are based on nothing but logic and self-interest.” Isobel sighed. “I should do the same, no doubt. I must decide where Aunt Elizabeth and I will go.”
“You are welcome to come here, though I fear it would be a trifle small for three people.”
“Yes, I think so.” Isobel smiled at Meg. “But you are kind to offer.”
“Go live with Andrew. ’Tis he who put you in this situation.”
“The three of us in his bachelor apartment in London? I think not. He could not support us all in any case. He has lost the thing that provided the bulk of his income. I cannot imagine him living on what he has in the Funds—if he even has it still. Lord only knows, he may have gambled that away as well. Aunt Elizabeth and I could make do on a small income, but neither of us has that. I have dreamed up wild plans to take her to Edinburgh and open a millinery or a school for young ladies. But either of them would require an investment of money, and neither of us has that. Besides, I haven’t any idea of hats—or how to turn out young ladies, either, if it comes to that. I could perhaps earn my keep as a governess, but I could not take Aunt Elizabeth with me there, and I cannot abandon her. It makes me quite despair; I fear we shall have to throw ourselves on the mercy of our family.”
“Your cousins? Gregory and his father?”
“It’s either them or my mother’s sister in Edinburgh. Aunt Adelaide is . . .” Isobel sighed. “She is generous, really; she would welcome us, and her house is very pleasant. It’s only— I know I must sound the most ungrateful person, but she chatters so, and her conversation is always of the most trivial things you can imagine. I could not impose on her and then ignore her, so I should have to spend all my time listening to her talk about parties and clothes and gossip. Accompanying her on calls and running errands and all the things a poor relative must do because they have nowhere else to go. ’Tis horridly selfish of me, but I cannot but dread the thought.”
“It isn’t only you who would hate it. Aunt Elizabeth would be miserable, as well. Everyone has trouble with things changing as they get older.”
“Not just older people.” Isobel gave Meg a wry smile. “I do as well.”
“Of course you do. We all do. But it is worse for your aunt. You have seen how a sudden change upsets her. It rattles her, and she gets even more vague, which only makes her lose her certainty in her own thinking even more.”
“I know.” Tears welled in Isobel’s throat. “I don’t know what she would do if we moved to Aunt Adelaide’s. It will be hard enough for Auntie to leave Baillannan, but to stay in a city the size of Edinburgh, so far from everything she knows, in a house that is completely unfamiliar to her—well, it doesn’t bear thinking of.”
“I can give her a tincture of oats to help her nerves, and hops tea would help as well, but I cannot if you are so far away. Or her tonic, either. I have added periwinkle to it thistime, and I think you will see some improvement. But if the tonic does help her, it makes taking your aunt to Edinburgh a poor choice.”
“I know. Which leaves only Cousin Robert.” Isobel grimaced.
“At least your aunt would be able to remain in Kinclannoch, and she knows Mr. Rose and Gregory. Mr. Rose is somewhat, well . . .” Meg hesitated.
“You needn’t search for a polite way to term it. Cousin Robert is overbearing and priggish and an utter martinet. I sometimes wonder how Gregory could be his son. They came to call on us this afternoon, and I realized how horrid it would be to have to depend on his charity. Everything he says raises my hackles—I even found myself defending Mr. Kensington to him!—but I could not disagree or do aught but obey him if he is being so generous as to support us. It would be even worse for Aunt Elizabeth. The two of them cannot be around each other without bickering; Cousin Robert finds her frivolous and
“You are welcome to come here, though I fear it would be a trifle small for three people.”
“Yes, I think so.” Isobel smiled at Meg. “But you are kind to offer.”
“Go live with Andrew. ’Tis he who put you in this situation.”
“The three of us in his bachelor apartment in London? I think not. He could not support us all in any case. He has lost the thing that provided the bulk of his income. I cannot imagine him living on what he has in the Funds—if he even has it still. Lord only knows, he may have gambled that away as well. Aunt Elizabeth and I could make do on a small income, but neither of us has that. I have dreamed up wild plans to take her to Edinburgh and open a millinery or a school for young ladies. But either of them would require an investment of money, and neither of us has that. Besides, I haven’t any idea of hats—or how to turn out young ladies, either, if it comes to that. I could perhaps earn my keep as a governess, but I could not take Aunt Elizabeth with me there, and I cannot abandon her. It makes me quite despair; I fear we shall have to throw ourselves on the mercy of our family.”
“Your cousins? Gregory and his father?”
“It’s either them or my mother’s sister in Edinburgh. Aunt Adelaide is . . .” Isobel sighed. “She is generous, really; she would welcome us, and her house is very pleasant. It’s only— I know I must sound the most ungrateful person, but she chatters so, and her conversation is always of the most trivial things you can imagine. I could not impose on her and then ignore her, so I should have to spend all my time listening to her talk about parties and clothes and gossip. Accompanying her on calls and running errands and all the things a poor relative must do because they have nowhere else to go. ’Tis horridly selfish of me, but I cannot but dread the thought.”
“It isn’t only you who would hate it. Aunt Elizabeth would be miserable, as well. Everyone has trouble with things changing as they get older.”
“Not just older people.” Isobel gave Meg a wry smile. “I do as well.”
“Of course you do. We all do. But it is worse for your aunt. You have seen how a sudden change upsets her. It rattles her, and she gets even more vague, which only makes her lose her certainty in her own thinking even more.”
“I know.” Tears welled in Isobel’s throat. “I don’t know what she would do if we moved to Aunt Adelaide’s. It will be hard enough for Auntie to leave Baillannan, but to stay in a city the size of Edinburgh, so far from everything she knows, in a house that is completely unfamiliar to her—well, it doesn’t bear thinking of.”
“I can give her a tincture of oats to help her nerves, and hops tea would help as well, but I cannot if you are so far away. Or her tonic, either. I have added periwinkle to it thistime, and I think you will see some improvement. But if the tonic does help her, it makes taking your aunt to Edinburgh a poor choice.”
“I know. Which leaves only Cousin Robert.” Isobel grimaced.
“At least your aunt would be able to remain in Kinclannoch, and she knows Mr. Rose and Gregory. Mr. Rose is somewhat, well . . .” Meg hesitated.
“You needn’t search for a polite way to term it. Cousin Robert is overbearing and priggish and an utter martinet. I sometimes wonder how Gregory could be his son. They came to call on us this afternoon, and I realized how horrid it would be to have to depend on his charity. Everything he says raises my hackles—I even found myself defending Mr. Kensington to him!—but I could not disagree or do aught but obey him if he is being so generous as to support us. It would be even worse for Aunt Elizabeth. The two of them cannot be around each other without bickering; Cousin Robert finds her frivolous and
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