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Lenient though the Alderman was, he would be very angry with a daughter who wrecked his chance of increasing his wealth and standing in the community.
They returned to the Alderman’s house in Sir Rendel’s coach, finding several of her father’s friends awaiting them for supper at the house, and all supped together, in the dining-room, on a vast side of beef and other special dishes sent up by Poll, the cook, who had taken great pains to please, on this special day.
Sir Rendel ate little, yet seemed very well pleased with the company, and Cornelia had to admit that his manners were better than she had expected, although he did look a little sardonic at times, listening to Master Arkwright talk of his latest project for making a fortune. .
Jabez Arkwright was a little younger than her father, thin as a lath and rapid in his speech. He constantly devised new methods of making money, yet rarely seemed to benefit by them, and was, although much liked, regarded as a little eccentric. His wife, a short, plump woman of thirty or so, teased him cheerfully out of his more lunatic schemes, and, when he was engaged upon some whim, was known to run his grocer’s business competently for him. It was generally thought to be all her doing that he was not already ruined.
When they rose up from table, Sir Rendel suggested that they dance a little, having discovered that Master Arkwright played very prettily upon the guitar.
The Alderman looked embarrassed, pointing out that there was mighty little room, but Sir Rendel swept away all argument, and was so insistent and smiling that very soon the maids had removed all furniture from the parlour, leaving room for three couples to stand up.
John Peppercorn took Mary’s hand. ‘The coranto?’ he asked Master Arkwright.
‘Dance with your wife, Master Arkwright,’ recommended Mistress Brent. ‘I will strive to play upon the lute for you.’
‘These modern dances are too fast,’ said Mistress Arkwright, laughing. ‘My legs will not keep up with the jigging and prancing. We danced most solemnly in my young day. Now it is all tumble-rumble like lads in a hayloft.’
One of the maids came in to say that Andrew was asked for at the door, and, sighing, the doctor stood up and made his farewells.
Cornelia ran after him with his gloves, which he had left on a chair, and he smiled. ‘I am glad to have a private word with you,’ he said at once. ‘I have not given you your present.’
Pulling out a small parcel, wrapped in green cloth, he pushed it quickly into her hands.
When he had gone, she stood in the hall, opening her gift. It was a book of which he had often spoken, a copy of the poems of John Milton, and she looked through the pages with delight.
A movement at the door made her turn. Sir Rendel was standing there, watching her with narrowed eyes.
She wrapped the book once more and called a maid to take it up to her chamber.
When she entered the parlour again, Sir Rendel bowed, offering his hand for a dance. The music tinkled out. Her father was watching attentively. Suppressing a desire to slap his face, she curtsied and accepted the offer.
‘If,’ murmured Sir Rendel as they energetically danced, ‘I had known it was your birthday, then I too should have brought a gift.’ He smiled at her look. ‘What did the solemn doctor give you? Some household almanac?’
‘The poems of John Milton,’ she said, from between her teeth.
He raised a sarcastic eyebrow. ‘Good God. That prating verse-maker? The doctor is out of tune with the times, it seems. I thought he had a long, puritanical face.’
‘He,’ she hissed, ‘is what you only pretend to be—a gentleman.’
He laughed softly, whirling her around so that her feet left the ground.
‘Ah,’ he murmured, grinning at her. ‘So we come to it. You have been silently radiating contempt for the past two hours. I wondered when you would spit out your thoughts, my pretty shrew. Am I to be denounced for a lecherous rogue? A roaring gallant out upon the town for wild amusement? Come, you will burst if you do not open the floodgates of your thoughts.’
She felt her mother watching her too, anxiously frowning, and forced a bright, false smile for her sake.
‘Oh, it would give me pleasure to tell you what I think of you, Sir Rendel,’ she whispered while she smiled. ‘But I think you already know that my father would be at least embarrassed, at worst endangered, if I were to voice my accusations. So I must regretfully keep my silence.’
‘How very practical,’ he observed. ‘One meets so few of your sex who can control their tongues. Have you ever met my Lady Castlemaine? No, of course you have not. She has a tongue like Greek Fire. She scorches the earth wherever she walks. The King fears her more than he fears death. My admiration of you is boundless.’
‘I do not want your admiration,’ she snapped.
He smiled oddly, gazing down at her with a queer flicker in his eyes. ‘No, I know you do not. I suspect it is that which I find so attractive. It is always more exciting to pursue game which is in full flight. Easy prey can be boring.’
She shivered. The thread of ruthless strength in his drawling voice alarmed her.
They danced in silence for a while. The room seemed very hot. Cornelia longed to stop dancing, to escape from him and cool her flushed cheeks.
‘Have you known the good doctor long?’ he asked suddenly, catching her off guard.
