Page 61 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)

Unless, of course, he thought as he drifted into sleep, unless she was with child.

Then she wouldn’t be riding anyway, and the problem would solve itself.

He slept, and dreamed of a little child toddling beside him, holding his hand.

In the dream he couldn’t turn his head and look down, so he couldn’t see it clearly, didn’t know if it was a boy or girl.

And at some point its hand slipped out of his, and he seemed to be carried helplessly forward by some imperative, leaving the little one behind.

It was another fine day on Sunday. Mr Cowling supervised Nina’s outfit, to make sure she was killingly smart, aware that there must be nothing apologetic about their appearance.

Best hat, he decreed, newest gloves, pearls.

He had himself turned out equally nattily, and even went out into the garden and found a late rose, just opening, for his buttonhole.

It was after church, when everyone poured out and stood around to chat, that the test would come.

And, yes, there were some stares. Lady Wyville exchanged the merest, coldest nod, then stood at a little distance, gathering a clique around her.

Heads together, they talked in low voices, and Mr Cowling was convinced it was about Nina.

On the other hand, Sir Bradley Graham, the immensely popular local MP, came straight up to the Cowlings and engaged them in friendly talk, and was soon joined by Mrs Anstruther, Mr and Mrs Burham Andrews – wealthy philanthropists and hunt supporters – and Lord Foxton.

The Crawfords inched up shyly and were absorbed.

Mr Cowling was also pleased, as the lower orders began to stream out, to see how many respectful doffings and bobs he received from the workers at the factory.

Nina reckoned the groups were about equal in size. Mrs Anstruther, seeing the direction of her glance, stepped closer and said in a brisk, practical voice, ‘Never mind them, Mrs Cowling. They are the past. We are the future.’

‘We are?’ Nina said, startled.

‘History teaches us that the world moves always towards greater liberality, greater openness.’ She made an expansive gesture with her hands.

‘Those who resist are doomed. Extinction awaits them. We are in a new century, on the brink of great change. We must not stand in the way of progress.’ She lowered her voice and added, ‘And we must have fun.’ Then she patted Nina’s arm briefly, and turned away to talk to Major Cazenove.

The crowning moment was when Lord and Lady Wharfedale, who had been delayed talking to the rector in the porch, came out and joined them, bringing the rector with them. He was very well respected in the town, and his opinion mattered.

Having spoken to the rector, Mr Cowling turned to the Wharfedales.

He drew a step closer to Nina and looked at them with a little reserve, to which Bobby reacted with her usual impulsive warmth.

She seized his hand, looked up earnestly into his face and said, ‘Ah, now, don’t frost me!

You are right, it was all my fault. I was so eager to have a new recruit to the cause that I persuaded her to go against her conscience, and that was very bad of me.

I confess it freely. And Aubrey has already given me such a scolding, you needn’t fear I don’t know the error of my ways.

I am quite repentant and beg you to forgive me. ’

‘Now, then, Lady Wharfedale,’ Mr Cowling began awkwardly, not knowing how to deal with this approach.

‘You mustn’t be angry with Nina! And please don’t forbid her to be my friend. I expect you think I am a bad influence – yes, I can see it in your face! – but it’s only because I’m so passionate about the well-being of women, and I’m sure that must be something you care about too.’

‘Now, Bobby,’ Lord Wharfedale said, ‘don’t start badgering the poor man. Mr Cowling,’ He offered his hand and shook Mr Cowling’s vigorously. ‘We have two eager, passionate young women for wives, and how shall we handle them?’

‘Passion is one thing . . .’ Mr Cowling began doubtfully.

Aubrey smiled and jerked his head towards the opposite camp.

‘When you look at the alternative – closed minds, bigoted ignorance, a refusal even to consider change – then a little passion, even if sadly unregulated, becomes attractive. You, sir – I’ve heard about your innovations at the factory – you are a man who embraces the future, a man who gets things done. I admire that tremendously.’

Mr Cowling was eyeing Wharfedale cannily, suspecting he was being buttered like a crumpet. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I can’t see how all that fits with the case in point. This business of riding across—’

Wharfedale nodded. ‘It’s all part of the same thing.

Those people—’ Another nod towards the Wyville party, ‘have closed minds. In the absence of rational thought, they can only cling to old prejudices, that riding cross-saddle is not decent . They cannot absorb the scientific argument, they balk at actual facts and empirical proof. They are,’ he added with a smile that invited Mr Cowling firmly into the scientific camp, ‘the flat-earth believers of the modern world.’

Mr Cowling was still resisting the implied flattery. ‘Facts and proof about what ?’ he demanded.

‘About the health benefits and vastly improved safety of the modern method of riding for women.’

‘You think they’re facts, do you?’

‘I know so.’

‘Well, sir, I shall have to think about it,’ Mr Cowling said.

Bobby, meanwhile, was talking in a low voice to Nina.

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry I got you into trouble.

I’ve heard what that dreadful Wyville creature is saying.

I only invited her to the ball because her late husband was a sort of cousin of Aubrey’s, but she’s always been a poisonous woman, eaten up by jealousy, and I shall be sure to keep her at arm’s length in future.

I’m so sorry you’ve been caught in the cross-fire, but you mustn’t mind her.

This horrid talk will soon die away, especially if we all stick together.

Margot Anstruther has been an absolute rock in mobilising the hunt people to rally to our side, even those who weren’t keen on the riding-astride thing.

And I’m sorry , dearest Nina, that I encouraged you to go behind your husband’s back, which was very wrong of me.

But my darling Aubrey will talk him round.

He could talk the birds down from the trees.

He’s given me my scolding and I’m suitably contrite, but he’s completely on my side – the dearest, loyalest old hound you can imagine!

Was Mr Cowling dreadfully angry? He doesn’t seem to be now.

He looks at you with the greatest fondness. ’

‘He was angry,’ Nina said, ‘but I told him how very sorry I was, and that I would never do it again.’

Bobby looked alarmed. ‘Never ride astride again?’

‘Never deceive him again. That was really wrong.’

‘Oh, yes, I know. But, Nina, you don’t mean to go back to side-saddle?’

‘At the moment, Mr Cowling doesn’t want me to ride at all.’

Bobby considered a moment, and then said, ‘I’m sure that’s just shock, because of that hateful Lady Wyville and the trouble she’s caused. This horridness will pass, and he’ll relent, I’m sure of it.’

‘I wish I were sure,’ said Nina.

‘Just give it time,’ said Bobby. ‘And meanwhile we shall be exemplary friends, and avoid all talk of horses and riding in his presence. But it’s not long until the season starts, so I do hope his powers of healing are swift, because I absolutely must have you hunting beside me this year – even if it is side-saddle. ’

‘I don’t even have a horse.’

‘If Mr Cowling comes about in time, we shall get you a hunter of your own, but at any rate, you shall ride any of mine you choose. You shall go to the ball, Cinderella!’

‘As I remember,’ Nina said, ‘that ball didn’t end well.’

‘But she married the prince in the end. It all came out right,’ said Bobby.

***

Two days later the Cowlings dined at Welland Hall.

It was a pleasant occasion, with just the four of them – though the Wharfedale children were brought down to the drawing-room to say goodnight.

Mr Cowling loved children, and chatted to them pleasantly, watching Nina out of the corner of his eye with the vague hope that having children might somehow be contagious.

The Wharfedales were good company, and had plenty to talk about, and nobody mentioned the side-saddle controversy or talked about horses at all, so it all passed sweetly.

This was followed by a return dinner at Wriothesby House, with the Crawfords as the other guests, and that was pleasant too, with entirely different but still not horse-related conversation.

Mr Cowling was impressed with Wharfedale’s intelligent questions about manufacturing processes.

The furniture from Evington had been delivered and arranged, and the Wharfedales used the licence of being close friends to comment on and admire the new pieces.

Mr Cowling had inspected them all closely when they arrived and had to admit there was nothing shabby about them; and he was especially pleased when Mrs Crawford broke her usual silence on arrival in the drawing-room and said, in a soft voice he might have missed had he not been attending to her, ‘How lovely this room looks, Mr Cowling. So spacious, and not crowded like so many rooms. I hope you don’t mind my saying so,’ she added with an anxious blush.

Then there was a card evening at Welland Hall, with five tables of bridge and an elegant supper, and then a musical soirée at Peasedale, Sir Bradley and Lady Graham’s place.

Mr Cowling enjoyed everything, and reflected that this was what he had always wanted for them, to be accepted into the society of the local nobs.

He wanted it for himself, to advance his place in the world, but more especially for Nina, who had her way to make.

There was still some factionalism and whispering in the town, but he was able to ignore it, and hoped it would soon die away.

He was not to know of the heroic efforts of Bobby in persuading her circle not to talk in his presence about the upcoming hunting season, reasoning that a period of convalescence was needed for Mr Cowling’s sensibilities to heal and harden over.

Meanwhile Mr Cowling waited, with bated breath, for news from Nina.

He worried that, young and innocent as she was, she wouldn’t know the signs – but surely her maid would.

It was a commonplace that a lady’s maid was always the first to know when she was carrying.

Monthly matters, even in the stratum in which he had been born, were always handled well out of the ken of menfolk, so the first he would know would be when Nina came to him to tell him he was to be a father.

He imagined the scene fondly at night as he drifted to sleep – how she would look, shy, happy, bright-eyed, a little pink from having to discuss something of such intimacy.

He almost could not bear to think about what he would feel.

Could the human heart hold so much happiness without actually bursting?

He wanted a child so much – a child of Nina’s.

He thought of his dream, of the small hand in his.

A son, a son to follow him into his business.

Of course, a son would be best, but if it was a little girl – a girl who looked like Nina – who would sit in his lap and wind him round her tiny fingers .

. . He saw her playing with his pocket watch, head gravely bent, saw himself kiss her golden curls, saw her look up and laugh, tiny white teeth and rosy cheeks .

. . He would love her just as much as any boy.

So much love waiting for her. A man could die of so much love . . .

He waited, aching with hope. September turned to October and the leaves began to fall, but still the news didn’t come.