The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (7 page)

That evening, Gemma rang her parents to tell them of her engagement. They were as delighted as she’d expected they’d be. Her mother immediately started planning the guest list while her father jokingly grumbled that he supposed he’d have to buy a new suit, even though he’d just retired.

Later, Ben came round to Gemma’s flat for a meal. She’d offered to cook fajitas for him. Their first meal together as an engaged couple! She sang along to Ed Sheeran’s
Thinking Out Loud
as she chopped onions and peppers. Perhaps they should have that song as the first dance at their wedding? It was so romantic; it was definitely one of her favourites. She’d ask Ben later what he thought. He’d probably agree. Dear old Ben, he was generally happy to go along with what other people wanted. Gemma knew already that the wedding preparations would be largely up to her to decide upon. Although no doubt her mum would want to get involved.

She had the tiny table in her kitchen set, the food chopped and ready to quickly cook, and a bottle of wine open when her flat doorbell rang. Why didn’t Ben use his key? She’d given him one years ago. As she went to let him in she wondered why they’d never moved in together. They’d idly discussed it on a few occasions, but neither of their flats was really big enough for two people with many years of accumulated possessions. They’d both have had to sell up and buy something bigger together. Well, now they were going to get married they’d have to do that anyway. Gemma would miss her cosy little flat but was sure that she could make a house she shared with Ben just as comfortable and cosy.

‘Hey, gorgeous!’ Ben leaned over and kissed her as she opened the door. ‘My fiancée, no less! Mrs McArthur to be. Looking good, girl!’

‘Come on in,
Mr Rowling
,’ Gemma said, giggling.

‘That’s a bit progressive! I don’t mind if you don’t take my name but not sure I’d take yours. Well, something smells good.’ Ben shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it on a coat hook.

Gemma handed him a glass of wine. ‘Shiraz all right for you?’

‘Anything, darling, you know me. So, how did the girlie shopping trip go today? Did you get your outfit for Anna’s wedding sorted?’

Gemma grimaced. ‘No. I’ll have to look again some other time. Nat tried on loads of stuff but I don’t think she’s made up her mind what she wants.’

‘Did you tell her our news? Bet she was delighted, wasn’t she?’ Ben grinned at her expectantly. She chewed her lip as she decided how to answer him.

‘Well. Yes, she was pleased for us.’

‘You don’t sound too sure of that. What did she say?’

Gemma shook her head. ‘She didn’t say much. That was the funny thing about her reaction. She just didn’t seem to want to talk about it or to let me tell her anything much about it. She didn’t even want to know how you proposed.’ Gemma brushed away a stray tear that had come unbidden to her eye. ‘It’s not the reaction I was expecting from my best mate.’

‘Aw, Gem.’ Ben moved over to her and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Don’t be upset. Perhaps she was having an off day.’

‘She was hung-over. She tried to pull a bloke who turned out to be gay last night.’

‘Oops!’ Ben gave a snort of laughter. ‘That is so like her.’

‘But even so, no matter how bad she felt, she could have at least said congratulations, couldn’t she? She wasn’t feeling so bad she couldn’t manage an afternoon trailing round the shops.’ The more Gemma thought about it, the more bitter she felt. Why hadn’t Nat hugged her and squealed and been excited for her? She would have, if their positions were reversed.

‘Very odd behaviour,’ Ben agreed. ‘Wonder what’s up with her?’

‘No idea.’ Gemma shrugged and went back into the kitchen to get on with the cooking. Ben followed her in, bringing his wine. ‘Frankly, Ben, it pissed me off. I mean, it’s the biggest and best thing that’s ever happened to me, after meeting you in the first place of course, so for her to just ignore me when I tell her we’re getting married is really hurtful.’ Gemma threw the vegetables she’d chopped earlier into the frying pan where they sizzled and spat violently.

‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. Is that pan too hot?’ Ben reached over her and turned the gas down a little.

He had a point. Gemma realised she’d spattered oil all over her favourite T-shirt. ‘Bugger, look at me.’

‘I wonder if she’s jealous,’ Ben said. ‘Perhaps you laid it on a bit thick and came across too smug. Some single people hate couples just because they’re not part of one.’

‘I didn’t get the chance to lay it on too thick!’ Gemma retorted. ‘I mean, I barely had chance to say anything about it, apart from that you’d proposed and I’d said yes. She just didn’t want to know.’ She flung the chopped chicken into the pan along with the vegetables. It wasn’t sizzling enough now, so she turned the heat up again.

Ben held his hands up in submission. ‘Hey, I know you wouldn’t have rubbed it in. Maybe she’ll be all right with it next time you see her or talk to her – when she’s had chance to think about it a little. She’ll be as excited as you are, I bet.’ He caught Gemma’s eye. ‘You
are
still excited about it, aren’t you? Not having second thoughts?’

She laid down the wooden spoon she’d been stirring the fajita mix with, and put her arms around his neck. ‘Course I’m still excited. Nothing I want more than to get married to you, silly.’ She stretched up and kissed him, long and lingering. His hands ran up and down her back, pulling her close. She felt as though she was where she belonged. In his arms, safe and secure, where nothing else mattered.

A sudden deafening beeping caused them to separate. ‘Argh, the smoke detector!’ Gemma said, grabbing a tea towel and flicking it frantically under the detector.

Ben turned the gas down, put the extractor on, and opened the kitchen window. ‘Thought you had the pan too hot,’ he said.

‘I’ve ruined it,’ Gemma said, feeling close to tears. Her first attempt at cooking for her new fiancé and she’d managed to smoke out the flat. And she was usually so super careful about the oven and hob, checking several times that the gas was off before leaving the flat, for example. Now she couldn’t even cook a simple stir-fry. What a failure she was.

‘No, it’s fine – look.’ Ben was stirring the mix. ‘My fault. I got carried away there, snogging you. So, actually, it
is
your fault after all for being so flipping irresistible. You go and sit down and I’ll finish this off. And no more worrying about what Nat does or doesn’t think about our engagement. All right?’

Chapter 6

June 1837

‘I don’t feel old enough to marry,’ said Rebecca. She looked at Sarah. ‘Do you?’

‘Who said anything about getting married?’ Sarah put down her stitching. It was, Rebecca noticed, quite poorly executed. She glanced at her own handiwork – the stitches neat and tidy, the back of the embroidery almost as good as the front. Sarah just didn’t have the patience to sit and sew. Her threads were tangled, the material puckered where she’d pulled it too tight, and there were grubby fingermarks on one corner of the sampler.

‘We’re eighteen now. You’re almost nineteen. Mama and Papa will soon be wanting us married and settled. That’s why we’re going to all those balls, of course. Although those are really for your benefit as I am already promised to Charles de Witt.’ Rebecca smiled at her adopted sister.

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, silly. And I know you seem happy to go along with Papa’s plans to marry you off to that oaf, Charles. But I don’t want to get married. I’d rather stay single and independent. For a few years at least. Maybe when I’m twenty-five or so I’ll marry but why rush into it?’

‘Twenty-five – why, you’ll be an old maid by then! I think a girl should be married by the time she turns twenty. I hope I will be. Charles de Witt has recently returned from his travels on the continent, and has taken a house in Bridhampton. He is to come to dine with us tonight, to renew our acquaintance. I confess, I am a little nervous about seeing him again – it must be six years since we last met. I was just a child. I hope he is
not
an “oaf” as you put it, as he is supposed to become my husband.’ Rebecca gazed at Sarah, whose hair was fairer, eyes bluer and figure shapelier, than her own. ‘He’ll probably prefer you, in any case. You are by far the prettier of the two of us.’

‘Nonsense! You have the sweeter nature.’ Sarah flashed her a smile. ‘In any case, I shall not be interested in him. I told you, I do not wish to marry for some years. I’d rather be free, to flirt a little with whomever I choose. Like, for example, Jed Arthur.’

Rebecca glanced at her in shock. It was not the first time she had mentioned that name. Jed lived in one of the cottages on the estate. He was but a farmhand. A handsome one, admittedly, but a labourer nonetheless, and not someone Sarah ought to be encouraging.

‘Sarah, it is not ladylike to flirt with farmhands. Surely you know that,’ she admonished. She received only a dismissive shrug in reply.

The girls were sitting on the window seats of their second floor sitting room, the old schoolroom. Sarah gazed out of the window for a moment before speaking again. ‘Papa’s plan for me is that when you marry, I will go with you as your paid companion. You know that. And my plan is to save all my earnings so that I have a small fortune of my own. With money, a woman can be free to do whatever she wants. She does not need to marry. And my only chance of having money is for you to marry and me to become a member of your staff. So I wish that Charles turns out to be personable, and that you and he live happily ever after.’

Rebecca laughed. ‘I too hope for that, as long as there’s a happy ever after for you as well, dear sister.’

What would Charles be like? Rebecca hadn’t seen him for years, and this would be the first time they’d met since she was grown and of marriageable age. She felt strangely nervous at the prospect of meeting the man who was intended to become her husband. While she knew that her father would not force her to marry Charles if she found him truly detestable, she did so want to please her parents. The happiest outcome of the evening would be if she found Charles to be an appealing sort of person, and if the feeling was mutual. She resolved to take extra care with her appearance when she dressed for dinner that night. She would wear her pale green gown. She’d been told it suited her best.

At the dinner party Rebecca found herself placed beside Charles. Sarah was sitting opposite, between Mr and Mrs Winton. It was pretty clear that the older folk wanted Charles and Rebecca to have a chance to get to know each other. Rebecca’s mother sent many an encouraging smile at her across the table.

As the soup was served, Rebecca stole a sideways glance at Charles. He was certainly pleasant enough to look at, now that he was a man, more so than she would have guessed from her sketchy memories of having met him as a child. His hair was dark, his nose straight, his eyes a warm brown. He was reserved yet polite, and when he smiled his face lit up. He looked, Rebecca thought, like a kind and thoughtful man. She smiled to herself, wondering what his first impressions of her were.

‘Rebecca, dear,’ Mama said, breaking into her reverie. ‘I do hope you will play the piano for us later this evening.’

Charles turned towards her and smiled. ‘I should like to hear you play, Miss Winton. There is nothing I enjoy more than sitting by the fireside listening to an accomplished young lady playing the piano.’

Rebecca blushed. ‘Oh, I would not call myself accomplished. Competent, perhaps, but no more.’

‘Rubbish, Rebecca,’ said her father. ‘You are a very fine pianist. Your piano tutor told us so. And the Lord knows you practise enough.’

‘I enjoy playing, that is true.’ Rebecca wished the conversation could move away from her abilities. She glanced at Sarah hoping her friend might help steer the company onto another topic. But Sarah was scowling across the table at her. Rebecca frowned. Earlier she had said she was not interested in Charles, and would be happy if things worked out between him and Rebecca. But now she seemed quite put out that all his attention so far had been on Rebecca.

Rebecca turned back to Charles who was regarding her with a smile on his face.

‘So you will play for us later?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course. I only hope you are not disappointed.’

‘I could not possibly be disappointed by you. I am looking forward to it immensely.’

‘Do you ride, Mr de Witt?’ Sarah interrupted them.

‘I do, yes. Do you, Miss Cooper?’ Charles answered. Rebecca felt a mixture of relief that her musical abilities were no longer the topic of conversation, and annoyance that Charles’s attention was now focused on Sarah.

‘As often as I can,’ Sarah said. ‘In fact, if the day is fine tomorrow, I think I shall go riding. I shall try to persuade Rebecca to come too. Perhaps you might ride over and accompany us?’

‘That sounds like a delightful plan,’ Charles answered. ‘I shall certainly ride over here tomorrow morning.’ He smiled across the table at Sarah, who wore a faintly triumphant look.

Rebecca no longer went riding, and Sarah knew it. Ever since she’d been thrown from her pony a few years ago, on one of Sarah’s ill-advised escapades where they’d galloped across the parkland and her pony had refused to jump a hedge, Rebecca had been put off riding. She would not be persuaded to go out. Why was Sarah doing this? It was as though she was trying to win Charles for herself despite all that she had said earlier. Perhaps she liked the look of him after all.

‘What do you make of our new queen?’ Charles asked Rebecca. ‘I think she is about your age. Imagine becoming Queen of England at just eighteen! What a weight she has to bear on such young shoulders.’

‘I should hate to be in her shoes,’ Rebecca replied. ‘So much will be expected of her. She will not have a moment’s peace to enjoy her life. Everything she does will be reported in the newspapers.’

‘But she is rich and gets to live in a palace and do whatever she wants,’ said Sarah.

Charles smiled indulgently. ‘I think what Miss Winton is suggesting is that Queen Victoria won’t be able to do just what she wants. She will be expected to perform her duties and be an example to the whole country. She’ll be expected to marry soon, and her choice of husband will be critical.’