Page 30 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

He made a decision. Right next door was the Three Corners café. ‘Come and have a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘My treat.’ She looked at him doubtfully, refusal on her lips, and he added, managing a slightly pathetic note, ‘Go on! I’m trying to be nice. You got to give me a chance.’

In fairness , she thought, I suppose I have to . ‘Oh, all right, then.’

He bought a pot of tea, and two slices of cake as well, and it was actually quite an enjoyable encounter.

James had been at the Castle a long time so he knew a lot about its history and the family.

He tried to quiz her on her previous jobs and childhood but she didn’t care to have her private life probed, and managed to deflect him with questions of her own – he was a born talker.

After tea, he even came into the haberdasher’s with her, and bought himself a pair of fancy garters.

When they came out onto the street again, she wondered how to get rid of him – she didn’t want to walk all the way back with him. But his attention was elsewhere.

‘Isn’t that Rose?’ he said. He recognised her back view even in an overcoat. He’d watched her from behind for years, because he liked the effect of a large apron bow on a neat female backside.

Dory was about to say it couldn’t be, because Rose had told her she was going to soak her feet, then lie on her bed all afternoon to rest them. But it was her. Before she could say anything, James said, ‘See you back home,’ and stalked away, following Rose’s diminishing figure.

Dory shrugged. ‘Thanks for the tea,’ she called – which was only good manners. But James gave no sign of hearing her.

According to Lady Manningtree, the Wansborough House ball at the end of April was even more of a crush than usual.

Giles knew only that there could be no inspecting girls from a discreet distance.

All his aunt could do was to point out some of the patronesses as they passed – bedecked with jewels and clad in magnificent colours, they were easily distinguished from the pastel-clad debutantes.

As they eased their way through the crowds, Aunt Caroline paused to talk to an acquaintance, and Giles was carried onward.

When he looked round again he could no longer see her.

He did not make any effort to find her. The main thing now was to seek a pocket of relative space so that he could breathe.

This whole business was exhausting to a man used to solitude.

He pushed his way slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom and took in the scene.

The lights, the colours, the movement, the music were a saturation to the senses.

At times, nothing could be seen of the dancers but the feathers in the females’ headdresses, twitching with their movements.

Occasionally the wall of people watching would disgorge a couple, like otters popping up for air.

The flutter of fans everywhere was like a distraction of pigeons.

When he had worked his way to the short end of the room, he found a little more space.

There was a young woman standing on her own – he noticed, because it was an odd circumstance, when debutantes were closely chaperoned at all times.

She was wearing a simple gown of a pale apricot colour, and a single strand of pearls, and he immediately liked the look of her, because she had an air of detachment.

Her expression of faint amusement was not what you expected of debutantes.

Those he had met so far were never at ease: they seemed either nervously too shy, or nervously too forthcoming.

Then he realised that he recognised her: Aunt Caroline had already pointed out to him Lady Bayfield, mother of one of her candidates, and this girl had been standing beside her.

Therefore, he assumed, she must be the daughter who was being brought out.

He couldn’t remember her name, but remembered that Aunt had said she was a considerable heiress.

The thought cheered him. He had been supposing all along that marrying was going to be nothing but a grim duty – certainly on his side, and quite likely on both – but she had the air of someone he could like.

She became aware of him staring and turned enquiringly. He was embarrassed. He couldn’t now pretend he hadn’t been looking. He would have to say something.

‘Not dancing?’ he said. He groaned at the inept question.

But she smiled pleasantly and said, ‘I have been. Now I’m watching for my friend – she’s out there somewhere, but I can’t see her at the moment.’

‘It’s a dreadful crush, isn’t it?’ he said. He only said it because Aunt Caroline had said it, and he couldn’t think of what else to say. He hadn’t much experience of talking to girls he was expected to marry.

‘Do you think so?’ she said. ‘Well, it is a crush, which makes it difficult to get about, but I wouldn’t call it dreadful.’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘A kaleidoscope, perhaps. It’s so pretty, all the different colours of the dresses whirling about and changing places. Or – what’s that kind of picture called, that’s made of little fragments of colour?’

It was very odd, to be talking to a strange girl in anything other than commonplaces.

To have his banal question taken seriously, and answered as if he had meant anything by it.

Of course, he had very little experience of young women, but from things he had heard – not least from Richard – this was not the way they usually were.

But now he had to answer her seriously, as she had answered him.

He thought for a moment. ‘Pointillism?’ he hazarded.

‘Oh, you mean like Seurat? No, not that.’ She thought, and then the frown cleared. ‘A mosaic, that’s what I meant! But a magic mosaic that keeps changing pictures.’

He smiled. There was definitely something about Miss Bayfield. ‘Have you ever seen one?’

‘A mosaic? Only in books,’ she said. ‘Have you?’

‘Yes, lots. There are some particularly fine ones from Pompeii and Herculaneum. And the Knossos of Crete: dolphins and bull-leapers – beautiful!’

‘You’ve been to those places? How lucky you are!’

‘I suppose I am,’ he said. ‘Have you never been abroad?’

‘Not since I came to England. I was born in India, and lived there until I was nearly ten.’

His aunt hadn’t told him that. It might explain her differentness. ‘I’ve never been to India. What’s it like?’

‘I don’t remember a great deal,’ she said regretfully.

‘I remember the rain – oh, so much rain! The sound of it, drumming on the roof, everything green and wet and dripping. Rain was noisy, but when it was hot, it was silent – no sound except the cicadas, and the fan swishing back and forth on the verandah.’

‘Yes, I know that silence,’ he said. The silence of heat – she had brought it back to him.

‘When I first arrived in England I was frightened of all the heavy boots that made such a noise indoors. I thought I should be trampled. In India the servants had bare feet. Just a soft padding sound.’

He smiled. ‘In Egypt it’s the scuffing of heel-less slippers.’

‘You’ve been to Egypt too?’

‘Yes. And Italy and Greece. But never India. Tell me more about it.’ He wanted to listen to her, not talk.

He was charmed by her confidence, which had nothing brash about it.

She simply seemed to like to talk, as though it were a natural thing to do.

It did not occur to him that he was doing a wrong thing, conversing with a girl to whom he hadn’t been formally introduced, and without the presence of her chaperone.

‘Goodness, where to begin!’ she said. ‘There were the horses. I loved the horses. Polo ponies are so gentle and intelligent.’

‘Do you ride?’

‘I was put into a basket saddle when I was two and led about by the syce. Dear Namgay! He was from Bhutan, where they’re practically born on horseback.

Bhutan horses are small, but they’re very strong and intelligent, and they make wonderful companions.

I suppose they must have lovely horses in Egypt, too? All those Arabians!’

The music had come to an end and the crowd on the floor was breaking up. ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked abruptly.

For the first time she seemed uncertain. ‘Oh dear, I would like to, but I think you have to ask Lady Bayfield first.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry – we haven’t been introduced—’

She smiled, a swift, ravishing smile, and said, ‘I know, I shouldn’t have spoken to you at all! But I won’t tell if you don’t. And I must go and find my friend right this minute – I’m sworn to take care of her, you see.’

He bowed and let her go, secure of finding her again. He turned, and pushed through the crowds the other way until he met Aunt Caroline, who was evidently looking for him.

‘Oh, there you are! This crush is intolerable. You’ll have no chance of inspecting anyone this evening.’

‘But I’ve met one of them. Lady Bayfield’s daughter – and I liked her.’

‘Oh, Giles, I’m so glad! The family is unexceptionable, and the fortune is very good. And I’d really prefer you to marry someone you like, if possible.’

‘I only exchanged a few sentences with her, but she seemed agreeable. And pretty.’

‘Oh, yes, she’s considered very pretty. And, thanks to her mother, very well dressed.

Lady Bayfield has excellent taste. But if you liked her, you should dance with her and get her to like you.

Make your move early. Because I think there may be a lot of interest in her.

She’s quite an heiress. Just a shame she can’t inherit the title. ’

‘I don’t need another title,’ Giles said.

‘I know, but it’s an old one, and it’s a shame when they fall into abeyance.’ The music had started up again. She tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and find Lady B and you can ask for a dance. For all you know, the wolves may be circling already.’