems most irregular.” Grandfather’s frown deepened. “But at least the man is coming to introduce himself – that’s something.”

“And you say his godmother is coming to call as well?” Mother asked.

“Yes, Mrs Finch. She wanted to make sure you knew the whole trip was going to be well chaperoned. I think Mr Lockhart wants to…” I hesitated here, remembering the words Mrs Finch had advised me to use, though they made me cringe. “Impress me with his suit.” I could just picture Oliver’s reaction to this, which was actually quite helpful because I felt a smile flicker on my lips.

Mother’s face softened at this. “That’s to his credit, then. And you say he’s … a man of some means?”

I cleared my throat. “I understand he has a very comfortable life.”

“Mari, you are such a dark horse,” Daisy squeaked, absolutely thrilled by this whole turn of events. “Keeping a secret lover, and a fabulously wealthy one too; I had no idea you had it in you!”

“Nor did I,” I said dryly. “Who knows if anything will come of it? No one understands better than me that engagements can be broken. Perhaps after spending more time in my company, Mr Lockhart will realize we don’t suit.”

I was quite pleased with this little speech, which I felt paved the way for the inevitable demise of my pretend relationship very neatly, but all three of them stared at me with barely concealed horror.

“Mari!” Mother stood, gripping my hand. “You are a gem, and any man would be lucky to have you!”

“He should be kissing the ground you walk on!” Grandfather expounded.

“Writing you love sonnets!” Daisy chimed in. “Doeshe write you love sonnets?”

I choked on a laugh at the thought of Oliver Lockhart penning love poetry. “Well, not exactly…” I murmured.

“In fact, it speaks extremely well of him,” Grandfather said hotly, “that he has formed such an accurate picture of you on so snatched an acquaintance. Some men have the good sense to know a diamond when they see one!”

“Yes, yes!” Mother was getting riled up now too. “I don’t know why any of us were surprised that a handsome man would wish to whisk you away, Mari. If anything, we should have beenexpectingsomething like this.”

Oh, God. My family of hopeless romantics were quickly tipping too far in the other direction. The appearance of self-doubt had been a misstep on my part, because now, in buoying me up, they were talking themselves into the idea that Oliver and I were part of some grand Shakespearean love story.

“I didn’t say he was handsome,” I managed.

“Oh,” Daisy said, crestfallen. “Is he not handsome? But then in many ways that’s better, isn’t it? Because really it’s about twosoulsrecognizing one another…”

“Err…” I made a doubtful noise.

“When I think of what you went through…” Mother began. “If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you.”

“If only your grandmother was still alive to see this!” Grandfather groaned, plucking a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and loudly blowing his nose.

“No, no, don’t – you’ll turn me into a watering pot!” Mother began blinking rapidly, fumbling for her own lace handkerchief.

“We just want you to be happy,” Daisy wailed.