Page 90 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

‘Won’t we feel rather lost when it’s just us?’ Nina asked cautiously.

‘There’s a small dining-parlour for common use on the other side of the house. You’ll see when we get to it.’

Beyond the dining-room they passed into the new wing, and Nina passed into a kind of trance. She knew from his approval of the Grand Hotel in Leicester and the new Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly that he admired the grand, opulent, French renaissance style, and his taste had been given full rein. There was marble, there were pillars, there was panelling and gilt and mouldings; there were acres of thick carpeting in the Savonnerie style. The sofas and chairs, though obviously new, were in the Louis XVI mode. Her only surprise was that the ceilings were plain plaster. He caught her glance and said, ‘I wanted painted ceilings, but the chandeliers are gas, you see, and Leathwaite said the heat’d damage the paint.’

There was an ante-room, a long drawing-room, also with French windows onto the terrace, and a music-room. Upstairs there were bedrooms – a grand one for her and him, with bathroom and dressing-room attached – and a private sitting-room for her, as yet unfurnished except for her writing-desk. ‘I’ve my business-room downstairs,’ he said, ‘so you should have a little place all your own. I thought you’d like to choose everything for it, rather than Leathwaite decide for you.’

There were more bedrooms, two more bathrooms, and over the entrance front a library, as yet with few books in it. It had a writing-desk and several reading tables, and between the bookcases were niches containing marble busts. Nina, bemused, looked at the names – Milton, Shakespeare, Cicero, Julius Caesar. They’re not new,’ Cowling said. ‘Leathwaite got ’em at a country-house sale. But you like old things, I know – when they’re fine like that.’

His tone was anxious, and she realised she hadn’t said anything, either of praise or otherwise, and he must be wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. It was nothing like the old Wriothesby House, it was nothing like she could have imagined, or would have chosen for herself; but she saw the restraining hand of Leathwaite behind it, keeping the wildest extravagances at bay. It was grand, opulent, but it was not ridiculous. It was actually rather beautiful, in an impersonal way. Yes, that was the thing, she realised. The place you called home was never perfect, and the imperfections were what you loved about it, because they held memories for you: they commemorated your passage through your life. The interior of this house was immaculate and unlived-in: no-one had yet marked it or given it a patina.

She had been silent too long. He said in a flat tone, ‘You don’t like it,’ and she saw the disappointment and actual pain in his face. She couldn’t bear to hurt him. She had to make an effort. ‘It’s all very beautiful,’ she said, ‘but so different it will take some getting used to.’

He examined her expression warily, not yet appeased. ‘Come and see the best bit,’ he said, and led her up to the next floor. All along the garden front was the nursery suite: day nursery, night nursery, bathroom and nanny’s room. ‘That’s something we must get on with,’ he said in parenthesis, ‘finding a good nanny.’

The day nursery was long and light with big windows, a shining parquet floor, and built-in cupboards and shelves for toys and books. It was unfurnished, which made it look enormous for one small baby. But her attention was diverted by a glorious rocking-horse, standing in solitary splendour in the centre of the room. It was dappled-grey, with a black mane and tail of real horsehair, brown glass eyes, and a saddle and bridle of red leather. She drew a breath of delight. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

‘I had it made specially,’ he said, pleased with her reaction. ‘If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll love horses.’

‘I always wanted a rocking-horse when I was a child,’ she exclaimed. ‘And this is the finest one I’ve ever seen.’

‘Nothing’s too good for my little girl,’ he said. He led her over to a window. Each had a cushioned window-seat. ‘When she’s a bit older,’ he said, ‘can’t you just imagine her kneeling there, looking out at the trees and birds? Surveying her kingdom?’

She could.

He looked down at her. ‘I was afraid you didn’t like the house, the way we’ve done it.’

She had to choose her words carefully. ‘It’s just that it seems so large and so grand, and I don’t feel like a large, grand person. I think a bit of me is still plain Miss Sanderton with no fortune and no prospects. It will take time to get used to being a millionaire’s wife.’

He winced at the word. ‘Money’s all very well, and I wouldn’t want to be without it. I wouldn’t want you to be without it. But there’s other ways of being grand, and you might have to get used to them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve something to tell you. Some news. It’s the reason I went up to London.’

He looked so serious that she was suddenly nervous. Some big change was heading towards her. She suddenly wished she was back in the little house in St Mary’s Street. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing bad. The opposite, in fact. I went to see the prime minister yesterday. Then we went together to see the King. They’re making me a lord, Nina.’

‘A lord?’ she said blankly, trying to adjust her thoughts. She never could have expected this.

‘I’m to be made a baron. For services to the King, and also because the government wants me in the House of Lords, to advise on business, and lead debates on manufacturing and exporting and suchlike. So, you see, we’ll not be Mr and Mrs Cowling any more. We’ll be grand enough to need a house like this.’

Her mouth was dry. ‘How long have you known?’ was the question that eventually surfaced.

He gave her a guilty smile. ‘You’ve guessed it. That time I got called away just when Amelia was being born, the King said something about it, but it was made clear I wasn’t to tell anyone until it was settled. I had it in my mind it might be a knighthood, but then the prime minister got this idea to have me in the House of Lords. This is going to be such a great thing for us!’ His enthusiasm burst out of him. ‘I’ll have to spend a lot more time in London, at the House, and in Whitehall in meetings. Then you and I will be entertaining important people in Berkeley Square, foreigners and royalty and all sorts. And this’ll be our country seat, for weekends, for having people to stay in the summer, and hunting parties in winter. I’ll probably have to go abroad a bit – the prime minister’s already talking about Germany and Sweden. I hate to think of leaving you, but when you’re asked…’

‘I know,’ she said, with an effort. ‘When the King sends for you, you have to go.’

‘I’ll be doing something important for my country,’ he said earnestly. ‘We will. You’ll be a political hostess, like Lady Derby at Hatfield House. I know you’ll shine at that, so beautiful and clever as you are! And I tell you this, I couldn’t have said yes, I couldn’t think of it without you at my side.’

‘I can’t take it in,’ she said.

‘Aye, it’s a lot,’ he said simply.

This house, then, was the stage set for a very different sort of life from the one she had expected. A political hostess? Entertaining people of power, politicians, diplomats, people whose opinions and decisions mattered? She quailed inwardly. Was she capable of this? She imagined dinners and soirées, the glittering company and the intense talk, herself planning, directing, putting guests at ease, making sure the right people met each other, that others were kept apart. Guest lists, menus, placements – and all on a grand scale. She had never done anything like that. Suppose she made a mess of it? She had never felt more like plain little Miss Sanderton in her life.

‘So I will be Lady Cowling?’ she said, and her voice sounded small and weak.