Chapter Five
Some little while later, having endured all the effusive praise and hearty backslapping with as much good nature as it was possible for him to bring to bear in such trying circumstances, Maitland was at last released from his ordeal and allowed to catch his breath. Stepping down from the terrace, he swept his eyes across the manicured lawns in search of Stephanie who, along with Georgianne, had desisted from joining in the general mêlée that had greeted the cousins’ arrival. Eventually, having spotted her sitting in the shade of a large chestnut tree on the far side of the garden, he was just about to make his way over to her, his heart thumping in joyful anticipation when, with a start of annoyance, he perceived that the Honourable Jeremy had already forestalled him. Miss Highsmith, if her mischievous glances and ripples of laughter were anything to go by, appeared to be very much impressed by Fenton’s blond good looks and well-practised charm. And, as he watched Stephanie picking up her sketchbook and executing a few swift strokes with her pencil, Maitland could not help but notice that three or four of the other young men of the company had also started to drift over in her direction.
Since he could not bring himself to be merely one amongst the many of those who had congregated about the clearly popular Miss Highsmith, he sauntered across to another part of the gardens to join Catford, who was engaged in a spirited conversation with his cousin Georgianne.
‘Ah, there you are, Will!’ cried the viscount, with a huge grin. ‘Finally managed to stave off your devoted admirers, I see!’
‘No thanks to you, dear friend!’ grunted Maitland, as he threw himself down on the grass next to his ex- comrade. ‘Next time you’ve a mind to fall off your horse, kindly call on someone else to drag you out of trouble!’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old chap!’ chuckled the viscount, with a sly wink at Georgianne.
Although her lips curved in amusement as she listened to the two comrades’ teasing repartee, Georgianne, who was well aware that her cousin’s affable friend would far rather be sitting next to Stephanie than where he was at present, was unable to hold back the slight pang of longing that had suddenly invaded her heart. Bending her head, she tried to concentrate her mind on the piece of sewing that, for some time now, had lain idle in her lap but, even as she proceeded to execute the small neat stitches, she found her attention wandering across to where Maitland lay sprawled elegantly on the grass beside the viscount.
What a very fine physique the fellow has, she thought admiringly, as her eyes swept over him. How broad his shoulders are! But then, as she found herself dwelling rather too long upon how well his breeches clung to his muscular thighs, her face grew quite hot and she rummaged hurriedly in the basket beside her in search of the small fan that she always carried.
Noticing her sudden discomfort but, unaware of the true reason behind it, Catford scrambled to his feet, saying, ‘This sun getting a bit too much for you, Georgie? Let me fetch you a cooling glass of Mrs Barnet’s lemonade.’ And, looking down at his friend, he added, ‘What about you, Will? Fancy a drop of ale?’
After intimating that a glass of ale would, indeed, be most welcome, Maitland raised himself from his prone position and, casually draping his arms over his drawn-up knees, focussed his attention upon the opposite side of the lawn, where Stephanie was still holding court to her rapt audience.
Georgianne, having observed his melancholy demeanour, could not help but feel a flash of compassion for him. ‘Poor Mr Maitland,’ she said gently. ‘Stephanie has so many admirers—you will need to arrive at a much earlier hour if you wish to be first in line!’
At her words, Maitland gave a sudden start and an embarrassed flush began to cover his cheeks, but then, having realised that there was little point in denying the obvious, he gave a dismissive shrug, saying ‘So it appears! I did hope to get the chance to ask her if she would care to join me in an early morning ride tomorrow morning—but it looks as though I shall have to settle for writing her a note, instead.’ Then, getting to his feet, he turned to go, saying, ‘If you will excuse me, Miss Venables, I believe I shall go in search of Catford, in order to ascertain where I might lay my hands on some writing materials.’
Georgianne’s smile did not waver, nor did her expression betray her inner disappointment. ‘You will find paper and ink a-plenty in the library,’ she said brightly, indicating one of the sets of doors leading out on to the terrace above them. ‘Pens, too, I should think, for I mended several myself only yesterday. Do, please, go and write your note and, if you care to trust me with its delivery, I shall see that Stephanie receives it at the first possible opportunity.’ Then, pausing, as a slight frown puckered her brow, she added hesitantly, ‘However, I do feel that it is only fair to warn you in advance that Miss Highsmith does not, in fact, ride!’
Maitland’s steps faltered and he turned back to face her. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said, staring down at her in astonishment, for this was a possibility that had certainly never crossed his mind. ‘Did I really hear you say that Miss Highsmith does not ride?’
Georgianne nodded. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied, with a sympathetic smile. ‘She took a tumble when she was just a child and has refused to mount ever since— she actually has a great fear of horses, although she does enjoy being driven about the countryside. Perhaps you could invite her to take a ride in your carriage, instead?’
Maitland’s heart sank. ‘Unfortunately, as you are no doubt aware, I travelled up to Warwickshire on horseback. And the carriage in which we drove here this morning belongs to my cousin.’ He nodded towards Fenton, who was still in the thick of those enjoying the exquisite Stephanie’s favours. ‘It should be possible to hire one, I suppose,’ he went on, more to himself than to his companion. ‘It’s getting one’s hands on a halfway decent one that might pose the biggest problem, though.’
Weighing up the various pros and cons of the unexpected dilemma, he stared moodily across the lawn, a hot spurt of jealousy running through him every time Stephanie bestowed her vivacious smile upon one of her admirers. But then, suddenly conscious of Georgianne’s eyes on him, he remembered his manners and, hurriedly collecting himself, lowered himself to the ground at her side.
‘And how about yourself, Miss Venables?’ he asked, more out of politeness than from any real interest. ‘May I take it that you do not share your friend’s aversion?’
‘Oh, absolutely not!’ replied Georgianne, her eyes immediately lighting up and, to Maitland’s surprise, completely transforming her face. ‘It is quite my most favourite pastime and one that I indulge in at every possible opportunity. Uncle Charles—Lord Gresham, I should say—has only just recently purchased the most delightful new mare for me—I had quite outgrown my dear old Meg. Fortunately, we have no need to put her out to pasture quite just yet, since she is so gentle that Cat’s two sisters are perfectly happy to trust her with their youngsters.’
A smile crept across Maitland’s face. ‘I have been fortunate enough to hang on to my own Pegasus for more than six years now,’ he said, in reply. ‘I have other mounts, of course, but none so dear to me. One grows so attached.’
Georgianne gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘Oh, I do so agree,’ she said fervently. ‘I have to confess that I already find myself sharing many a secret with Puss!’
His smile deepened. ‘Puss? An unusual name for a mare, surely?’
Catching his twinkle, she returned the smile. ‘Her name is Olympus really, but it became too much of a mouthful when I was urging her over a seven-footer, so she became Puss, which does seem to suit her temperament rather well, I feel.’
‘I’m sure that it does,’ he returned, somewhat absentmindedly, for his eyes had strayed once more to the group on the far side of the lawn.
Swallowing her regret at his sudden change of manner, Georgianne refused to allow her disappointment to show. ‘Steffi enjoys many other pastimes,’ she said stoutly. ‘She sketches and paints quite beautifully and plays the pianoforte far better than anyone I know. And, look—’
Reaching over into the basket by her side, she drew out a carefully folded piece of material and held it out for his inspection. ‘Her embroidery is perfectly exquisite.’
Somewhat taken aback, Maitland eyed the small flannel garment that she was holding up to him. ‘What is it?’ he asked curiously. ‘It looks not unlike a doll’s petticoat!’
‘It’s to be a nightdress, silly!’ She laughed and, seeing his lack of comprehension, pointed to the pile of garments in her sewing basket. ‘A newborn babe’s nightdress—we sew them for Lady Highsmith’s charity home, only…’ as, with a self-conscious smile, she hurriedly folded the small garment and returned it to her basket ‘…I fear that I am no embroiderer—a simple seamstress, that’s me!’
‘Your work is very fine,’ he replied. ‘And of far more practical use than the usual traycloths and tea serviettes, I should imagine.’ Then, reaching out, he ran his fingers through the finished garments. ‘Why is it that not all of the garments have this small rosebud embellishment? Does it have to do with the status of the recipient?’
Georgianne looked shocked. ‘Good heavens, no!’ she disclaimed hotly. ‘When they are finished, they will be identical! It is simply that I have been at liberty to forge ahead with my part of the task, while Steffi has had rather more calls upon her time, so she has a little catching up to do. You gentlemen must take the blame for that,’ she added, eyeing him mischievously. ‘Not you personally, I grant, but, I dare say as soon as you are given the opportunity…?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ he countered, somewhat impulsively. ‘I was rather wondering whether you yourself would consider allowing me to join you on one of your morning rides?’
For the briefest of moments, she stared at him, her face quite impassive, then, giving a swift nod, she smiled, saying, ‘Yes, of course, although Cat and I go out very early—you will have to be here by seven, if you mean to join us! Oh, look! Uncle Charles and the others have returned; I must go and see if Moffat has everything ready—it seems that we are to lunch “al fresco” today, which, while it is intended to provide a great deal of enjoyment for Aunt Letty’s guests, does, of course, rather involve the staff in a great deal of extra work. If you will excuse me?’
As he scrambled to his feet, Maitland’s eyes followed Georgianne’s graceful figure as she crossed the grass, mounted the steps leading on to the terrace and disappeared around the corner of the building. Then, wondering where the devil Catford had got to with the promised drinks, he lowered himself down on to the grass once more and stared thoughtfully at the abandoned sewing basket. Why Georgianne’s apparent lack of enthusiasm to include him in her morning ride should have come as such a disappointment to him, he could not imagine, since, as far as he had been concerned, his impromptu gesture had come about more out of good manners than for any real desire for her company. Not that the young lady had not proved herself to be excellent company, he hastened to remind himself, a swift grin creasing his face as he recalled Georgianne’s impassioned listing of her friend’s numerous accomplishments. Added to which, he thought good-humouredly, it had been a good many years since anyone had had the temerity to label him ‘silly’!
His contemplative reverie was soon interrupted by the belated arrival of the highly apologetic viscount, bearing a pair of foaming tankards. ‘Dreadfully sorry, old chap,’ he puffed, as he joined Maitland on the grass. ‘Bit of a domestic crisis, I’m afraid—one of the kitchen maids tripped over the blessed cat and suffered a broken ankle—had to call the doctor out!’
‘Ooh, nasty!’ returned his friend, with a sympathetic grimace. ‘Nevertheless, if my impression of Lady Letitia is anything to go by, the poor lass is sure to have the benefit of the best of treatments.’
The viscount gave an emphatic nod. ‘Quite right, too!’ he exclaimed. ‘The welfare of our employees has always been high on the list of Mater’s priorities. Although, to be fair, Georgie’s pretty amazing too, as a matter of fact. She’d grabbed a hold of a teacloth and a tub of ice and had a cold compress on the girl’s foot before any of us could say “Jack Robinson”!’
Maitland sipped thoughtfully at his ale. ‘Seems a very pleasant girl, your cousin,’ he ventured, almost carelessly. ‘Would have thought she’d have been snapped up by now!’
The viscount was silent for a moment. ‘Mmm, well, you might think so,’ he said, eventually. ‘She’s an absolute gem, is our little Georgie. Don’t care to talk about the lady behind her back, but the fact is that she suffered a severe disappointment some years back and now does her damnedest to keep all the fellows at bay—still carrying the proverbial torch, if you want my opinion—not that any of us ever mention the subject, of course,’ he added hastily.
‘Nuff said,’ acknowledged his friend while, at the same time, finding himself thinking that it was clear that the unaccommodating suitor, whoever he was, must have been in dire need of having his head examined.
While the two men were conversing, the servants had been setting up trestle tables and laying out a selection of cold meats, raised pies, platters of fruit and other mouth-watering delicacies. Chairs were brought out for the older members of the party, whilst rugs and cushions were thrown on the grass for those youngsters who might wish to avail themselves of them. Shortly afterwards, a footman appeared on the terrace striking a gong, signalling to those guests still in the furthest reaches of the grounds that luncheon was about to be served. In answer to the summons, the ongoing games of cricket, tennis and croquet were brought to a swift close, couples ceased their aimless wanderings about the gardens, and everyone began to make their way back towards the terrace area.
Triumphantly waving the piece of paper that he held in his hand, the Honourable Jeremy sauntered over to join his cousin. ‘What a creature!’ he breathed. ‘So talented and such rare insight!’
Catching hold of the paper, which he quickly recognised as a page torn from a sketchbook, Maitland found himself staring at a remarkably well-executed likeness of Fenton.
‘One of Miss Highsmith’s, I collect?’ he said, feeling not a little put out that his rather dandified cousin had apparently captured Stephanie’s undivided attention with such apparent ease.
‘You should consider yourself highly honoured,’ grinned Catford, as he leaned across and studied the sketch. ‘Steffi usually only bestows those on her favourites.’
‘Do you say so!’ Fenton beamed, carefully rolling up the paper and tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket, an action that caused Maitland considerable astonishment, knowing, as he did, his cousin’s normally fastidious attention to the smooth, uncluttered line of his dress. ‘I shall treasure it always! And, now, gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I am commissioned to select a few tasty morsels for the lady’s enjoyment!’
‘Well, he certainly seems to have found favour with our little beauty,’ remarked Catford, as the Honourable Jeremy drifted off towards the refreshment tables. ‘Wonder how long that little caper will last?’
Maitland frowned. It was not like his friend to cast disparaging remarks about a member of the opposite sex. ‘Steady on, Cat!’ he protested. ‘That’s a touch near the knuckle, surely!’
‘If you had been acquainted with the delectable Miss Highsmith for as many years as I have, Will,’ observed the viscount, with a wry smile, ‘you, too, might have learnt to be a little sceptical—I do hope that you were not thinking of casting out a lure in that particular direction!’
‘Well, you have to admit that she is rather dazzling,’ returned his friend, giving a slightly self-conscious shrug.
The viscount stared across at him, his forehead puckered in dismay. ‘Keep away, old chap, if you value your sanity!’ he cautioned. ‘There’s not a fellow in the vicinity who hasn’t fallen under her spell—have to admit that I went down the same road myself, a few years back. Luckily, I soon found out that the adorable Miss Highsmith enjoys nothing better than playing off her admirers one against the other—take a look, if you’re disinclined to believe me!’
Not entirely convinced by Catford’s friendly words of caution, Maitland allowed his eyes to travel across to where the object of their discussion sat, still surrounded by half-dozen or so eager gallants. But then, as he registered the mischievous way in which she smilingly reached out a finger to chuck one man under his chin whilst, at the same time, fluttering her long, curling lashes over his shoulder at another, it became horribly clear to him that the viscount’s ruthless shredding of Stephanie’s character had been entirely justified.
Stifling a pang of regret for all those earlier hopes and dreams that had, all too quickly, crumbled into dust, Maitland silently cursed himself for allowing his usual good sense to be swayed by the sight of a pretty face. Offering up a prayer of thanks to his lucky stars for his friend’s most timely warning, he resolved to put aside all thoughts of romance and apply himself to the job in hand—namely, the search for young Étienne Billingham, always supposing that the unfortunate lad had survived his birth.
However, since it was clear that any attempt to hurry Fenton away from Stephanie’s side at this juncture was likely to meet with fierce resistance and, uncomfortably aware that he was obliged to rely upon the clearly besotted Jeremy for his own transport back to the inn, Maitland realised that he had no choice but to wait until his cousin decided the moment of their departure. And, since the unexpected set-back to his own romantic hopes had somewhat diminished his appetite, he declined Catford’s invitation to join the family for luncheon and, somewhat disconsolately, wandered off into the lower reaches of the gardens, towards the lake.
As the noisy hubbub of conversation and laughter began to fade into the distance, to be replaced by the rather more agreeable sounds of rippling water and birdsong, his inner turmoil gradually lessened and he could feel his mind growing calmer with every step. Pausing only to smile at the antics of the disorderly line of mallard duck chicks, each of them noisily jostling for position in their mother’s wake, he made his way along the path towards the hexagonally shaped summerhouse that he had spotted on the bank a little distance ahead.
He had barely set his foot onto the bottom step of the building, however, before he became conscious of the fact that he was, clearly, not the only one who had chosen to leave the clamour of the garden party behind them, in search of a moment’s solitude.
‘Miss Venables!’ he exclaimed, standing stock-still in the doorway. ‘I beg your pardon! I had no idea that there was anyone here!’
Georgianne, who had, in fact, been observing Maitland’s leisurely stroll along the lakeside path with a peculiar mixture of panic and excitement, carefully laid down her plate of, as yet, untouched food on to the bench at her side. ‘I fear that you have found me out, Mr Maitland,’ she said, with a rueful smile. ‘I had a sudden urge to get away from all the hullabaloo for a few moments’ peace and quiet on my own.’
‘And here I am, depriving you of your well-earned rest!’ grimaced Maitland, stepping back hurriedly and turning to go. ‘Please accept my apologies for having intruded upon your privacy.’
‘No, please don’t go, sir!’ begged Georgianne, leaping to her feet. ‘There is more than enough room for the two of us here and, as you can see…’ she indicated with a sweep of her hand ‘…the view from this spot is simply marvellous.’
Maitland entered the summerhouse and sat down on the bench opposite. ‘It’s hardly surprising that you felt the need to catch a few minutes’ respite from your labours, Miss Venables,’ he ventured, with a gentle smile. ‘Cat has told me all about your sterling efforts with the unfortunate kitchen maid.’
She flushed. ‘I had heard that it is preferable to limit the swelling in such cases,’ she replied diffidently. ‘It apparently makes it easier for the physician to reset the bone.’
‘Far less painful for the patient too, I believe. How is the poor lass?’
‘Fast asleep by now, hopefully—Dr Travers had to administer quite a hefty dose of laudanum to calm her. I shall look in on her later this afternoon to see how she does.’
Maitland’s eyes travelled to the heaped plate at her side. ‘I appear to have interrupted your luncheon,’ he observed, suddenly feeling quite peckish himself. ‘Please do not allow my being here to prevent you enjoying your meal.’
‘Perhaps you would care to join me?’ invited Georgianne, lifting up the plate and holding it out to him. ‘Cook piled on far more than I can possibly manage.’
Quickly transferring his position to her side of the summerhouse, Maitland thanked her and helped himself to a slice of game pie. ‘I have to admit that I was somewhat disinclined to join in the general scrimmage around the refreshment tables, but that little walk along the lake path seems to have done wonders for my appetite!’
‘I have often thought that picnics are not nearly as much fun as we keep telling ourselves!’ she said, with a dimpling smile.
‘Oh, I cannot agree there, Miss Venables,’ he protested, a wide grin on his face. ‘I have to say that I am finding this particular alfresco meal rather pleasant!’
At his words, Georgianne felt her cheeks grow quite warm and, in an attempt to hide her growing confusion, she turned her head away, appearing to busy herself with choosing a titbit from the plate. Maitland, studying her profile, suddenly found himself wondering how it was that he had ever considered her to be merely ‘nice-looking’. With her clear grey eyes and softly flushed cheeks, not to mention the several gently waving tendrils of warm brown hair that had escaped their rigid confinement from their pins to fall, in graceful confusion, over her brow and down the nape of her neck, he could see that it was well past time to revise his former opinion of his friend’s young cousin.
‘Your hair appears to have come somewhat adrift, Miss Venables,’ he pointed out softly, lifting up his hand in an attempt to tuck one of the curling wisps back behind her ear.
Almost as if she had been stung, Georgianne started back in alarm. ‘Yes, I know,’ she acknowledged breathlessly. ‘I had intended to deal with it before going back to the house.’
‘Pity,’ he drawled, her sudden reticence not having escaped his attention. ‘It suits you much better that way.’
Then, getting to his feet, he strolled across to the doorway, endeavouring to give her the impression that he was admiring the view. Great heavens above! he was thinking. You have surely not been extricated from one bumblebath only to fall straight into another! Then, shaking his head, he came to the conclusion that it must have something to do with the much talked-about rebound effect, a circumstance with which he was unfamiliar. Or, could it be that, having registered Cat’s remark about his cousin ‘keeping the fellows at bay’, he had regarded Georgianne as something of a challenge to his masculinity?
‘I really need to get started on this blessed search,’ he murmured aloud. But, on turning to face the silent Georgianne, to enquire as to the whereabouts of Willowby’s church, his breath caught in his throat and he found himself quite lost for words.
Still seated on the bench, Georgianne had taken advantage of his protracted meditation to unpin her hair and was, at this very moment, hurriedly combing her fingers through the flowing waves, prior to coaxing them back into their usual neat chignon and quite determined to have the job done before Maitland should turn around.
Alerted by the sounds of his booted feet on the stone floor of the summerhouse, she swept back the curtain of hair from her face and, to her consternation, looked up to find him standing directly in front of her. Biting her lip in annoyance at having been caught out, she quickly attempted to bundle up her locks into some semblance of tidiness, only to find Maitland’s hand on her own, preventing her from continuing.
‘Please don’t,’ he said softly, running his own fingers through the silken strands. ‘Your hair is so very lovely—must you drag it back into such an unbecoming style?’
Finding herself, momentarily, transfixed by both the sensation of his fingers on her head and his unconcealed expression of admiration, Georgianne could neither move nor think but then, as Maitland, having relinquished his hold, lowered himself on to the bench at her side, she drew in her breath and said, somewhat shakily, ‘It is not, usually, quite as troublesome as it has been today—I must crave your indulgence while I attend to it.’
And, much to Maitland’s regret, she proceeded to coil her hair into a tight loop and, with the help of the few remaining pins at her disposal, set about attaching the heavy chignon to the top of her head. Then, picking up the chipstraw bonnet that she had lain aside on the bench, she settled it carefully over her newly arranged hairstyle and quickly tied the ribbons under her chin.
‘There, now,’ she said, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘That should hold it in place—I dare say all that rushing up and down stairs caused it to come adrift—I must make a point of securing it more firmly in future.’
Although he was obliged to shelve his disappointment that Georgianne had chosen to ignore his plea that she might adopt a less severe style, Maitland could not help but be impressed at the calm, matter-of-fact way that she had attended to her somewhat embarrassing predicament. He was well aware that a good many of the young women of his acquaintance, by exhibiting a more-than-usual quota of fluttering eyelashes, simpering blushes and highly irritating giggles, not to mention a pretended mortification, would have used such an opportunity to turn what had been merely an unfortunate mishap into a full theatrical performance. Having observed Stephanie Highsmith’s earlier display of dramatic ability, it was not difficult for him to visualise how she would have reacted, given a similar circumstance.
Unfortunately, Maitland’s failure to reply to her lighthearted comment only gave Georgianne the impression that her somewhat nonchalant behaviour had caused him to think badly of her. As an unexpected sense of despondency swept over her, she rose hurriedly to her feet, fighting back the impulse to offer her apologies for having acted in so unladylike a manner in front of a gentleman, who was, after all, still little more than a stranger.
But Maitland, finding himself suddenly loath to part with her company, at once leapt up to join her, saying, ‘Please do not rush away, Miss Venables. I was hoping that you might point me in the direction of your local church—this would seem to be an excellent opportunity for me to have a few words with the incumbent there.’
‘Oh, that would be our curate, Mr Childs,’ the much- relieved Georgianne was delighted to be able to inform him. ‘And you are in luck, for there is a shortcut to the church through that spinney just ahead of us—the family often make use of it. If you will permit me, I would be happy to take you there myself.’
‘The pleasure will be mine, I assure you.’
And, so saying, Maitland leapt nimbly down from the summerhouse and held out his hand. After a scarcely discernible hesitation, Georgianne placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her descend the three shallow steps on to the pathway. Why this simple action should have had the effect of setting up such a trembling inside her, she could not imagine but, when Maitland then chose to tuck her hand firmly into the crook of his arm, she was powerless to prevent the rosy blush that formed instantly upon her cheeks.
Fortunately for Georgianne’s peace of mind, her escort seemed not to have noticed her brief moment of confusion. Indeed, as far as she could tell, he appeared to be heavily engrossed in studying the courtly behaviour of the pair of swans who were sailing majestically across the lake.
‘Such beautiful creatures,’ he observed chattily, as they turned off the path and strolled through the sunlit spinney, at the far end of which the church’s squat tower could be seen. ‘I’m told that they mate for life.’
‘A particular habit amongst a good many members of the bird family, I believe,’ replied Georgianne, with a sudden smile. ‘Strange, really, when one considers that their brains are said to be not nearly as well formed as our own.’
He shot her a quick glance and was relieved to see that she seemed to have overcome her momentary attack of agitation, which, contrary to his companion’s firm belief, had not, in fact, escaped his attention. ‘I believe their choices are made more by instinct than by the decidedly unreliable methods we humans tend to employ,’ he said, a rueful grin forming on his lips as the unwelcome memory of his own recent and rather foolish lapse over Stephanie sprang into his mind. ‘It is possible that we might be far better off endeavouring to emulate their ways, rather than allowing our hearts to rule our minds, as we are frequently inclined to do.’
Georgianne gave a thoughtful nod. ‘A fair point, Mr Maitland,’ she conceded. ‘Although the swans’ lifetime devotion to their partners does seem to suggest that something more than mere instinct must be involved. For instance, I have heard it said that a bereaved swan simply pines away after having lost a mate, which rather begs the question insofar as the basic instincts for survival and self-preservation are concerned.’
‘Both of which we humans, too, are all too often apt to thrust to one side when it comes to matters of the heart,’ he pointed out. ‘So, perhaps, when all is said and done, the various species are not really so different, after all!’
‘That may well be so,’ replied Georgianne, with a little laugh. But then, after a slight pause, she frowned and added, ‘Although, to my mind, the greatest difference between us and the rest of the animal kingdom lies in the fact that they appear to be allowed the luxury of selecting their own mates without outside interference.’
‘Well, the male of the species, quite possibly,’ acknowledged Maitland, with a broad grin. ‘But even they are often obliged to do battle to gain that privilege!’
Georgianne came to a sudden standstill, exclaiming, ‘Good grief, so they are! I had quite forgotten that particular aspect. And, while they are locking horns—or what you will—’ she then riposted pithily, ‘the female of the species is obliged to wait patiently on the sidelines in order to learn her fate!’
‘True, but then she always gets the champion and never has to settle for second best,’ he argued, taking her by the elbow and gently urging her forwards. ‘“Faint heart never won fair lady”, as the saying goes, or, if you prefer it, “To the victor the spoils!”’
Biting back the smile that threatened, Georgianne gave a little sigh. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘I find it hard to believe that male swans would allow other swans to influence their choice of mate.’ She hesitated for a moment, as though gathering courage, then, taking a deep breath, she blurted out, almost defiantly, ‘Nor indeed are they likely to call their partner’s ancestry into question!’
At her words, and just for a second or two, it was Maitland’s turn to be thrown into confusion, but then, after storing that particular phrase into his memory for deeper consideration at some future point, he felt constrained to point out that, since neither he nor she were ever likely to find themselves in a position to discover the truth of the matter, there was little point in continuing that particular line of discussion. ‘For all we know, animals may well have their own systems of justice,’ he reasoned, before adding, with a quick grin, ‘Think of parliaments of owls and—er—kangaroo courts!’
When Georgianne did not reply, he cast a quick sideways glance at her and, although her face was turned away from him, he was perturbed to see that her shoulders were shaking. Good God! he thought. Has my insensitive raillery reduced the poor girl to tears? Lifting his free hand, he reached across and swung her round to face him. Her wide grey eyes were, indeed, brimful of tears but, as he very quickly realised from the expression on her face, they were not tears of sadness, but of laughter!
‘What an odd sense of humour you do have, Mr Maitland,’ she gasped, her eyes still alight with laughter as she delved into her skirt pocket in search of a handkerchief. ‘Kangaroo courts, indeed! You know perfectly well that that expression has nothing whatsoever to do with what we were discussing!’
‘Possibly not,’ he said, with an unrepentant grin and, pulling out his own, much larger and far more suitable, linen handkerchief, he drew her gently towards him and, taking her chin in his hand, proceeded to dab all vestige of the tears from her cheeks. ‘But it did cause you a certain amount of amusement, so I consider myself well served!’
‘There now,’ he said jokingly, as he stood back and surveyed her. ‘I pronounce you as good as new. It would hardly do to give your Mr Childs the impression that I am in the habit of reducing young ladies to tears!’
‘Oh, you have no need to concern yourself,’ replied Georgianne, making every effort to keep her tone nonchalant, for Maitland’s gentle touch seemed to have had the effect of turning her insides to a mass of quivering jelly. ‘Mr Childs has a fine sense of humour—we have had many a laugh together.’
At these words, a slight frown creased Maitland’s forehead, and as he held open the gate that led into the rear of the churchyard, he was somewhat perturbed to discover that, for some reason, and even before he had met him, he had already developed a marked dislike for the unsuspecting clergyman.