‘Yes, we’re heading east.’
‘How far east?’ Beatrice asked, dismayed.
‘We’ll sail to the Levant, Bee. Doesn’t that excite you to see the sights of the Middle East?’
‘No, Doug, it does not.’
‘Oh, Mummy, don’t be a bore, we shall be on a ship. Ship’s officers, captain’s dinners; it’s going to be so glamorous, right, Daddy?’
‘So glamorous it will hurt,’ he confirmed and Georgina missed the undertow of sarcasm he managed to bury in the words. ‘Don’t worry, Bee, I won’t expect you to take to shore anywhere.’
‘Whatever for now? Are you on one of your mad jaunts for butterflies or birds or whatever the hell it is you seek? I’m not going all the way to Arabia in order for you to paint some desert wren.’
‘You know the desert calls every now and then,’ he reminded as if they’d had this conversation before.
She nodded wearily. ‘Oh, why now, Doug? It’s all too sudden.’
‘Come on, be a sport. Look, even Georgie’s happy at the news. The girls will need a month off school. I can’t imagine that’s going to be a problem for you, Georgina.’ The teenager was hugging herself. She rushed towards her father and planted a kiss on his cheek.
‘I love you, Daddy. Ooh, all those handsome sailors in uniform. I hope we’ll dine each evening with the officers in full dress uniform.’ She looked over her shoulder, barely noticing Stella. ‘Mummy, I’m off to pack for London. We’re going to need a lot of evening garb for the cruise. My mind’s in such a whirl. I’m not even sure the linens will be in the salons yet for our daywear. Gosh!’ She hauled open the door and rushed off, leaving her father with a sheepish grin.
He shrugged. ‘Sorry, Bee. I should have discussed it quietly.’
‘Really, Dougie, you did that deliberately. Now you’ve completely backed me into a corner. How can I possibly say no now? Georgie will loathe me. What a madcap idea this is. I think I shall hate it.’
‘You won’t, my dear. Just sail there and back, enjoy the good food, good company and don’t trouble yourself with what I’ll be doing and don’t even bother getting off in any of the ports. You’ll barely notice me gone. Now, I’ll put Stella to work immediately if she’s to be any use to me. Don’t trouble yourself; as I say, I’ll work out the new schedule for Grace’s tutoring.’
‘As you wish, Doug; you seem to have it all worked out.’
Stella cleared her throat. ‘Um, I don’t wish for there to be any difficulty because of me.’
Rafe looked at her directly. ‘Will you work for me, Stella?’
Although it was phrased as a question, she didn’t think she was being given an option. ‘I will, Mr Ainsworth. You said cataloguing? I have some experience with filing and inventories.’
‘I know, that’s why you’re a perfect assistant for me.’ He smiled at them both. ‘That’s settled, then. We start tomorrow morning. I’ll have Mrs Boyd show you to my studio.’
She nodded and looked at the thunderous expression of his wife. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Ainsworth?’
‘Do as you wish. It seems I have no say whatsoever any more in this house.’
‘Thank you, Stella,’ he murmured. ‘If you’ll excuse us, I think my wife and I have things to discuss.’
‘Of course,’ she blushed and fled through the still open door.
Before it closed behind her she heard Beatrice’s dismayed voice.
‘Dougie, I’ve never heard you so forceful before. You didn’t even consult me on this.’
The door closed, the voices behind it were muffled to a hush and then disappeared as Stella hurried to the back stairs, needing to reach her room and some quiet to make sense of what had just occurred.
12
Stella had spent the rest of the day in her room, deliberately staying invisible to the family while it adjusted to Rafe’s unexpected series of decisions. She distracted herself by knuckling down to craft a long letter to her aunt and uncle. She enclosed an affectionate letter for Carys as well with a flower she had pressed from the Harp’s End garden, which she knew her sister would likely keep under her pillow until it crumbled. For beloved Rory she sketched a picture of her walking over the Weald in Kent. She drew it as a day with a beaming sun in the top right corner but with a rainbow on the opposite side simply because Rory liked rainbows; she also depicted a large house of many windows at the bottom of the tall hill – he’d guess this was symbolic of where she was living. There was no perspective but it wouldn’t matter to her young brother. She could imagine him putting it up on his wall immediately. She drew lots of kisses in a bubble from the girl on a crest of the hill who bore the best likeness to herself that she could achieve, with a ponytail of black hair, arms outstretched. She was just about to fold up the picture when she heard a soft tap at the door.
Stella realised she hadn’t stretched in a couple of hours and her right leg that had been tucked up under her was now sparkling with sensation at blood flowing normally again. She hobbled, wincing, to the door and opened it expecting to see Grace or Hilly. Instead she was met by the grin of Rafe Ainsworth.
‘Sorry, you look startled,’ he said, and then his grin faded. ‘What’s wrong?’
She grimaced. ‘Ouch! Pins and needles, I’m afraid. I’ve been writing long letters to home.’
‘Ah, best to walk those out or you won’t know whether to laugh or cry in a moment,’ he offered in a dry tone. Rafe glanced at the drawing she held and without asking permission he reached for it. She didn’t resist as he took it.
‘It’s for my brother,’ she qualified, embarrassed that he was studying something so intimate. ‘He prefers pictures to letters.’
He nodded, pondering silently. Finally he looked up, his head tipped to one side. ‘You look as though you are running and singing and blowing him kisses all at once on a sunny/rainy day. It’s really rather clever and I love its naïveté. It’s the innocence of childhood and thus it’s perfect for your little brother.’
‘Mmm, yes, Rory will understand it.’
‘He’ll love it. I would, if someone drew something like that for me that oozes so much fondness.’
Stella felt the heat treacherously climb to her cheeks. ‘I miss them all.’
‘I’m sure you do. And by your being here you are doing the very best you can for your family at this time.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you, I don’t mean to sound like I’m complaining at all – you’ve been kind.’ She turned away to walk out the discomfort in her leg but she wasn’t sure if by that gesture of stepping back into her room it was an invitation or not. This was dangerous new territory for her. ‘I’m sorry about today. I feel like I’m a walking catastrophe around your family.’
Either he hadn’t read her move as an invitation or he was being especially discreet because he hadn’t shifted from the doorway when she turned to face him again, although she looked anywhere but at him. Everything about his presence, filling the entrance to her bedroom with his handsome frame and that reticent yet slightly mocking manner of his was unnerving. And even as she thought this she realised that his sardonic way with her was gentle, employed merely to tease.‘Grace wouldn’t agree with that; neither would I. So that means fifty per cent of us are very happy with your being here.’
‘It’s the other half that’s more vocal, though.’
‘The other half is gone.’
She met his gaze. ‘Already?’
He nodded. ‘It’s nearing four-thirty, Stella.’
She blinked and looked at her watch. ‘Surely not. No wonder I have pins and needles.’
‘Anyway, Grace and I would like it if you joined us for dinner this evening.’
‘Perhaps that’s not such a wise idea, Mr Ainsworth,’ she said carefully.
‘I don’t see why not. Last night’s dinner was perfectly acceptable for everyone. I’m simply rescheduling.’
She watched him, saying nothing.
‘Grace was banished to her r
oom today, I understand?’
She sighed. ‘My fault again.’
‘I doubt that. Her mother can be vicious.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘Listen, Stella, you’ve been cooped up here for hours. You need to stretch and I was heading out for a walk. Would you care to join me?’
Now she genuinely hesitated in fear and he could read her thoughts.
‘It’s just a walk. Up the hill. Get some fresh air into your lungs. Learn to master those wellington boots. You could practise your pirouetting.’
She grinned helplessly at his charm that came effortlessly when he was Rafe.
‘Is Grace coming?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I’ve checked but Mrs Boyd can be extremely bossy and has decided that Miss Hailsham is to give Grace a bath and apparently when it involves washing her hair it seems to take on an epic scale . . . industrial-size soap and all that.’
Stella chuckled. ‘Poor Grace.’
‘I would save her if I could but Mrs Boyd needs to wield her power somewhere and it’s Grace who suffers because she can’t wield it over me . . . or you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. She makes me feel privileged to even be past the threshold of Harp’s End yet as the same time as unimportant within its walls as she possibly can.’
‘Yes, but that was when you essentially worked for my wife, who gives Mrs Boyd reigning supremacy over the household and its staff, but now you work for me and you come under my pro-tection.’
She smiled wider. ‘All right, then.’
‘Is that a yes?’
She nodded.
‘Grab a jacket, it’s cooling rapidly. Actually, I’ll find a jacket for you. I’ll meet you in the walled garden where you played hopscotch with Grace.’
He left her wondering how he knew where she had played with Grace but within minutes she was scurrying across the gravel with a sense of excitement she tried desperately to banish but couldn’t.
He was waiting for her. ‘Ah, there you are. Here,’ he said, holding out a brown, waxy cape.
It looked new. ‘This isn’t Hilly’s.’
‘No, it was quicker to take my wife’s riding cape.’
Stella held it midair, unhappy about even holding it. ‘Oh, I couldn’t.’
‘Put it on, Stella. It’s brand new. I gave it to Beatrice years ago and she has never had cause to wear it. Not once, I promise. It’s yours now. You need some sort of waxy coat for here. My wife would likely thank you for relieving her of the guilt of having it gone from her wardrobe where it has hung uselessly for years.’
Reluctantly she took the long cape, loving it instantly, but she forced herself to refuse ownership. ‘I shall borrow it and then return it to you. I do not wish to keep your wife’s coat.’
‘You see it as charity?’ he laughed gently, taking it from her again and holding it out so he could put it over her shoulders. She eased her arms through the conveniently flapped holes. He spun her around like a child and did up the buttons quickly and she obediently stood still, privately relishing his attention.
‘Not charity. Just not appropriate.’
‘Shall we go?’
She nodded. ‘Where?’
‘I want to show you something.’ He led her out of the side gate.
She fell in step and they walked silently down a track edged by tall hedgerow. They were instantly swallowed up by vegetation and the track began to ascend the hill. Stella felt immediately comfortable in their quiet and it was only when the way became steep that she made a sound.
‘Phew! This is harder going,’ she admitted.
He grinned. ‘Worth it, though. Trust me.’ He reached out his hand and without questioning herself or his motives again, she placed herself in his grip and he gently hauled her up. He beamed her a look of pleasure. His help made the going easier and although she was puffing by the time they reached the crest, and her body was warmed through from the effort, it had been far less of a struggle with his strong hand to hold.
‘Now, look back,’ he said.
Stella turned and was rewarded by a glorious view over the patchwork of Kent’s fertile farmland. She could see the steeples of several churches and hamlets surrounded by the verdant pastures.
‘Oh, Rafe, it’s beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you think so. This was my favourite walk as a boy whenever I got home from boarding school. I used to kiss my mother, hug the staff and nearly rip off my school uniform for civvies so I could run up here.’
‘Run?’
He laughed, sounding boyish and carefree. ‘I could in those days. Me and Pirate.’
‘I’m presuming Pirate was a dog – the black-and-white one?’
‘Yes, how on earth do you know that?’ he asked, sounding impressed.
‘I saw photos in the nursery today.’
Rafe shrugged. ‘He was my very best friend. I called him Pirate because of that black fur around one side of his face.’
‘Suited him. He looked like he was grinning out from the photos.’
‘That was Pirate’s permanent expression. He was a great and loyal fellow, lived until he was fourteen and when he could no longer climb this hill he’d sit down there by the gate, waiting for my return.’
‘Don’t, you’ll make me cry,’ she warned with a gentle smile.
‘He loved us all but he was my dog. I miss him still.’
‘Why don’t you have a dog now?’
‘Beatrice doesn’t care for animals,’ he said, his tone instantly losing the soft warmth that had laced it just seconds previously.
‘May I ask you something personal?’
‘I’m sure I can guess what it is.’
‘Is that a yes?’
Rafe cut her a brief smile. ‘The answer is I had no choice, Stella.’
‘We all have choices. Why did you choose Beatrice when you both seem so . . .’ She didn’t want to say it.
‘Poorly matched?’
Stella nodded, her expression sympathetic.
Rafe sighed. ‘Well, there’s a long version but the shorter one is that she became pregnant.’
‘Ah, Georgina.’
‘Yes,’ he said, sitting down as though just saying her name punched the wind out of him. ‘A mistake, I was told.’
‘I was a mistake but no one regretted me. You sound regretful.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, eyes narrowing and glancing sideways at her.
She lifted a shoulder. ‘You didn’t have to sleep with her. You didn’t have to ignore the obvious precautions . . .’
He said nothing for a few heartbeats and Stella was sure she had overstepped her mark.
‘H-here I go again, apologising,’ she stammered.
‘I was trapped by someone who wanted something so badly she was prepared to go to some lengths to achieve it.’
Stella waited, but Rafe didn’t elaborate. A flash of anger sparked in his gaze and it was then that Stella felt the truth of her vague suspicion settling into place. Caught by surprise by the sudden realisation that she’d hit on what was likely a family secret, Stella wasn’t quick enough to stop the words that came: ‘Georgina is not your child.’ It wasn’t a question but the naked statement prompted him to look away into the distance.
‘Is it so obvious to you?’
Now it felt shocking to have her suspicion confirmed but this time she wrestled back control and buried her dismay beneath a deliberately schooled, even expression. ‘I told you, I’ve developed a knack for assessing people. I couldn’t match up Georgina with Grace in any way and yet I can match Georgina’s personality to her mother and I can match Grace with you easily enough . . . well, with Rafe, anyway, not so much with Dougie.’
She smiled but he didn’t, just nodded and stared out in contemplative silence. Stella felt obliged to continue. ‘Grace echoes her mother’s beautiful eyes. Georgina doesn’t especially look like any of the three of you, certainly reveals none of your manner, but it was an impression I had;
I haven’t reached this decision because I notice you treat Georgina any differently to Grace. In fact, if pressed, I would say you are amazingly tolerant of Georgina’s barbs.’
He turned away from the breathtaking vista to face her properly. ‘That’s because I have allowed myself to feel sorry for her. Her upbringing is not her fault, nor is who her true father is. You can understand that better than most, I suspect.’
‘Yes, I can. I think I admire you then in the same way I have admired the man who raised me as his daughter.’
‘Thank you. As to Georgina, she hates me but she doesn’t know why. I can’t even tell yet whether she knows just how much she loathes me but maybe at some level she senses we are not family. I agree it’s obvious Grace is from Beatrice and myself and perhaps it’s this understanding in the dark corner of her mind that Georgina rebels against.’
She nodded. It was subtle but made sense to her. ‘Why all the pretence? Monty, Douglas, Rafe? You’ve told me about your names but I don’t understand the different personalities.’
‘Yes, you do Stella, because you understand me.’ He was staring at her in a way that made her feel highly aware of their physical nearness and how all it would take was for one of them to step forward to —
She swallowed. ‘Do I? I find you incredibly complex, to be honest.’
He smiled. ‘No, you don’t. What you find complicated is how I fit in here, but you get me, Stella. It’s why we’re friends.’
‘Are we friends?’
He leaned forward and she did not lean back. Although she’d hesitantly imagined it somewhere in that primal part of her brain, when the kiss came it was more tender than she could possibly have dreamed it. His lips caressed hers rather than pressed against them and in the fleeting seconds that it lasted Stella wondered dizzily if she was imagining the tip of his tongue tracing her mouth as though sketching his own outline and leaving his personal mark. And the touch was so soft it was as though the wings of the butterflies he studied were at work.
When he pulled back with a gentle smile Stella felt as though she’d climbed the hill again for the sense of breathlessness and how urgently her heart was hammering.
The Last Dance Page 17
