Love's Way (9 page)

“I have a headache, Tom,” I excused. Lord, how could women go marrying men and give them
carte blanche
to do this any time they wished? I would as soon be kissed by a Herdwick.

He flew into a fit of pique and soon took his leave, asking in a voice heavy with sarcasm if I was quite sure my headache would be cured by Saturday night. How I wished to tell him it would not! I wanted to take back my promise, to be completely and utterly free of him, but I looked at his kind, offended face and said nothing of the sort. “Quite sure, but if you have changed your mind about taking me, Tom...”

“You know I didn’t mean that!” A kiss on the hand was endurable. He left, mollified, even apologizing for that timid attempt at love-making. Was
that
what I found so off putting? Was he
too
biddable? I tried to envisage Tom being more forceful, insistent, holding me in his arms by force. No image would come. Instead what popped into my head was Jack Gamble.
He
was not a man to be put off by any weak claim of a headache. I felt it instinctively. I felt too it would be difficult, impossible, for Emily to stave him off if he decided to have her. It seemed downright
wrong,
what he was doing, yet when a man’s intentions are marriage, the world does not call it wrong, but honourable. Maybe they could be happy together after all.

Other than passing them on the road that afternoon, I had not seen them together since last Sunday’s visit. I had not gone to the Hall, and they had not returned to Ambledown, but local gossip said they were constantly together. Outside of Edward’s concern in the matter, I decided I did not much care. I walked into the hallway and shouted up the stairs, “You can come down now, Auntie. He’s gone,”

“Already?” she called over the bannister. “He didn’t stay long.”

“He had a headache,” I told her, to prevent being sent to bed with a powder, as I would have been had I claimed the headache for my own.

The Rush-Bearing was a great success. Not only the locals attended in full number, but the tourists as well came to have a look at this quaint custom. Lady Irene Castleman was in town for the occasion. She came to the tea party afterwards, looking very much out of place amongst the less fashionable ladies present. She had once been an extremely pretty woman, just a hair’s breadth short of beautiful. She is still attractive, with her coppery hair, her painted cheeks and her wide smile. My own preference, had I been a male of mature years, would be an interesting lady like Irene, as opposed to a young, silly chit like Emily. But then my age perhaps inclines me to choose mind over body. She wore an elegant gown of sea green to match her eyes and contrast superbly with her hair.

“Still at it, eh, Chloe?” she asked, in her throaty voice.

“As you see, Lady Irene. Cream and sugar?” I poured at one of the tea tables.

“Clear, please. I am watching my figure. No one else will if I don’t. I hear Jack Gamble is back at the Hall.”

“Yes, he returned a few weeks ago.”

“Interesting,” she said, with a saucy smile, not even attempting to disguise her interest. ‘‘How is old Carnforth?”

“Ailing, as usual.”

“I must pay my respects. Where is Edward? I have not seen him since I arrived. I heard some talk of his seeing my cousin, Emily.”

I explained Edward’s tour, but she knew it already. She was interested in Jack Gamble and wanted to hear from the horse’s sister’s mouth how affairs stood with Emily and Edward. What her chances were with Gamble, in other words. In mid-sentence, she spotted him and interrupted me.

“Ah, there is dear little Emily now. What a sweet child it is!”

She was off like a hound after a fox. Looking after her, I noticed the sweet child was accompanied by her male cousin. It was the cousin (male) who was soon having his hand seized by Lady Irene. As the pressure of business allowed, I kept an eye on the three of them for the next while. I swear Lady Irene’s mouth never stopped flying. When Gamble and Emily came for their tea, she was still with them, gabbling away, urging Emily (who would hardly go alone) to come and visit her. I examined Jack closely to see how he was enjoying her company. He wore an amused, interested look. I felt if only Lady Irene would close her mouth occasionally she might have better luck.

“Nice show, Miss Barwick,” Jack Gamble said, when he reached his brown hand out for his tea cup. “It is good to see the old traditions being kept up. Will there be a dance this evening, as there used to be in the old days?”

“Yes, the locals will attend, Mr. Gamble, though you perhaps would be more interested in Captain Wingdale’s assembly.”

“You forget I am a local, ma’am. Cream, no sugar, please,” he said, still holding out his cup. The cream was as close to his hand as my own, but I have often remarked that a gentleman likes to have a good deal of service. Edward will sit till the pot grows cold sooner than he will pour his own tea. My father, too, was the same.

“You have not called on us,” he said, still waiting for his cream. I gave in, and poured for him. “Thank you,” he said, looking over his shoulder to determine he was the last in the line.

“I have been rather busy this week.”

“When does that brother of yours return?”

“Not for two weeks.”

“A laggard in love,” he commented idly, just as Tom strolled up to me. The glance managed to include Tom in the statement just made, though Edward was the prime target.

“Hello, Chloe. How are you feeling? I hope that headache that bothered you last night is gone,” Tom said, smiling to indicate all was forgiven.

I cannot imagine why I should have been made to fee! foolish at his speech, unless it was due to the ironic smile Jack Gamble chose to bestow on me. It was the strangest thing, almost as though he
knew
why I had assumed the migraine.

“All gone. You have not forgotten you are coming to us for dinner, Tom?” I asked, smiling as brightly as I could.

“Certainly not. I had my man take my evening clothes on over to Ambledown to change for the party. Well, this looks like a pretty good do,” he rambled on, glancing about for a chair. There was one against the wall behind me. He went to get it, leaving Gamble still at the tea table with me.

“Headache, eh?” he said, cocking his head at a bold angle and laughing. “Tch, tch, and you are not even married yet,” he added, then strolled off to rejoin Lady Irene and Emily, as Tom dragged the chair to my side. Wingdale had entered while my interest was diverted elsewhere. He did not come for tea, but went to stand at Lady Irene’s side, his tongue all but hanging out in admiration.

“Seems as though Lady Irene has found her match at last,” Tom said.

He was not so finely attuned to affairs of the heart as a lady is. It was clear to the most uninterested observer that while Wingdale was falling over himself to be civil to Lady Irene, the lady had smiles for no one but Jack. Before long she had detached him from the others to go and admire the newly-laid rushes. Emily came up to me to ask if I had heard from Edward. I told her I had not.

“I had a note,” she confessed, with a delightful blush that affected even Tom, no indiscriminate admirer of ladies as a rule. Had I cared for him at all, I might have felt a pang of jealousy. “A poem it was,” she went on. “I’ll bring it over for you to read tomorrow, if you are free, Chloe.”

“Yes, I am free.”

She left, with a wave of her fingers, to rush after Jack and Irene. “A bit of shame for that poor little creature to be living with Jack Gamble,” Tom said. “She’ll end up hitched to him, when it is plain as a pikestaff it is Edward she loves.”

As I watched her putting a possessive hand on Jack’s arm, smiling at him ever so sweetly, I found her hard to pity. She was an innocent minx, and while she seemed to have some feelings for Edward, it was rather clear she was also jealous of Lady Irene.

Chapter Eight

You may have got the idea that Jack Gamble was no slouch in his dealings with the opposite sex. He was a sloth when set beside his cousin, Lady Irene. Tom had come to the Rush-Bearing with his evening clothes packed. It turned out Lady Irene had pulled the same stunt, but without the excuse of any invitation to stay anywhere. I later learned from Emily that Irene had packed a case as well, intending, if all else failed, to stay a few nights at Wingdale Hause, but her real goal was Carnforth Hall. She achieved it. By some means unknown to Emily (and hence to myself) she angled an invitation from Gamble to remain a few days with them.

She entered the dancing party on his arm, looking like an orchid on the verge of decay, but still pretty. The reason I say orchid is that she wore a chiffon creation, all filmy, with lace of that violet shade commonly associated with orchids. It took some nerve to select that particular hue with her copper curls, but it worked. Emily, on Gamble’s other side, was quite cast into the shade, a blushing primrose. It was soon clear that the older lady was falling heir to the better part of Gamble’s attention.

It was she who stood up with him for the opening minuet, while Emily was handed over to Ian Welter, the editor of a quarterly poetry magazine who summers in our midst. He has not the taint of the tourist, as his family has had a cottage here forever. Nor did Irene let her quarry go at the minuet’s end. She had confirmed her fears of a match between the two cousins, and was at pains to keep them apart. It was her plan, I believe, to show herself as a much admired, popular Lady Bountiful in the district. She was so gracious and condescending to us all I felt like pulling her red curls out.

“Hello, Chloe,” she said, wafting by with Gamble securely tethered at her side. “Such a charming party. You are to be congratulated.”

“Thank you, but I do not take credit for the whole, Lady Irene.”

“Tom,” she went on, turning to him while I was still objecting to her congratulations. “How is your dear mama? I must drop over and see her soon. Give her my regards.”

Before he could say he would, she had pulled Gamble on to the next group. I could not hear her comments, but I could see her smile, see her squeezing of fingers, her little dying look to Gamble—as though to say, “Forgive me, but I must recognize my people. It is expected of me.” A pity he had not glanced behind her to see the astonished faces watching her performance. He did not do so, however. His looks were all for Irene. He wore the satisfied air of a man who knows he has the prettiest lady in the room at his side. He did not once look to see how Emily fared.

Nora was nodding wisely. The match would have her approval, as it left Lady Emily free to bestow her distinction on Ambledown. I had thought it would have my approval too, but I found myself unhappy with it. She was manipulating him, that was part of it. Of equal disappointment to me was that he was so easily gammoned. I would have thought a man of the world would be more discerning.

He did not get back to Emily till the country dances struck up. Irene was a little long in the tooth to relish these boisterous frolics, so she graciously remembered Emily then, and sat smiling nobly on the pair. I believe business was poor at Wingdale Hause that night. At about eleven Wingdale himself joined our entertainment. To be more specific, he joined Lady Irene, who did not repress his fawning advances as she should have. He danced attendance on her in a servile, cringing, encroaching way. It is my firm belief the pair of them were laughing at the rest of us, looking and pointing and laughing at our country getups and country manners. If she thought to incite Gamble to jealousy with this suitor, she was out. He did not like it one bit, but it was anger rather than jealousy that was the cause of his displeasure.

I needed no encouragement to despise Captain Wingdale. When he happened to look in my direction, then nod a salutation, I turned my head away quickly.

“Bloody upstart,” said faithful Tom.

When the country dances were over, Irene arose and began drifting towards her cousins once again. “She means to palm that sailor off on Emily and snare Gamble again,” Nora said. She was an integral part of our party, sharing all our disgust and animadversions.

“She shan’t then,” Tom said manfully, and nipped smartly in ahead of them to claim Emily for his partner for the next set.

I made sure Irene would throw custom to the winds and ensnare Gamble for another dance. He was bent on propriety, however, and cast about the hall for a familiar face. Finding none but my own, he settled for me. It was a waltz, thus allowing more conversation than the formal sets.

“I had not realized Lady Irene was remaining for the dance,” I said leadingly, to gauge his reaction.

“Yes, she is staying with us for a few days. She wishes to see something of old Carnforth, as this will likely be his last summer.”

I enquired for the old gentleman’s health and he answered, “He is still hanging on, making it demmed difficult to get anything done.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to get on with repairing the house, but he objects to everything. I had arranged for an architect to come down and repair the statue gallery, but he forbids it.”

“It is
his
estate,” I pointed out.

“For the time being. It will soon be mine, and in the interim I don’t much relish living in pretentious squalor, as you so accurately described it on our first visit. There is plenty to be done outside, and I am going ahead with that. He never sets his nose outside the door.”

Nothing else of the least interest passed between us during the waltz. Gamble was light-footed, a good dancer. He told me the English Raj had frequent dancing parties in India. Just before returning to Tom to claim Emily, he repeated the invitation to the Hall. We left the party a little early, as Tom had several miles to drive before he reached home.

I was curious to learn how affairs were progressing at the Hall with Emily and Irene competing for Jack’s time, but I had no real notion of paying a visit. On Monday, Emily ventured out alone (but for a groom) in her phaeton and came to call on us. Nearly our first question had to do with Irene.

“She is helping Cousin John choose new decorations for the saloon,” she told us. “He is eager to get cleaning it up, and they are choosing new drapery material and upholstery for the sofas today. Irene thinks green is nice.”