Page 116 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle

‘Oh, yes, I know. But, Nina, you don’t mean to go back to side-saddle?’

‘At the moment, Mr Cowling doesn’t want me to ride at all.’

Bobby considered a moment, and then said, ‘I’m sure that’s just shock, because of that hateful Lady Wyville and the trouble she’s caused. This horridness will pass, and he’ll relent, I’m sure of it.’

‘I wish I were sure,’ said Nina.

‘Just give it time,’ said Bobby. ‘And meanwhile we shall be exemplary friends, and avoid all talk of horses and riding in his presence. But it’s not long until the season starts, so I do hope his powers of healing are swift, because I absolutely must have you hunting beside me this year – even if it is side-saddle.’

‘I don’t even have a horse.’

‘If Mr Cowling comes about in time, we shall get you a hunter of your own, but at any rate, you shall ride any of mine you choose. You shall go to the ball, Cinderella!’

‘As I remember,’ Nina said, ‘that ball didn’t end well.’

‘But she married the prince in the end. It all came out right,’ said Bobby.

* * *

Two days later the Cowlings dined at Welland Hall. It was a pleasant occasion, with just the four of them – though the Wharfedale children were brought down to the drawing-room to say goodnight. Mr Cowling loved children, and chatted to them pleasantly, watching Nina out of the corner of his eye with the vague hope that having children might somehow be contagious. The Wharfedales were good company, and had plenty to talk about, and nobody mentioned the side-saddle controversy or talked about horses at all, so it all passed sweetly.

This was followed by a return dinner at Wriothesby House, with the Crawfords as the other guests, and that was pleasant too, with entirely different but still not horse-related conversation. Mr Cowling was impressed with Wharfedale’s intelligent questions about manufacturing processes. The furniture from Evington had been delivered and arranged, and the Wharfedales used the licence of being close friends to comment on and admire the new pieces. Mr Cowling had inspected them all closely when they arrived and had to admit there was nothing shabby about them; and he was especially pleased when Mrs Crawford broke her usual silence on arrival in the drawing-room and said, in a soft voice he might have missed had he not been attending to her, ‘How lovely this room looks, Mr Cowling. So spacious, and not crowded like so many rooms. I hope you don’t mind my saying so,’ she added with an anxious blush.

Then there was a card evening at Welland Hall, with five tables of bridge and an elegant supper, and then a musical soirée at Peasedale, Sir Bradley and Lady Graham’s place. Mr Cowling enjoyed everything, and reflected that this was what he had always wanted for them, to be accepted into the society of the local nobs. He wanted it for himself, to advance his place in the world, but more especially for Nina, who had her way to make. There was still some factionalism and whispering in the town, but he was able to ignore it, and hoped it would soon die away.

He was not to know of the heroic efforts of Bobby in persuading her circle not to talk in his presence about the upcoming hunting season, reasoning that a period of convalescence was needed for Mr Cowling’s sensibilities to heal and harden over.

Meanwhile Mr Cowling waited, with bated breath, for news from Nina. He worried that, young and innocent as she was, she wouldn’t know the signs – but surely her maid would. It was a commonplace that a lady’s maid was always the first to know when she was carrying. Monthly matters, even in the stratum in which he had been born, were always handled well out of the ken of menfolk, so the first he would know would be when Nina came to him to tell him he was to be a father.

He imagined the scene fondly at night as he drifted to sleep – how she would look, shy, happy, bright-eyed, a little pink from having to discuss something of such intimacy. He almost could not bear to think about what he would feel. Could the human heart hold so much happiness without actually bursting? He wanted a child so much – a child of Nina’s. He thought of his dream, of the small hand in his. A son, a son to follow him into his business. Of course, a son would be best, but if it was a little girl – a girl who looked like Nina – who would sit in his lap and wind him round her tiny fingers . . . He saw her playing with his pocket watch, head gravely bent, saw himself kiss her golden curls, saw her look up and laugh, tiny white teeth and rosy cheeks . . . He would love her just as much as any boy. So much love waiting for her. A man could die of so much love . . .

He waited, aching with hope. September turned to October and the leaves began to fall, but still the news didn’t come.