Mr Rushford's Honour

by Meg Alexander

  Then Giles's hands were upon her shoulders holding her away. 'Forgive me!' he said hoarsely. 'I have no right to touch you...no right at all.'

  Gina stared at him. She could not have been more shocked if he had struck her.

  'Who has a better right?' she asked in amazement. 'Were we not promised to each other? We swore that we would never change...do you remember?'

  'I do. Perhaps we have not changed, but our circumstances are different now...' Giles turned and took a few paces away from her. 'I have nothing to offer you, Gina...'

  'Have I ever asked for anything? All I ever wanted was your love. I thought you felt the same.'

  There was a long silence. 'We were very young...

  perhaps too young to understand that love is not enough.'

  Gina looked up at his set face. The shock of rejection had left her feeling stunned. 'What else is there?' she asked in wonder. 'We are both free. How many human beings are offered a second chance of happiness?'

  'You don't understand. I am dependent upon India and Isham for my employment and even the roof over my head...I could not even offer you a home.'

  'I see.' Anger was beginning to overtake despair in Gina's heart. 'You believe yourself to be some kind of a remittance man, living upon the charity of others?'

  Giles did not reply.

  'Do you claim that you give nothing in return?' she demanded inexorably. 'You must think your brother-in-law a fool. Would he entrust India's estate to an incompetent? I think not. Anthony thinks highly of your skills.'

  'That may be true, but it doesn't alter anything. It may be years before I can make my own way in the world...'

  Their eyes locked and Gina's hopes plummeted. He would not ask her to wait, and they both knew it.

  'You can't think much of my constancy,' she accused.

  'I think it is misplaced.' Giles could not trust himself to touch her. 'Sit down, Gina, you must listen to me... You will marry again...and to someone who can offer you what I cannot...'

  Gina's anger rose. 'How dare you presume to plan my life for me? I won't have it, Giles.' She left his side and began to pace about the terrace. 'In all these years I never thought you a coward. Apparently, I was mistaken...'

  'Perhaps you'd care to explain that statement.' Giles had gone pale. Now his anger matched her own.

  'How else shall I describe a man who fears the opinion of the world? What is it that troubles you, the gossip, the sly asides, the envy of those who wished to wed a wealthy widow?'

  'You dismiss your fortune lightly, Gina.'

  'No, I don't. It's there, and it can't be dismissed, but it is no substitute for love. Oh, my dear, what else can be so important to you?'

  'I don't fear gossip, Gina, as you seem to think. The opinion of the world is not of the slightest interest to me. If we were to wed ray good sense would be applauded. Is it not the ambition of many men to seek their fortune in a splendid marriage? We see it every day. It is not my way...'

  'Then it is just your stiff-necked pride? Perhaps I should take a leaf out of your book. I seem to have abandoned my own...'

  Giles heard the bitterness in her voice. 'Don't, I beg of you!' he said gently. 'Let us not strip each other of all dignity...'

  When she did not answer he came to stand before her. 'I'm sorry that you think ill of me,' he said. 'I would have it otherwise, but it cannot be...' Then he bowed. 'Shall we return to the others?'

  He heard a muffled refusal, and sensing that she was close to breaking point he walked away, leaving her to recover her self-control without the irritation of his presence.

  Gina stared across the darkening garden. Suddenly everything about her seemed insubstantial and almost dreamlike. The hurt of rejection had wounded her to the heart and the agony was too deep for tears.

  Shaken by the violence of their quarrel, she tried to blot out the memory of those bitter words, but the recollection of her own humiliation could not be erased. She had thrown herself at Giles, begging for his love, only to be refused. It had stung her into unforgivable words of reproach, and now, finally, she knew that her long-held plans had come to nothing.

  She was unaware that the music had stopped until Thomas came to find her. Statue-like, she was still gazing into space, oblivious of her surroundings.

  'Lady Whitelaw?'

  Gina did not answer.

  'Lady Whitelaw, is something wrong?' Thomas was all concern. 'You have a headache, perhaps? Is there anything I can do?'

  Gina shook her head, unaware that the tears had come at last and were pouring down her cheeks unchecked.

  'Oh, my dear...Lady Whitelaw...Gina...pray don't distress yourself. Shall I ask Mair to come to you?'

  Wordlessly, Gina shook her head. Then somehow Thomas was beside her, with an arm about her shoulders. He drew her to him, resting her head against his chest.

  He didn't question her again, waiting patiently until the storm of tears had spent itself.

  'You must think me foolish,' she gasped at last. 'Pray don't mention this to the girls. Where are they, by the way?' She looked about her and was relieved to see that she and Thomas were alone.

  'Giles wished to show them his new mare,' Thomas assured her. 'He did not mention that you were... unwell... He said merely that you wished for a little air.'

  Gina managed a weak smile. 'He was right, Mr Newby. I found it rather stuffy in the salon...'

  'We have been thoughtless, ma'am. We take advantage of your good nature in allowing you to play for us for hours at a time.'

  'But I have not played so .much this evening,' she protested. 'Besides it is a pleasure...'

  'Perhaps so, ma'am, but you must take care not to overtire yourself.' He pulled out a large handkerchief and began to dab at her cheeks. 'You do far too much for others. It is not always wise...'

  With her nerves stretched to breaking-point Gina didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his solemn expression. It sat oddly on that normally cheerful face with its snub nose, round cheeks and the dusting of freckles.

  'Let me ring for your maid, at least,' he begged. 'We shall none of us think it strange if you should care to retire...'

  Gina was almost tempted into a sharp retort. She was longing to tell him not to fuss, but she caught herself in time. She must not allow her own exasperation to cloud the fact that Thomas intended only to be kind. It was just that his solicitude threatened to drive her mad.

  What was the matter with her? It seemed that she was never satisfied. Giles had rejected her whilst Thomas had made his adoration clear. Now she longed only for both of them to go away. She needed time and solitude to recover her equilibrium.

  Thomas continued to pat her hand, but she drew it quickly from his grasp as the others came to join them.

  Elspeth was too excited about the new mare to notice anything amiss. 'Oh, Gina, she is beautiful and Giles has called her Star. He says that she has Arab blood... Will you let me ride her sometimes, Giles? She must go like the wind.'

  'She does, but she'd be too strong for you, my dear. She's a skittish creature at the best of times...'

  'She did seem nervous,' Elspeth admitted. She glanced up at the sky. 'Do you think she can sense a storm?' Even as she spoke they heard the first rumblings of thunder in the distance. The sky had grown livid, but Gina was glad of the darkening light. It would hide her ravaged face.

  She rose to her feet as a flash of lightning lit the garden. Then Thomas urged them to go indoors.

  'I'm not surprised that you felt the need of air, Lady Whitelaw. The atmosphere is so oppressive...'

  Gina gave him a grateful look. He had given her an excuse for her long absence from the others, and Mair had accepted it, though her eyes still rested anxiously on Gina's face.

  Then Giles bowed to her. 'Will you excuse us if we get back to the Grange at once,' he said.

  'Of course!' Gina's tone was formal. 'If you hurry, you may escape the worst of what I fear will be a deluge.'

  As they took their leave of h
er, Thomas drew her to one side.

  'I'll call on you tomorrow, if I may, ma'am.'

  Gina managed a faint smile. 'You are always welcome, Mr Newby.'

  'I'm glad to hear it.' His face lit up, but he was blushing. 'I shall want to know how you go on, Lady Whitelaw...' For once his easy manner had deserted him, and Giles was aware of it.

  On the journey home he asked no questions, dreading what he might hear. Had Thomas seized the opportunity to offer for Gina? They had been alone in the garden for some time. He stole a sideways glance at his friend, but Thomas was preoccupied.

  A moment's reflection convinced him that Gina could not have accepted his companion. Thomas would have been unable to contain his joy. Perhaps he had changed his mind.

  At length the suspense was too much for him to bear.

  'You are very quiet,' he observed. 'Is something wrong?'

  Thomas gave him a shy smile. 'Far from it, old son. I've made up my mind, you know. I asked Gina if I might call on her tomorrow. I intend to ask her to be my wife.'

  Giles felt that it behoved him to say something... anything... but the words would not come.

  'Now you are quiet, Giles. Do you disapprove?'

  'How could I? We agreed, did we not, that Gina would be sure to marry again? You have so much to offer her.'

  'Then you'll wish me luck? I ain't much of a catch, I fear. Gina could do much better, but I think she likes me, and I would look after her.'

  'I'm sure of it.' Giles turned his face away, feeling that his expression must be ghastly.

  'The dear little creature needs someone to protect her. It ain't much of a life for any woman on her own, and she has the girls to think about.'

  His companion muttered something unintelligible, but Thomas was lost in rapture and didn't appear to hear it.

  'I expect you think that we haven't known each other long,' Thomas continued. 'But I fell in love with her on that first day when she threatened me with her pistol.' He began to chuckle. 'I don't believe there is another woman in the world with half her character. Don't you agree?'

  Giles could only nod.

  'I knew it,' Thomas said with conviction. 'You and your family think so highly of her. Believe me, I shall do my best to make her happy if only she will accept me. You need have no worries for her future.'

  Giles could listen to no more. Seizing upon the fact that the storm had broken at last and the rain was now pelting down, he spurred his horse into a gallop and raced towards the Grange.

  Sleep eluded him that night. Each word of his quarrel with Gina was etched indelibly upon his mind. What must she think of him? She had offered him her love and he had spurned her. The old adage came back to him. What was it they said? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' What would she do now?

  He was under no illusions. He had killed the flame of love which had burned so brightly in her heart for the long years of their separation.

  She had accused him of insufferable pride, but Gina too was proud. She would never forgive him.

  Sheer agony of mind kept him tossing upon his bed for hours. What had happened to his resolve never to be alone with her? That had been a fatal mistake. The urge to take her in his arms was uncontrollable.

  Ah, but it had been heaven to hold her to his heart again and to seek those yielding lips. But he cursed his own folly. He had succeeded only in hurting her. Whatever he was suffering now, he deserved it. All the torments of hell would not be enough to wipe out the memory of her bitter words. They were burned into his brain.

  Had he known it, Gina herself was regretting those words. She would have given anything to unsay them but it was too late. For her too, sleep was out of the question. She paced her room for hours, writhing under the lash of humiliation and self-reproach.

  What had happened to the iron self-control on which she prided herself? Love, it seemed, was no respecter of such attributes. As she reached out to Giles she had forgotten all her good resolutions. Heaven knows, she had waited for long enough before seeking out her love again. She could go on waiting, but he had not asked it of her.

  So she had struck out at him in despair, calling him a coward, a weakling who could not face the cynical amusement of their world, and accused him of putting his own pride before their happiness.

  In her own heart she knew that she was wrong. Honour mattered to Giles above all else. It was one of the reasons why she loved him so. Honour had caused him to promise her marriage all those years ago, though he was heir to the Rushford estate and she merely a servant. Honour had brought him back to England to do his duty by his family, though it must have cost him dear.

  Now it was that same honour which prevented him from offering for her. Giles would accept nothing which he had not earned. For him it was a matter of principle. He could not bring himself to live upon his wife's fortune.

  She couldn't bemoan the accidents of fate which had left her in her present circumstances. What was money, after all? To Gina it was merely a useful tool, certainly not to be despised as it eased one's path in life. Yet it could buy neither health nor happiness.

  Yet for Giles it was an insuperable obstacle, and she could think of no way to persuade him to change his mind.

  After a while she grew calmer. She would not be defeated. Had she not been certain of his love she might have given up the struggle, but the memory of his kiss, brief though it was, set her senses aflame. His response had been as fierce as her own.

  She pushed the thought of their quarrel from her mind. What was done was done. There was no point in vain regrets. The mistake had been her own. She had intended to keep him guessing for a time, in the hope that he would try to win back her love. Now he was sure of it. She had given herself away, but she treasured the recollection of that moment when she was held once more against his heart. Surely a love like theirs could not be denied for ever. She would think of some way to overcome his scruples.

  Perhaps she should have made him a business proposition in the first place. Inventions such as the new seed drill might be patented. Gina herself knew nothing of such matters, but Isham thought them useful and intended to put them into service on his own estates.

  Then she remembered. Isham had already suggested such a scheme to Giles, but his brother-in-law had turned it down. Pride again, Gina thought sadly. Giles was only too aware of Isham's generosity. Had it not been for India's splendid marriage, his mother and his sisters would be living in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of Abbot Quincey dependent upon the goodwill of his uncle, Sir James Perceval.

  He himself would be penniless, unable to provide for them. Those months when he had scoured the country looking for employment had left deep scars upon his soul.

  Gina's heart went out to him. It would take time to heal those scars. Perhaps as he took control of India's estate and brought it into profit, Giles would recover some of his self-esteem. Honour, she realised suddenly, was all he had left at present.

  At last she fell into an uneasy sleep, but she was heavy-eyed next morning. When the girls had left for the Academy she started upon her daily tasks, but she found it difficult to give them her full attention.

  Did it really matter, she thought wearily, whether they dined on a green goose or a serpent of mutton that evening. Her gaze was abstracted as cook suggested various side dishes such as mushroom fritters, crimped cod, or boiled tongue with turnips. Then there were decisions to be made as to the various merits of an orange soufflé, a Celerata cream, or a basket of pastries.

  Gina forced a smile. 'You will have us twice the size we are,' she warned. 'Let us have something light such as a dressed fowl. We might start with white almond soup with asparagus tips. That is a favourite with the girls, and so is your excellent orange soufflé.'

  'That won't keep body and soul together, my lady.' Cook was never slow to protest when she was robbed of the chance to show her skills.

  'It will be sufficient for this evening. We have no gentlemen to feed today. When we have dinner guest
s you shall choose the menu yourself.'

  Cook was startled. It was unlike her young mistress not to take the keenest interest in every detail of the management of her household. She said as much to Mr Hanson.

  'Madam may have her mind on other matters,' her confidante replied in lofty tones. 'Food, Mrs Long, cannot always be her first consideration.'

  'Without it we should none of us get far,' came the tart reply. 'If you consider it so unimportant perhaps I should forget the dish of neats' tongues which I had in mind to make for your supper, Mr Hanson.'

  The butler hastened to soothe her wounded feelings with the assurance that her culinary skills were matchless. Neats' tongues were, after all, a favourite with him. He went on to point out that it was largely due to the excellence of her cooking that the Whitelaw family was so healthy. None of the ladies suffered from the headaches or the fainting spells so common among the gentry.

  'That's as maybe!' Cook replied. She allowed herself to be mollified by his compliments. 'But Madam ain't herself. Mark my words, she has something on her mind.'

  Hanson decided to see for himself. Cook was not a fanciful woman, and she knew her mistress well. If Madam was worried he would do his best to lift the burden from her shoulders.

  He tapped gently at the door to Gina's study, and entered to find her gazing into space.

  'Shall you wish to see the builder in your usual way, my lady?' he enquired. He had to repeat the question before she became aware of his presence.

  'What?'

  'The builder, ma'am. Must he give you a progress report?'

  Gina stared at him before she replied, almost as if she did not understand the question. Then she pulled herself together.

  'No, it won't be necessary. I saw him yesterday and the work is going on well.' She fell silent again.

  'Will there be anything else, ma'am,' he pressed. 'Have you orders for me?' Hanson was appalled by his own temerity. In the ordinary way her ladyship was quick to let him know how he could best serve her. It was not up to him to take the initiative, but he persisted.

  'Shall you care to ride this morning, my lady?' he asked. 'I could send an order to the stables...' Obviously his mistress was suffering from an attack of the megrims. This happened only rarely, but when it did a long gallop usually restored her to the best of spirits.