‘Oh, well done!’ Elinor clapped her hands. ‘How enterprising of you. But what if you become betrothed during the Season?’
‘I have no expectation of doing so,’ Clemence made herself say. ‘Nor any desire, either.’
‘I used to think that,’ Elinor said comfortably. ‘I was quite resigned to my studies and being a support to Mama with hers. And then along came Theo—and here we are.’ She smiled, no doubt intending to be encouraging. ‘You wait and see. I am sure there is someone just right for you.’
‘Possibly Miss Ravenhurst believes she has already met that person and they are unsuitable,’ Nathan suggested. He passed the plate with the apple Sebastian had peeled and sliced to the ladies, his hand quite steady.
‘How perceptive of you, Captain Stanier,’ Clemence said, taking a piece of fruit and biting into it. ‘I have and, although I think him perfectly suitable, the gentleman in question has scruples that it appears he is unwilling to overcome.’
‘Then he does not love you enough, I fear,’ said Theo sympathetically.
‘It may be that, of course,’ Clemence agreed, selecting another slice. ‘I tell myself I would be better off forgetting him, but I have no idea how one goes about that.’
‘Painfully,’ Nathan said, getting to his feet and walking away.
‘Oh!’ Elinor put down her glass and stared after him. ‘It’s him? I am so sorry, I had no idea. I am quite ready to sink, of all the tactless…’
‘That’s both of us,’ Theo said, scrubbing his hand back through his hair. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ Clemence said with a sigh. ‘Actually, it is quite a relief to talk about it.’
‘Er—Sebastian and I will go,’ Theo said, beginning to rise.
‘No, please, if it doesn’t embarrass you. I would rather like a masculine point of view.’ Theo subsided. ‘Nathan was going to marry me, because I had been compromised. That was before he realised he loved me, I think. But when he found out who I was, and realised that the family was more than sufficient to protect me from scandal, he withdrew.’
‘Why?’ Elinor wrapped her arms round her bent knees, propped her chin on top and regarded Clemence earnestly, as though she was one of her Greek inscriptions.
‘The scandal in Minorca when his wife died and he fought a duel,’ Clemence explained. ‘Then, my money—he has only what he earns as a captain.’
‘How much is that?’ Theo asked. He rolled over on to his stomach and propped his chin in his hands.
‘About £450 a year,’ Clemence said. Theo winced. ‘I asked Captain Melville. Then there’s prize money—which could be about the same, could be thousands—but that is complete chance. And, on top of the duel and the money, he thinks I should be looking for an earl or something and marrying properly, as befits a Ravenhurst. He thinks that the world is my oyster and that if he married me, it would be wrong.’
‘Idiot.’ Elinor.
‘Very proper sentiments.’ Sebastian.
‘Both those,’ Theo observed. ‘The family is all right though, isn’t it, Seb?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Her cousin nodded. ‘I have had Captain Stanier investigated from his bank account to the contents of his handkerchief drawer.’
‘You’ve what?’ Clemence glared.
‘You’re a Ravenhurst.’ Theo grinned. ‘No one breathes on you without Sebastian knowing.’
‘Pity I didn’t think to extend that to Jamaica when your father died,’ Sebastian remarked. ‘You were compromised, no getting around that. Do you want me to become the head of the family in Charles’s absence and demand that he does the decent thing?’
The thought of Sebastian, or his half-brother the duke, demanding that Nathan marry her, made her blood run cold. ‘No! Please, don’t do that. Nathan is doing the decent thing, according to his conscience.’
‘I am baffled,’ Elinor admitted. ‘I don’t suppose Eva could create him Admiral of the Maubourg fleet, could she?’
‘Maubourg, you idiot,’ her loving husband reminded her, ‘has no coast, no navy and a lake with rowing boats.’
‘Drat.’
‘Who is an idiot?’ It was Eva, languidly graceful as ever. She sank down on to the rug and smiled at her family. ‘Theo?’ Her cousin grinned, balled up a napkin and threw it at her.
Clemence couldn’t help smiling. They were all so happy, all so convinced that love would find a way because, for them, it had. She unfurled the old French fan Nathan had given her and looked at the fat little Cupids flying around delivering their prizes of love to the waiting girls. Far from being Clémence with her paragon of a lover, it seemed she was Isis, the one whose lot was to have no lover at all. Adieu toute espérance, she read. Farewell all hope.