Page 17 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

Nina’s eyes widened. ‘But he’s a duke!’

‘Are you impressed?’ Bobby laughed. ‘You, whose husband knows the King?’

‘Well, I’m glad I wore my new gown,’ Nina said. ‘Mr Cowling will be sorry to have missed meeting the lord lieutenant.’

‘I expect he knows him too. He knows everyone,’ Bobby sighed. ‘You’re so lucky.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘He and Aubrey were at school together.’

Nina laughed. ‘You’re such a humbug!’

Bobby grinned. ‘Well, Rutland is rather a poppet. And much more fun than his predecessor. Now, promise me you’ll dance every dance!’

‘That rather depends on my being asked, doesn’t it?’ Nina said.

But she was in no danger of sitting out. She danced the first with Adam, then was immediately claimed by Lord Foxton who, despite being over sixty, was a determined flirt and an amusing companion. She was then asked by the duke, who was very agreeable, and then there was a sort of scuffle for her hand between Lord Belton and Johnny Faversham, who were both cut out by Sir Bradley Graham, the local MP, while they were arguing.

‘You seem to be setting the room by the ears, my dear,’ Sir Bradley said. ‘I must say I’m not surprised.’

‘I am. It’s very silly,’ she said firmly. ‘I think it must be the Wharfedales’ wine going to their heads. There’s nothing special about me.’

He smiled. ‘A sentiment a gentleman is bound by honour to disagree with – but in this case I am happy to be able to do it with sincerity. You are a very lovely young woman, and that gown sets you off to perfection.’

‘I’m sure you’re flattering me, but thank you.’

‘Mr Cowling is away on business, I gather?’

‘Yes, it does call him away a good deal.’

‘Hm,’ said Sir Bradley. ‘If an old man might presume to offer advice, beware of Mr Faversham. He has a reputation as a rake. And Lord Belton, though married, is not much better. Forgive me, but you are still very young. They make themselves agreeable, but they will not enhance your standing.’

‘Surely they must be respectable, if the Wharfedales invited them?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Indeed. But there are degrees of respectability. However, I am being impertinent in thrusting my advice upon you. Please pay no attention.’

But she did, and perhaps laughed a little less and romped a great deal less than she otherwise might have, being surrounded all evening by flirts determined to flatter and charm her. She was still only nineteen, and though education had perhaps made her older than her years, she had not had a great deal of fun since she married, and had been left alone a good deal. It was only natural that she should want to enjoy herself, and should respond to the attentions of amusing men.

Still, it was a relief when Adam claimed her for the last dance before supper, and she could relax, as with a brother.

He seemed more serious than usual. ‘You are extremely popular this evening,’ he remarked.

She looked up at him. ‘Have I done wrong? I was trying to be seemly, but they try so hard to make me laugh. And they are all so ridiculous when they flirt.’

‘You find flirts ridiculous? Well, that’s reassuring, at least. And saves me from having to.’

‘I didn’t know you did,’ she said, wide-eyed.

‘Oh, cruel! Have I wasted all my best ploys on you?’

‘It seems you have. Now you will have to talk to me sensibly instead.’

So he did, discussing impressionism and the difference between Manet and Monet, and she relaxed further. By the time the music stopped, she was quite comfortable. He was to take her down to supper, so she unhooked her train and tucked her hand under his arm. He said, ‘Let’s wait a moment for the crush to ease,’ and stepped back from the doorway with her. When the crowd was almost gone, he said, ‘Before we go down, let me show you that Monet I was telling you about. It’s on the next landing upstairs – one of his paintings of his garden. You will see what I meant about the brushstrokes.’

She thought nothing of it, and allowed him to conduct her up the stairs, but when they turned the corner of the landing he suddenly took her into his arms and kissed her.

He was a young, handsome man and she liked him, and it was perhaps understandable that for an instant she did not struggle. Her body was starved of affection, and responded automatically; her lips softened for his. It was when his own kiss became more urgent that she came to her senses. She pulled back, and struggled out of his embrace. ‘No,’ she cried.