Page 96 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)
‘No more of that! No more “but, Father”! You are making a show of me. Sir Philip is starting to ask pointed questions. All this shilly-shallying is insulting to him and to the girl. I want it done before the Christmas party breaks up. I’ve agreed with Sir Philip that the wedding can take place in April.
Easter is very late, on the twenty-third, so it had better be before that.
The dowry will be partly in cash and partly in property, and Sir Philip is giving Miss Huntley, as a wedding present, a handsome house in Edinburgh, where you will live – in Queen Street, as it happens, just a few steps from my offices, where you will take up your position as my deputy.
So you see, everything is falling most satisfactorily into place. ’
‘But, Father, I don’t love her,’ Angus said desperately.
Tullamore made an impatient sound. ‘Love is not for young people to decide at a dance. Love is for grown-ups, Angus. It develops over time, when two people are well-matched and are set up in a proper, sensible fashion. Miss Huntley is suitable in every way. You and she will have everything you need, and you will be very happy together.’
The substance of this Angus told Rachel in his letter.
But I am determined not to ask her. Her father and mine can arrange what they like between them but if I don’t ask her it can’t happen.
And I believe that if I am steadfast in refusing, they will have to give it up in the end.
Then I’m sure Father will agree to my marrying you.
But you must be steadfast too, my darling love, and not let them bully you into marrying anyone else.
Promise me you will stay true to me. Remember, they can’t force you to marry against your will.
Rachel felt that she was safe enough at Ashmore, for with her mother abroad, no-one else had any interest in finding her a husband.
The danger would be if her mother came home or, worse, if she summoned Rachel to go back to live with her abroad.
Once she had left the country, everything would be harder, close to impossible.
‘If they try to make me go abroad,’ she wrote to Angus, ‘I will run away and find a way to get to you.’
Angus thought of Rachel trying to get to Scotland – gentle, helpless Rachel, with a carpet bag and a few shillings, becoming stranded somewhere because she hadn’t enough for the full journey, left without the means to get to him or to contact him. It was enough to make him shudder.
He wrote back: ‘If you think there is any danger that you will be sent abroad, if they even start to talk about it, tell me at once and I will come and fetch you. Promise me you won’t try to run away on your own.’
Rachel happily promised, and into her mind came the image of Angus, like Young Lochinvar, riding up on a white horse, sweeping her onto the saddle before him, and galloping away.
Even if it didn’t happen precisely like that, it was quite satisfactory, and freed her mind from worry so that she could enjoy the Christmas season.
Kitty, glad not to be pregnant for once, was full of energy and was planning lots of entertainments at Ashmore, and there was hunting, and parties at other houses, including a grand ball at Ashridge Park, Lord Shacklock’s seat.
He was bound to invite people down from London, and there would be a chance for her to wear one of her expensive London ball gowns.
But she also enjoyed less exalted Christmas activities, like gilding walnuts to hang on the tree, and making paper chains with Arabella and Arthur.
Miss Kettel showed them how to fold paper into a multiple thickness, then cut it in a certain way, so that when you unfolded it, it made a chain of angels holding hands.
It was pleasant to sit by the fire with the children, in a plain dress and with her hair down, and do simple, childish things, and not have to worry how she looked or what anyone was thinking of her.
The dogs came, flopped, and snored; Miss Kettel told them all stories; Alice sat nearby and drew the group.
Then Kitty would come down with the babies, and Louis would run wild with excitement, while Alexander goggled at the shining tree, and reached out a starfish hand for one of the swinging ornaments.
And Uncle Sebastian would play the piano – wheeled in from the state drawing-room to the great hall for the season – and they would all sing.
Having a horse had made all the difference to Nina’s life.
She hunted twice a week, which used up more than two days, because the day after a hunt was spent in a happy languor of mental and physical tiredness.
Mrs Anstruther had not appeared, being apparently detained with the sick relative, and in her absence Bobby had not found the courage to hunt astride, so there had been no friction for Nina, no danger that she would be cajoled into doing something that would upset Mr Cowling.
On non-hunting days she usually rode with Bobby, on one of her horses if Jewel was resting.
Sometimes Clemmie joined them, and the three of them rambled far afield.
Mr Cowling liked to see her happily and innocently occupied, and was even talking about buying her a second horse, after Aubrey Wharfedale had described to him the disappointment when a person’s only horse went lame and couldn’t be hunted.
And when she wasn’t riding, she often went out walking with Trump, having all the energy of nineteen to use up.
Evenings were occupied with entertaining or being entertained.
Mr Cowling loved to play bridge, and Nina was sharp enough to make a useful partner, though she could never quite feel the passion for it that some obviously felt.
There were dinners, too, and musical soirées; and when nothing else had been arranged, she could always walk up to Welland Hall, with Mr Cowling or alone, and join in a family dinner, and games.
She was occupied; she was mostly happy. But there were still times when she paused, and looked at herself and wondered, Is this all there is?
What would happen when the hunting season ended?
Ordinary riding was a pleasure, but hunting stretched every nerve and muscle and fibre to the limit, and left you drowsy and relaxed all the next day.
Taking that out of the equation would leave a void to be filled – with what?
When she allowed herself to think beyond the moment, she was uneasy.
She felt cut adrift from life, as if everyone else had found the thing that made it all make sense, while she hadn’t an idea where to look for it.
Bobby was happy – there was no doubting that her life fulfilled her.
Clemmie – though it was less easy to be sure, because she didn’t give much away – Clemmie seemed happy.
All the women she met at all the parties they attended seemed happy.
And, after all, what else was there? When you were a girl, you prepared yourself for marriage, you worked towards it, longed for it.
And once you had it, that was supposed to satisfy you for the rest of your life.
No-one ever told the unmarried girl what happened afterwards.
You journeyed to the place called Marriage, and there the story ended. Close the book.
But there you still were, wondering what to do with yourself.
She woke early on Christmas morning and lay in her warm bed staring into the darkness and thinking all these things.
Can this life go on? Just like this, year after year?
She had a huge desire to run away – but run away where, to what?
Running away from , rather than to , could only end badly.
She was comfortable, safe, cherished where she was.
It was a lot to give up. But she felt as though a cloud was forming, one of those low purple bars on the horizon that portends a storm.
Could this life go on? She had felt the ground tremble under her.
She must have fallen asleep again, because she was woken by the mouselike sounds of the maid lighting her fire, little rustlings and scratchings.
Christmas Day. Apart from church, she would be alone with Mr Cowling all day.
He was the provider of all this comfort, her downy bed, the fire in the grate, the servant to light it, the horse in the stable – even the little dog, who took the opportunity to dash in when the housemaid went out and jump up on the bed to greet her with the passion of a night’s absence.
So she would do her best to make today pleasant for Mr Cowling.
It was ridiculous to be discontented, and downright naughty to be ungrateful.
She wore one of his favourite dresses, a dusky rose barathea, long-sleeved, high-necked, with a ruched bodice and a trimming of coarse cream lace on the neckband, bodice and sleeves.
With it she wore the pink kid shoes with the jet bead decoration that he’d had hand-made for her.
She would lift her skirt just enough as she walked so that he could see them, and it would please him.
Tina did her hair, she put on pearl earrings, picked up the parcel she had left wrapped and ready by the door, and went down.
He was there already, waiting by the drawing-room fire for her, so that they could go in to breakfast together. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, greeting her with a kiss, looking her over keenly. ‘I like that gown. I’m glad you wore it, because here is your present. Open it!’
He seemed tense with pleasurable anticipation. From the size and shape she guessed it was jewellery. It was what he liked best to buy her. He watched her, hungry for her reaction, as she removed the paper and opened the box. It was a hair ornament of glittering pink stones.
‘You see?’ he said gleefully. ‘Something made you wear a pink gown today! It was meant to be.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘What are they?’