A Sense of Belonging

by Wendy Soliman

  A fierce battle ensued, amid much laugher and cheerful disputes about the score. Mary and Mr Watson came out comfortable winners.

  ‘Well done,’ Charlie said, ever the gracious loser. ‘Remind me not to play against you again, Alvin. You are unstoppable.’

  ‘It’s more a case of you being an idle fellow,’ Mr Watson replied amiably. ‘If you could be bothered to anticipate and move more quickly, the match would have been a great deal closer.’

  Charlie spread his hands and grinned. ‘I wish I could dispute that, but I suspect both of my sisters would take your side. I see little point in expending energy chasing after a ball, that’s my problem.’

  ‘Laziness doesn’t afflict you on the cricket pitch,’ Mary pointed out.

  ‘Ah well, there you have me. Cricket is a gentleman’s game. Pride is at stake.’

  ‘I shall try not to be insulted by that remark,’ Emma said, grinning in spite of herself.

  The players drifted from the court, at which point Mary recalled that she required Charlie’s opinion on the positioning of the croquet hoops. They wandered off, Charlie protesting that he knew next to nothing about the game and wouldn’t be the least bit helpful, leaving Emma and Mr Watson to put the rackets away.

  ‘Shall we return to the house for a glass of cool lemonade?’ she suggested, feeling self-conscious to be restricted in a small pavilion with Mr Watson, whose large body seemed to dominate the space. It was a situation that she might have tried to connive, had she not been too self-conscious to attempt it. Mary had managed it on her behalf with considerable aplomb, but now Emma felt tongue-tied.

  ‘Unless you are in danger of expiring from thirst, why don’t we take a walk? It’s a while since I strolled around these grounds and spring is such a lovely time of year.’

  ‘By all means.’ They left the pavilion and Emma’s nerves fell away, gratified that the suggestion had come from him. ‘I like spring as well. New beginnings always make me feel that anything is possible. A fresh opportunity, a clean slate.’

  Mr Watson smiled. ‘I cannot imagine you having committed any terrible misdeeds that would require wiping out.’ He looked ahead as he spoke, glancing at the walled kitchen garden, as though considering taking a turn in it. He changed his mind at the last minute and directed his feet towards the lake, taking a light hold on her elbow until they had settled onto a fresh path and then releasing it again.

  ‘Because I have led a sheltered life?’ She tilted her head to look up at him, a challenging half-smile playing about her lips. ‘I dare say that by the time you reached eighteen you had plenty of reason to have regrets.’

  ‘It’s different for men.’ He held up a hand to ward off the objection that failed to get past her lips. ‘I am not saying that it should be, but don’t expect me to apologise. There are all sorts of evils out there—’

  ‘And women are too weak to resist them.’ Emma wondered why she had become so animated, angry even, upon a subject that had not previously troubled her mind that much. ‘Men are the stronger sex, I accept that, but it doesn’t follow that we ladies are any less intelligent. It’s just that we are not offered the same opportunities to improve our minds.’ She threw back her head, feeling rather pleased with herself because she sensed that Mr Watson took her assertions seriously and had not, thus far, treated her with condescension. ‘That’s because the powers that be, if they have troubled themselves to think about it at all, assume that we are all destined for marriage and motherhood. We only need enough education to be able to conduct witty drawing room conversation. Therefore, investing funds to improve our minds would be a shameful waste.’

  ‘You are overlooking the fact that Lady Margaret Hall opened its doors to women last year, and there is talk of further women’s colleges to come.’

  ‘Thanks to the efforts of the association promoting higher education for women.’ Emma nodded. ‘It is a significant step forward, I’ll grant you, but one that was forcefully opposed by your sex.’

  ‘You are being too judgemental. Imagining that all men feel that way is a bit like saying all women prefer Dickens to Shakespeare.’ A hint of a smile shaped his mouth. ‘Dare I suggest that some of us more enlightened males welcome the opportunities being offered to women in the educational field.’

  She sent him a suspicious sideways look. ‘I very much doubt if you lack daring.’

  She felt a sizzle of awareness rock her body when he fixed her with a probing look in response to her unintentionally flirtatious comment. At least, she was fairly sure it had been unintentional. His close proximity and disconcerting…well, masculinity, had a most unsettling effect upon her, making it difficult for her to keep track of their conversation. His clear blue eyes contemplated her with respect, and something more fundamental that Emma reacted to deep within her core. She felt a shortness of breath and knew that colour had invaded her cheeks. Her conscience wasn’t troubled at having won his respect by expressing a view that in all fairness had probably become lodged in her head because she was accustomed to hearing her grandmother’s radical opinions. Opinions that she agreed with but had never felt the need to defend before now.

  ‘However, it will take longer to convince most men that a woman’s place is not in the home. We men cannot have the babies,’ he pointed out with irrefutable logic.

  ‘If you could, there would be fewer wars,’ Emma replied with asperity. ‘You men so love to fight, but if you were obliged to bear the pain of childbirth year upon interminable year it would give you more immediate problems to wrestle with.’

  ‘I can see that you are quite out of charity with the male sex today, Emma.’

  ‘No, Mr Watson, not at all but—’

  ‘Since you are now of an age to theorise about the equality of the sexes, perhaps you had best call me Alvin.’

  He smiled at her and Emma’s fragile heart fragmented. He had just admitted that he looked upon her as an adult, which in itself was a cause for celebration. Now all she had to do was convince him that she would make an ideal wife. She would give him a dozen children and not once complain about the pain, she silently vowed, if only he could find it in himself to return her feelings.

  ‘All right, thank you, I shall.’ They continued to walk, a respectable amount of daylight separating them. They rounded the side of the house and eventually reached the lake itself. ‘Oh look, all the babies have survived so far.’ She pointed to a family of ducks gliding across the surface of the lake, eight ducklings paddling furiously to keep up with their parents. ‘Usually one or two have been taken by this point. Hopefully that is a good sign.’

  Alvin smiled at her. ‘You have a soft heart and want everything to live, but nature’s way is to ensure that only the strongest survive, otherwise the planet would soon become overrun.’

  She nodded. ‘True, but we humans are supposed to be the most intelligent species, and men are naturally protective.’ She sent him a sparkling smile, glad to have found a good example of her earlier point. ‘Especially of the weakest specimens, such as us feeble females. You cannot seem to help yourself.’

  He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You would have made a very worthy addition to the college’s debating society.’

  ‘And shocked all those smug intellectuals because I am a woman and possess a brain which I am not afraid to use?’ She shook her head and tutted. ‘Oxford University would never be the same again.’

  ‘I suppose you intend to have the punts brought into use during the party,’ Alvin said, after they had strolled on for a while in companionable silence. He pointed to the two craft moored beneath the boathouse.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I had forgotten all about them!’ She clasped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Thank you so much for the reminder. Do you mind if we return to the house immediately, or you could continue your walk alone? I must make arrangements for the other punts that are stored away to be made ready as well. Two will not be enough.’

  Alvin laughed at her dismay. ‘Stop taking life so s
eriously, my sweet. There is still plenty of time.’

  My sweet? ‘But I want everything to be perfect.’

  ‘Even if it disturbs the ducks?’ he asked, in a tone of amused forbearance.

  She stopped walking, planted her fisted hands on her hips and glared at him, pretending to take offence. ‘If I did not know better, I might suppose that you are not taking my dilemma seriously,’ she scolded.

  ‘My concern was entirely for your ducklings,’ he said, clearly fighting a smile.

  ‘I am not worried about our guests causing them any harm. It is more a case of the local foxes looking for an easy supper.’

  ‘You have set my mind at rest.’

  She shook her head at him, unsure whether to laugh or to upbraid him for teasing her. Her breathing stuttered as he lifted one hand and gently tucked an escaped curl behind her ear. His knuckles grazed her cheek and she felt the reaction to his accidental touch spiralling through her body. She looked up at him and was conscious of her eyes flaring with newfound awareness. His gaze drilled into hers for a protracted moment. She read amusement and, dare she hope, a modicum of answering interest in his expression. She had held her own in their conversation and he now knew that she was no scatter-brain.

  An encouraging start to her campaign to have him notice her.

  ‘Come along,’ he said, dropping his gaze and indicating the shortest way back to the house, his manner now formal and remote. ‘Those punts will not arrange themselves.’

  *

  Flora’s prolonged visit to the milliner’s establishment proved to be the greatest possible fun. Choosing from the wide and varied selection could not be hurried and the countess generously allowed her ample time for deliberation. When they left the premises, Flora was the proud owner of three new hats. One of them, worn high on the head in the current style and decorated with silk flowers, was now perched on top of her new hairstyle, making Flora feel stylish and elegant. She had no idea that a new hat could promote such feelings, mainly because she had never owned a hat before. The flower pot didn’t count. Before that, outdated bonnets had been considered sober and suitable attire for the daughters of a respected prelate.

  Her despised hat had been consigned to one of the three bandboxes that the footman juggled beneath his arms, the countess having decreed that she couldn’t bear to look at it for another second. Flora suspected she would never wear it again and would likely donate it to a needy cause. It would have to be a very needy one, she reflected with wry amusement, if the cause in question was grateful for such a monstrosity. She would defy the loveliest woman in the universe to make it look becoming.

  Flora chose not to think of the outrageous sum her new headwear had cost, or to wonder how long it would take her to repay the countess. She enjoyed the feel of her fashionable hat and the confidence it gave her too much to care.

  ‘Thank you so very much,’ Flora said, giving the countess’s arm an impulsive squeeze. ‘I feel positively de rigueur, and you need no longer feel ashamed to be seen in my company.’

  ‘Not while you are still in those rags.’ The countess scowled at Flora’s gown and screwed up her nose. ‘Anyway, I didn’t do it for your sake. If I have to look at you all day then I would prefer you not to offend my eyes.’

  ‘Of course that is your reason.’ Flora shook her head cautiously, even though her hat had been secured with a pin and would not be easily dislodged. ‘Although it wouldn’t kill you to admit that you are actually very soft-hearted and enjoy your kindnesses.’

  ‘You don’t know what you are talking about, insolent girl! I will have you know that I am a breaker of hearts. I have scattered dozens in my wake over the years without a second thought. There was nothing kind about that, but I didn’t lose a moment’s sleep worrying about the presumptuous swains’ finer feelings.’

  ‘Then I feel very sorry for them.’

  The footman let out an oath. Flora turned in surprise and saw her precious hatboxes tumbling from his hands as someone bumped into him with considerable force from behind. She instinctively reached down to help him pick them up.

  ‘I am most terribly sorry!’ the person responsible for the accident cried. ‘I turned the corner in a hurry and did not see you there.’

  Flora looked up at one of the most beautiful ladies she had ever encountered. She wore a very fashionable walking gown in a pale blue twill that exactly matched the colour of her eyes. A tumble of neat blonde curls were visible beneath her matching hat and Flora could see that her complexion was enviably flawless. Darkness flooded Flora’s brain as she absorbed the woman’s aura and she instinctively reached out a hand to the countess, who remained where she was, eyeing the woman with disdain. The footman picked up Flora’s boxes, none of which had come unfastened.

  ‘No harm done,’ he said, tipping his hat in acknowledgement of the lady’s apology.

  ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Countess of Swindon?’ the stranger asked with wide-eyed breathlessness.

  ‘That rather depends upon who wishes to know.’

  ‘I believe we were introduced once in London, ma’am, and I never forget a face.’ The lady had briefly scrutinised Flora, clearly decided she was unworthy of her interest and returned her entire attention to Lady Swindon. ‘I am Mrs Simpson, widow of the late Colonel Simpson, who served his country with great distinction.’

  If that declaration was supposed to impress the countess, Mrs Simpson clearly did not know her at all.

  ‘Come along, Flora, we should be—’

  A man reined his horse in beside them and leapt from its back. Flora didn’t need to look up to know that reinforcements had arrived in the shape of the earl. She did so anyway and was taken aback by the blazing anger that radiated from his eyes.

  ‘Grandmamma,’ he said.

  ‘Luke,’ Mrs Simpson said at the same time, with another disingenuous look that Flora suspected was her stock in trade. ‘I was just apologising to the countess for accidentally—’

  When the earl rudely turned his back on her, Flora wanted to applaud. He took his grandmother’s elbow and, leading his horse with his other hand, walked away without saying a word to Mrs Simpson. Flora, walking on the countess’s other side, glanced over her shoulder and felt a shiver travel down her spine when she took in the venom in the woman’s expression.

  ‘What happened?’ the earl asked Flora, after they had reached the carriage and he had handed his grandmother into it. ‘Never mind. I can work it out for myself.’ He ground his jaw and appeared to have trouble containing his anger. ‘I will ride back with you and we can talk at Beranger Court.’ His chilling expression briefly gave way to a raffish grin. ‘Nice hat,’ he said.

  Chapter Nine

  Luke rode beside his grandmother’s carriage, personally ensuring her safe return to the estate. Upon arrival he told Miss Latimer to come and find him the moment his grandmother no longer had need of her, then strode into his library, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him. Instead, he threw himself into a chair and took a moment to think the situation through.

  As his temper slowly subsided, it occurred to him that if Magda had hoped to inveigle her way into his family by accidently meeting his grandmother and pretending a former acquaintance, then she had chosen the wrong person to try and manipulate. He managed a brief chuckle at the thought. Grandmamma didn’t much care for the company of other women. That was one aspect of their characters that she and Magda had in common, and Grandmamma would have seen through Magda’s machinations in a heartbeat.

  Paul joined him, and he briefly described the situation he had happened upon.

  ‘It’s as we supposed then.’ Paul’s expression turned grim. ‘She has no intention of giving up on you.’

  ‘I have asked Miss Latimer to join us. I didn’t want to quiz Grandmamma about the incident for fear of worrying her. But I do need to know how the meeting came about. I cannot convince myself that it was a coincidence.’

  ‘Almost certainly not.’
Paul sighed. ‘You are right to suggest that Magda probably intended to use the supposedly chance meeting as an excuse to call upon her ladyship. It’s common knowledge that the countess is no longer the full shilling, so Magda probably felt confident about convincing her that they were acquainted. Still, no harm has been done, other than to make Magda realise she’s fighting a losing battle. You have given orders for her not to be admitted to the estate under any circumstances, so Magda’s machinations would not have worked even if the countess had fallen for the ruse.’

  ‘True.’ Luke gave a despairing grunt. ‘However, I refuse to spend another second dwelling upon the woman’s evil intentions. Let’s have at today’s correspondence.’

  Paul nodded and took Luke through the day’s letters, which were mercifully few. The odd request for a charitable donation, a few invitations, all of which Luke declined, and suggestions for investments from his lawyer which he took rather more seriously.

  ‘The ladies will be taking luncheon about now,’ Paul said when Luke had finished issuing instructions. ‘I suggest you do the same. Miss Latimer won’t be free until the countess takes her afternoon rest.’

  ‘Have something sent in here for me, if you don’t mind. I’ll work through the outstanding matters from yesterday in the meantime to take my mind off of things.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Luke thanked Paul when he personally delivered a tray to him. Alone again, he picked absently at the food, barely conscious of what he ate. He became absorbed with one of Parkin’s reports regarding crop rotation and had almost forgotten that he urgently needed to speak with Miss Latimer. When she tapped at the door a short time later and opened it when he bade her enter, he blinked up at her and momentarily wondered what it was that she wanted.

  ‘You asked to see me,’ she said, closing the door behind her and stepping into the room.