Page 64 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘Have you heard anything more about Mr Moss, my lady?’ Mrs Webster asked.

‘I believe he is a little better,’ Kitty said. ‘His lordship is arranging for him to be moved from the infirmary to the cottage hospital in Canons Ashmore at the end of the month.’

‘That’s nice, my lady. It will speed his recovery, being close to home, where his friends can visit him.’

Hook glared at her behind Kitty’s back. He knew perfectly well she was getting at him, pointing out to him that he was only temporary butler. We’ll see about that, you old cat, his narrowed eyes said.

‘I’m sure Mr Moss is very grateful to his lordship,’ Mrs Webster concluded.

The brake drew up, bringing the luggage along with Nanny, Jessie and the baby. Alice caught Kitty up, still with the dogs glued to her side, with foolish half-leaps and muzzles pointed adoringly at her face, and they walked in together.

In the hall, there were two tall vases of flowers, one on the table by the door and one at the foot of the stairs. Frilly pale pink paeonies, slender irises, and delphiniums the intense blue of summer skies.

‘Oh, the flowers, how lovely!’ Kitty exclaimed, shedding her coat into the arms of Miss Hatto, her maid, who walked in behind her.

Mrs Webster answered. ‘Peason cut them specially this morning, my lady. As soon as he heard you were coming home.’ The dowager Lady Stainton would never have deigned to notice the flowers, she thought, and though icy indifference was the more proper manner for a countess, she had always inspired obedience rather than affection. Peason, the head gardener, had selected and cut each stem with love.

Miss Hatto took Alice’s things as well, and she and Kitty walked up the stairs together. ‘What’s the first thing you’re going to do?’ Alice asked.

‘Nursery, then gardens. What’s yours?’

‘Stables,’ said Alice, and sighed contentedly. ‘As soon as I’ve changed. I feel as if I haven’t ridden for months. And I don’t care if Josh thinks it isn’t ladylike to move out of a walk, I’m going to gallop Pharaoh for miles and miles and miles. He’ll just have to keep up with me!’

Kitty laughed. ‘I’ll see you at luncheon, then.’

Nina walked into her drawing-room. Trump had thrust past her, but halted at the sight of the male silhouette against the window and gave a little growl. Then he recognised Giles, and hurried over to greet him. Nina had already had his card brought to her, but she would have known him anyway by his silhouette. She would know him anywhere, if it was only his back seen through a crowd, or a glimpse of his profile on a passing train. But her voice did not waver as she said, for the benefit of the servant holding the door for her, ‘How do you do, Lord Stainton? I hope they told you Mr Cowling is not at home.’

He bowed. ‘They did, Mrs Cowling, but I could not go away without paying my compliments to you.’

The door closed, and they were alone together.

‘I did actually come to see him,’ Giles said, ‘but it seemed absurd not to see you, just because . . .’

He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew how it ended. She stared at him hungrily, to feast on him while she could. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

He spoke. ‘How are you?’ he asked gently. ‘You look well. You look . . .’ he waved a hand to signify her tout ensemble ‘. . . like a lady of fashion.’ She was in a dress of fawn silk with maroon piping on the bodice and three bands of maroon satin ribbon around the skirt hem.

‘It’s hard to feel like a lady of fashion, but I’m beginning to get more used to it,’ she said. Mr Cowling liked her to look smart, and particularly liked her to spend a lot of money on clothes. He took an interest in everything she wore. Clemmie had told her she was lucky, that from her experience most married men never knew one outfit from another, and that her father, for instance, might have noticed if she or her mother had entered the room naked, but not otherwise. ‘It seems strange—’ she began, and stopped, unsure if it was wise to go on.

‘Yes?’ he encouraged.

‘It seems strange that we have been staying on opposite sides of the same square for weeks, without ever seeing each other.’

No, it had not been wise.

‘It’s like a sort of madness,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Like those dreams where irrational things happen.’ Then words seemed to burst out of him. ‘If you only knew how much I need to see you – just to see you!’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘It eases something in me just to be in the same room with you,’ he went on. ‘To look at you, to know you exist, to breathe the same air. I can’t—’

He walked away from her to the window and stood there, staring out. Beyond him, she could see the trees of the square moving in a sharp breeze. His hands were down by his sides, clenching and unclenching. ‘I didn’t mean to say anything when you came in. Forgive me.’

‘You can talk to me,’ she said. ‘You can tell me anything. I will understand.’

‘God, I know that!’ he said, between his teeth.

She went over to the window, sat down on the window seat, so that he would sit down beside her. He took her hand, then folded the other over it too, looking at her as she had looked at him, as though to memorise her. His nearness was like the warmth of the sun; to be with him was life. She looked at their linked hands and wondered how it was possible to go on without that.