‘I would not have him cross my threshold,’ declared Miss Lound.
‘You will not be required t—I doubt he would accept, for fear of you.’ Sir Rowland it was who coloured this time, having begun to reply instinctively, imagining her as Lady Kempsey. His invitation to dinner on Christmas Eve was thus slightly rushed,338but accepted with every sign of pleasure. ‘Now, I wish to leave before the dusk, lest I trip over some fallen branch upon my walk back to the house.’ He stood and would have bowed over the hands of both ladies, but even as Lady Damerham pulled the bell for Atlow, Miss Lound moved towards the door also, offering to show him out herself. He opened it, and she passed out of the room before him. The hall was empty, and more dimly lit than the parlour. They could hear Atlow’s faint groans as he ascended from below stairs with arthritic knees. Sir Rowland took her hands, swiftly, and squeezed them, leaning so that she felt his breath upon her cheek.
‘I have no doubts,’ he whispered, near her ear. ‘None.’ As he straightened, his lips brushed her cheek, so delicately she might have imagined it. ‘It is a shame the weather is so inclement,’ he said, his voice raised to normal as Atlow approached. ‘If by chance it does improve, I do hope you will ride with me, Miss Lound. I fear the winter will keep our mounts stable-bound for much of it.’
‘Indeed, Sir Rowland. We must take advantage of whatever chances are given to us.’
Was she implying something more than the obvious? He thought she was. Christmas Eve could not come quickly enough.
There were but two opportunities to ride, and both required that the horses keep up a reasonable pace339to keep warm. On each occasion, Mary returned to the house with pink cheeks, but since her nose was also rather pink, Lady Damerham did not assume Sir Rowland had been paying her excessive attentions. The realisation that Mary was very likely to receive a proposal of marriage had grown slowly in her mind, since she had so long been convinced otherwise, but these last few weeks it had become evident to her that it was only a matter of time. She did wonder why that period of time was being drawn out, but no doubt Sir Rowland had his reasons. She said nothing to Mary, who had not developed the habit of dropping his name into every possible conversation, or shown other ‘maiden in love’ traits, but who was noticeably happier, except when thrown into unexpected dejection. These swings of mood were, Lady Damerham felt, symptomatic of her emotional state.
The musical evening was one where Mary Lound was very content to listen, and to sit just in front of Sir Rowland, aware of his presence as if it gave off an aura that encompassed her. She thought that not sitting beside him would avoid wagging tongues, and was quite relieved that the gossip was about Lord Cradley’s ‘invisible’ wife.
Madeleine Banham was present, and if she looked a little reserved and shy, most thought it was from nervousness at performing before quite so large an audience. As Sir Rowland had surmised, Harry Penwood was in close enough attendance for it to be340noted, not least by other admirers, and when she took to the pianoforte to play, it was he who was instantly available to turn the pages for her. However, when it came to her singing, she asked if Mr Kempsey would sing with her, which made Tom blush with pleasure. Sir Rowland did notice however, the look that Miss Banham cast Sir Harry before she did so, a look which he thought asked permission. He was, he felt, learning at last to ‘read’ unspoken female messages, even if he sometimes mistranslated. Lady Roxton, also noting the look, smiled to herself.
Lord Roxton had been convinced that his wife would be as every match-making mama, and eager for her daughter to marry, if not a duke, since they were in short supply, at the very least a viscount. He himself simply wanted her happy and content, and decently established.
‘My dear, if young Penwood is as serious as he appears …’
‘I would not say the word against it.’
‘You would not?’ Lord Roxton had sounded amazed.
‘Naturellement, I wish for the best for Madeleine, but the best need not be the highest rank. ’E would be always the caring ’usband, would be steady, and we would not “lose”la Petite, for she would be so close.’
‘So if – and I say if – he should request permission to pay his addresses, you would not mind?’
‘That is what I ’ave been saying.’
His lordship smiled.341
‘You are always right, my dear.’
‘This I know.’ She smiled back at him.
Christmas Eve was a busy day in most residences, with the greenery being brought into decorate stairs, beams and mantelshelves in garlands and swags, and at Tapley End there was plenty to decorate. Mrs Peplow was in charge, having seen to the preparations for many years, and all ran smoothly. Sir Rowland wandered about the house like a restless ghost, which made that dame mutter under her breath that gentlemen had a nasty habit of getting under one’s feet. He had invited the ladies from the dower house over early, so that the fire in the huge fireplace in the great hall could be lit as the darkness fell. It was his intention to show Miss Lound the portrait of Valentyne and then lead into his declaration, and hopefully the excitement would not diminish appetites for the dinner over which Cook was slaving below stairs.
He greeted his guests in the great hall and showed off the large portion of a tree trunk that had been set over carefully positioned kindling wood in the hearth, but he only had eyes for Miss Lound. When she divested herself of her thick and serviceable fur-trimmed cloak it revealed her in the dress of pomona green that he admired the first time she had come to dine, but on this occasion, though it was not a ball, she was wearing the emeralds from her grandmother, which sparkled in the soft golden glow of the candles,342already lit to ameliorate the afternoon gloom.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, simply.
‘Thank you, sir. I admit the emeralds are a little excessive for a dinner, but it is a special one.’
He hoped it really would be so, and not for the reason she imagined. He also realised he might have bought the emerald bracelet after all, despite the cost, since she possessed both necklace and earrings.
‘You do think them too grand?’ she asked, for he was staring a little.
‘No, oh no. I am sorry, I was thinking of something else.’ He realised that was not very complimentary, and added hastily, ‘That is, seeing you with such stones, which look glorious on you, I was reminded of a jewel I saw in London, in a shop window. It was very eye-catching, upon a bed of velvet, but not nearly as much as seeing emeralds upon your sk—person.’ He was digging himself a hole and knew it. ‘Forgive me.’
‘Of course. You were distracted … by green gemstones. They are rather fine and belonged to Grandmama.’
‘You enhance them.’
‘You are in a complimentary mood, Sir Rowland.’
‘I am.’
At this moment Tom Kempsey, entered the hall, apologising for his tardiness and blaming a recalcitrant cravat.
