Leo distressed? She ought to be glad! Had he not caused her enough confusion of mind to wish to be revenged? She could scarce believe now that she had almost persuaded herself into acceptance of his proposition only yesterday. The more fool he to have lost patience. He deserved to feel distress of mind!
She had gone to the Fenns that day to think. There was a solitude and silence about the old marshlands, despite the reclaiming drainage that had enabled the numerous lots to be sectioned off for crops. Mr Dulverton had introduced his daughter to the Fenns for the purpose of instruction, but instead an elusive imaginative fancy in Timothia had been captured by the grey air of mystery that hung about the low-lying land which gave off a musty stench. It was the very place for brooding.
Timothia had brooded to some purpose. Against all her instincts, the words of Mrs Hawnby had worked upon her with near disastrous results. For what had there been against the match, if she was honest with herself, bar a laughable conceit that her cousin approach her with some sort of loverlike ardour? Instead, Leo had been honest, true to their friendship. And she, taken by surprise, had allowed herself to fall victim to vanity!
What was it to her if Leo had been in love with some doxy? Valentine was right—it was none of her concern. And if Leo should, by some chance, be lured into the bed of another such creature after they were tied up in wedlock, the likelihood was that she would know nothing about it. Would she even care? It was not the part of a wife of convenience to concern herself whether or not her husband enjoyed sharing her bed! In all probability, her cousin would do his duty in getting her with child and then leave nature to take its course. She need not be fearful of the continued embarrassment of providing him with his conjugal rights. Let him by all means find solace elsewhere! Indeed, Timothia might well with impunity deny him any further access to her once she had provided him with the necessary heir. After all, a marriage of convenience ought to be just that.
By the time she had returned to Fenny House she had been within an ace of sending to tell Leo that she would accept him. Had he refrained from giving in to his impatience, she would probably have done so. She could only be glad that Leo had abandoned caution, for she had been thus exposed to a most disagreeable side of his character. If he was distressed, she decided defiantly, he had only himself to blame!
Had he not taken up that despicable attitude in regard to his heir, she would not have delivered her ultimatum. She had not meant to marry him without providing him with one. The suggestion of a platonic relationship had been impulsive—the natural outcome of her cogitations. Only Leo had not given her time to amend the suggestion, but had got upon his high ropes and behaved in the most disgustingly selfish fashion. Had he not been so defensive of his own needs, she would have explained that she had only meant to withdraw herself from his bed once an heir had been created. What could have been fairer than that?
But, no. Leo must needs demonstrate that his offer had been just what she thought it at the outset. Framed purely for self-interest. And she had nearly given in to it!
She was obliged at this point to have recourse to her handkerchief. Oh, she was glad that Leo was distressed! He could not be more so than she. The only difference was that where he was upset only at the loss of her companionship—which she could not doubt—her sorrow found its root in the discovery that her cousin had feet of clay. He had been all along unworthy of that degree of friendship with which he had been entrusted. She could hardly regret the passing of such a friendship! And it was past. There could be no return to intimacy after this.
Yet there was no diminution of Timothia’s melancholy as the days passed. True to her character, she kept it hidden. She flattered herself that neither Susan nor Valentine, who had visited her both separately and together, ostensibly with the purpose of urging her to relent towards Leo, could guess the true state of her emotions. Indeed, quite otherwise.
‘I never thought you could be so cruel, Timma,’ had said her despairing friend, shedding tears.
Valentine had been no less outspoken. ‘Dashed if I ever thought to see the day when you could be such an enemy to Leo!’
She had answered both with the same curt dismissal. ‘It is of no use to speak to me on the subject. It was not I who began it.’
Whether either of them spoke to Leo, Timothia was not in a position to know. She must suppose that Valentine had done so. But when next she heard from Susan, by a scribbled note sent round from the Rectory at Old Hurst on the Monday—with apologies for not delivering the news immediately yesterday, the Reverend Mr Hurst insisting on his household keeping the Lord’s day correctly, so that no servant was permitted to take the letter—it was to understand that Valentine had gone off to a shooting party at Peterborough. Susan thought Leo had very likely gone along with him.
Timothia could readily believe it. The news did little to ease her discomforts. She felt irrationally annoyed that Leo should have so readily accepted the breach. Was he so capable of enjoying a party of pleasure? How little their long friendship had meant to him! One would suppose that he might make some effort to retrieve it. But had he? No, not in the very slightest. Had he bothered to try to see her in these last days? Had he written—if only to express his regret at the outcome of his bizarre proposal? No, he had not.
Not that she had really expected him to do so. Despite Edith’s ludicrous comments.
They had been sitting at breakfast in the parlour which served for all meals. It was a truly ‘poky’ apartment, except that Timothia, soon after her arrival, had dealt ruthlessly with its contents. She had thrown out the aged table with which the place was already furnished, and which took up far too much space for comfort. Instead, she had begged of Dudley the neat round worktable that had long stood unused in her mother’s old sitting-room. Even with six chairs around it, this afforded sufficient accommodation in the room for a long sideboard. And, once a serving-hatch had been cut into the panelling through to the pantry behind so that Polly need not struggle through the narrow corridors loaded down with dishes, the place afforded a cosy arrangement for meals.
Timothia had snatched up the letters from the silver salver presented to her by Padstow, and flicked swiftly through them until she came upon Susan’s letter.
‘Seems to me,’ had observed Edith evenly from the other side of the table, ‘that you’ve developed a habit of doing that of late.’
‘Of doing what?’ had enquired Timothia without looking up from breaking the seal on the note.
‘Grabbing your correspondence up as if your life depended upon it, and then tossing it aside in disgust.’
Timothia had glanced up, frowning. ‘What do you mean?’
Edith had chosen not to answer this, asking instead, ‘What’s that letter?’
‘It is from Susan.’
‘Ah. Didn’t think it was what you were waiting for.’
To Timothia’s consternation, a flush stained her cheeks. ‘I am not waiting for anything! That is a ludicrous suggestion.’
‘Is it?’ said Edith flatly. ‘I suppose it is just as ludicrous to suggest that you spend a great deal of time watching the driveway.’
‘I do no such thing!’
‘Don’t you?’ For a moment or two, Edith continued to regard her with that all-seeing eye. Then her gaze returned to her plate. ‘Then I must have been mistaken.’
‘You are mistaken!’ stated Timothia stoutly, and was annoyed when Edith addressed herself to her food and neither replied nor looked up again. She read Susan’s letter in a spirit of resentment, which was in no way dissipated by its contents.
She knew what Edith had been at. She meant to suggest that Timothia was waiting for some sign or appearance from Leo. Well, perhaps she had been. It was not unnatural. If only her days were not so empty, she would not have leisure to think about her cousin. Heaven knew she did not wish to think of him!
At length, in a fit of rebellion against the relentless intrusion into her mind of her cousin’s ill-advised conduct, she found an excuse to give her something to do.
Her lawyer having visited on Tuesday to pay her the allowance from her trust fund, she directed Padstow to note down any household necessities they might be needing. It was a meagre list, consisting of such items as wax candles and various oils which were not available from the local farms or village traders which adequately furnished most of their day-to-day needs. But Timothia added to it a few necessities for the stables after consultation with Bickley, and decided that this justified the excursion to the nearest town. Next morning, she instructed Bickley to harness one of the two carriage horses to the gig.
There was a deal of relief to her lowered spirits in driving the few miles to St Ives. The day was overcast but warm, and the breeze generated by a good pace did much to blow the cobwebs from her mind. She conducted her small purchases with a lighter heart, and spent some few idle moments browsing in the haberdasher’s. She supposed that with her emergence from mourning she ought to be thinking of some refurbishment to her gowns. Fresh ribbons, perhaps, for the green silk? A pink seersucker caught her eye, and she wondered if she could run to the expense of a new gown. Not that she would purchase anything without first consulting Susan. No one was more knowledgeable about fashion than her friend.
She had worn her habit for driving, and recalled how Susan had deprecated her choice of mustard, though Timothia herself still thought it suited her. Nevertheless, she turned out of the shop, deciding that Susan was bound to advise her against wearing pink with her hair and complexion. Truth to tell, she was not in a mood to purchase frivolities.
Glancing at her list, she discovered that she had forgotten one of the horse ointments, and moved to cross the road towards the saddler’s. In her abstraction of mind, she almost collided with a gentleman in a caped driving-coat, and stepped back only to discover that it was Leo.
‘Timma!’ he exclaimed, recognising her.
Shock held Timothia silent. It also shot her pulse rate up, so that her chest became overwhelmed with the thudding of her heartbeat. She wanted to run away! But that would be stupid and cowardly. What in the world could she say to him? She did not know that her green eyes signalled the frantic unrest within her, her mind taken up with the hideous embarrassment of this meeting—and the gaunt shadows that seemed to have settled in her cousin’s features.
Leo, no less disturbed by her sudden presence, experienced a resurgence of the morbid regret with which he had been scourging himself as he recognised the inner turmoil to which Timma was undoubtedly subject. He said the first thing that entered his head.
‘You have been making some purchases?’
He could have cursed himself for his inanity. But Timothia was relieved by the innocuous subject, and grasped it thankfully.
‘A few necessities,’ she managed, half thrusting forward her basket as if to show him the packages therein, and then pulling it back again. ‘What about you?’
‘I am here on a matter of business.’
‘Ah.’ Timothia nodded vaguely.
Silence fell again between them. The sensation of embarrassment mounted.
It was too absurd, Leo thought. Anyone would suppose them to be strangers. He tried to gather his scattered wits. But before he could think of anything further to say Timothia forestalled him.
‘I thought you were gone to Peterborough.’ Why had she said that? Now he would ask why.
But the question did not occur to Leo. ‘I was not in a mood for it.’ His complexion darkened. What the deuce had possessed him to say such a thing? She would take it for criticism. Now she would poker up again, if he knew Timma. He ought to have given her some kind of opening.
Sure enough, Timothia drew herself in a little, looking away. ‘I only mentioned it because Susan told me that Valentine was gone to a shooting party thereabouts.’
‘Yes, I know. I declined the invitation.’ Warily, now, he warned himself. Tread warily. ‘I am—I am rather busy at present.’
Timothia breathed a little more easily. ‘You have the advantage of me, then.’
It was on the tip of Leo’s tongue to respond that she need not have been idle had she accepted his offer, but he curbed the words. He was trying to think of something else to say that might not hark back to the division between them, when they were both hailed by a fluting voice.
‘My dear Timothia!’ it sang out. ‘And Mr Wetheral. How very fortunate to see you both!’
Timothia jumped, and turned. The lady who had accosted them was one she knew only too well. A female of considerably greater age than her girlish aspect warranted. Not only was she dressed in the height of fashion, but her high-waisted gown of flowered muslin was of a style more suited to a débutante. Over it she wore only a light shawl pelisse, which did little to conceal the upper flesh of a wilting bosom. A straw hat covered over with knotted ribbon completed this toilette, together with an open parasol to shade her from the nonexistent sun.
‘How do you do, Lady Hurst?’ Leo was saying politely, and Timothia caught the warning look he threw at her.
He must be no less aware than she of the danger in which they stood. For this was the same loathsome female who he had sarcastically suggested might bring her out. Of all people Timothia might have chosen to run into in this terrible state of consciousness, Lady Hurst was the last. She could not be more unwelcome. She had a nose like a bloodhound! If there was the slightest hint to be noticed of this appalling breach between herself and Leo, Susan’s obnoxious aunt was bound to sniff it out.
Timothia knew not how to dissemble in her present state of discomfort, but she did her best. Smiling, she put out a hand. ‘I trust I see you well, ma’am?’
‘Very well indeed, my dear Timothia,’ uttered the lady, taking her hand, and casting sharp glances from one to the other. ‘A fortunate chance that I should run into you both.’
‘Is it?’ asked Leo, throwing a frowning question at Timma that clearly asked what the woman would be at.
Timothia raised her brows. ‘Fortunate, ma’am?’
The lady simpered. ‘Why, surely? I would hope I might be the first to offer my—’ She stopped, artistically throwing up a hand to her mouth, as though she had said something out of the way. ‘Don’t say I am beforehand?’ She gave a silly giggle that did not sit well upon her years. ‘How foolish of me! Do forgive me, my dears. I am too eager. But at my age one positively longs for any little whiff of romance!’
It was the last thing Timothia had expected. Her consciousness was acute. So far from discovering the breach, it seemed that Lady Hurst was bent on receiving confirmation about their betrothal. Heavens, what could be said? She threw an anguished glance at Leo, and saw that he was stiff—with anger or resentment. Or both?
‘You are mistaken, Lady Hurst,’ he said icily. ‘I cannot imagine where you came by such a notion.’
Quick to follow this lead, Timothia drew herself up with haughty disdain. ‘It is too absurd, ma’am. As if there could be the slightest question—I mean, we are too much friends.’
To her consternation, Lady Hurst did not look in the least discomposed. Instead, her eyes widened, and a knowing smile curved her mouth. ‘Oh, have you quarrelled?’
‘No such thing!’ snapped Leo.
‘Of course not!’ uttered Timothia strongly at exactly the same moment.
‘Dear me,’ said the lady, and simpered again. ‘A lovers’ tiff already? Now that is romantic! I had better leave you to have it out, had I not?’
With which, she let out a shrill laugh and went on her way. In growing horror, Timothia watched her go. What in the world were they to do? Now the news would be all about the countryside! She turned back to Leo, and found him tight-lipped, disgust all over his face.
‘I suggest,’ he said stiffly, ‘that this requires some private discussion. Shall we meet at the old monastery?’
‘Yes,’ said Timothia hastily. ‘Oh, yes! This is appalling! In ten minutes?’
‘Let us say fifteen. I left my phaeton outside the chandler’s, and it is all of five minutes’ walk.’
Without further words, Timothia hurried away towards the spot where she had left Bickley with the gig, quite forgetting the missing purchase from the saddler’s. She drove rapidly to the ruin of the disused monastery, which was a little outside the town, and pulled up just as Leo’s phaeton came into sight, at a rattling pace. He must have made the short journey in considerably less than the seven minutes it had taken Timothia.
‘Just what are you about, Miss Timma, may I ask?’ demanded Bickley, with the freedom of long service. ‘Secret meetings, is it?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Bickley,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘It is merely that I have business with Mr Wetheral.’
‘Don’t tell me, Miss Timma! Me as have known you from the cradle, too. No one don’t doubt as you’re going to marry Mr Leo one day, but what should take you to meet him in this havey-cavey fashion I’m sure I don’t know.’
Incensed, Timothia would have speedily undeceived him of his ludicrous delusion, had not Leo driven up. Any such speech was now out of the question, so Timothia contented herself with a threatening glare, which was received with a comprehensive snort of derision.
Fortunately, Leo was too preoccupied to notice. And in any event would have paid no heed, Timothia reflected, since he was used to the manner in which Bickley addressed her. Indeed, he had frequently commented upon the freedom which she allowed to both groom and butler, to which Timothia invariably responded that Bickley and Padstow were more like uncles to her than servants. She was far too beholden to both to treat them with anything other than the easiest familiarity.
Leo was in fact so concerned about the outcome of their encounter with Lady Hurst that he cared not a fig for anything else. He swung himself down from the phaeton, and grasped Timothia’s arm without ceremony, forgetting the terms upon which they now were.
‘Come on!’
‘Let me go!’ she said in a low tone, wrenching her arm away.
‘Hurry, then!’ he snapped, and walked swiftly down the cracked path and through the monastery entrance into the overgrown cloisters.
Little remained of this part of the building but some standing pillars and a broken parallel wall that had once enclosed the paved walkway along which the monks had prayed. Leo took a few steps down one side, and then paused, waiting for Timothia to catch up.
‘Why you should insist upon driving like a maniac, I can’t think!’ she said as she came up.
‘Never mind my driving!’ he said curtly, stripping off his gloves. ‘We have more important matters to discuss.’
‘If anyone had seen you, they must immediately suppose that something is amiss.’
‘Let them think it,’ he rejoined carelessly. ‘It will be no less than the truth.’
‘Yes, but the whole point of this meeting is to think how we are to keep people from talking,’ she objected.
Leo uttered a short bark of laughter. ‘Some hope! If that woman has it, we are quite undone.’
‘Yes, thanks to Valentine’s idiotic tongue!’ flared Timothia.
‘How do you know it was Valentine?’ demanded Leo, bristling in defence of his friend. ‘It may just as likely have been Susan who talked of the matter.’
‘To Lady Hurst? Unlikely, I think.’
‘Not to Lady Hurst,’ conceded Leo briefly. ‘But what of Claud? Do you tell me she would refrain from speaking of this matter to her brother? And Claud is rector at Hursting Stone.’
Timothia had not thought of it, but she was obliged to admit that Susan might well have talked it over with Claud. From Claud Hurst to the ear of his aunt and patroness was but a step. He had been a favourite with Lady Hurst since childhood, and had never recognised how unkindly she had treated his sister—who was not to blame for this! Hostilities having been resumed, Timothia had no hesitation in hitting back strongly.
‘And I suppose that Valentine would not open his lips to Chloe Devenick? Perhaps he does not know that his sister is as thick as inkleweavers with Lady Hurst.’
‘Of course he knows it,’ returned Leo. ‘Don’t think I absolve Valentine, for I don’t. In fact,’ he added, recalling Valentine’s words about his sister’s remarks on the frailties of females, ‘I have every reason to suspect that he may well have spoken to Chloe. I am merely pointing out that one avenue is as likely as the other.’
Timothia could not deny the truth of this. The more so because of the slight rift that had been created between herself and Susan. And if Valentine had gone off to Peterborough without Leo it was probable that there was constraint between them as well.
‘How much harm has been done by this stupid proposal of yours!’ she exclaimed impulsively. ‘We are all at outs, and now see what has come of it!’
Leo flung away. ‘You need not speak as if that is what I intended! Nothing could have been further from my thoughts than—’
He broke off, slapping frustratedly with the leather gloves in his hand at one of the remaining pillars of the cloister. Why must Timma taunt him thus? Could she not see how much he was regretting ever having ventured on this course? He had been within a hair’s breadth of breaking his resolve and running to beg her forgiveness any time this past week! Only the discovery he had made rendered it impossible that they should ever pick up their erstwhile ease of friendship. He could not hope to keep company with Timma again without re-experiencing a kindling of desire. And that, given her feelings, would be unendurable.
This was getting them nowhere. He turned back to Timma, and found her watching him, a frown in her eyes. Was there also distress? Something gave in his chest. As if unable to help himself, he went to her, stretching out his free hand.
‘Timma, I cannot bear this!’
Automatically she took the hand, and as the strength of his fingers clasped hers she felt their warmth even through her glove. A tattoo started up in her pulses. For a moment neither spoke, and Timothia was struck once again by the gaunt look about his cheeks.
‘You look dreadful,’ she uttered without thought.
‘I feel it,’ he answered, low-toned.
A shadow of her smile trembled on her lips. It was, to Leo, almost intolerably touching. Without thought, he lifted her gloved hand and dropped a kiss on the fingers. Then his eyes found hers again, and the smile had gone, giving place to a wary unease. To his dismay, Timma withdrew her hand from his clasp.
Timothia was all too suspicious of the gesture—which had done nothing to ease her physical discomfort. Quite the contrary. What was Leo at now? Almost unconsciously, she put both hands behind her back and clasped them together, as if she would withhold them from the possibility of his seizing her fingers again. She was not going to be beguiled into forgetting what lay between them. Their friendship was over. It was impossible that it could ever be renewed—not, at least, on the same footing. Though, for the sake of appearances, some sort of truce must be achieved.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked, as neutrally as she could.
Hurt threw Leo on the defensive. ‘Do you mean about the rumours, or our own situation?’
‘There is no situation!’ Timothia retorted.
Leo dropped back a step. He only now perceived that there might have been in his mind a half-formed intention of renewing his offer. If it had been there, Timma’s attitude slew it at birth. Oddly, he felt less troubled now by Lady Hurst’s impertinent hints. He hardly knew why it should be so. Set against the blighting of his hopes, it seemed a little thing.
‘I dare say it will blow over in time,’ he suggested dully.
‘Blow over?’ uttered Timothia, amazed at his apparent unconcern. ‘How can you say so? Lady Hurst and Chloe between them will spread it all over the countryside. We shall have everyone watching us, looking to see how we conduct ourselves towards each other. Or, worse, asking guardedly when they may expect to hear an interesting announcement.’
Leo shrugged. ‘It would have been just the same had you accepted me.’
‘Not at all. We would have endured a barrage of surprise and congratulation for as long as it took the novelty of the notion to wear off.’
‘Then you have only yourself to blame for refusing me,’ Leo pointed out irritably.
Timothia regarded him with narrowed eyes. Her voice was silky. ‘If you wished only to quarrel, Leo, I wonder at your having requested this meeting.’
Leo stiffened. ‘I have no wish to quarrel, Timma. I never have. All the unpleasantness in this matter is of your making.’
‘My making!’
‘Had you received me with a vestige of proper feeling, instead of flying up into the boughs, all might have been settled with no rancour on either side.’
‘To your satisfaction, yes,’ said Timothia acidly.
‘To both our satisfactions,’ he insisted.
Her temper rose, but she repressed it. ‘Don’t let us discuss it any further since we will clearly never agree.’
‘As you wish,’ he said, and made as if to leave.
‘Wait, Leo!’
He hesitated, looking a question.
Timothia drew a determined breath. ‘Since we must needs meet, and in public, let us at least do so with some semblance of civility.’
Leo bowed, unsmiling. ‘It would ill accord with my honour to do anything else.’
Timothia could have hit him. ‘That is just the sort of remark that is likely to undo us.’
‘Is it indeed?’
‘You know very well you only said it to provoke me!’
He bowed again. ‘Be sure that in public, ma’am, I will refrain from passing any comment that you may take even remotely amiss.’
With which, he doffed his hat, and left her, pulling on his gloves as he went. He had not thought himself so apt to be provocative! He had not meant it so. He had wanted, if the truth be told, only to get away. Timma had cut him to the quick. She clearly did not know it. Did not recognise how her physical rejection had both galled and hurt him. She had been—yes, cruel! He had not thought it of her.
Indeed, he decided as he swung himself up into the phaeton and took the reins from his groom, Timma’s whole attitude from start to finish of this affair had been both insulting and inexplicable. She was not the woman he had thought her. To find himself mistaken in her character after all these years must be a grief to him. He had believed that there was scarce a thought or opinion that they did not share.
He recalled abruptly what Timma had said. ‘We are poles apart.’ The remark had been hurtful to him. At the time, he had been unable to understand it. Now it seemed as true to him as it evidently did to Timma. He ought to be thankful, deuce take it! It was clear that they did not share enough common ground for the close partnership of marriage. To the devil with it! He was well rid of her.
From the crumbling doorway to the monastery, Timothia watched Leo drive away. At a pace that threatened to unseat both himself and his groom! Well, it would serve him out. What did she care if he took a toss?
As she moved towards the gig, the grumbling tones of her groom took her attention. ‘I don’t know what you said to him, Miss Timma, but he’s fair rattled. Never knowed Mr Leo to spring his horses in that fashion afore. Now don’t you go aping his game, Miss Timma, for all you’re in as bad a temper!’
‘I am not in a temper at all,’ replied Timothia with dignity, accepting his help to climb into the gig. ‘And if I were I should certainly not take it out on my horse.’
‘No, because you’d have me to reckon with,’ said Bickley frankly, handing over the reins and hopping nimbly up onto the seat beside her. ‘And if Mr Leo had any sense he’d use his whip where it might do some good!’
‘If that means what I think it means, Bickley,’ Timothia stated warningly, ‘you had best take care—unless you wish to find yourself back at Dulverton Park working for my cousin!’
Bickley grunted. ‘Where I’d be a deal better off! But where would you be, Miss Timma? Tell me that.’
‘I can perfectly well employ another groom,’ she retorted, but without much conviction. As Bickley was well aware, it was an empty threat. She had as well rid herself of her closest family. Recalling the groom’s earlier lapse, she added, ‘And I’ll thank you, Bickley, not to indulge this nonsensical idea of my marrying Mr Wetheral.’
‘Try telling that to Padstow, that’s all I say,’ returned the groom, unheeding. ‘Me and him have been discussing how we’d fit into your new arrangements when you wed.’
‘Well, you may stop discussing it, because I am not going to be wed. The suggestion has already been put out of court, and the matter is settled.’
‘Is it, now?’ remarked the groom, in a tone that all too readily betrayed his disbelief. ‘Ah, well, it’s young yet you are, Miss Timma. And if you don’t fancy Mr Leo he ain’t the only gentleman hereabouts.’
Incensed, Timothia took refuge in silence. If she was not to marry Leo, it was inconceivable that she would marry anyone else! What, exchange her freedom for shackles to some other man? Some man unknown, moreover, who would no doubt expect both obedience and that she adapt her tastes to his. At least Leo would not have interfered with her pleasures. He knew her too well to try to change her. He must know her, indeed, better than anyone alive!
Her cousin, for all his present distasteful showing, had been so much a part of her life that she could recall nothing of her childhood without the intrusive addition of his presence. In fact she could recall very little of those periods when he was necessarily absent: away at school, or visiting relatives or friends with either parent. It was invariably to those memories of happier times spent together that she returned when thinking of the past. Like that occasion when they had pored together over his books so that Timothia could help him understand mathematical principles which eluded his grasp.
She had been ten or thereabouts, Leo in his teenage years. He had cursed Isaac Newton and his Principia. But Timothia had sat with him for several hours, demonstrating over and over again the basic formulae until Leo finally understood. In return, Leo had taught her how to clean and load a gun. Not that she had felt she was likely to have much need of such knowledge, but since Leo had offered the exchange in a manner that suggested he was conferring upon her an honour seldom applied to females Timothia, not wishing to offend him, had accepted with the proper degree of gratitude.
There had been a similar episode with Leo’s inability to spell correctly. That time, Leo’s magnanimity had extended to showing her how to shoot the gun—which was more to her taste. It was ironic that this training had now come into its own. For at Fenny House her proximity to the Fenns made her vulnerable to marauding poachers. Timothia felt safer for the possession of her pistol, which she kept cleaned and loaded in her bedchamber. So she had something for which to thank Leo.
She sighed, thinking what a pity it was that there should be such a painful end to their long association. If meeting with him was only to incur a repetition of the sort of experience she had endured today, she could only dread the future. For how was she to avoid meeting him? He would not visit her again, she dared say. Yet she could hardly incarcerate herself at Fenny House. She had done so for a year already! Besides, she was heartily sick of sitting about with no vestige of occupation worth the doing.
The problem loomed larger still when she arrived home. For, if the rumour of her possible betrothal to Leo had not yet penetrated far afield, the news of her emergence from mourning had certainly gone the rounds. It was some few weeks since the local gentry had returned to their country residences for the summer months, and it was plain that the indefatigable hostesses, revived from the natural exhaustion incurred by the London season, were once again itching for pleasure. A number of invitations awaited her from various matrons of her acquaintance in the neighbourhood—and they were all of them as thick as thieves with Lady Hurst.
Timothia’s heart sank. Heavens, but it was not yet over!
Leo had driven all the way home in an unforgiving black cloud. But no sooner had he got within his own doors than he was hit by a tide of despair. What had he done? Timma had been right. They were all at outs! Even now he felt a furious resentment against Valentine. The clodpole had thrown him to the wolves! For would it not be he who came worst out of this? If Lady Hurst was to be trusted, it was Leo Wetheral who must look as foolish as bedamned. For he was the rejected suitor. Did he dare doubt that this aspect of the matter had been released? No, he dared not.
A curse upon Valentine’s loose tongue! How often had he and Timma had occasion to deprecate this failing on the part of their mutual friend. No, friends—for Susan had been as foolish as Valentine. What of that time he had felt obliged to save Timma from a thrashing? It had been Valentine and Susan who had blurted out—upon enquiry, to be sure, but could they not have held their tongues?—that it was Timma who had instigated the childish prank that had resulted in them setting fire to a woodman’s cottage.
Lord, they had almost caused a forest conflagration! It had undoubtedly been Timma’s idea to play at cavemen. But Leo and Valentine, older—but regrettably at fourteen no wiser, he reflected ruefully—had joined in. None of them had supposed that rubbing two sticks together would truly start a fire. Leo had been more shocked than anyone when the sticks began to smoke, and the dry grass had caught rapid fire from flying sparks.
His uncle Dulverton had been justly furious when the four of them had been brought before him by the forest keeper. But when he had ordered Timma to her room to await his coming, and her face had turned hideously white, instinct had caused Leo to intervene. He remembered moving quickly to Timma and seizing her hand, holding it so tightly that she winced. He had never afterwards been able to recall what he had said, but he had somehow persuaded his uncle that he and Valentine, as the eldest, ought to take the blame. Timma’s sentence had been commuted to confinement to her chamber on meagre rations, and Leo had returned home to the inevitable painful interview with his own father—in this very library.
The memory of his punishment had long faded, among the shadows of many others. He and Valentine had ever been far too keen sportsmen to resist staying out of trouble.
Hardly aware of his own movement, lost in thought, Leo rose from the desk and crossed to the window embrasure, looking out upon the rolling lawns that fronted the mansion. The hills beyond were misted, but his eyes sought automatically for the place where ran the well-worn path between that hilly surround which led him by a short cut to the road to Dulverton Park. How often he had ridden it! He had done so—not without some discomfort!—that next day, only because he’d wanted to be sure of Timma’s safety.
He had entered the grounds by stealth, climbing secretly up to Timma’s window by her own ivy-clad escape route. She had hailed him with joy, and some misgiving about what he must have suffered in her stead. He had assured her—untruthfully!—that his sufferings had been as nothing to her own. Timma, the minx, had agreed with him!
Leo found himself laughing at the memory. He could hear her complaints in his mind.
‘I am as hungry as a hunter! I have had nothing but gruel and water this morning, and last night Papa sent me only dry bread,’ she had related indignantly, adding that she had not dared risk a foray in search of food for fear of the certain evil consequences of capture.
To her delighted gratitude, Leo had produced the contraband with which he’d had the forethought to stuff his pockets: apples, sweetmeats and a hunk of cheese. He had been rewarded with a hug from Timma’s skinny arms, and they had spent an agreeable half-hour—while Timma munched greedily, and with Leo suspended precariously upon the thin branch that served for her illegal entries—in abusing the wagging tongues of their mutual friends.
That had been the worst, but not the only time that one or other of those two had landed them in difficulties. They had been an adventurous foursome, young Susan tagging along after Valentine. Though it was often enough that Leo and Timma, yearning for freedom from the encumbrance of the other two, had secretly set off alone. His childhood memories seemed more full of Timma than of Valentine!
Yet now the intimacy they had shared, and which he had thought to deepen, was at an end. He had nothing to do but to reconcile himself to a future without her. What was the difficulty? They were no longer children. What difference did it make to him now? After all, if she had opted for being brought out, she would no doubt have married someone else. She ought to have done so! His uncle should have insisted upon it. It was extremely foolish not to have secured her future. It would then never have occurred to Leo to marry her himself!
Leo continued in this unsettled frame of mind for a couple of days. An unacknowledged reluctance to face his acquaintance had caused him to withhold himself from any callers, like a hermit. But a visit from Valentine, when he returned from Peterborough on Friday, encouraged him to suppose that talk was not as widespread as he had feared. His friend had nothing to relate bar the lack of good sport that had attended his forays.
‘Nothing but a wood pigeon or two. I tell you, some of us took to potting rabbits!’
When the merits of what gun to use for rabbits had been thoroughly thrashed out, Valentine took his leave without once referring to the rift. Either he was being uncommonly tactful, or he had forgotten all about it. Which was the more likely, Leo thought cynically. In either case, it emboldened him to believe that no serious harm had come from Lady Hurst’s discovery, and he decided it was safe to present himself at a dinner party at Somersham on the following evening.
There was nothing in the demeanour of his hostess to dissipate this confidence, and he entered without qualms the sea of blue brocade and gilt that constituted Mrs Baguley’s drawing-room. There were some fifteen couples assembling, showing the disparity of elegance inevitable at a country do between the attire of the fashionable London set and the more dowdy die-hard stay-at-homes. Leo belonged, he felt, neither to the one nor the other. He preferred a degree of comfort and sobriety in the quiet discretion of a tabby coat with matching breeches in his favourite blue, and a lighter waistcoat of silk. But the cut and quality of his garments proclaimed, he knew, the hand of the London tailor who had made them.
The chatter and laughter was intense. Leo was hailed almost immediately by his near neighbour, Brown of Wood Hurst, who drew him into conversation with Hammond and Pidley, both neighbours to this house. Mr Pidley, being a member of the House of Commons, had been seized upon for some matter of complaint among the local landowners concerning drainage.
‘It won’t do, you know, Wetheral,’ Brown was saying. ‘The government ought to do something. Trying to persuade Pidley here to take up our cause.’
Leo groaned inwardly. This was bound to be something about which he knew little, if anything. He loathed this style of conversation, for it meant he must bend his brain to matters which bored him into a stupor. Furthermore, it was unlikely that he would be able to make head or tail of anything that was said! He was rescued by the voice of Dudley Dulverton.
‘No use trying to interest Wetheral, my dear Brown. Not in his line—drainage. What you ought to do is talk to his cousin.’ He laughed in his self-conscious way. ‘What am I saying? She’s my cousin too, of course. I mean Miss Dulverton, you know.’
Timma’s paternal cousin was a man of early middle age, with a jovial manner that sat uneasily, Leo felt, on his always somewhat harassed features. His wife, who hung upon his arm, had an even more fretful look about her, which might be attributed to the difficulties of bringing up her numerous offspring. Was she again increasing? wondered Leo, with a suspicious eye on the slight bulge below the high-waisted gown of figured muslin.
‘Oh, yes,’ Ella Dulverton agreed, blinking rapidly. ‘Dear Timma must know everything about drainage. I am sure she would be delighted to help you, for she very much enjoys wrestling with that sort of thing.’
‘By Jove, yes!’ sang out Mr Brown. ‘Miss Dulverton is the very person!’
‘Oh, good God!’ exclaimed Pidley, alarmed. ‘You are not going to set Timothia Dulverton on to me? I warn you, I shall instantly take my leave!’
‘You have nothing to fear, my dear Pidley,’ said Hammond, with a jovial slap on the other man’s back. ‘The Dulverton chit is still in mourning.’
‘No, she ain’t,’ contradicted Brown, grinning. ‘She’s here.’
Timma was here? The devil! Leo had not bargained for that. He supposed he should have thought of it. Devil take it, what was he to do? Avoid her? To his dismay, he heard Brown pursuing the subject—to his undoing.
‘Tell you what, Pidley,’ he was saying on a note of laughter. ‘Hide behind Wetheral. By all accounts, she won’t come near you.’
These words had the effect of rendering both Mr and Mrs Dulverton tongue-tied and red with embarrassment. Leo discovered a battery of eyes upon him in the little circle. It took all his resolution to laugh it off.
‘Brown is teasing you, Pidley. I can afford you no protection. My cousin and I have ever been the best of friends.’
With which, he turned away and sought for Valentine among the throng. Behind him, he heard a murmur start up, succeeding the silence that had greeted his words, and knew that Lady Hurst had been busy. How the deuce was he expected to get through this evening? A short colloquy in the corridor, whither he dragged his best friend, did little to cheer him.
‘But you said nothing about this yesterday.’
‘Didn’t want to upset you, old fellow,’ protested Valentine. ‘I can keep my tongue between my teeth, you know.’
‘If that were only true!’ remarked Leo bitterly. ‘Only tell me this: did you mention the business to Chloe?’
‘Of course not. Talked it over with Sue. Mean to say, she was as upset as I was. I’ll tell you one thing. We were at one in blaming Timma for her treatment of you.’
This disclosure had the odd effect of fanning Leo’s anger. ‘You had no right to blame Timma! It was I who began the business, not she.’
Valentine stared at him. ‘Changed your tune a trifle, old fellow, haven’t you?’
‘Nothing of the sort.’
‘Thought you were hot against her yourself.’
‘Yes, but it was never my wish that she should be pilloried in the public eye. Whatever I may feel, she has a right to any choice she makes.’ He eyed his friend with some suspicion. ‘I hope you have not spoken to anyone else on this head.’
‘What do you take me for?’ demanded his friend indignantly. ‘Mean to say, I may have told Chloe the bare bones, but I wouldn’t discuss it with her!’
Leo gazed at him in dumb resignation. What was the use? It was as hopeless to try to make Valentine see sense as it was for himself to battle with the intricacies of drainage!
‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ asked Valentine, frowning. Then his eyes popped. ‘Dash it, I did talk to Chloe!’ Consternation showed in his face. ‘Beg your pardon, old fellow. Quite inadvertent. Never meant to do so. Wretched female must have gabbed to half the county!’
‘And Lady Hurst to the other half,’ said Leo dully.
Valentine cursed. ‘Should have thought of that. Chloe is thick with that old hag.’
‘So also is Claud Hurst. I don’t think you are wholly responsible, Valentine.’
This altered his friend’s attitude instantly. ‘Now don’t you go putting this on poor little Sue! If she said anything, it was only because she was in out-and-out despair. Never cared for anybody but Timma, that girl. Worships her, you ought to know that. Sue would rather be nibbled to death by ducks than do Timma a mite of harm!’
Leo was moved to stare blankly at his friend once more. Was he completely blind? Well, it was not for him to open the fellow’s eyes. Susan would not thank him for it. And Timma—
But, after all, he preferred not to think what Timma might say. He wondered, as he returned to the drawing-room with Valentine, whether it would be possible to avoid a meeting. Was it even advisable? Perhaps he ought to seek Timma out for the sole purpose of showing the world that they were mistaken. Only he could no longer be sure what exactly was being said. On the whole, he thought it better that they stayed aloof. Meetings between them were so problematic that they would be bound to give themselves away, so providing further food for gossip. He resolved to keep out of her way.
He succeeded quite admirably in this for the next half-hour or so. Then the guests were called in to dinner, and he was requested to take in his neighbour’s lady, Mrs Brown, on his arm. He escorted her to her chair, and then moved to find his own place where one of the footmen led him, only to discover, to his intense discomfiture, that he was seated next to Timma.