Chapter Thirteen #3
As she was crossing the broad track from the Carr, she saw a wagon coming up the hill, and recognised handsome blonde Della, Axe’s Suffolk Punch.
Her heart jumped. Axe had seen her, and it would have been churlish, if wise, to ride on.
Pharaoh would have been whinnying his silly head off by now; Bee only goggled and snorted and palpably considered bolting from this new hazard.
‘Stand still,’ Alice told her, checking her. And then the wagon swung onto the track and Axe halted it. ‘Hullo!’ she said, and was greeted by an eager bark from Dolly, who was riding on the seat beside him. In the back of the wagon was a load of logs. ‘Who are they for?’
A certain tension seemed to go out of Axe, as if he had not been sure of a friendly reception.
‘Topheath,’ he said. ‘I persuaded Hugh Marbeck it makes sense to get your winter logs in in the summer, and not wait until you need ’em.
’ He wound the reins and got down. ‘Give Della a breather,’ he offered in explanation.
He looked at her carefully. ‘Want to get down?’ he asked diffidently.
The jump of her heart now made her stomach contract. She nodded, and he came to help her. Queen Bee foolishly jerked her head away from Axe’s hand, but she quieted when he stroked her. ‘Riding your ma’s horse,’ he commented.
‘Pharaoh’s got a bit of a strain,’ she said.
She freed herself from the pommel, and he put his hands up to her.
Her breath quickened as she leaned towards him and his strong hands took her by the waist to jump her down.
And didn’t immediately let go of her when her feet touched the ground.
For an instant she was standing so close to him she could feel his heat and catch his scent.
‘Been riding him a lot lately,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Seen you about.’
‘I didn’t see you.’
His look was the only answer.
Now he let her go, and stepped back politely, and she stooped to pay attention to Dolly, which usefully hid her face for a moment. ‘She’s getting fat,’ she said.
‘Not fat. She’s had a lot of pups. Spoils your figure.’
She stood up, and they looked at each other for a long moment, out of words.
She noticed the gleam of golden hairs on his cheeks and chin.
He only shaved every other day, unless he was going somewhere special.
It gave her a strange, hollow feeling to know that about him.
His hair was wind-ruffled, the sunshine picking out the russet in it, soft-looking.
At the banquet it had been oiled down, smooth and dark gold. She liked it better like this.
He was studying her in the same detail. ‘I hear your sister’s young man’s visiting,’ he said.
She didn’t ask how he knew. ‘Yes. His father died and he came into the title and a fortune, so they can get married now.’
‘When’s that going to be?’
‘The beginning of October.’ She searched for something more to tell him. ‘I’m going to be her bridesmaid.’
‘New dress for that, for sure?’
‘Something fancy, I expect. Not me at all.’
‘You’d look good in anything,’ he said tenderly, and she wanted to cry.
‘You looked good in your new suit, at the celebration banquet,’ she said.
He made a restless movement of his head. ‘Lot o’ nonsense.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that time recently, about the train crash.’
He looked at her seriously. ‘Don’t say I’m a hero. I only did what anyone would do.’
She shook her head. ‘I think you’ve got it the wrong way round. You’re not a hero because of what you did. You did what you did because you’re a hero.’
He had nothing to say to that. It would take some thinking about.
She went on, smiling faintly, ‘And you have to let people admire you if they want to. It’s just good manners.’
That made him smile too. ‘If you say so.’
‘You’re not wearing your medal.’
‘That’s for high days and holidays,’ he said. Then he was grave. ‘Thinking about the train crash,’ he began quietly, ‘is that what makes you look…like a lost soul?’
He had noticed, she thought. Only him – no-one at home. ‘It’s not that.’
‘What then?’
She felt a burning of tears and forced them back ‘Someone in London – a man – deceived me. I…I was foolish, believed everything he said, and it turned out that it was only…’ She stopped.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Axe said, with grim concern.
‘My feelings. My pride. Not…any other way.’
He was silent a moment, and she thought there was some struggle going on inside – perhaps to find the right words. ‘Not all men are like that,’ he said roughly. ‘You’ll get over him. Find someone else. Give it time.’
It was more complicated than that, and of course she hadn’t told him enough for him to understand.
She desperately wanted to explain to him, to tell him everything.
She wanted him to understand – him, of all people.
Him alone – she would never tell anyone else what a fool she had been, how nearly she had been a worse one.
‘I wish I could talk to you,’ she said.
‘You can tell me anything,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said. That was not the problem, and they both knew it. ‘If we could just be friends…’
He nodded. She suddenly had the most tremendous urge to kiss him.
She had a wild moment of imagining herself stepping forward, putting her arms up around his neck, pressing her mouth to his.
He would gather her in, hold her close to him, and she would never go away again.
She knew in that instant for a certainty that he was thinking the same thing.
She ached. It was like longing to go home.
Then he said, ‘Best you get on. You don’t want that mare catching cold. Josh’d have my hide if he knew I’d kept you talking.’
He was reminding her of the hazards, of the eyes that would be watching, the tongues that would wag, of the disapproval and condemnation that were just waiting to be unleashed.
Drearily she took the reins, turned Bee so that her nearside was to him, and bent her knee for him to throw her up into the saddle.
He held Bee’s head courteously while she settled herself, then let her go.
She looked down at him, bareheaded in the sunshine, for a long time, trying to work out what to say, and then he smiled, sadly, as if he knew what she was thinking.
‘Goodbye’s all there is,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’
Angus asked for a private interview with Giles in which, in fine traditional manner, he asked formally for Rachel’s hand.
‘She doesn’t need my permission,’ Giles said. ‘I couldn’t forbid the match if I wanted to.’
‘I hope you don’t want to, sir,’ Angus said seriously.
‘Good grief, no! You’ve proved your fidelity over this last year and more. If anyone deserves her, you do.’
‘I’m in a position now to support her in a suitable manner,’ Angus persevered, determined to do everything properly. His courtship had not begun well; he wanted it to end with no bad feelings.
Giles eyed him with interest. ‘I’m her brother, you know, not her father. Do you want me to demand you set out your credentials?’
‘I’d sooner everything was above-board. My father disinherited me, as you know, but I inherited a separate fortune from my grandmother.’ He told Giles the amount.
‘Good God! I had no idea it was so much. Well, I’m glad for you. If Rachel doesn’t fritter it all away on dresses, you’ll be very comfortable together.’
A little frown gathered between Angus’s brows. ‘You’re very hard on her,’ he mentioned.
‘I’m sorry. It’s a brother’s privilege to tease.
And she is very ignorant and uninformed, though that’s not entirely her fault.
My father didn’t believe in education for females, and my mother…
Well, you know my mother’s views. And I was rarely at home to take an interest in her or Alice. I suppose that is to my discredit.’
‘Oh, no, sir. I’m not wishing to pass blame on anyone. And the fact is that I love Rachel just as she is.’
‘Well, that’s the biggest mystery, but I’m glad to hear it. If my blessing is worth anything to you, you have it with all my heart. On one condition.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘That you stop calling me sir.’
* * *
On Monday Angus caught the train to London.
A telephone call from the public operator in Marylebone station to his office provided the information that Mr Cowling was still at home in Market Harborough, so he took the Underground to St Pancras, pondered sending a telegram, then decided penitence would have more effect on the unprepared mind.
At Market Harborough station he had to ask the way, and found that it was only a short walk, not worth taking a cab for.
The house was surprisingly small, but the door was opened by a tall, bony manservant who was clearly too big – on the inside as well as the outside – for such a modest dwelling.
He was admitted into a small parlour to wait, and asked the manservant to be sure to tell Mr Cowling that he had come to apologise, in case that should make the difference between being seen or sent away.
He had not taken into account the euphoria of new parenthood.
Mr Cowling arrived so immediately he must have jumped up as soon as he heard the name, and came into the room with a wide smile and shook his hand with both his own.
‘My dear boy, I’m so sorry about your father, though I know you were estranged, but the Lord only gives you one of them – aye, that’s the truth!
– and you must have felt it. How is your mother taking it? You left her in good health, I hope?’
‘Stoically, sir. And, yes, she’s as well as can be expected. I came to apologise for leaving so abruptly and without asking per—’
He got no further. ‘Nay, lad, nay, no need to apologise. What else could you do when you got the call? You were missed, though, I won’t deny. And my man, Moxton, said you gave your name as Sir Angus – is that right? I suppose your father couldn’t keep the title from you, whatever else.’
‘No, sir. I inherited the baronetcy, and also a collateral fortune that wasn’t in his gift, left to me direct by my grandmother.’