“And you are quite sure you are to marry?” Clara said cautiously.
“Of course,” Emmeline said and laughed. “I know it is not announced, but Christopher and I have spoken of it many times. Even before my father was ill, Christopher and I were destined to be together. It is not simply a marriage of convenience, but it shall be one of great love.” Emmeline smiled when she thought of Christopher.
Christopher Lennox, the wealthy young man who had courted her for almost two years, was just about the most handsome man Emmeline had ever seen. He was tall and nicely shaped, with brown hair which tended to look a little red in the sunshine, almost the colour of fox fur. And his eyes were pale blue and large and looked so well against the pale skin of his face.
But when she thought of him, Emmeline thought only of the good. Surely there was only good, after all. And yet she knew that there was something else; something which she knew was there but did not look at, almost as if she were a young child fearing to open her eyes in the darkness in case she saw a ghost standing at the foot of her bed. Emmeline did not know what it was, nor even if it was really there, and yet she felt sure that something, something tiny and intangible, had changed. But she could not look at it, and she most certainly would not speak of it.
“It is just that, as you say, there has never been anything spoken. Christopher has never announced his intention to marry you, and surely time is running short,” Clara still spoke cautiously, her large eyes peering out from beneath a great cloud of golden ringlets.
“I have no reason to doubt him, Clara,” Emmeline said feeling a little annoyed.
She felt sure that she was overreacting, not to mention a little guilty that she had snapped at her dearest friend. After all, Clara was looking out for her, asking the questions which needed to be asked. It was not Clara’s fault that Emmeline had silent and secret fears of her own, fears she had not even formulated into proper thoughts.
“Of course you do not, please do forgive me,” Clara said immediately, her pale skin turning a bright pink.
“No, there is nothing to forgive. It is I who should be asking for forgiveness, Clara, and not you. And of course, everything you say is quite right, Christopher has never yet made it public that we are engaged, and I know you point it out only because you are such a good friend to me.”
“But you are engaged? Between yourselves, I mean, you and Christopher are engaged to be married?” Clara seemed to be ploughing on regardless of the fact that her own words made her obviously uncomfortable.
“Yes, of course, we are,” Emmeline said, although she could hear the uncertainty in her tone and knew well that Clara would not have missed it.
After all, had they ever really discussed marriage? Had she just assumed all this time that Christopher Lennox intended to marry her? If only she could stop the doubts which began to fly around her own mind. But they had talked about marriage and about a time when they would be married, Emmeline knew that much. They had discussed their lives and the children that they would have; of course, he meant to marry her, of course, he did! But why was there that dreadful sense of doubt? And why had it grown so suddenly after the death of her father?
Christopher Lennox had been, of course, most kind and attentive throughout the period of full mourning. He had called upon her and her mother and sister at home at least twice a week and, when she had expressed a desire to come out of the house, he had sent his own carriage to collect her so that she might attend Christopher and his family for afternoon tea.
Not only had he been most attentive, but surely he knew that time was of the essence. Surely he knew that he would need to marry her at some point within the next six months to spare her, her mother, and sister from the most dreadfully poor lodgings.
The Tarlton Manor estate had been in the Fitzgerald family for many generations, passing from father to son again and again. At some point in distant history, the estate had passed to a cousin when no direct male heir had been apparent. Now, once again, history was due to repeat itself. This time, in want of any direct male heir, Tarlton Manor was to be passed to the son of her father’s cousin, a young man that Emmeline and her family barely knew. Kent Fitzgerald.
That particular branch of the Fitzgerald family had decamped to the Midlands many years before, and there they had remained in a most determined middle-class obscurity. Charles Fitzgerald and his cousin had not been particularly close, only meeting with each other a handful of times in their lifetime.
And as for Kent Fitzgerald himself, it had been clear when Emmeline had first met him that he had been long aware that he would eventually become the master of Tarlton Manor. No doubt he and his family had spoken of it many times over the years as they had silently waited for news that Charles Fitzgerald had produced a son.
Emmeline could not help thinking that when that news had never come, that family must have rejoiced, safe in the knowledge that their fortunes would be elevated the moment that those of the Fitzgerald women of Tarlton Manor had been crushed.
Her father’s cousin had died some months before her own dear father and, when the time for her father’s funeral had come, Kent Fitzgerald had been the only mourner from his branch of the family.
Of course, to call him a mourner was indeed a great stretch, for he had seemed unable to hide his pleasure as he had looked around Tarlton Manor before the family had made their way to the small church and then to the family plot where Charles Fitzgerald was to be laid to rest finally.
Emmeline had discussed every bit of it with Christopher Lennox, and he had seen with his own eyes the young man who had looked greedily around the estate, imagining all the pickings that were to be his when the nine-month period of grace was over.
“Have you discussed it with him at all these last weeks?” Clara spoke again although she seemed a little more at her ease this time.
“We have discussed all sorts of things, Clara. And Christopher knows my situation very well indeed and the limitations of time which have been unfortunately placed upon me. I am sure that if he had any doubts as to our future together, he would have mentioned them before now.”
“I wonder if you did not ought to keep your horizons a little broader, my dear,” Clara said as she rose to her feet and made her way across the room to her friend. With great care, she re-pinned a glossy chocolate brown curl of Emmeline’s hair which had escaped from its fastenings. “There, that is better,” she said and smiled.