Lady: Impossible (25 page)

‘Then why not give me a chance?’ The words take me by surprise. Really, I should cut my losses and spare him from spending money on another Pembroke. Nevertheless, I stand by my claim as a semblance of pride kicks in. ‘It’s rare, isn’t it, for two people to click? I’m not saying there’s instant clicking or major clicking going on, but there’s potential for clicking here. I haven’t run away screaming or thrown a drink in your face. Given, the drink only just arrived… You know what I mean.’

He sighs, now seeming a little crestfallen. ‘I’ll be frank with you. Your family isn’t exactly an ideal match for me as things stand. I’m no social butterfly, but I have clients who may judge me. It’s one of the reasons I started to stay clear of Alastair, at least, in person.’ He hesitates for a moment. ‘Yes, I have many colleagues who still associate themselves with Al, but let’s just say the people I need to impress at the moment are not the type of people who would approve.’

I clear my throat. ‘Of course. Clients are important.’

‘Would you like the opera tickets as a consolation prize?’ He pulls them out of his inside pocket.

‘To be honest, I’ve seen La Bohème too many times.’

‘Really? Me too.’ He’s quick to rein in his eagerness, sitting back in his chair like he’s been yanked by his collar. ‘We could’ve spent quality time whingeing about it.’

The usual for him, it turns out, is a gin and tonic. The usual for me is, again, bitterness with a twist of sour.

A voice in my head commends me for not thinking about Blair for a record two minutes. Other than appeasing my mother, forgetting about him was part of the reason I went along with the Tilton & Bree game. Now it seems the game doesn’t want me, or is at least off to a terrible start.

Blair doesn’t really want me either though. He’s terribly ashamed of what we did.

‘Oh, well.’ I uncross my arms. ‘
C’est la vie
.’

Oliver frowns, wistful. ‘My sister used to play that song over and over. The one with the girls trying to be upbeat about some boy, I don’t know, not sharing his tree house or something. Was that an All Saints song?’

‘B*witched, actually.’

He downs a significant portion of his drink in one go. ‘We shouldn’t find points of common interest. Best to leave it here, huh?’

This is it. Prospective Husband Number One is ending things before they’ve begun. I was a fool to think that success depended on me liking him. It’s not the case at all.
 

‘Yes.’ I raise my glass. ‘To horribly shameful family members who owe money when they shouldn’t.’

‘And to terrible nineties pop songs.’ He clinks my glass. ‘Cheers.’

I take a sip of my drink and regret not ordering something much, much stronger.

Chapter 13:

My devastation increases tenfold when Blair comes to collect me. He’s more proactive in his duties this time around, exiting the car and insisting on opening the back door for me, all the while asking about the fundraiser. I offer him standard answers, bumbling my way through a couple of brief responses before the ache in my chest renders me silent.

All I want to do is throw myself into the comfort of his arms. I want to confide in him and tell him how Oliver shunned me as politely as he could, going out of his way to make sure I heard his reasons in person. My brother is a pariah who owes Oliver money, and a man of such standing cannot bear the social cost of being involved with a Pembroke.
 

I probably pre-empted all this by joking about turning into my mother. Today’s experiences have helped me understand what she has to deal with when she goes out. People staring, people gossiping, people hiding behind trees and insisting on having drinks in corners. It’s not very nice, and certainly not deserved, though maybe one could argue that a mother does carry some responsibility for how her offspring turn out. The thing is, I’m Al’s little sister, not his minder or mentor – what could I have possibly done to stop him from acting this way?

The briefness of the encounter aside, I think Oliver and I had a decent enough connection, one that really wasn’t given a chance. Without a legitimate prospect, at least not until Prospective Husbands Two and Three return to the UK, I’m left to my own devices. Left to wait around on the proverbial shelf while people make up rumours about bankruptcy and far-flung criminal behaviour. If only staying at home and making shit up was a career. Perhaps I should become a blogger.

If I could take away some positives from today, I did receive some good feedback about my personality. If I didn’t turn Oliver off straight away, maybe I’ve made some progress towards not being so brutally blunt. There have to be other men out there who don’t want a ‘vapid doormat’ – as Oliver put it – for a wife so, surely, someone somewhere will take me off the shelf for a decent look, if nothing more.

Then again, I suppose I was in shock, not to mention that it would be unwise to make a scene whilst on a matchmaker date.
 

I sigh and fish my sunglasses out of my clutch, but not before catching Blair’s eye in the rearview mirror.
 

‘Did something happen, m’lady?’
 

Instead of answering in words, I groan and flop over onto my side, a bit of a difficult task when one has a seatbelt on. It’s a very unladylike way of curling up into the foetal position. I press my cheek into the leather of the seat and sigh again, intent on taking up this same position when we get home.

Crying also seems like a real possibility at the moment. So does pummelling a punching bag, if only we owned one. Maybe I should send Blair to fetch one.

‘I hate my brother, or I at least hate what he’s done. I bet you never feel that way about your brother. He seems to like you.’

A few seconds pass before he responds. ‘Did your brother contact you?’

‘No.’

I leave it there, unwilling to explain. Instead, I try and convince myself that I don’t want a man. I’ve always liked being a free agent anyway.
 

Unfortunately, this argument doesn’t quite hold up in the wake of recent events. I never put serious thought into it before, but now I’m starting to notice (even starting to panic about) my friends finding the loves of their lives in whirlwind stories of fate and passion. Abby, Jane, Henny, Eliza – just four examples of women who didn’t have to actively look for a husband. It’s almost as if their men dropped out of the sky, parachuting in at a time convenient to all. It’s like I wasn’t listening when the instructions were doled out.

Eventually I sit up, not wanting to crease Abby’s dress any more than I already have. When I do so, I notice how close we are to home, and the closer we get, the more I want to tell Blair to drive me around town so I don’t have to face my mother. However, I’m robbed of this choice by my own indecision. Before I know it, we’ve arrived and Blair is promptly holding the door open for me.

I don’t want to get out.

‘Your Ladyship?’
 

I reluctantly pick up my clutch and look up at Blair, whose brow is furrowed in what I think is concern.
 

‘There’s going to be a bit of yelling. Definitely some swearing. My mother will claim her children will be the death of her. At that point, you may want to escort her to a chair and serve her tea an hour early.’

He nods, though the suspicion in his eyes suggests he thinks I’ve lost it.
 

For a moment, I consider commenting on the note he left me this morning. Saying something after my dating humiliation is revealed might come off as an afterthought.
 

I clamber out of the car. ‘I, uh, got your note this morning. Just thought I’d confirm that it hasn’t gone missing or anything like that.’

It’s not enough to break his mask. ‘Good to know, m’lady.’

‘Yes, well…’ I stop myself. This isn’t something we should get into, not when he’s made it clear he can’t talk about it. ‘Right. Into the house we go.’

I lead the way, suddenly thinking that the sooner this is over with, the sooner I can lock myself in my room and resume my wallowing routine. Bursting into the main hall, I call for my mother and wait impatiently for her to emerge.
 

She is so slow. ‘Mother!’

She appears on the staircase, throwing her hands up as she descends. ‘What have I told you about raising your voice like that, young lady? It’s uncivilised.’

I’m momentarily distracted by her outfit: a gold brocade dress. ‘Is that new?’

‘What? My insistence that you show some manners?’ She stops in front of me, waving for Blair to come forward. ‘The two of us are going to have a chat outside in the garden. Bring out some lemonade. Nothing else – Abby will be here at four and we shouldn’t spoil our appetites.’

I take a step back and address both of them. ‘Actually, there’s no need for any of that. I just had an iced beverage not long ago, paid for by Oliver, who will not be accompanying me to the opera after all.’

My mother’s face drains of colour. ‘What did you say?’

‘I just had an iced beverage –’

‘No, not that part! The important part.’

Blair cuts in, imparting the same sense of urgency. ‘You had your date already?’ He quickly catches himself, looking sheepishly at me and then Mother. ‘I apologise for speaking out of turn.’

‘No, don’t apologise. You have to know these things anyway. You’re the one driving her around.’ She turns to me, flabbergasted. ‘What happened? I don’t understand. You were supposed to see him
tonight
.’

‘He’s not a fan of Al’s reputation and, by association, the family’s. In fact, Alastair owes him money. So instead of going through the charade of an actual date, he came to The Ritz to explain that this is a non-starter.’ I shrug helplessly. ‘At least he had the decency to tell me to my face. I suppose I should always give my schedule to Polly. Who knows, this may happen again.’

My mother’s rage is palpable, her nostrils flaring as if she’s about to breathe fire. She stomps once, clenching her fists and grunting in pure frustration – a raging bull in gold.

‘I will kill him! If I could only find him and slap some sense into that stupid boy!’
 

‘Oh, and Lady Beresford says
The Mail
is planning to write an article on him next week. Of course, she may just be saying that. I don’t know what to think.’

‘That meddling marchioness! Don’t listen to her.’ Her face is now a bruising shade of purple. ‘Millie, I don’t know what to say. This is a travesty. Are you sure he won’t give you a chance?’

‘He said I was exactly the type of woman he’s looking for. But the trouble is he doesn’t want his clients judging him. Dating a Pembroke is bad for business at the moment, even if Al does pay back the debt.’

‘Unbelievable.’

Unbelievable is exactly the message Blair’s expression is conveying. He’s blinking rapidly and looking around as if this is all too surreal for him.

I clear my throat. ‘I’ll call Abby and ask her to come over now. We’ll have tea early, if anyone still has an appetite.’
 

My mother points at me. ‘I’ll open the drinks cabinet. Try not to stick your head in the oven while I’m gone.’

‘Plath had a husband. Let’s not sully her memory.’

‘Right.’

We nod at each other and part ways, her to the cabinet and me to the garden. I’m aware this leaves Blair on his own, but right now I can’t think of him as anything but the butler. He has a job to do, namely serve tea out in the garden.

I make a beeline for the gazebo, dumping my bag on the table and sitting down to call Abby. This is going to be the opposite of a garden party. It’ll be more like an outdoor wake. It’s a real pity the garden is so cheerful at the moment, with its purple and pink roses in bloom and their sweet scent perfuming the air. A small garden bereft of colour would be a more fitting backdrop.
 

She answers on the second ring. ‘Hello! I’m so excited. I’ve got together the best accessories and everything. Is four o’clock still good?’

‘No, come over now.’

I don’t think I could make my voice sound any flatter. I’ve heard automated voicemails speak with more pep.
 

‘Oh my God. What’s wrong?’

‘The date’s been cancelled. He showed up at The Ritz to tell me in person.’

I relay the main points of the story, keeping things to the point. By the end of the synopsis, she’s so miserable on my behalf that I think she might be on the verge of tears.
 

‘This is terrible. It sounds like he really wanted to go out with you.’

‘Come over as soon as you can. We’re having drinks in the garden. There’s food for you too, if you’re interested.’

‘I’ll be there in a jiffy. Hold tight.’

‘Okay, see you soon.’

I end the call, just in time to see my mother striding out into the garden with a crystal decanter in each hand.

‘Blair’s getting the glasses and the ice but, what the heck, you might as well drink from the bottle – or the crystal decanter, in our case.’
 

I put on a sing-song voice. ‘That would be uncivilised.’

‘True.’ She places the decanters in front of me. ‘Scotch. Gin. If you want vodka or something else, you’ll have to tell Blair when he comes out.’

‘Abby’s on her way. Maybe I’ll have a lemonade first, then hit the hard stuff.’

She sits down to my left. ‘You know it’s bad when I want to call your father to discuss things.’

‘At least I’m getting you two to communicate.’

‘I might as well ask about the finances while I’m at it. I’ve been slow to move on that. Andrew’s visit was so unexpected.’ She pauses to pat her hair. ‘Ugh, and Lady Beresford. I hate that woman. The tabloids would’ve called if they were running a story. They always want a comment, and I think they know I’m on the verge of telling them exactly what I think about all this rubbish.’

I place my hands on the comforting cool of the wrought iron table. ‘Are we wasting money on the matchmaker?’
 

‘No. It’s an investment. You’ll have better luck next time. Steer clear of anyone who’s likely to know your brother.’