Page 55 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)

Mr Cowling had been away a lot, about his various businesses.

In between trips, when he was at home, he encouraged Nina to entertain and, obedient to his wishes, she had held several dinner parties, inviting the town’s prominent people, whose names Bobby supplied.

The bathrooms were finished, and everything put to rights.

Mr Cowling was so proud of them he would rather have liked to have a grand unveiling, but as it was, he could not even boast about them to his guests.

He only hoped that someone would make a murmured enquiry of the butler or housekeeper, be guided discretely to one of the new wonders, and later spread the word around the district.

Because of his absences, nothing had been done about acquiring a horse for Nina. But she was content to ride Bobby’s, and Bobby was perfectly happy to lend a horse that would otherwise require exercising by a groom, especially when it meant she had company on her hacks.

On the night of the ball, Mr Cowling gave Bobby’s home his customary sharp inspection, and saw nothing to envy.

Welland Hall was much larger, and was stuffed with furniture, pictures and artefacts that were obviously family heirlooms, while Wriothesby House was rather bare, neither he nor Nina having had anything to inherit.

But though candlelight and a mass importation of flowers made a fine impression, he could see that underneath it was as plain and shabby as Wriothesby had been when they moved in.

The fact that the Wharfedales didn’t care a jot about that was, in his view, nothing to the point.

Now that the bathrooms were finished, he intended to take the first opportunity to fill Wriothesby with modern furniture and comforts and show the neighbourhood how it was done.

He was relieved to see no one was wearing a tiara.

He had wanted to buy Nina one in time for the ball, but she had told him Bobby had said it was not de rigueur .

She hadn’t told him how Bobby had laughed at the idea; she hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings.

Mr Cowling had accepted at last that there was to be no tiara – at least, not this time – but had brought her back, from a quick trip to London, a very pretty hair clip, a spray of emeralds and diamonds to match her necklace.

He had insisted on Nina’s wearing it, and it did look very pretty.

Nobody else had on anything like it, which made Nina feel uncomfortable and Mr Cowling feel proud.

The talk before they sat down to dine was all about hunting.

Bobby, doing her rounds, apologised to Mr Cowling.

‘I’m afraid this must be dull for you. Hunting people are the world’s worst bores.

Aubrey says we should be quarantined before any social event until we got it out of our systems. Come and talk to him now about something sensible and un-horsy. ’

Nina was pleased to find herself seated at dinner between Bobby’s brother Adam and a Lord Foxton who, despite being over sixty, was not only a keen huntsman but was handsome and a tremendous flirt, and knowledgeable about so many subjects he had no need to rely on horses to get Nina’s attention.

She duly impressed him with the depth of her own education and they had some very lively chat.

It turned out that he had a passing interest in archaeology, and he was able to engage her on the subject of the Valley of the Kings and the intended expedition that winter.

He had met Howard Carter at Didlington Hall, being acquainted with Lord Amherst, who was a keen collector of Egyptian artefacts.

Adam responded, when he had her attention, by flirting, which in turn spurred Lord Foxton to flirt too.

At times Nina was besieged from both sides simultaneously, and could only laugh and enjoy it.

Foxton, who had known Adam all his life, said, ‘Give it up, young Denbigh! I can give you a field length’s start and still get the brush. ’

‘We shall see, sir, when the dancing begins.’

Foxton grinned. ‘Oh, we shall, indeed! I am considered the finest dancer in the county, Mrs Cowling. Young Denbigh here has a reputation as a toe-crusher. Many a young lady has believed he has himself shod with iron like his horses – an economy measure, I imagine,’ he added, in a pretended undertone.

‘I advise you to keep your own dainty feet far away from his.’

Mr Cowling, meanwhile, had tactfully been seated between two non-hunting guests – or, rather, the non-hunting wives of hunting guests.

He did his best to engage the ladies in suitable conversation; but Mrs Hansom-Paige was one of those old-fashioned wives who, unless speaking about her own children, had no conversation, and could only listen and nod with a blankness of expression that would defeat all but the hardiest talker.

On his other side, Lady Wyville presented a different problem.

As one married into an old Leicestershire family, she resented having been put next to ‘an industrialist’.

As a friend of the departed Ampleforths she resented a parvenu’s being able to buy Wriothesby House at all.

And as a woman who had never been handsome, and whose marriage had provided a title but little money, she resented Mr Cowling’s wealth, and Nina’s acquisition of it though being nothing but pretty.

Her greatest resentment, however, was caused by the fact that whenever Mr Cowling was turned her way, he was also looking towards the place where Nina was sitting, and he plainly had difficulty in keeping his attention on his dinner companion.

His eye and mind would keep straying to Nina, sparkling between two men who were, as was evident even to a man not skilled in the art, flirting with her madly.

Lady Wyville might talk about local politics, corn prices, the strange incidence of earthquakes in the Midlands and Wales, the shocking number of Russians in London, or Singer Sargent’s latest portrait, but Mr Cowling’s heart was no longer in his replies, and even his, ‘Yes, indeed,’ and ‘So true,’ were being delivered over Lady Wyville’s shoulder.

She was not accustomed to such treatment – and from such a person!

When the dancing began, the company was joined by a large influx of guests invited only to the ball.

The non-dancing set was given an ante-room and card tables where they could play bridge to their hearts’ content.

Mr Cowling was – as any friend of the King needed to be – very good at bridge, and though he danced neatly he would always sooner play cards; but where Nina was, he wanted to be.

He secured a dance with her, and asked if she had enjoyed her companions at dinner.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘But after a while they got rather silly. I suppose it was the wine. I preferred it when they talked about sensible things.’

That smoothed his ruffled feathers, and he was able to yield her with reasonable grace to Adam Denbigh, and to take over a lean woman who, having asked if he hunted and heard the negative reply, had nothing else to say to him, and allowed him to trundle her round in silence while he looked over everyone’s heads for Nina.

Having seen that he was willing to dance, Bobby made full use of him, and as soon as he bowed thank you to one partner, she was presenting him to another.

The evening wore on, the atmosphere heated up, the dancing never flagged.

At the supper break, he found himself obliged to offer his arm to a Mrs Anstruther, a hunting widow, who at least had conversation beyond horses.

She encouraged him to talk about his business, exhibited an intelligent interest in shoes, and had some useful suggestions about a better way to make a riding boot.

She then recounted amusing anecdotes and had him laughing at some of the absurdities of the hunting community.

He found he was actually enjoying himself, though it did not stop him noticing that Nina, at another table, was surrounded by young and not-so-young men, and that her group seemed to be the liveliest in the room.

When dancing resumed, he hoped to catch Nina and dance with her again, but she was whirled away at once by one of her dinner companions, the one Cowling had labelled in his own mind as ‘the elderly roué’.

He was surprised to find himself dancing with Lady Wyville – she seemed just to appear in front of him in such a way as to make it impossible not to ask her.

She danced stiffly and properly, and was hard to lead.

He supposed she had commanded all her life, and after a few moments he gave up and let her guide him where she wanted.

The floor was crowded, the fun was gathering pace, and people seemed to be laughing a great deal.

The determined impulsion of his partner eventually brought him to a spot where he could see Nina in the arms of Lord Foxton and laughing at something he had said.

Foxton was holding her, Cowling thought, unnecessarily close, and was smiling down at her with a look he would have described as predatory, if he could have thought of the word.

Lady Wyville said, in a tone that suggested the exact opposite, ‘You mustn’t mind about Foxton. He is an abominable flirt, but there’s no harm to him.’

‘He seems to be enjoying himself,’ Cowling said discontentedly as, reaching the end of the room, Foxton tightened his arm round Nina’s waist and whirled her in an unnecessary double turn. ‘Good dancer, too,’ he added through gritted teeth.

‘Your wife dances correctly,’ Lady Wyville commented. ‘She must have been well taught.’

Talking about Nina was always a temptation to Cowling, and he described the superior education she had had at Miss Thornton’s school. Missing the contemptuous curl of Lady Wyville’s lip, he went on to mention her bluestocking aunt who had brought her up when her soldier father had died.