The truth of the matter was that the ‘pragmatic’ side of Mary had very nearly given up, and persisted only because a previously unknown part of her insisted. She207had already given herself a shake for lying in bed that morning daydreaming about the man, which was a novel experience, for she had never been at all fanciful, and had certainly never sighed over a gentleman, except sighs of resignation at their stupidity. What was more, he had crowded into her thoughts as she fell asleep, the slightly amused expression in his eyes and his unhurried baritone voice lurking in her semi-consciousness. He was a restful sort of man, not a ‘pond skater’ forever flitting about, the sort who would make a good angler if he mastered the practicalities. That was where the daydream had taken over when she woke, for she had created in her head an image of a summer dusk and the pair of them by the lake, very content both with the fishes in their basket and with each other. They had dismantled their rods and were standing close together as the sun dipped below the western horizon, and those fish wily enough not to take their flies were rising to flaunt their survival on the mirror-smooth surface of the water. She would slip her arm through his and lean against him, her cheek against his shoulder, and they would walk very slowly towards the house, and by the copper beech tree he would halt, put down the basket and rods, and turn and … This is where the pragmatic Mary Lound had interrupted very forcefully. Was she seriously dreaming of being kissed? She had, naturally, only ever been kissed upon the cheek, and by relatives or, on a couple of occasions, by Harry Penwood, who was a brother in all but blood and name. She had never thought of anything more intimate, but208here she was, wondering what it would be like, wanting to know what it would be like, if Rowland Kempsey kissed her. It was immodest, unladylike, and sent little thrills through her. She had been shocked at her own feelings, and therefore spent the morning very, very definitely not thinking about the afternoon, and the fishing lesson. Luncheon, however, meant that there remained only two hours before their appointment, and keeping it and him from her mind was no longer a possibility.
She went up to change still with a frown of preoccupation between her brows, and aware of excitement in the pit of her stomach, and set off rather early for the assignation, telling herself that she would linger by the lake a little on the way, both to assess the water and calm herself. It would not do to look too eager. Despite this, when she was shown into the hall at Tapley End the clock upon the mantelpiece assured her it still lacked five minutes to three, which must mean that she was in fact at least ten minutes early. She turned as footsteps sounded, and Sir Rowland entered from the west wing, his rod bag in his hand and dressed for the occasion.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Lound. You see me ready for lake, lady and line. You would laugh if you saw my valet’s face whilst watching me dress “down” for an appointment rather than “up”. His soul is deeply offended.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does go against instinct, but I have been doing that for so many years I have ceased to think209about it. I have to admit I have reached the stage with several hats in the past that have become too disreputable and battered even for fishing.’ She smiled at him, and if the dimple became rather forced, the smile had definitely begun as natural, and her eyes did not lie. A frisson ran through Sir Rowland. She was pleased to see him, possibly nearly as pleased as he was to see her.
They walked out to the lake together, not as close as in Mary’s daydream, but perhaps closer than absolutely necessary, each trying to pretend they were not as aware of the other as they felt.
‘You know, Miss Lound, I have been thinking how very fortunate I am to have you as a guide in so many aspects of Tapley End, for I feel remarkably at home here even after little over four weeks in residence. I have made copious notes so that I will remember my tenants and their holdings, and shall have them at my bedside – the notes not the tenants – so that I may commit them to memory quickly. I was told once that thinking about something just before one falls asleep lodges it more permanently in the memory, and it does seem to work.’
Mary thought of how her head had been full of Sir Rowland before she fell asleep, and how prominent he was in her mind upon waking, and did not challenge him, and her cheeks became very slightly pink.
‘Have you also tried to remember my strictures upon your casting technique, Sir Rowland?’
‘Er, I think so, but it would be foolhardy of me to say210yes, if I immediately prove that I have not. I shall remain slightly non-committal, if I may.’
‘You may remain as you wish, sir, since we will see so very soon.’
‘Is that meant to turn me to a jelly?’
‘No, merely to focus your mind.’
‘I promise you, Miss Lound, I am thinking of nothing other than here and now.’
She halted some dozen feet from the edge of the water and set down the fishing basket, laying her rod bag on top, then looked at him.
‘Your first test, Sir Rowland. Can you put your rod together without hesitation?’
‘Ah, that I can, Miss Lound, because I did as you suggested, and tried it several times in the gunroom. Observe my dexterity.’ With which he removed his rod from the bag and proceeded to not only put it together but thread the tapering line through the rings and then attach the winch. At the completion of this exercise, he made her a small bow as at the end of a theatrical performance, and she laughed and gave a small clap of her hands.
‘I am impressed, Sir Rowland, very impressed.’
‘Put it down to the quality of the teacher, Miss Lound.’
‘I shall not do so, sir, for it is the pupil who has put in the effort. Now we have to see how you manage actually making a cast. Remember not to free too much line to begin with.’
She watched him as he raised his rod and gave the211little twirl about the head and then looked back towards the trees as he flicked it forwards to land a few feet into the water with an audible ‘plop’.
‘How was that?’
‘A distinct improvement, but you ought to be looking where you want your fly to land, not where you do not wish it to do so. The wrist was more supple, and you did not make too great a circle. Next time look at the lake, not behind you.’
He made another attempt, studiously staring to his front, but was concentrating so much upon that aspect that he let go of the line as he made the circle above his head and the hook was thrown outward by the action and caught in Miss Lound’s straw hat.
‘Sir Rowland! Be careful!’
‘I am most frightfully sorry, ma’am. The hook has not gone through, has it?’
‘No, but … I will remove the hat so that the hook can be extracted.’ She untied the faded ribands and lifted her hat from her head and set it upon the ground, then knelt down beside it. Sir Rowland, much chastened, did likewise.
‘Let me hold the hat so that you have both hands free,’ he said, suiting action to words. Their heads were no more than two feet apart, and he could smell the scent of roses upon her. Her fingers trembled, very slightly. ‘Have you ever jabbed a hook into your finger?’ he asked.
‘Twice, though I assure you it was not something I sought to repeat. It was exceedingly painful, and it is212imperative that one does not attempt to pull the hook from the flesh, because of the barb. The only answer is to push it until it erupts through the skin at the adjacent point, and then cut off the barb and withdraw the metal.’
‘I am surprised that you did not fall into a faint.’
‘Would a gentleman have done so?’
