I’ll be bound?’ he asked.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ began Miss Stock, not sure whether to be flattered or scandalised. Even at the age of fifty, the idea of being in an intimate situation with Lord Ravensford was not one she could contemplate with equanimity: Lord Ravensford was so undeniably male .
‘Marianne!’
Jennifer’s halloo fortunately saved the good Miss Stock from the tricky situation, as all eyes turned towards Jennifer.
‘Marianne. Jem said you were coming. Did he really go down on one knee?’
‘Not here, Jennifer,’ said Marianne, feeling it would not be fair to expose poor Jem’s proposal to Lord Ravensford’s mocking, and yet surprisingly interested, eye.
‘Can I go on the yacht?’ asked Jennifer, young enough to flit from one topic to another, and gauche enough to find nothing wrong in it. Or in asking such outright questions.
‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Ravensford, with the air of one speaking to a child. ‘We’ll see.’
Mrs Cosgrove, following her bouncing daughter, crossed the room more sedately. ‘Marianne. I’m so glad to see you, my dear. Jem said you intended to come.’ Mrs Cosgrove, however, being more sophisticated than Jennifer, did not ask the question she was obviously wanting to ask, preferring to wait until later, when she could speak to Marianne alone.
They fell into general conversation and Lord Ravensford was quickly reclaimed by the Lenton girls, who had visibly pouted when he had given his attention to Marianne. But was he enjoying their company, or was he silently laughing at them? Marianne asked herself. A moment later asking herself why she cared.
She turned her attention to the new guests who were just arriving, the Pargeters and Kents, thinking how fortunate it was that, as the party was being hosted by Lord Ravensford, she need have no fear of Mr Windham being one of the guests.
The hubbub grew until at last everyone had arrived and Lord Ravensford announced that the ladies should claim their cloaks and the gentlemen their caped coats as they were about to walk down to the lake.
‘And there is the yacht,’ said Lord Ravensford, as they reached the side of the lake.
It was tied up to the jetty, lying innocently on the surface of the ice. Small and slender, it looked something like a canoe. A sail was tied to a tall mast and flapped in the breeze. ‘It was invented by an American named Booth a few years ago,’ said Lord Ravensford. ‘I’ve made a few modifications to his original design.’ He lifted his head, considering the weather. Waving trees gave sign of the breeze. ‘It should sail well today. There’s enough wind to power it, but not enough to capsize it.’
‘Wouldn’t mind a go on that myself, Ravensford,’ said Henry Kent, who had idled along beside them and was now looking at the ice yacht with interest, walking round it and admiring its construction.
‘Be my guest.’
‘Marianne, my dear,’ came Mrs Cosgrove’s voice, seizing the opportunity to speak to Marianne as Mr Kent asked Lord Ravensford to explain the workings of the yacht. ‘Tell me, how is your dear Papa?’
She drew Marianne aside. Marianne, whilst knowing that Mrs Cosgrove’s questions about her father’s health were just a subterfuge to gain her attention, nevertheless answered with a good grace, and then allowed Mrs Cosgrove to turn the subject round to Jem. Marianne listened patiently whilst Mrs Cosgrove explained Jem’s worth, and the value of a husband to a young woman with a reclusive father and a missing brother, but whilst agreeing with much of what she said, Marianne nevertheless left her in no doubt that, although she valued Jem as a neighbour and a friend, she could not marry him.
‘He made a mull of it, I suppose,’ said Mrs Cosgrove with a sigh.
‘No, not a bit of it.’ Marianne was loyal to her childhood friend. ‘I just don’t think of Jem in that way. I couldn’t have accepted him, no matter how romantically he’d
‘Well, I don’t know,’ began Miss Stock, not sure whether to be flattered or scandalised. Even at the age of fifty, the idea of being in an intimate situation with Lord Ravensford was not one she could contemplate with equanimity: Lord Ravensford was so undeniably male .
‘Marianne!’
Jennifer’s halloo fortunately saved the good Miss Stock from the tricky situation, as all eyes turned towards Jennifer.
‘Marianne. Jem said you were coming. Did he really go down on one knee?’
‘Not here, Jennifer,’ said Marianne, feeling it would not be fair to expose poor Jem’s proposal to Lord Ravensford’s mocking, and yet surprisingly interested, eye.
‘Can I go on the yacht?’ asked Jennifer, young enough to flit from one topic to another, and gauche enough to find nothing wrong in it. Or in asking such outright questions.
‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Ravensford, with the air of one speaking to a child. ‘We’ll see.’
Mrs Cosgrove, following her bouncing daughter, crossed the room more sedately. ‘Marianne. I’m so glad to see you, my dear. Jem said you intended to come.’ Mrs Cosgrove, however, being more sophisticated than Jennifer, did not ask the question she was obviously wanting to ask, preferring to wait until later, when she could speak to Marianne alone.
They fell into general conversation and Lord Ravensford was quickly reclaimed by the Lenton girls, who had visibly pouted when he had given his attention to Marianne. But was he enjoying their company, or was he silently laughing at them? Marianne asked herself. A moment later asking herself why she cared.
She turned her attention to the new guests who were just arriving, the Pargeters and Kents, thinking how fortunate it was that, as the party was being hosted by Lord Ravensford, she need have no fear of Mr Windham being one of the guests.
The hubbub grew until at last everyone had arrived and Lord Ravensford announced that the ladies should claim their cloaks and the gentlemen their caped coats as they were about to walk down to the lake.
‘And there is the yacht,’ said Lord Ravensford, as they reached the side of the lake.
It was tied up to the jetty, lying innocently on the surface of the ice. Small and slender, it looked something like a canoe. A sail was tied to a tall mast and flapped in the breeze. ‘It was invented by an American named Booth a few years ago,’ said Lord Ravensford. ‘I’ve made a few modifications to his original design.’ He lifted his head, considering the weather. Waving trees gave sign of the breeze. ‘It should sail well today. There’s enough wind to power it, but not enough to capsize it.’
‘Wouldn’t mind a go on that myself, Ravensford,’ said Henry Kent, who had idled along beside them and was now looking at the ice yacht with interest, walking round it and admiring its construction.
‘Be my guest.’
‘Marianne, my dear,’ came Mrs Cosgrove’s voice, seizing the opportunity to speak to Marianne as Mr Kent asked Lord Ravensford to explain the workings of the yacht. ‘Tell me, how is your dear Papa?’
She drew Marianne aside. Marianne, whilst knowing that Mrs Cosgrove’s questions about her father’s health were just a subterfuge to gain her attention, nevertheless answered with a good grace, and then allowed Mrs Cosgrove to turn the subject round to Jem. Marianne listened patiently whilst Mrs Cosgrove explained Jem’s worth, and the value of a husband to a young woman with a reclusive father and a missing brother, but whilst agreeing with much of what she said, Marianne nevertheless left her in no doubt that, although she valued Jem as a neighbour and a friend, she could not marry him.
‘He made a mull of it, I suppose,’ said Mrs Cosgrove with a sigh.
‘No, not a bit of it.’ Marianne was loyal to her childhood friend. ‘I just don’t think of Jem in that way. I couldn’t have accepted him, no matter how romantically he’d
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