Page 84 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘Dancing with me would be going too far.’

‘I’d like to dance with you.’ It was said with the unspoken rider but I can’t.

She searched for something less fraught to say. ‘I’m doing some new drawings. You remember Gulliver’s Travels?’

‘That I do,’ he said, with pleasure.

It was one of the books she had borrowed for him. They had discussed it afterwards, and she remembered that some of the things he had said had made her see parts of it in a different light. She missed those times. She felt she had gained as much from his reading as he had.

‘I tried reading it to Louis, but it’s too old for him. So I thought I’d just tell him the story, and make illustrations to go with it.’

‘Illustrations.’ He seemed to savour the word.

‘Other stories, too. It’s…something to do,’ she added, on a downward note.

‘I’d like to see ’em,’ he said. ‘They’ll be special.’ She knew from his tone that he had understood her underlying thought, I shall never be a great artist, and was refuting it. He always understood.

Just then a movement of the crowd pushed him against her, and their hands, trapped at their sides, touched. She couldn’t help herself: her fingers curled round his; his folded protectively round hers; and she looked up at him. Just one brief, stolen glance, to sear his face on her memory. In the moving light of the bonfire flames, he looked all golden, his beautiful features carved – a golden statue. Then the pressure eased and they moved apart again. He made a small sound, as though he was going to say something more, and then he was gone, quickly and silently, leaving a black yawning space beside her.

Rose knew perfectly well that Michael Woodrow was there. She had been avoiding him all evening, with some skill, but her luck could not last. When she was helping to clear the tables of dirty plates, he caught her with a loaded tray in her hands, too hampered by it to squeeze through a gap and slip away.

As a precaution, he took hold of the other side of the tray. ‘It’s no use trying to run away,’ he said.

She gave him a scornful look. ‘I wouldn’t trouble myself to run away from you,’ she said. When she heard it, it didn’t sound as good as it had in her head.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to. Unless we do it together – how about that, Miss Hawkins? Shall we elope to Gretna Green? Would that be romantic?’

‘Stupid, more like,’ she said. ‘Don’t you ever give up?’

He became serious. ‘No. You should know that about me. I shan’t give up. I’d be a poor specimen if I didn’t fight for you.’

‘I never asked you to. Why can’t you just leave it alone?’

‘Because I know you care for me, and I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. Why are you angry with me? It can’t be for asking you to marry me.’

‘Oh, can’t it?’ she retorted.

‘But that makes no sense. Tell me, Rosie dear, what is it that troubles you?’

His tenderness almost undid her, but she replied harshly, though with tears underneath, ‘There are things about me you don’t know. And if you knew them, you wouldn’t want to marry me. So there! Now let go my tray. Or you can take it yourself, it makes no difference to me.’

He let go, and she turned and stepped away as quickly as she could, almost running into Frederick, who was looming there. ‘Get out of my way,’ she snapped.

‘I’ll take this one,’ he said. ‘You go and enjoy yourself.’

She looked at him suspiciously, not believing he could be kind. ‘What’s to enjoy? Load o’ noise and rubbishing people! Nothing but more work for us.’

He shook his head, with a look of amused understanding. ‘Why don’t you say yes to the poor bloke and be done with it? If you keep pushing him away he might stay pushed one day. And he’s quite a catch, I’d have thought.’

‘You’d have thought wrong, then. Mind your own business and get out of my way.’

He was clearly laughing at her as he stepped aside, which did nothing either for her anger or the regret she was trying to force back down.

Richard, being male, did not have to wait to be asked to dance. He picked out the prettiest girl he could see, neatly cut her out from her hovering male attendant, and swept her, giggling, into the circle. She was not unwilling, and he danced with great vigour, seeing the approving eyes, the smiling faces, all around. He knew they liked him for setting aside dignity. In a lifetime of being the Spare, the younger son, he had learned exactly where the line was between joining in and making a fool of himself. They liked it when a god stepped down to their level for a little while, but he must always remain a god.

The girl was pleased to have been chosen; his arm round her waist and his hand holding hers were an innocent thrill that she might boast about to her female friends. But flirtation must be hearty, overt, and obviously not intended to be taken seriously. He had his father’s example not to follow.

And, of course, in another class altogether, there was the example of Lady Shacklock. The unwelcome thought of her suddenly arrived and almost made him miss his step. Relations between the Castle and Ashridge Park were non-existent at the moment, and such a state of affairs would make things difficult if it persisted. There were things that the great landlords had to co-operate in for the neighbourhood to flourish. It would almost have been better for him to fulfil her wishes: as his mistress she would have maintained discretion. But the idea had never had the least attraction for him. He had to admit that, young and healthy as he was, there were times when he wanted, even needed physical release. But since Molly, he could not do it without love. What the body wanted, the head and heart must also agree to.