Chapter 5

 

Rayner was proved right. The Peace did not last. By the May of 1803, England and France were at war again.

It had been strange, being at peace. It had also been rather unsettling, what with factory workers throughout the land suddenly being put on short time, or even thrown out of work altogether, and with bands of unemployed labourers roaming the countryside begging, poaching, thieving and worse. Surely, people murmured, being at war with France was the natural state of things?

The years were slipping by. Leaving school, Rayner was packed off to Oxford, where he learned to drink, swear, fornicate and gamble in earnest, like the red–blooded English gentleman he most assuredly was. Perpetually short of cash, and almost permanently in debt, he frequently found himself wondering how soon he might reasonably expect to inherit. How many years more might the old fellow last?

Sitting in her study one spring morning, Rebecca happened to glance at the calendar. Soon, it would be Rayner's birthday. Owen's, too. ‘They'll both be nineteen,’ she mused, astonished that time could have flown by so rapidly. ‘Quite grown up! In fact, if not in law.’

Jane was almost twenty three years old. These days, she was universally acknowledged to be the best catch in the district. After Isabel Graham, of course. A young, healthy, extremely pretty woman, whose father doted on her and would no doubt give her at least ten thousand pounds on her wedding day, she would probably have a yearly allowance of a good two thousand. If not more.

Courted and flattered by everyone, Jane herself seemed to favour Charles Harding, a local landowner's eldest son with good prospects and a rich uncle in Northumberland, who had no children and seemed likely to make Charles his heir. Nothing definite had been said, but nowadays both sets of parents went out of their way to be civil to one other, and complimentary about each others’ most delightful children.

Rebecca found herself thinking about orange blossom and wedding clothes. How many bridesmaids should there be? For, the match would definitely be a desirable one. So now, perhaps, those preliminary, tentative moves should be made.

First, there must be a gesture of good intent. Maybe, this summer, the Darrows might give a ball? Rebecca had never organised a ball, but she was confident that she could.

‘Ellis?’ At dinner that day, after everyone had been served and the servants had withdrawn, Rebecca laid her small, white hand upon her husband's sleeve. ‘Ellis, my dear? What do you think of our giving a small party this summer? I was wondering about having a little ball — just the neighbours and a few friends — for Jane?’

‘What does Jane think of that?’ Meeting his favourite daughter's steady, blue gaze, Ellis smiled at her. ‘Well, my dear? Should you like it?’

Jane smiled in return. ‘If you and my mother are so kind as to consider it,’ she began, ‘I'm sure I should be delighted — ’

‘But of course she'd like it!’ Excitedly, Maria threw down her napkin. She clapped her hands in glee. ‘In fact, she'd simply adore it! You'll invite the Hardings, naturally. Charles will engage Jane for every dance. Then, during the Boulangeries, Charles and Jane will slip away. He'll take her hand, drop down on one knee, and then — ’

‘Maria, please!’ Jane was blushing scarlet now.

But Maria was not to be silenced. ‘When shall it be?’ she demanded. ‘Not for six weeks, at least. We must wait until the roses are out. Until the evening air is heavy with their fragrance, until the jasmine and honeysuckle entwine. Until Charles Harding's courage is screwed to the sticking point!’

‘Indeed?’ Laughing at her younger daughter, Rebecca shook her head. ‘I shall consider some dates in May, I think. The evenings should be quite balmy then.’

‘But not too balmy!’ Maria laughed, too. ‘We don't want everybody wandering about outside, do we? Queering the pitch for poor Charles. Getting in his way.’

* * * *

Rebecca chose her date, marked it down in her private diary, then began to make her guest list. Realising Rayner would be at home that weekend, she decided to invite a friend or two for him.

But which friends should she select? Rayner's boon companions were louts. They drank, swore and gamed like heathens. Ellis loathed them all.

Perplexed, Rebecca chewed her pen. But then, in a flash, it came to her. She would invite Owen Morgan! He had been away from Easton for almost six years, and in all that time Ellis had never once suggested asking the poor creature to stay.

But, whatever Ellis thought, Rebecca now decided she would like to see her nephew again. So she wrote out the card.

‘Shall we invite your cousin Owen?’ she asked artlessly, when Jane and she sat down to afternoon tea, later that same day. ‘We could ask him to come on a short visit, perhaps? To coincide with the party, maybe?’

‘That's a splendid idea!’ Meeting her mother's eyes, Jane smiled. ‘He could keep Rayner in line, too. Prevent him and his horrible friends from becoming too drunk and disorderly.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ At the thought of Rayner and his cronies, Rebecca shook her head in dismay. But then, she brightened. ‘Jane, my dear?’

‘Yes, Mama?’

‘I wish to ask you something, and I mean to do so plainly. We all know Mr Harding likes you, and I believe you like him. My dear — you know what I'm about to say. If Charles should propose to you, do you mean to accept him?’

Jane coloured. ‘I wouldn't wish to presume,’ she began. ‘I like Charles Harding, certainly. I think he likes me. But, my dear madam — I don't know if he's thought of marriage. I — ’

‘Your father and I would be very happy to see you settled.’ Rebecca patted her daughter's hand. ‘We like Charles very much. We feel that if any man could make you happy, Charles Harding would be he. That's all I shall say.’

* * * *

Opening the double doors to the grand saloon, which had once been the great hall of the Elizabethan mansion, and even now took up almost half the ground floor of Easton Hall, Owen Morgan gazed all around. Such splendour, he thought. Such opulence! Such banks of hot–house flowers, such long tables, all spread with snowy linen and gleaming silver plate. The apothecary's snug little home, clean and cosy and smelling always of beeswax, lavender and sweet herbs, seemed merely poky when compared with all this.

‘So, Owen,’ Ellis had said earlier that day, ‘I understand you are to follow in your uncle's footsteps, and become an apothecary. A worthwhile calling indeed. Also, one eminently appropriate to your situation in life. How do you get on?’

‘Very well indeed, sir. I enjoy my work very much.’

‘I'm glad to hear it. Very glad.’

Owen had itched to get away. For, time had not softened Ellis Darrow's manner at all. Still stiff, still formal, still as cold as charity, he'd regarded his nephew with a cool, suspicious frown and seemed reluctant to talk to him at all. Although he himself had sought the interview.

But Rebecca, Jane and Maria had been delighted to see him again. Of that there was no doubt at all! Jane had declared herself overjoyed to see him looking so handsome and so well. She had hugged and kissed him like a sister. Indeed, the impression of her soft, warm lips yet remained.

Embracing him, Rebecca had called him her own dearest nephew, and remarked amazedly on how big and good–looking he'd grown. ‘I believe you must be at least three inches taller than Rayner,’ she'd declared, gazing up at him, squinting narrowly and pretending he was out of focus at such a great height. ‘My dear child! You're the image of your uncle! Of course, you don't need me to tell you that. You have only to look in a glass.’

‘I only hope I don't resemble the miserable old devil in character, too,’ Owen had observed. But only to himself.

* * * *

The room was filling nicely now. Ladies and gentlemen talked and laughed, engagements for the first two dances were sought, and chaperones made themselves comfortable in easy chairs placed well away from draughts.

Dressed in his best clothes, but still painfully aware that he must nevertheless look very much the poor relation, Owen prowled the perimeter of the room. Dodging past a huge vase of lilies, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. That redhead over there! It wasn't — it couldn't be Isabel Graham? Rayner had told him she was still a scrawny thing. A green–eyed minx with crooked teeth and horrid, blotchy freckles. A skinny little jade.

So who was this voluptuous creature with glowing auburn curls, a creamy complexion only lightly dusted with the palest of freckles, and eyes like emeralds on fire?

The creature saw him. A second later, she stood before him. ‘Owen Morgan!’ she cried, beaming. ‘Can it really be you?’

‘Good evening, Miss Graham.’

‘My dear Owen! Don't be formal. Not with me.’ Impulsively, Isabel hugged him. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

But then, as she let him go again, Rayner appeared at her side. The look he gave Owen was far from cordial. ‘What's all this?’ he enquired.

‘Rayner, my dear! Don't be jealous.’ Charmingly, Isabel laughed. ‘I was merely expressing my pleasure at seeing your handsome cousin again. Hasn't he grown? He's so tall! Much taller than you'll ever be.’

‘Is he?’ Rayner looked at his cousin, who reddened. ‘Do be quiet, Isabel,’ he muttered. He met Owen's gaze. ‘As you can see, she's become a terrible flirt.’

‘Have I?’ Coyly, Isabel smirked. Then she strolled away.

Owen shook his head. ‘I'm sorry,’ he began. ‘For a moment, I thought I'd done something awful. I imagined you and Isabel must be — well — ’

‘Engaged? Good God, no.’ Rayner shuddered. ‘She'd like to be, I'm sure. My father would be all for it, and so would hers. But they wouldn't have to live with her, nor take the creature to bed.’

* * * *

Finding Owen standing idle, merely talking to Rayner, Jane dragged him away to be introduced to Mr Harding, who was apparently her particular friend. ‘You'll like Charles,’ she promised. ‘He's clever, he's amusing, and he's kind.’

So he might have been. But as far as Owen was concerned, Charles Harding proved to be nothing but a short, sandy–haired individual with no special charm, whose mild, hazel eyes looked vacant, whose chin was weak, and whose soft, girlish mouth had a rather peevish air. He shook Owen's hand firmly enough, however, and said he was delighted to make his acquaintance.

Jane was satisfied. Charles Harding was proverbially shy, and she was pleased to see he was making an effort, for her sake if not for Owen's own. ‘Well now, my dear Owen,’ she declared, ‘since you are guest of honour here tonight, and the ball is given for me, I think it fitting that I should dance the first two dances with you. Charles? You won't mind that?’

‘No, indeed.’ Politely, Charles Harding bowed. ‘As it happens, I wish to discuss something with Mr Dyer, of High Cross. It's a business matter, and would merely bore you. So — you dance with your cousin. I'll take his place a little later, if I may.’

So Owen and Jane took up their positions in the set.

Owen was not an experienced dancer. But, naturally graceful, he was light on his feet, and by following Jane's lead and taking the nod from her, he managed very well. As they made their way down the dance, she smiled at him. ‘You're doing splendidly,’ she whispered.

‘I am?’ Owen wasn't so certain.

‘To be sure.’ Jane touched his arm. ‘Miss Fraser thinks so, too. She was pointing you out to her friend, just one moment ago. Now, they're both admiring you!’

‘They're observing me, you mean. Laughing at me for a clumsy, unfashionable poor relation, and hoping I'll be caught out.’

‘Don't be so foolish. You look perfectly presentable. Quite handsome, in fact! As for being clumsy — your dancing is far superior to that of a good few couple in this set, I may tell you that now.’

‘You're very kind. But then, you're always kind to me.’

‘You think so?’

‘Of course I do!’ Increasing the pressure on Jane's fingers, Owen smiled his gratitude. ‘When I lived here at Easton Hall, you were kindness itself. Then, when I left this place, you wrote to me. You kept the Hall and its inhabitants alive for me. I shall always be grateful that you took so much time to remember your poor cousin, sent so far away.’

‘My dearest Owen, that was no hardship. You know how much I love you!’ Jane's blue eyes were wide. ‘You know you were my favourite child. My infant protégé, my own special pet.’

‘I'm not an infant now,’ Owen began. ‘I — ’

‘No, indeed. You've grown up into a very fine young man. You're doing well in the world. We're all extremely proud of you.’

‘All? Even your father?’

‘Yes, indeed. In fact, he's so impressed by your industry and application that he talks of sending you to university, in order to take a doctor's degree. You could practise as a physician then.’

‘I see.’ Owen frowned. ‘Would he do this for my sake? Or because it would be more acceptable to Squire Darrow's pride, to have a physician in his family?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If I am obliged to earn my own living, your father would prefer me to follow a gentleman's profession. As opposed to a mere working man's trade.’

‘Owen! That idea is both unworthy of you, and unfair to my father. He thinks only of you. Of your present happiness, and future good.’

‘Does he?’

‘Certainly.’ Jane herself frowned now. ‘You mustn't be ungrateful,’ she murmured.

‘I hope I'm not.’ Chastened, Owen bit his lip. ‘I'm sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I'm behaving like a lout.’

‘A lout is something you could never be.’ Candidly, Jane met Owen's eyes. Again, she smiled. ‘I must dance with Charles Harding now,’ she said. ‘Why don't you go and rescue Rayner?’

‘I'm sorry?’

‘You could dance with Isabel Graham, perhaps.’

* * * *

The party was over. As the last few guests shrugged on their cloaks, as the last carriages were called, as these bowled away into the early hours of the morning, yawning servants began to clear up the debris and mess.

‘Did he say anything?’ Rubbing her tired eyes, Maria put her head round her sister's dressing room door. ‘Jane?’

‘Thank you, Susan. That will be all for tonight.’ As her maid bobbed then left the room, Jane frowned. ‘I wish you wouldn't talk like that,’ she murmured. ‘Not in front of the servants, anyway.’

‘I'm sorry.’ Maria plumped herself down on the other half of her sister's stool. ‘Well?’

‘He was very attentive. He complimented me excessively, both on my dancing and my looks. In fact, he was charm itself. But — ’

‘He did not speak.’ Pouting, Maria sniffed. ‘Stupid man.’

‘Maria, you must not call Charles stupid!’

‘If the cap seems to fit — ’

‘Maria!’

‘We all watched you dance with Owen.’ Plucking at a ribbon in her bodice, Maria sniffed again. ‘Well, all I can say is, if I were Charles Harding, and if I had seen you dancing with a young, handsome gentleman whose admiration was so obvious that even a child might have discerned it, I would have made sure of my prize tonight.’

‘Maria, what can you mean?’

‘Don't be deliberately obtuse. The whole room was buzzing with it!’ Maria stood up. ‘So much so that I would have thought the voice of suspicion might have whispered something into even Mr Harding's half–deaf ears!’

* * * *

Before retiring to bed, Jane had kissed Owen goodnight. The warmth of that kiss, the perfume of her breath, and the awareness of her body so close to his had disturbed him so much that he felt light–headed at the mere recollection of it.

Standing on the terrace, leaning on the balustrade, he sighed. For the first time in his life, he was aware of a delicious pain, which was no pain at all. Of a pleasant ache which did not gripe, but rather soothed instead.

Could this be how it felt to fall in love? Owen thought it more than likely. He sighed again. He went to bed thinking Charles Harding was a very lucky man.

The following morning, during a very late breakfast, a note was brought in for Jane. In it, Charles Harding presented his compliments to her and to her family, and told her that the party had been charming. Both he and his parents had enjoyed themselves very much indeed.

He was writing now to inform Jane that, unfortunately, news had arrived that morning which obliged the family to make a short visit to a relation in the North of England. The Hardings would leave Warwickshire today, but hoped to be back by the end of the month, when Charles would look forward to seeing Jane again. Until that time, he was hers most affectionately, etc, etc.

Handing Rebecca the note, Jane shrugged.

Reading over her mother's shoulder, Maria sighed. ‘Great booby,’ she muttered.

‘I beg your pardon?’ murmured Rebecca, who was still reading.

‘Nothing, Mama.’ Maria shook her head. ‘Well, no one can say he lacked opportunity. But the whole county will agree he lacked sense.’

* * * *

Sitting at the other end of the table, where Rayner was boring him with tales of undergraduate life, Owen had heard very little of this exchange. Later, however, meeting his cousin walking in the rose garden, he ventured to speak to her. ‘Is anything amiss?’ he enquired.

‘What did you say?’ Narrowing her eyes against the bright sunshine, for she had forgotten to collect her parasol, Jane looked up at him. ‘I'm sorry, Owen?’

‘Is something the matter?’ Sitting down on a convenient bench, Owen did not know if he wanted Jane to sit beside him, or go on her way. ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No, of course not.’ Sitting down, Jane began to twist a ring on her little finger, round and round and round. She stared fixedly into the middle distance. ‘Why should there be?’

‘When that note was brought in at breakfast time, I wondered if its contents had alarmed you. After reading it, you looked rather upset.’

‘On the contrary. I was not upset at all. You imagined that.’

‘Oh.’ Clasping his hands before him, Owen looked down at the ground.

Although Jane was sitting at the other end of the bench, a good twelve inches away from him, Owen found he was very conscious of her now. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the hem of her gown. He could discern the thread of silver in the weave which, glinting in the sunlight, dazzled him. Mesmerised him, in fact.

Suddenly, urgently, he needed to know. So he cleared his throat, and asked her. ‘Have you become engaged to Mr Harding?’ he enquired.

‘No, I have not.’ Irritably, Jane plucked at the lace on her sleeve. ‘I'm not engaged to anyone.’

‘Do you expect to be?’

‘I suppose so. In due course.’

‘Do — do you love him?’

‘Does that matter?’ Jane turned, to look her cousin full in the face. ‘It would be a splendid match for me! It would — ’

‘This splendid match. Do you desire it?’

‘Why should I not?’ Jane shrugged. ‘I like Charles, certainly. More to the point, my parents like him, too. As for his parents — I'm sure they would welcome the connection unreservedly.’

‘Why is that?’

‘I'm young. I'm healthy. When I marry, my father will give me twenty thousand pounds.’

‘I see.’ Owen held his cousin's gaze. ‘Jane, are you being forced into this?’

‘Of course not!’ Jane shrugged. ‘My parents merely wish me to be happy. I, in turn, feel I owe them — ’

‘Oh, Jane!’ Reaching for his cousin's hand, Owen held it. ‘Don't marry him unless you like him!’

‘I do like him! I told you so just now. I — ’

‘But you don't love him. Does he love you?’

‘He — I don't think he even considers — ’

‘You can't possibly marry a man who does not love you!’ Owen's grip became stronger. ‘A woman about to become engaged should look happy!’ he cried. ‘There should be a lightness in her step. A sparkle in her eyes. Her complexion should glow! But when you're with Charles Harding, you look as miserable as sin.’

‘That's not true. I — ’

‘I watched you last night,’ continued Owen, feverishly. ‘After we danced together, I observed you narrowly.’

‘Did you, indeed?’

‘Yes, I did!’ Owen was practically crushing Jane's fingers. ‘Going down the set with me, you were merry. You laughed and smiled. You even teased me a little — though kindly, I'll agree. But when you danced with Charles Harding, you were solemnity itself. You never spoke a word to him, you — ’

‘That was because I was concentrating on the dance, which was a new one. I needed all my wits about me, to — ’

‘I was so surprised I asked Isabel why you should look so grave.’

‘What did she say?’

‘That I would look grave myself, if I were obliged to stand up with the greatest bore in all creation, who would glare and rebuke me if I put a single foot wrong.’

‘I see.’ Jane sighed. ‘Isabel does not like Charles.’

‘So it would seem. Does anybody?’

‘Don't! Please, Owen — don't talk like this!’ Jane blinked, then began to sniff. Searching for a pocket handkerchief, rummaging up her sleeves, on the bench and in her bag, she happened to edge a little nearer to her cousin – who, sorry for upsetting her, and anxious to offer comfort, slipped his arm around her waist.

She laid her head on his shoulder. Then, without quite understanding why, or how it came about, she raised her face to his.

His head spun. His pulse raced, and his heart thumped against his ribcage so hard that it hurt. Looking into her eyes, he saw himself reflected there. Last night, she had told him she loved him...

Her lips looked so soft, so rosy red that they reminded him of that special Turkish sweetmeat, of which his aunt had recently become inordinately fond. Might his cousin's lips taste of roses, too?

He had to know. So now, taking her in his arms, he kissed her.

To his great surprise, she let him hold her. She even kissed him back. But then, a moment later, she pulled away. ‘I'm so sorry,’ she began, her colour high. ‘I really don't know — ’

‘It was my fault.’ Blushing furiously, Owen rubbed his hot face. ‘Please forgive me. Believe me when I say I didn't mean to do that.’

‘Didn't you?’

‘No! Well — I suppose I did. But you mustn't think I meant any harm. I just wanted to — ’

‘I wanted you to kiss me.’ Now, Jane looked deep into his eyes. ‘I wanted to know how it felt.’

‘Oh.’ Hardly able to believe what he was hearing, Owen stared at her. ‘How did it feel?’

‘I don't know the words to describe it. Perhaps there aren't any. Owen?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you love me, too?’

‘I — I think I must.’ As Owen thought about it, he realised it was true. He wondered how he could have been so foolish. So deliberately blind to the obvious, so obtuse. ‘What I do know,’ he said slowly, painfully, as haltingly as a lame man learning to walk again, ‘is that if you married Charles Harding, I should die of grief.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘I don't know.’ Confused and perplexed indeed, for everything was happening so fast that he felt sick and dizzy, Owen shook his head. ‘If we tell your father, he will kill me.’

‘Don't be absurd! He wouldn't even think of such a thing.’

‘Maybe not. But he would hardly be pleased to learn you intend to give up all thought of Charles Harding, and marry Owen Morgan instead.’

‘But I haven't said I'll marry you. I — ’

‘Of course you haven't. You would not be so foolish.’ Now, his head clearing a little, Owen stood up. He began to pace up and down, like a barrister–at–law. ‘Let us consider the relative merits of Mr Harding and Mr Morgan,’ he began. ‘First, Mr Harding. Personable, healthy and rich, he is a very fine young man. He is also the sole heir to a valuable, unencumbered estate in the English Midlands.

‘As for Mr Morgan — well, he is poor. His prospects are not good, for his happiness and prosperity depend upon the goodwill of two uncles. One is a rich man, who does not like him. The other is a man whose ability to procure Owen Morgan's advancement lags far behind his desire to accomplish it.’

‘What nonsense you talk.’ Jane herself stood up. ‘Owen, do you wish to marry me?’

‘I — ’

‘Set aside all that stuff about your poverty and dependence. Leave my expectations and position in society out of the calculation. Take my hands in yours. Do you want me?’

‘I do.’ Owen looked into her eyes. ‘I love you with all my heart,’ he whispered. ‘I always have, and I always will. I would die for you.’

‘There'll be no need for that.’ Standing on tiptoe, Jane kissed him. ‘There it is, then. I shall speak to my father today.’

‘Should I not talk to him first?’

‘I think that might be just a little unwise.’ Thoughtfully, Jane shrugged. ‘Your uncle is a just and honourable man — but it's a fact that he has no great affection for you.’

‘When will you go to see him?’

‘Early this evening, after tea. He is usually at leisure then.’

‘So the storm will break about seven o'clock. At a quarter past, I shall be summoned to his honour's council chamber. There, I shall be told to leave his house at once, never to return.’

‘My dear Owen! Don't be so foolish.’

‘You're the fool. Do you honestly imagine he will greet your revelations with delight?’

‘He loves me dearly. Why should he seek to destroy my happiness?’

‘He won't see it as destroying your happiness. His concern will be to prevent you from throwing yourself away.’ Sorrowfully, for he could see the enterprise was doomed entirely, Owen shook his head. ‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘we have the rest of the morning, at any rate. Shall we go for a walk?’

‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘Let's. Show me the places you loved as a child. Take me where you and Rayner used to play.’

* * * *

So Jane and Owen walked in the woods, strolled along the margins of the lake, and dawdled across the park. Between kisses, they made plans. Jane saw no reason why her fortune should not be shared with Owen. Secure in the certain knowledge that she was her father's favourite child, she had no reason to believe he would deny her anything.

‘I shall go and sit with my aunt,’ said Owen, when they parted after tea, both having made rather lame excuses for missing dinner, so already in the squire's black books. ‘My darling, listen to me — is it wise to talk to him this evening? He's already annoyed with me.’

‘Don't be so faint–hearted.’ Taking advantage of the darkness in the corridor outside her father's study, Jane kissed her lover on the lips. ‘Where's my stout little fellow, who could climb any tree in the park? Who could swim across the lake and jump the ha–ha, like a little mountain goat?’

* * * *

As always, Ellis was very pleased to see Jane. Drawing up his daughter's usual chair, he sat down again himself. ‘Is this a merely social call?’ he enquired, lighting his pipe and puffing contentedly.

‘Not exactly.’ Jane smiled. ‘Sir, I have reason to suppose that you will shortly receive a visit from a gentleman, who has made his addresses to me.’

‘I see.’ Ellis smiled, too. ‘Have you discussed this with your mother?’ he enquired.

‘No, sir. I thought it better to speak to you first. If you approve of the business, then I will feel authorised to tell Mama.’

Ellis looked at her. For a moment, regret that he must shortly lose her clouded his features. But then he smiled again. ‘My dearest child,’ he began, ‘I shall not deny that it will be most painful for me to give your hand in marriage to any man. But Mr Harding is a fine young gentleman — ’

‘He is indeed.’ Reaching out to him, Jane took her father's hand in hers. ‘But, sir — we are not discussing Mr Harding. It is of Mr Morgan that I wish to speak tonight.’

‘Owen?’ Ellis gaped at her. ‘My dear child, what are you saying?’

‘Merely this.’ Jane looked into her father's eyes. ‘Since Owen first came to this house, since he was just a little child, we have been friends. Then he went away — but while he was living in South Wales, we corresponded regularly. We told each other our hopes and schemes. We opened our hearts — ’

‘You did what?’ Ellis's pale face darkened. ‘I know you wrote to the boy,’ he muttered. ‘But in all my born days, I never imagined you discussed — ’

‘Sir, there was no impropriety!’ Jane's expression was all candour, and her eyes were wide. ‘My mother herself read my cousin's letters to me. Every single one! I wrote to Owen in order to keep him informed of the doings of this family. As Mama agreed it was proper I should.

‘My dear sir — Owen has been precious to me from the time he was a child. When I saw him again, I felt I was reunited with a cousin — almost a brother, in fact — and a friend. But these past few days have shown us that we feel more than mere friendship. Today, we declared ourselves, admitted to each other that we have fallen in love. So, since we have both attained years of discretion, we wish to marry.’

‘This is the work of a few days?’ As Jane spoke, Ellis had grown pale again. But now, his cheeks were rekindled by the dull red of anger. ‘This creature has wormed his way into your affections in a matter of days? My dear Jane, you must have run mad. A person who has nothing to recommend him — no fortune, no prospects, no talents — ’

‘No talents?’ Jane herself grew angry then. ‘Sir, how can you say such a thing? How can you be so dismissive, so unkind, so cruelly — ’

‘Does Owen know the extent of your fortune?’ interrupted Ellis, testily.

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Did he discover it before or after he made his proposals to you?’

‘Before. But, sir — he has always known you would do handsomely by me.’

‘Now, he no doubt hopes to profit from my intent.’

‘Come, sir. Bearing in mind what you know of Owen, that is hardly fair.’ Looking away, Jane shook her head. ‘You have never liked him,’ she murmured. ‘He is your own sister's child, but you have no affection for him, none at all. Why is this?’

‘My sister and I were estranged,’ Ellis replied. ‘Owen's mother and I — child, this is all in the past! But if you knew what it costs me to look at my sister's son, you would pity me!’

‘If you were in pain, of course I should pity you. But if you would explain yourself, I might also understand.’ Jane looked steadily back at him. ‘Does my mother know why you dislike Owen?’

‘I forbid you to discuss this matter with your mother! If you so much as mention — ’

‘Then why did you take Owen in?’ asked Jane. ‘If you hated my aunt, why did you offer her son a home?’

‘I was brought up in the Christian religion. I understand my duty. Now, I shall expect you to know yours.’

‘Indeed?’ Jane met his eyes. ‘I hope I have never given you any cause to think I don't?’

‘No, you have not. So now, I shall expect you to act in accordance with my wishes.’

‘Do you mean I must give Owen up?’

‘If you wish to be called my daughter, indeed you must.’

‘I see.’ Jane blinked rapidly. ‘Sir, I see I have taken you by surprise. I have upset and annoyed you, too. May we discuss this matter again tomorrow?’

Ellis shrugged. ‘There is nothing more to say.’

‘Sir, I — ’

‘My dear child — for so you are, and will ever be to me — don't persist in this folly! If you do, you will destroy your own happiness forever. You will also break your parents’ hearts.’

‘I don't see how!’ Jane met his eyes. ‘Sir, Owen has always behaved honourably by me — and, in spite of what has passed between you and me today, I still love him dearly. I believe he loves me. I hope you will not be so cruel or unjust as to hate him merely for loving where he cannot help it?’

‘I hope I should never be unjust to anyone, for any reason at all.’

‘You will not send him away, or look unkindly on him?’

‘Provided you and he accept that there can be no wedding — that your relationship can never be any but that of cousin and cousin — Owen is welcome in my house.’

‘May I go now?’

‘You may.’

* * * *

Owen found Jane in the rose garden, sitting quietly in the dusk. There were no tears, but her pale face, and the way she clung to him, told him the news was bad.

‘Was he very angry?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘He forbade you to think of me?’

‘He forbids us to think of marriage.’ Jane bit her lip. ‘But all the same, I shall defy him. If I must.’

‘You mean to run away?’

‘Yes, if it comes to that.’

‘You mustn't.’ Owen hugged her. ‘My dearest Jane, consider. If you run away, he will hate you. He'll cut you off without a penny, and never see you again. But my darling, we're both young. I have no fortune, it's true — but I mean to make one.’

‘How?’

‘I shall take up his offer of an education. I shall study hard, and at university I'll make friends who can be of service to me. So — I shall cultivate the right people. Learn to move well in polite society, and become a great physician, too. Give me five years, that's all. You'll see what I can do!’

‘Shall I?’ Jane looked at him. ‘You're so sanguine. But do you think — ’

‘In a way, your father is right. He thinks of your happiness. If I had a daughter, on whom I meant to bestow twenty thousand pounds, and I discovered a penniless fellow was paying her particular attention, I should forbid her to think of him.’

‘But you're his nephew! He has known you since you were seven years old! He has no reason to think you anything but good and honourable.’

‘But I am still poor.’

‘He could do something for you, if he chose.’

‘He intends to support me through university. You said so yourself.’

‘That's generous of him.’ Jane sniffed. ‘His rents alone are six or seven thousand a quarter. When he married my mother, she brought him factories in Birmingham, a flourishing ironworks, and an income of at least ten thousand a year. Yet he will do hardly anything for you. All because of some silly argument between him and your mother, which he won't even discuss. He always did bear grudges. Owen?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know why they quarrelled? Did your mother ever speak of it?’

‘No, never. I did not know of the Darrows’ existence until my father died, and Bethan told me I was to come here. Why not ask your mother about it?’

‘My father expressly forbade me to ask my mother anything. So it appears we must remain in ignorance.’ Jane stood up. ‘I shall not take supper tonight.’

‘Would it be wise for me to stay away?’

‘If you are hungry, go and eat.’ Jane began to walk towards the house. ‘Even my father could not be so mean as to deny you the right to approach his table. Even he will hardly suspect you of mercenary designs on his potted meat or cold souse.’

* * * *

It was as if someone had died. Maria and Rayner sympathised with the lovers but, too afraid of their father's wrath to take their side in public, they did their commiserating behind closed doors.

The servants knew everything. They all liked Owen and would have been delighted to hear a wedding had been arranged, but for the moment they crept about warily, biding their time and hoping for the best — whatever that might turn out to be.

The only person in the household who was not in the least bit afraid of the squire was his wife. Valiantly, Rebecca tried to pretend nothing was amiss. ‘My dear Owen,’ she would say as he came into dinner, ‘pray be seated. Will you have some soup?’ Then she would motion to the butler to serve the guest first. Simmons would nod to the footman, who would then glance nervously at the squire.

But Ellis would say nothing at all.

Jane hated mealtimes now. The carefree chat of previous dinners and breakfasts and afternoon teas had been replaced by frosty silences and awkward pauses, which were harmful to the digestion and gave one heartburn in earnest.

* * * *

‘I have decided to go back to Cardiff,’ announced Owen, as he and Jane strolled by the lake one morning, about a week after their tumultuous declaration of intent.

Jane sighed. ‘So eager to leave me?’ she whispered, miserably.

‘I'm not eager to leave you.’ Owen took her hand. ‘But it is hardly pleasant for me, to be in a house where my presence is only tolerated, and that grudgingly.’

‘You're loved by most of us! There's only one person who merely tolerates you.’

‘That person happens to be master here.’

‘So you're running away.’

‘I am returning to Cardiff to sort out my affairs. To arrange my attendance at university, where I mean to begin this October.’

‘My father is still to pay your fees?’

‘Yes. He called me into his study to tell me so. He was cool towards me. But he was neither insulting nor unkind.’

‘Oh, Owen! What shall we do?’

‘We must wait.’ Owen clasped both her hands in his. ‘I make no demands of you,’ he said. ‘I extract no promises. You are a beautiful, eligible young woman who, while she remains single, is certain to be courted. If you meet a man of fortune whom you like, and if you feel able to return his regard, I shall understand.

‘For my part, I shall always love you. To prove this, I shall work hard, remain constant — and try to show your father that, although I have no fortune and no special talents to recommend me, I have done my best to deserve you.’

‘I'll never love anyone else.’ Jane smiled up at him. ‘Never.’

Owen kissed her. ‘Then all we need to learn is patience,’ he said. ‘Come. Let's go back.’

They saw the servant running towards them. ‘Mr Morgan?’ Out of breath, the footman bowed. ‘Miss Darrow, I beg your pardon — but his honour requires Mr Morgan's presence in his study. At once.’