“You and I both know that she has no head for business. The maintenance of the Ashby estate, I have learned to my sorrow, is an immense and troublesome undertaking, and you are the only one I would trust with it. Besides, Mother is in England, and much happier there. We require an heir who can take the reins at once upon my … demise, not one who would have to be dragged here against her will, a process that would take months even if she consented to it.”
“Which she would not,” Arabella concurred. “For Fanny and Chlo?’s sake, of course, not her own.”
“Of course.” Michael gave a slight, wry grin that, for a moment, made his face seem as animated and youthful as she remembered it.
But the grin fell away as Mr. Trombley cleared his throat. “Sir, your sister is not legally competent to manage the estate, being both underage and female. She must have an older male relative to handle all business affairs.” He cleared his throat again, and straightened. “As there is no such relative, I would, as your family solicitor, be prepared to stand as her legal guardian.”
A meaningful glance passed between the siblings. “Thank you for your offer,” said Michael to Mr. Trombley. “Now if you would please step outside, so that my sister and I may discuss this matter?”
As soon as the door closed Arabella allowed the disgust she had been holding back to express itself in a rolling of the eyes heavenward. “Dear Lord,” she whispered, “not him.”
Michael shook his head sadly and replied in the same low register. “Though he is a dear man, and has served the family for many years, the events of the last few weeks have shown that in a crisis he simply cannot keep his head. And this nonsense of the unexamined will is the last straw. I would not dream of saddling you with him.” His expression shifted, his steady gaze now reflecting determination, sorrow, and apology. “I am sorry, dear sister, but for the sake of the whole family, and future generations, you must be married at once, in case of my early demise.”
“Oh, Michael, do not say such a thing! I am sure you have many years ahead of you.”
“As Providence wills.” He paused, shook his head again. “Now, as to your betrothal. I have in mind my trusted colleague Mr. Williams. He is an older man, and will surely not … trouble you, if you do not wish it. And, in not too many years, he will in turn pass away, leaving you the freedom to find a husband of your own choosing.”
The breath caught in Arabella’s throat. Though she knew her brother was correct in his assessment of the situation, and she trusted his judgement completely, the thought of being … paired off, like a matched brace of huresh, for the sake of the estate, was repellent to her. “I … I see. Have you … approached this Mr. Williams?”
“No, not yet. I wished to obtain your consent first.”
“I see,” she repeated. “Thank you for that consideration, at least.”
She sat and contemplated her options, looking down into her cupped hands.
They were in terrible shape. The events of the last two months had left them rough, callused, even scarred in places, and no amount of scrubbing could completely remove the dirt ground into the lines of her palms. A tiny splinter had lodged itself beneath the skin of her left thumb, and as her mind churned in anxious rumination she brought it unthinkingly to her teeth in order to prize it out.
The errant scrap of wood came free, and she spat it into her palm. For a moment she inspected it—any thing to take her mind off of the future that Fate seemed to have in store for her. It was a sliver of khoresh-wood, she saw, honey-gold with a bit of black paint on one side. Most likely a piece of Diana’s hull. Perhaps she had gotten it while she was working her way along the keel during the mutiny. Or perhaps it had been earlier, during the battle with the French—there had been splinters flying everywhere.
And as she cast her mind back upon those tumultuous weeks, she realized that there had been one factor—one constant, calming presence—that had kept her alive and sane throughout.
She stood and approached Michael’s bedside. “Although I am sure your Mr. Williams is perfectly congenial,” she said, “I have another in mind.”
“Who, if I may ask?”
She bit her lip, suddenly nervous. “I would rather not say,” she said, “until I have spoken to him.”
“Of course. You know I trust your judgement implicitly, sister, and any man you find acceptable will receive my blessing without reservation.” He hesitated. “But … I am afraid I must insist that you do so without delay.” His eyes held a deep sadness. “I do not know … how much more time I may have.”
“Oh, Michael.…” Her eyes brimmed with tears and she had to turn away from him.
After a moment she felt a brush at her hip, and looked down.
It was Michael’s hand, silently offering a handkerchief.
She smiled sadly, shook her head, and accepted it.
*
She found the captain at the ship, as she had expected. He was working day and night with the ship’s carpenter and the master of the drying-sheds, striving to find some way to repurpose the coal burners there to the generation of hot air for lift. Though all agreed it should be possible, the practicalities of the task had proved troublesome.