you know me. So, how did the girlie shopping trip go today? Did you get your outfit for Anna’s wedding sorted?’
Gemma grimaced. ‘No. I’ll have to look again some other time. Nat tried on loads of stuff but I don’t think she’s made up her mind what she wants.’
‘Did you tell her our news? Bet she was delighted, wasn’t she?’ Ben grinned at her expectantly. She chewed her lip as she decided how to answer him.
‘Well. Yes, she was pleased for us.’
‘You don’t sound too sure of that. What did she say?’
Gemma shook her head. ‘She didn’t say much. That was the funny thing about her reaction. She just didn’t seem to want to talk about it or to let me tell her anything much about it. She didn’t even want to know how you proposed.’ Gemma brushed away a stray tear that had come unbidden to her eye. ‘It’s not the reaction I was expecting from my best mate.’
‘Aw, Gem.’ Ben moved over to her and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Don’t be upset. Perhaps she was having an off day.’
‘She was hung-over. She tried to pull a bloke who turned out to be gay last night.’
‘Oops!’ Ben gave a snort of laughter. ‘That is so like her.’
‘But even so, no matter how bad she felt, she could have at least said congratulations, couldn’t she? She wasn’t feeling so bad she couldn’t manage an afternoon trailing round the shops.’ The more Gemma thought about it, the more bitter she felt. Why hadn’t Nat hugged her and squealed and been excited for her? She would have, if their positions were reversed.
‘Very odd behaviour,’ Ben agreed. ‘Wonder what’s up with her?’
‘No idea.’ Gemma shrugged and went back into the kitchen to get on with the cooking. Ben followed her in, bringing his wine. ‘Frankly, Ben, it pissed me off. I mean, it’s the biggest and best thing that’s ever happened to me, after meeting you in the first place of course, so for her to just ignore me when I tell her we’re getting married is really hurtful.’ Gemma threw the vegetables she’d chopped earlier into the frying pan where they sizzled and spat violently.
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. Is that pan too hot?’ Ben reached over her and turned the gas down a little.
He had a point. Gemma realised she’d spattered oil all over her favourite T-shirt. ‘Bugger, look at me.’
‘I wonder if she’s jealous,’ Ben said. ‘Perhaps you laid it on a bit thick and came across too smug. Some single people hate couples just because they’re not part of one.’
‘I didn’t get the chance to lay it on too thick!’ Gemma retorted. ‘I mean, I barely had chance to say anything about it, apart from that you’d proposed and I’d said yes. She just didn’t want to know.’ She flung the chopped chicken into the pan along with the vegetables. It wasn’t sizzling enough now, so she turned the heat up again.
Ben held his hands up in submission. ‘Hey, I know you wouldn’t have rubbed it in. Maybe she’ll be all right with it next time you see her or talk to her – when she’s had chance to think about it a little. She’ll be as excited as you are, I bet.’ He caught Gemma’s eye. ‘You are still excited about it, aren’t you? Not having second thoughts?’
She laid down the wooden spoon she’d been stirring the fajita mix with, and put her arms around his neck. ‘Course I’m still excited. Nothing I want more than to get married to you, silly.’ She stretched up and kissed him, long and lingering. His hands ran up and down her back, pulling her close. She felt as though she was where she belonged. In his arms, safe and secure, where nothing else mattered.
A sudden deafening beeping caused them to separate. ‘Argh, the smoke detector!’ Gemma said, grabbing a tea towel and flicking it frantically under the detector.
Ben turned the gas down, put the extractor on, and opened the kitchen window. ‘Thought you had the pan too hot,’ he said.
‘I’ve ruined it,’ Gemma said, feeling close to tears. Her first attempt at cooking for her new fiancé and she’d managed to smoke out the flat. And she was usually so super careful about the oven and hob, checking several times that the gas was off before leaving the flat, for example. Now she couldn’t even cook a simple stir-fry. What a failure she was.
‘No, it’s fine – look.’ Ben was stirring the mix. ‘My fault. I got carried away there, snogging you. So, actually, it is your fault after all for being so flipping irresistible. You go and sit down and I’ll finish this off. And no more worrying about what Nat does or doesn’t think about our engagement. All right?’
June 1837
‘I don’t feel old enough to marry,’ said Rebecca. She looked at Sarah. ‘Do you?’
‘Who said anything about getting married?’ Sarah put down her stitching. It was, Rebecca noticed, quite poorly executed. She glanced at her own handiwork – the stitches neat and tidy, the back of the embroidery almost as good as the front. Sarah just didn’t have the patience to sit and sew. Her threads were tangled, the material puckered where she’d pulled it too tight, and there were grubby fingermarks on one corner of the sampler.
‘We’re eighteen now. You’re almost nineteen. Mama and Papa will soon be wanting us married and settled. That’s why we’re going to all those balls, of course. Although those are really for your benefit as I am already promised to Charles de Witt.’ Rebecca smiled at her adopted sister.
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I know all that, silly. And I know you seem happy to go along with Papa’s plans to marry you off to that oaf, Charles. But I don’t want to get married. I’d rather stay single and independent. For a few years at least. Maybe when I’m twenty-five or so I’ll marry but why rush into it?’
‘Twenty-five – why, you’ll be an old maid by then! I think a girl should be married by the time she turns twenty. I hope I will be. Charles de Witt has recently returned from his travels on the continent, and has taken a house in Bridhampton. He is to come to dine with us tonight, to renew our acquaintance. I confess, I am a little nervous about seeing him again – it must be six years since we last met. I was just a child. I hope he is not an “oaf” as you put it, as he is supposed to become my husband.’ Rebecca gazed at Sarah, whose hair was fairer, eyes bluer and figure shapelier, than her own. ‘He’ll probably prefer you, in any case. You are by far the prettier of the two of us.’
‘Nonsense! You have the sweeter nature.’ Sarah flashed her a smile. ‘In any case, I shall not be interested in him. I told you, I do not wish to marry for some years. I’d rather be free, to flirt a little with whomever I choose. Like, for example, Jed Arthur.’
Rebecca glanced at her in shock. It was not the first time she had mentioned that name. Jed lived in one of the cottages on the estate. He was but a farmhand. A handsome one, admittedly, but a labourer nonetheless, and not someone Sarah ought to be encouraging.
‘Sarah, it is not ladylike to flirt with farmhands. Surely you know that,’ she admonished. She received only a dismissive shrug in reply.
The girls were sitting on
