the match, Lucy. It’s just too soon. You scarcely know each other.’
Lucy leapt from her chair and came to kneel at Dorothea’s feet, head tilted, her clear blue eyes peering up, her pretty lips pursed with the same endearing expression that must have swayed their father earlier. It always made Dorothea want to kiss the flawless skin of her little sister’s cheek and stroke that soft strawberry-blonde hair. Lucy’s was a beauty that turned heads in the street and made it hard not to stare.
‘Oh, but you’re wrong! It’s because you’ve never experienced that glorious feeling of falling in love and finding you already know everything about the other person because you are so perfectly matched. We laugh at the same things, cry at the same things, think the same way about simply everything … You’re soon going to learn to love Charlie as I do. I know you will.’
Dorothea stood abruptly and stepped over her sister’s legs, ignoring the disappointment that clouded her expression. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured. ‘I really must change for dinner. We’ll talk more later.’
As she climbed the stairs with leaden feet, one thought was foremost in Dorothea’s mind: the marriage must be prevented, one way or another. She was the only responsible guardian the girl possessed, since she could patently wrap their father around her little finger. It was up to Dorothea to take action and she felt the weight of the responsibility keenly. If Lucy wouldn’t listen to her, who else could she appeal to?
The following morning, Dorothea left early and asked Chalmers to take her via Lincoln’s Inn, where a gentleman of her acquaintance was a barrister in chambers. Mr William Goodland was the brother of her friend Emily and around a year ago he had begun to call on them for tea every Sunday afternoon. He would ask after their father’s health and Dorothea’s work, comment on the weather, then Dorothea would struggle to maintain a conversation of sorts until he wished her good day and left after barely an hour.
Behind his back, Lucy made fun of him for his bushy side-whiskers and social awkwardness, and was rather good at imitating his tedious conversation: ‘These scones seem to me the perfect combination of lightness and sweetness. It is quite some time since I have encountered such a sublime scone. You must compliment your cook on their sublimity.’
‘Don’t be so cruel, Lucy,’ Dorothea had chided, unable to suppress a smile. ‘We can’t all have your conversational skills.’
Dorothea was unsure of the purpose for Mr Goodland’s regular visits. Did he feel protective towards them as two women living under the roof of a father whose mental capacities were failing? Or did he consider himself a potential suitor for one of them? If so, he had never made his intentions clear. However, she had decided to seek his advice about the legal position regarding Lucy’s proposed marriage.
‘She is still two weeks shy of eighteen,’ she explained to him now, ‘and I consider myself to be in loco parentis. Is there anything I can do?’
Mr Goodland pursed his lips. ‘I’m afraid, Miss Gray, that if your father has given his consent, upon reaching her eighteenth birthday your sister may legally marry; unless there are any grounds for objecting, perhaps because of a prior engagement by either party. What impressions have you formed of this young man?’
Dorothea frowned. ‘He seems very affable but Lucy is young and I am concerned by the speed with which they have made their decision.’
‘Do you know much of the family?’
‘Nothing at all. I believe they live in Dean Hall, Northampton, but there have been no introductions as yet.’
‘Perhaps it would be worth writing to introduce yourself and to ascertain their views on this – may I say – precipitate courtship. If they support Captain Harvington, they can perhaps bring some financial pressure to bear and urge him to behave with less impetuosity.’
‘Yes, that seems a sensible idea.’ Dorothea was glad of the suggestion, which seemed likely to help.
‘As for going to war, I can’t believe the army would give permission for such a young girl to accompany them. Perhaps Captain Harvington has not told his superior officers quite how tender in years she is. If I might make a suggestion, you could write to his company – the 8th Hussars, was it not? – and make your objections plain.’
Dorothea hesitated. ‘I don’t want Lucy to hate me for my interference. She is such a passionate girl and feels things so strongly … I don’t suppose I could ask you to write to them discreetly, as a friend of the family?’
He sat up straight, puffing his chest out: ‘Indeed, I would be delighted to perform this service, Miss Gray. Do not concern yourself overmuch; I’m sure common sense will prevail.’
That evening, Dorothea wrote to Charlie’s parents telling them of her fears for her sister if she went to war, and asking them to consider putting a restraining hand on their son’s shoulder. Perhaps, she suggested, the families should meet to discuss what was best for the headstrong pair.
She gave the letter to Henderson to post straight away. There was no time to waste. With any luck Lucy would never find out it was she who had curtailed their nuptial plans – but even if she did, Dorothea didn’t doubt she was acting for the right reasons.
A reply came from Mr Harvington of Dean Hall three days later and it struck alarm into Dorothea’s heart.
‘We have washed our hands of our erstwhile son Charles,’ the letter read, ‘and we sincerely advise you to prevent your sister from marrying him. He is a scoundrel of low morals, a wastrel who will never be sufficiently practical to look after a wife, and all in all a man who is not to be trusted.’ Mr Harvington added that although they had bought Charlie his commission as a captain, he could expect no further support from his family but was quite alone in the world, with no one to blame but himself.
Dorothea read the letter several times, agonising over what to do next, and finally she decided she had no option but to show it to Lucy. She knocked on the door of her sister’s room, and opened it to find Lucy engaged in brushing out her waist-length hair in front of her dressing table. It was a cosy room, with heavy drapes and a fire in the grate. Candles flickered by the bedside and on the dresser, making shadows dance on the walls.
‘I wrote to introduce myself to Captain Harvington’s family,’ Dorothea confessed after a moment’s hesitation, ‘since we must soon be kin. This reply has recently arrived.’
Lucy grabbed the letter and her cheeks reddened as she perused it. When she reached the end she screwed the paper into a ball and flung it across the room. ‘You had no right to contact them!’ she hissed. ‘I could have told you his family hate him! He explained to me all about it. They disinherited him over some stupid argument five years ago which was not his fault in any way and it is a source of great sadness to him. How dare you go behind my back and write to them!’
It was just the reaction Dorothea had feared but she tried to stay calm and reasonable. ‘Of course I had the right. It is a serious matter if Captain Harvington has no family backing. I’m surprised Father didn’t ask about his prospects. You are too young to know what it means to marry for love to a man without a secure income; you’d have six months of happiness followed by a lifetime of worry and petty resentments.’
Lucy
