Page 93 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘Ah, yes, the wedding, We did hear about it – in Lady Vane’s drawing-room as it happens.’

‘She’d have heard all about it from my aunt Caroline – they are bosom chums.’

‘Quite a small affair, I believe?’

He considered her tone, wondering if there was hurt in it. ‘Scandalously so,’ he said. ‘Family and neighbours only. Even the servants are shocked. But my brother is not a great one for entertaining, and a country wedding, you know…Not like a Town one. I wish you could have been there—’

‘Oh, no,’ she demurred immediately. ‘I’ve barely met your sister. And I know nothing of Sir Angus. I believe it’s a love match?’

He ignored that. ‘But I mean it,’ he said – a little to his own surprise. ‘Weddings are deadly affairs for us men – nothing but fuss and feathers! The only possible leaven to the lump is entertaining company to distract one. And I have found you very entertaining whenever I’ve met you.’

‘It sounds as if what you want is a jester in motley.’

‘I expressed myself clumsily. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

‘I’m not offended,’ she said. ‘If one can’t be decorative one must be useful. I only have to look at that reflection over your shoulder in the shop window to know where my duty lies.’

‘Everyone knows that reflections lie. I, for instance, look quite plain in the mirror when I’m shaving of a morning, whereas in real life I am extremely comely.’

He had said it to make her laugh, and she did. ‘Oh, extremely! Whenever one sees you one is put in mind of Alexander the Great.’

‘Now that is downright satirical!’ he said severely. ‘Your tone suggests you mean the exact opposite. Shame on you! I say,’ he added on impulse, in a different tone, ‘why don’t you come to tea now? I’m dreading it, three females fresh from the mantuamaker, but you’ll make all the difference.’

‘Thank you, but wedding talk is my least favourite kind.’

‘Simple-minded as they are, they’ll hardly dare talk dresses with a guest there,’ he said. ‘And if they do, you and I can have a sensible conversation on the other side of the table.’

‘But you forget, I’m waiting for my sister,’ she said mildly. ‘In fact, I should go back. If she finds out that I wandered away she’ll be angry, and expound on my many faults for the rest of the evening. Goodbye, Mr Tallant. It was…entertaining talking to you.’

He smiled at her mischievous word, and lifted his hat. ‘It was delightful talking to you,’ he said.

The first thing Alice did when she got back from Town was to change into her riding habit. She wanted a long gallop to drive all the gowns and wedding nonsense out of her head. She liked Angus enormously and thought Rachel was very lucky to be marrying someone so sensible, but the wedding preparations couldn’t but remind her of her own situation. The dreadful shame of the Wentworth business was fading, but what was left afterwards was an emptiness. When the wedding was over and life went back to normal, what would normal be for her? What was she to do with the rest of her life? What purpose would she have? Occasional aunt to Louis and Alexander? Sad spinster aunt, gradually growing more shrivelled, like a forgotten apple. Some women – Kitty was one – found all they needed in the gentle tides of the domestic sea. But, then, it was her sea. Alice imagined that she could have been happy with her own, if it had contained a certain person…As it was, she needed something to do.

She left her room to go down to the stables, but bumped into a maid, evidently coming to find her, with the message that she was requested in the nursery. She changed direction and climbed the stairs, to find that the emergency was simply that Louis wanted to show her the book Uncle Richard had brought back from London for him – Rip Van Winkle, by Washington Irving.

‘Will you read it to me, Auntie?’

‘I will, but not right this minute,’ she said. ‘I have to go out, and you have to have your tea, and then your bath.’

‘When I’ve had my barf will you?’ he asked, wheedling. ‘It’s got pictures. Look!’

So she opened it and, yes, it did have pictures, full colour plates, delicate and detailed drawings by Arthur Rackham. She gazed, fascinated, until a grubby small pointing finger intruded into her line of sight. ‘Who’s that funny man?’

‘That’s Rip Van Winkle himself,’ she said.

‘What’s he doing?’

‘We’ll find out when we read the book,’ she said. She ached from standing still at the dressmaker’s and sitting still at tea and on the journey home. She had to get out. ‘I’ll come and see you after your bath and read to you in your nightshirt, I promise.’

She left him quickly before he could ask anything more, clattered down the stairs fast – and bumped into Richard coming up.

‘There you are! I was looking for you,’ he said. ‘It didn’t take you long to get into riding clothes!’

‘No, I—’ she began.

‘I went upstairs first,’ he went on, seeming impervious to her air of haste, ‘and then thought you’d probably head straight out to the stables, but you weren’t there – though Josh has got Pharaoh ready for you.’

‘Oh, good. I—’