Miss Stock, thus appealed to, could not resist, and when her trip was over, what more natural than that Lord Ravensford should offer the same politeness to Marianne?
‘You can have no objection, I hope?’ said Lord Ravensford smoothly to Miss Stock. ‘As Miss Travis’s father is unfortunately unable to join us, I will offer myself to take her round the lake.’
The smile he gave Miss Stock was so disarming that, although she fluttered how it was not quite the thing for a young lady, she went on to say that with so many people there, and all in plain view, and as poor dear Marianne must not be neglected . . . in short, she gave way before his undoubted charm and Marianne allowed herself to be escorted to the yacht.
‘Do you always have your way with maiden ladies?’ she asked him mischievously, arranging herself, not without difficulty, on the yacht.
He threw her a wicked smile which brought a blush rising to her cheeks and she realised that her words, innocently spoken, could have a different meaning. Then he took pity on her. ‘Not always,’ he said.
Once they were settled he pulled on a series of ropes and the yacht began to glide forward over the ice. It moved slowly to begin with, but as Lord Ravensford tacked to catch the wind it began to pick up speed. Marianne let out a gasp: the sensation was exhilarating. The wind caught her hair and blew it into confusion, stinging her cheeks and making them glow. Back and forth across the lake they went, the yacht leaving a trail of churned-up ice behind them, whilst ahead it was as smooth as glass.
At last the yacht began to slow. Lord Ravensford steered it in to the shore and brought it gliding to a halt. He secured the ropes, sprang out of the yacht, and offered Marianne his hand. She took it gratefully – the yacht was breathtaking, but getting in and out of it was precarious – and found herself once more on firm ground. She looked across the lake towards Miss Stock, who was busily chattering to Mrs Kent. Lord Ravensford had brought the yacht to rest at the far side of the lake, away from most of the guests, something Marianne suspected he had done on purpose. Whilst still being in full view, they were accorded some measure of privacy, and would retain it until they had walked round the lake.
‘It’s good to see you enjoying yourself,’ he said, taking in her brilliant eyes and rosy cheeks.
She looked at him suspiciously, not sure whether he was mocking her or not, but for once he seemed to be serious.
‘It can’t be easy for you,’ he continued, ‘now that your father's become a recluse.’
‘Sometimes . . . ’ she began.
‘Yes?’
‘Sometimes it would be nice to have someone to turn to.’
She knew herself to be both intelligent and capable, but even so, there were times when she found it all getting too much for her.
He looked at her intently. ‘You weren’t tempted to accept Cosgrove’s offer, then?’ he asked, his hand drifting to her chin, which he lifted gently towards him. His eyes were searching as they probed her own.
She swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Life would be so much easier for you if you had a husband.’
Marianne felt the tension in him as he spoke, as though he was a coiled spring. ‘I could hardly marry Jem for that reason,’ she replied.
‘Many women do marry for that reason.’
‘And I do not blame them for it. But that is not for me.’
He looked at her searchingly for another minute and then, seeming satisfied, dropped her chin.
They walked on in silence, skirting the lake.
‘I have to admit that Jem’s proposal has changed things. It has made it much more difficult for me to ask Mr Cosgrove for advice,’ she said.
‘I have my own estate in Surrey. I am used to managing it. If you need any help I hope you will ask me.’
Marianne was surprised and yet relieved by the offer. It certainly would make her life easier if she had someone to turn to, and hard though Lord Ravensford undoubtedly was, he was also someone she instinctively felt she could trust.
‘And as to this estate,’ he said, as they walked on, ‘I know you were concerned about trees being cut down and not replanted, so I have given orders that the woods are to be re-stocked.’
She turned to him, eyes wide.
‘You’re surprised?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘Good. I’m glad to have surprised you. Because you, Miss Travis, are surprising me all the time.’
On this enigmatic note they rejoined the other guests.
‘You’ve left the yacht on the other side of the lake, Ravensford,’ protested Maurice Pargeter, who had been looking forward to taking the yacht out again.
‘The ice has been weakened enough for now. The yacht churns it up, and it becomes thinner with each crossing. But don’t worry, if the weather holds it should be possible to take it out again another day.’
With the yachting over, the guests began to think about returning to the house. The weather, which had been pronounced fresh on the way down to the lake, was now being described as perishing. A brisk walk, however, revived everyone and it was a merry party that, divested of their cloaks and greatcoats, settled down in front of a roaring log fire.
Marianne was claimed by Maurice Pargeter, whilst Lord Ravensford, shrugging off the attentions of the Lenton girls, was claimed by their cousin, Mrs Violet Kilkenny.
Mrs Kilkenny was an outwardly respectable matron of some thirty years, but she was rarely seen with Mr Kilkenny, whose business kept him in London. She had a decided preference for male company and had begun the afternoon by talking to Mr Havers, a wealthy merchant who owned much of the land hereabouts. She now turned her attention to Lord Ravensford. She began to converse with him in a beautifully-modulated voice, which was very alluring.
In fact, the whole of her was alluring, Marianne had to admit, though why the idea should occur to her she did not know. Although decorously dressed, Mrs Kilkenny wore her amber crêpe gown with a subtle negligence that made it seem almost risqué. It hovered on the verge of revealing her shoulder, and although the bodice revealed no more of her breasts than was fashionable, her rope of pearls was of just such a length as to nestle invitingly between them. She leaned towards Lord Ravensford as she talked, and if Lord Ravensford’s smiles were anything to go by he was enjoying every minute of it.
Marianne turned her attention firmly back to Mr Pargeter, reminding herself that Lord Ravensford’s behaviour was none of her concern. If he chose to flirt with Mrs Kilkenny that was up to him. Even so, she was relieved when Figgs entered the room and announced that dinner was served.
There was a chorus of approval from those assembled. The hour was early but, in the country, dinner was always served early, particularly during the winter months.
Mr Kent escorted Marianne into the dining-room, whilst Lord Ravensford gave his arm to Mrs Cosgrove; something that did little to alleviate Marianne’s feelings, as Mrs Kilkenny sat at Lord Ravensford’s left hand.
However, fighting down feelings that she refused to acknowledge as jealousy, Marianne gave her attention to her fellow guests.
The meal, whilst not being up to Henri’s standards, was well cooked and enjoyable. Split pea soup was followed by turbot set in smelts, after which came a round of beef and, to finish off, a plum pudding.
‘Good food, good wine. What more can anyone want?’ asked Mr Cosgrove of the table at large, when the meal finally came to an end.
There was a murmur of agreement before the ladies withdrew, to be joined not long afterwards by the gentlemen.
‘Splendid afternoon, Ravensford,’ remarked Henry Kent, as he drank his coffee.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I am hoping to soon repeat it. I have it in mind to host a weekend party, to liven up the dull winter days.’
‘What an excellent idea,’ said Mrs Kilkenny, leaning forwards slightly and somehow managing to make the commonplace words sound intimate and full of promise.
‘What do you say, Miss Travis?’ he asked, turning t
o Marianne. ‘Is it an excellent idea?’
‘I’m sure it is. Unfortunately, I don’t believe I will be able to attend.’ A weekend of watching Mrs Kilkenny throw herself at Lord Ravensford, whilst he apparently enjoyed every minute of it, did not appeal to her.
‘Oh, but Marianne, I’m sure it can be arranged,’ said Miss Stock, ever helpful. ‘Why, if it runs from Friday to Sunday, as I think dear Lord Ravensford intends, your father will only have to do without you on the Saturday. Don’t forget, you can have your customary game of chess with him on Friday morning, and then tell him all about the weekend on the Sunday evening. And as for the Saturday, I’m sure my brother would be delighted to sit with him for an hour or two, for Sebastien, too, enjoys a game of chess.’
Faced with this excess of friendliness and helpfulness, Marianne realised it would be churlish of her to refuse.
‘Splendid,’ said Lord Ravensford, throwing her the mocking look she knew so well. ‘Then it is settled. I will arrange the details with my housekeeper before sending out the invitations, and I hope you will all do me the honour of attending.’
This new turn of events gave an added impetus to the conversation, and it was late in the evening when the party finally came to an end.
* * * *
‘A weekend party?’ Figgs was scandalised. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing, organising a weekend party? Have you forgotten why we took this place? So that we could put out to sea, if necessary, without raising any suspicions, and so that if all goes well Kit can land here without being seen, and therefore without any Jacobin spies like Windham getting hold of it. You know as well as I do that the Jacobins are doing everything in their power to make sure that no one escapes from France.’
‘I don’t need you lecturing me on what we’re doing here,’ remarked Luke. ‘But until we hear from Kit there’s nothing we can do to help him. And the neighbours, meanwhile, will be less suspicious of my presence here if I am throwing parties and am clearly enjoying myself.’
‘And what if word comes during your party?’ Figgs enquired.
‘That isn’t very likely. And if it does, I’ll deal with the situation when it arises.’
‘And all because of a woman,’ said Figgs, making an unflattering noise with his lips.
‘Mrs Kilkenny has nothing to do with it.’
‘I never said she did.’ Figgs’s remark was dry.
‘Meaning?’ Luke’s voice was demanding, underpinned with just the faintest tinge of danger.
‘Meaning I’ve seen the way you look at Marianne.’
‘Ah.’ Luke’s expression was predatory. ‘Who wouldn’t? She’s enough to drive a man to distraction.’
Figgs’s gaze became speculative. ‘Seems to me there’s more to it than that. Seems to me she means more to you than just a lovely face and a tempting collection of curves.’
‘Of course she means more to me than that.’ Luke’s tone was contemptuous. ‘She’s Kit’s sister. And the next time you’re tempted to comment on her curves I suggest you remember it,’ he said warningly.
‘So that’s the interest?’ asked Figgs mockingly. ‘It’s because she’s Kit’s sister? Once Kit’s saved, it’ll be back to London and bye bye Marianne?’
Luke glowered. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than stand there talking damned nonsense?’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as getting things ready for the weekend party.’
‘You’re determined, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then there’s no more to be said. But be careful with her, Luke. Like you said, she’s Kit’s sister –’
‘I don’t need you lecturing me on my private affairs either.’
The look that accompanied this speech was so dangerous that Figgs withdrew from the lists. ‘Have it your own way.’ He stood up and crossed to the door. ‘So it’s Friday, is it? The party?’
‘Friday to Sunday.’
Figgs gave an ironic bow, and in his best butlering voice, he said, ‘Very good, my lord.’
Chapter Six
The first of March dawned bright and fair. It was a balmy day, unusually warm for the time of year. The ice had melted, leaving green fields and rushing streams in its wake, and a few early daffodils nestled in sheltered spots around the Travis estate.
Marianne carried a bunch of them in her arms as she rode towards the village churchyard after lunch. She was enjoying the unseasonably warm sunshine and the balmy air. Nature was bursting into life all around her and it made her cheerful, however sad her task might be.
She dismounted by the lych gate, using one of the stones as a block, and tethered her little grey mare, then went into the churchyard. The graves were all well kept, and there was an air of peace about the place. Marianne found it welcoming - since the coming of Lord Ravensford, peace in her life had seemed in short supply. She went over to the far side of the graveyard and set about arranging the daffodils in a silver vase. The vase was set in stone in between two graves. One was the grave of her mother, the other was Julian’s grave. Her beloved younger brother had enjoyed the outdoor life, and had made their mother promise not to bury him in the family crypt; and when Mrs Travis’s turn had come, she had asked to be laid by the side of her younger son.
After fetching water from the well to fill the vase, Marianne knelt for a few minutes in silence, remembering her beloved mother and brother. It was a fever that had taken her brother, and a riding accident that had taken her mother, but it was not the sadness of their deaths that she remembered, but the happiness of their lives. She felt calm and at peace when laying flowers on their graves.
She was just about to rise to her feet when she became aware of someone standing close by. She looked round to see Lord Ravensford. He had an unusual look on his face, a look she had never seen there before. It was a look which, on the face of another man, a man who was not as hard as Lord Ravensford, she would almost have called tender.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t meant to disturb you.’
His tone was so gentle that she felt strangely touched. ‘You haven’t.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I have done what I came to do.’ She looked at the gravestones and felt a desire to talk about her family. ‘I come here each week to pay my respects to my mother and my brother. Not Kit,’ she said, seeing his look of surprise. ‘My younger brother, Julian.’
She did not know why she was confiding in him, especially on such a personal matter, but she had the instinctive feeling that he would understand. It came as a relief to her to speak about her mother and brother. There were times when she longed to talk about them, but her father could not hear their names mentioned without becoming fretful, and Trudie, meaning well, would say it was better not to talk of the dead. But she had loved her mother and brother, and felt a need to talk about them now and again.
She saw him look at the gravestone and read the words chiselled there. In loving memory of Julian St John Travis, born 1773, died 1784. May he rest in peace.
‘I . . . did not know,’ he said quietly.
‘Julian was my younger brother, the baby of the family,’ she said, looking lovingly at his gravestone. ‘He was just eleven when he died. That’s why . . . ’ She paused as she felt a sudden catch in her throat, but then went on. ‘That’s why my mother decided she must learn how to deal with the illnesses and accidents that happened round the estate.’
‘And why she taught you how to deal with them as well?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘“It’s no use trusting doctors,” Mama used to tell me. “Doctors don’t always get through”. There was a storm on the night of Julian’s death, you see, and Doctor Moffat couldn’t get through. There were floods and gales and it was quite impossible. By the time he reached us the next morning it was too late. Julian was dead. My mother decided then that she would learn the rudiments of medicine, so that if something like it happened again she would know what to do.’
‘Your mother must have been a fine woman
.’
‘She was.’ Marianne spoke simply. ‘She made Dr Moffat tell her what she should do in cases of fever in the future. At first, he didn’t want to help her. It wasn’t a fit subject for ladies, he said. But because of Julian’s death he relented, and in time he came to teach her much of what he knew. She decided to pass her knowledge on to me. It shocked Papa, and many of the people hereabouts, but it did not put her off. She had a strong character, and did what she believed to be right.’
‘I wondered how you had managed to make such a good job of Henri’s leg. And also how you had the courage to help him free it from the trap. It can’t have been a pretty sight. Most young ladies would have had a fit of the vapours.’
‘I have to confess, I almost felt like it,’ she said. ‘His leg was a terrible mess.’
‘He told me. He told me, also, how you bandaged it.’
‘And you were not shocked?’ she asked, looking sideways at him as they left the graves and walked down to the lych gate.
He gave a wry smile. ‘We are neither of us conventional, Miss Travis; neither you nor I. I am anything but a gentleman, as you so rightly told me, and whilst you are most definitely a lady, you don't allow that fact to stop you being yourself as well. That, I suspect, is why we get on so well together: we both have strong characters - too strong to let society stop us being ourselves. But to answer your question: no, I was not shocked when I learned that you had bandaged Henri's leg. It seemed to me to be a very useful thing to be able to do. And why should I be shocked at someone being useful?’
‘Many people are. Being useful is not generally considered to be desirable.’
‘And being useless is?’
She laughed, picking up on the humour in his tone. But at the same time she could not help remembering the gentlemen who had courted her in London, and their horror when they had discovered she had tended an injured parlourmaid. ‘There are those who think so.’
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