Page 64 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

‘Didn’t remember that I kissed you?’ Angus said. ‘Didn’t remember the best moment of my whole life so far?’

‘You—’ She began to remind him of what had happened next, and stopped.

‘I asked you to marry me.’

‘Yes,’ she said. There was a silence. She was very conscious of his breathing. She had a wild urge to lay her hands on his chest – under his jacket, against his shirt – so she could feel his breath going in and out. She thought she would feel his heartbeat, too.

‘Rachel,’ he said, in quite a different voice.

She looked up into his face, feeling on the edge of something momentous, as though she might actually go up in flames, like a piece of paper. ‘Yes?’

‘You really have got to get this flirting under control,’ he said, smiling. And then he was kissing her.

It was entirely different. It was heavenly.

His lips were firm and warm and dry and his breath was sweet and the smell of his skin was like something she had always known, and filled her with longing.

Her arms crept up round his neck, and his were round her waist, and the kiss went on and on and she wanted it never to end.

When it did, he drew her close, folding his arms round her, and she pressed herself against him, feeling safe and loved.

He rested his chin on the top of her head and she rested her cheek against his chest, and she could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.

She was so happy she could hardly bear it.

Several years later and much too soon, he loosened his grip enough to be able to look down at her and speak.

‘You know they’ll never let us marry,’ he said, and it was hardly a question.

‘Why does it have to be so complicated?’ She asked the question she had thought earlier.

‘I’m going to ask,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask my father and your mother, but I know what they’ll say.’ He paused a moment. ‘Fa wants me to marry Diana Huntley. She’s an important heiress. She’ll have coal mines.’

‘My mother wants me to marry a prince.’

‘So I imagine. But I love you.’

‘I love you, too,’ said Rachel, and when she said it, she knew it was true.

There was release in saying the words out loud, as though she’d been holding back a great weight of water against a door.

For a moment she felt the rush of joy, of loving and being loved.

Then she remembered. ‘It’s hopeless, isn’t it?

’ she said – willing him, hopelessly, to say no, it wasn’t.

He said fiercely, ‘We have to think . There must be a way. There must be! I don’t want to marry anyone but you, Rachel. You’re like the other half of me.’

‘I – I feel the same.’ Suddenly, the idea of marrying anyone else but Angus was horrible. Even kissing anyone but him. As to the Thing that an over-zealous German maid had told her about – the Thing that married people did . . . Oh, my Lord, not with anyone but him!

‘We must just hold out,’ he said, pulling her close again. ‘Hold out and wait and see what happens. There must be a way.’

But what if Mama finds someone else for me? The idea of defying her mother filled her with tremulous dread.

He divined her thought. ‘Remember, they can’t make you marry against your will. That’s the law of the land.’

But could she be brave enough to hold out against everything that would be urged against her, forced on her? Her mother’s dominance, her personality . . . ‘Do you really love me?’ she asked, in the smallest voice yet.

He smiled down at her. ‘Oh, Rachel, my dearie dear! Do you doubt it?’

And then in his lips and arms and warm, strong body and steady beating heart, and the sheer thereness of him, she found all the proof she needed.

Kitty felt she had been away for a long time.

There had been vague perceptions: she had known at one time that Dr Arbogast was leaning over her; and at another there had been a nurse in white veil.

Once, Alice had been sitting by the bed, weeping.

She didn’t feel she had actually seen them: she just knew they had been there.

Now she was drifting. It was like being under water: sometimes deep down, sometimes rising close to the surface, where she could hear voices, though not the words they said.

She didn’t want to break through into the air – not yet.

She couldn’t remember what had happened.

She didn’t want to know . . . She let herself drift down deeper.

Sir Gordon was not wholly unsympathetic, but he was firm. ‘It’s out of the question.’

‘Father—’

‘When I told you to pay attention to Miss Huntley, when I told you not to favour your cousin, did you think I was not serious?’

Angus stood before him in formal pose, hands clasped behind his back.

By chance it was the same parlour where Rachel had been warned – a small, little-used parlour off the entrance hall, convenient for private conversations.

Standing like a soldier, Angus didn’t see the sad beast eyes or the dreary tartan.

He fixed his gaze over his father’s shoulder on the sky beyond the window.

‘I did try, sir,’ he said. ‘But I don’t care for Miss Huntley and she doesn’t care for me. My feelings for Rachel are – not easily brushed aside.’

‘I don’t entirely blame you,’ his father responded.

‘She’s a fetching little thing, and if matters had been otherwise .

. . But I’m afraid it’s common knowledge that the late Lord Stainton only cheated bankruptcy through death.

He left nothing for his younger girls. I gave a hint to Lady Stainton on the subject, though it went against the grain, and she gave me to understand that she would by no means welcome an offer from our side, even if it were to be forth-coming.

And it is not . You must make your mind up to that. ’

‘But, Father—’

‘No, no. This is not a subject for discussion. You and the girl must allow your elders to know better in this case. Marriage for people of our station – it is not a simple matter of four bare legs in a bed.’

Angus winced at his father’s attempt at unbending. He fixed his own expression on the graver side of solemnity. ‘Father, I feel my honour is engaged.’

But Sir Gordon was not impressed. ‘Whatever you may have said to the girl, it is not binding, not without the permission of your parents and hers. You have taken a fancy to her, I can see that, but these feelings are not uncommon, and they fade, my boy. Trust me, they always fade. Marriage is too important to be concluded on the basis of a passing whim. Now, Sir Philip Huntley and I have discussed the matter fully, carefully, soberly, and we have decided that the match will be beneficial to all parties. And she’s a handsome girl, Angus – it’s not as though I was hitching you to a gargoyle.

Handsome and well-bred and, as far as I can tell, good-humoured. You’ll thank me one day.’

‘Have you decided between you on a wedding day? And how many children we’re to have?’

Sir Gordon gave his son a close look, noted the flared nostrils, and decided to ignore the near-impertinence, rather than risk provoking an uproar. ‘We see no reason for a long engagement. Miss Huntley is not a girl just out of the schoolroom.’

Angus’s heart sank. Were they going to try to hurry him into a marriage – to leave him no room for manoeuvre? ‘Father,’ Angus said desperately, ‘I can’t do this. I love Rachel.’

Sir Gordon only raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry to hear you say so, but your fancy for Lady Rachel does not come into it. All this has been agreed. You will marry Diana Huntley.’

‘You can’t make me,’ Angus said. Oh, how childish it sounded! He wanted to be magnificently defiant, but beside his father’s monumental assurance he was like a baby throwing a toy in petulance.

‘As a matter of fact, I can. You are financially dependent on me. But I would prefer you complied with my wishes with a good grace. You ought to be grateful, in fact, that such a golden future is being planned for you. Now leave me, Angus, and do not speak in this foolish manner ever again. I have always thought well of you: I don’t wish to alter my opinion, especially over something so trivial. ’

Trivial? Angus’s spirit rose. ‘I tell you now, Father, that much as I respect you, I cannot do as you wish. My honour and faith are given. You had better tell Sir Philip there will be no wedding.’

Sir Gordon merely waved a hand. ‘Enough, now. Go away. I won’t hear any more.’ Angus tried to speak, and his father said sharply, ‘ Go! ’

Trained to obedience, he went.

Kitty opened her eyes. The room was dim, blinds drawn, but sunlight pressed hard against them from outside, so it must be day.

How long had passed? She felt utterly flattened, as though everything had been drained out of her, leaving only an empty sleeve of a body.

She breathed slowly and lightly, the minimum necessary. She was capable of nothing more.

Giles was lying back in a chair near the bed, his elbow on the arm, his head resting in his hand, eyes shut. He looked worn. The room was silent. No-one had noticed she was back. She closed her eyes again, hoping to sink down again.

But this time consciousness would not play the game.

She remained aware. There was a soft rustling sound, and then a cool hand was laid across her brow.

When it was removed, she opened her eyes, and saw the white-winged face of a nurse bending over her.

The face smiled. ‘I knew you had woken. I heard your breathing change. You’ve come back to us. ’

And then there was a flurry, and the nurse was replaced by Giles. Her hand – her limp hand – was taken up and squeezed, and Giles was . . . Was he crying? Not exactly, but his eyes were damp. ‘Kitty!’ he said. He kissed her hand. ‘Thank God.’

She moved her lips, but no sound came out. She was tired, so tired.

‘Don’t try to speak. Arbogast says you are out of danger, but you must rest, rest. Good nursing and good food, he says, will bring you back to strength. Oh, Kitty, we thought we’d lost you!’

You did lose me , she thought, remembering how deep she had gone and how reluctant she had been to swim upwards. But why? Had there been an accident? She didn’t remember.

Giles was gently pushed away by the white wings.

Capable hands lifted her head, a cup was put to her lips.

She was thirsty, and drank. Warm milk – comforting.

She drank some more. Her head was laid back against the pillows.

A little – just a little – strength came to her.

She had to remember how to speak, to arrange her tongue and throat and summon breath, but she managed at last to say, ‘What happened?’

‘Don’t you remember?’ Giles asked.

Something in his voice warned her. It was so hard to think when it was all she could do to breathe in and out.

She didn’t want to think, but despite herself memory came creaking, limping back with a ghastly grin, the death’s grin of a skull.

She saw a red petal on a child’s face; red petals, lots of petals, blood red on the gravel.

Blood on the gravel – lots of blood. Her hands were resting outside the covers, resting on her abdomen.

It was flat. She was flat and empty. The baby was gone.

Weak tears filled her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered to Giles. ‘I’m so sorry.’