The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,25
she must marry.
But how to marry a man who would not be controlling, or cruel, or curb her freedom? She had long given up on the notion of marrying for love. Having a husband who would treat her kindly, who would respect her wishes and support her endeavours was a lovely one, but far less likely to come to pass than either of the peculiar visions she’d had last night, goblins and all. She must waste no time on fairytales. This was the real world, and she had a problem with which she must get to grips. The only man she could hope to marry her would be one who needed her rather than wanted her. Perhaps someone older, or infirm, or unsightly, or with some personal habit that might be off-putting. So long as he was not a reprehensible character, surely they could learn to rub along well enough. She might even be content if he was kind and good-natured. After all, she did not expect Prince Charming. She was no diamond of the first water herself. How to get such a man’s attention and get him to the altar fast enough, though, that was the question. The one thing she knew about the marriage mart was that the competition was stiff. A man with a heartbeat and a fortune was in high demand, no matter his personal qualities. She on the other hand was too long in the tooth, had no dowry and was only passably pretty.
If she got herself to her aunt’s in time for the party, she might have only days before Charlie came to fetch her back again. He would, too. She knew he was annoyed with her but, more than that, he did not like or trust their aunt. As selfish and idiotic as he was, Charlie did care for Livvy—in his own way—and would see it as his duty to rescue her from their aunt’s pernicious influence. So, she must find the right man, and make him so desperate to marry her that he would carry her off to Gretna Green, or invest in a special licence. It seemed an unlikely scenario, whichever way you looked at it. Yet, on the few occasions she had read the scandal sheets, she had discovered that many of the most successful high-flyers were not great beauties. So what was it they did? How was it they gained a man’s attention and made him so wild with desire that he’d pay huge sums just to be in their company? Not that she had pretensions to compete with them, or to become a Cyprian, but even a little of their skills—whatever they might be—could only help her get the desired outcome of a home of her own.
But who on earth could she ask about such a thing…?
She let out a little laugh and put her head in her hands. “Oh, Livvy, you absolute dolt.”
Suddenly, she decided she fancied a spot of breakfast after all.
“Yes, George, you really must wear clothes,” Livvy said, struggling to fit the wriggling child into his small clothes and skeleton suit before he ran off naked as usual. George protested and wailed but was no match for his aunt.
“He’s a little savage,” his eldest sister, Susan, remarked as she changed Birdie’s clout and pilcher with expert hands.
Livvy fastened the last button on the skeleton suit with a triumphant laugh and kissed George’s chubby cheek. “There! Now don’t take it off.”
George pouted, but wrapped his arms about Livvy’s neck and hugged her to show she was forgiven.
“Oh, Livvy! Livvy, just look what that horrid girl has done to my hair!”
Livvy looked up as Rebecca burst into the nursery and just about rearranged her face into something solemn, smothering the laugh that threatened to erupt before she got herself into trouble. Rebecca’s head had a Medusa-like complication of plaits and loops that had all slid to one side, and rendered her quite comical.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Lydia protested, hot on her heels. “It was supposed to look like that.”
She waved a cutting from Le Journal des Dames et des Modes, which Ceci had brought back from London.
Livvy gave the illustration a dubious glance. “I think perhaps Parisian fashions might be a little de trop for breakfast at Boscawen, Lydia dear, even if the earl deigns to grace us with his presence. Do you think you can untangle that and put it in one nice, neat plait? You have ten minutes.”