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‘So you know I quarrelled with him, too?’
‘Oh, yes, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr Felstone’s very civil, nothing if not a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.’
‘Civil?’
‘A bit stern, perhaps, but charming when he wants to be. The older I get, the more invisible I seem to become, especially to men, but Mr Felstone’s always very attentive. He’s considered quite the catch around here despite his background, not that anyone’s managed to land him just yet.’
Ianthe gaped at her aunt, slack-jawed in disbelief. Civil and charming were the last words she would have used to describe him. Did the man have an evil twin, perhaps? If he were even half the gentleman her aunt seemed to think, then surely he wouldn’t have made fun of her so callously, not unless...
She shook her head, resisting the idea. It was impossible. His proposal couldn’t have been genuine...could it?
She racked her brains, searching for another alternative. ‘But is he quite sane, do you think?’
‘Sane? I should think so. He’s a self-made man, owns the biggest shipyard in Whitby, not to mention a whole fleet of merchant vessels. I think he might have something to do with the new ironworks, too, not to mention the railway. I don’t suppose one can be mad and achieve all that.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say, relieved that she hadn’t mentioned his proposal after all. She had the distinct impression that her aunt wouldn’t be quite so sympathetic if she denounced him, too. Though if all of that were true, why on earth had he proposed to her? Surely such an eligible bachelor could have his pick of available women. She felt a stab of resentment. He must have been mocking her after all. As if insulting her weren’t bad enough...
‘You know, his birth caused quite the scandal,’ Aunt Sophoria continued blithely. ‘His father was Lord Theakston.’
‘What’s so scandalous about that?’
‘Nothing at all,’ her aunt chuckled, ‘except that his mother wasn’t Lady Theakston. She never had any children, poor woman. They might have made up for being married to him, the old rogue.’
Ianthe leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. ‘So who was his mother?’
‘One of the housemaids. Not the first he dallied with either, nor the last, but once Lady Theakston found out she was having a baby, she turned her out on to the street.’
‘But that’s awful!’
‘It was, not that Theakston himself did anything to stop it. No one knew where she went after that. Then twelve years later, she and the boy popped up out of the blue in Whitby, he gets himself a job at old Masham’s shipyard, the old man takes a shine to him and before anyone knows it, he owns the whole place. The mother died soon afterward, and there was some kind of reconciliation with his father, but something must have gone wrong. I know they quarrelled before the old man died anyway.’
‘Oh.’ She still didn’t know what to say.
‘Do you know...?’ Aunt Sophoria tilted her head to one side suddenly. ‘You look so much like your mother this morning. I couldn’t see the resemblance last night, but now it’s quite uncanny. I could almost believe you were her again.’
Ianthe smiled, relieved at the change in subject. ‘My father always said we were doubles.’
‘So you are. My poor girl, this past year must have been very hard for you, losing your parents so close together.’
She bit her lip, trying to stop it from trembling. ‘He just seemed to give up without her.’
‘They always had too much romantic sensibility, the pair of them.’
‘Aunt!’
‘They did. He ought to have pulled himself together.’
‘Surely you don’t blame him for dying?’
Aunt Sophoria screwed up her mouth as if torn between two conflicting opinions. ‘No. I suppose not.’
Ianthe stared at her in shocked silence for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. ‘Father always said you were wicked.’
‘Did he? How wonderful. I’m the black sheep of the family, you know.’ Her aunt smiled mischievously before heaving herself back to her feet. ‘But now I think it’s time to get up. I unpacked your bag, I hope you don’t mind, though there wasn’t much there. It’s all very respectable, but...’ Her face fell and then lit up again suddenly. ‘Would you like to borrow something of mine? I have a pink taffeta that would suit you perfectly. I could do your hair, too, if you like. I do so hate these new flat styles.’
Ianthe bit her tongue. The idea of wearing something belonging to her aunt was more than a little alarming. On the other hand, Percy would doubtless waste no time in bringing Sir Charles to call and, if her drab, old-fashioned attire didn’t deter him, Aunt Sophoria’s wardrobe just might...
‘That sounds like a wonderful idea.’ She wrenched the bedcovers back with a smile. ‘Perhaps I could do with some colour.’
