set of dances. Miss Winbolt stared at him. He thought for a moment she would refuse, but her sister-in-law said,
‘Be kind to Sir William, Emily. He is to be one of our neighbours soon. Isn’t that so, Sir William?’
‘N…neighbours?’ Miss Winbolt was pale.
‘Charlwood, Miss Winbolt.’ He offered his arm. ‘Shall we? Or shall we look for some refreshment and have a talk about Charlwood?’
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed and put her hand on his arm. He was surprised to feel it trembling and felt a sudden, powerful urge to protect her. But from what? What was Miss Winbolt so afraid of?
He was still puzzled as they took to the floor. The urge to comfort persisted, though their conversation when they talked at all was conventional to the point of inanity. She danced well but stiffly, keeping her distance and giving him only the very tips of her fingers to hold when it was needed. By the end of the set he was ready to concede that his first thought had been right, after all—Miss Winbolt was a born spinster.
When the music came to an end William took his partner to the edge of the floor, ready, and indeed relieved, to deliver her back to her family. Then something happened that caused him to change his mind yet again, this time irreversibly.
The behaviour of some of the younger guests had become rather boisterous. And one of them, eager to reach the refreshment tables before his friend, charged into Miss Winbolt. Taken by surprise, she lost her balance and would have fallen, but William caught her. She clung to him for a moment and again he was assailed with a sense of familiarity. Everything about her was familiar, but more than that, it was exciting—the way she held him, the sensation of her body against his, even the scent of her hair. He pulled her closer. The desire to kiss her was almost irresistible…
‘Sir William!’ Her voice was muffled against his chest. ‘You must let me go! Immediately! Please.’ She looked up at him. The look of desperation on her face, in her silver-grey eyes, brought him to his senses.
He stood back and shook his head, feeling more confused and embarrassed than he had for years. What had he been thinking of? ‘Miss Winbolt, I’m sorry. I…I hardly know what to say. I don’t know what happened. That fellow…’
‘Yes, yes. He was to blame.’ She turned away quickly and started towards the doors.
‘Miss Winbolt—’
‘Please. It was an accident. I was shaken. That was why I held on to you so tightly. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’
‘No, no! You re mistaken—’
Without looking, she interrupted him. ‘You must excuse me. I think I’ve torn the hem of my dress. I must put it right.’ She fled through the doors and he saw her make for the ladies’ boudoir.
It was some time before she reappeared, but William was still deep in thought. She started nervously when she saw him, but took his proffered arm and they began to make their way back into the ballroom. But after a few yards William stopped and turned. ‘I must make sure you have forgiven me,’ he said.
‘For what, Sir William?’ she said stiffly, without turning her head. ‘It was not your fault Edgar Langley knocked me over. You saved me from falling.’
He would have tried again, but she interrupted him as she had before. ‘Pray say no more,’ she said impatiently. ‘It really isn’t necessary. I would rather forget the incident. And now I should like to rejoin my brother. He must be wondering where I am.’
She walked away without another word. William was left a prey to an impossible mixture of thoughts and conjectures.
He was so silent on the way back to Thirle that Lady Deardon asked him if he was not feeling well. When he assured her he was perfectly fit she went on,
‘What did you think of our two ladies? You couldn’t have a greater contrast between the two. Mrs Fenton is almost as lovely in her way as Rosa Winbolt, though older, of course. That dress must have cost a pretty penny, and her diamonds…! She certainly put herself out to charm you, William. Do you like her?’
‘Very well. She is good company.’
‘I don’t fancy the friends she had with her,’ said Sir Reginald unexpectedly. ‘Not quite county.’
‘I didn’t see them, but you are always too much of a stickler, Reggie. I dare say they were friends of her husband. But, William, what about Emily Winbolt? I confess I don’t know what to think of her. That dress probably cost every bit as much as Maria Fenton’s, but it didn’t do half as much for her. She was altogether very plainly dressed.’
‘Ladylike,’ said Sir Reginald. ‘She looked a lady. More than the other one.’
Lady Deardon ignored this comment. ‘She’s not as old as Mrs Gosworth led me to believe, and the story about her sister-in-law is obviously nonsense. Their affection for each other is plain. But she is definitely cool in her manner.’ Lady Deardon looked sharply at her godson. ‘William! Have you heard a word I’ve said? What do you think of Miss Winbolt?’
‘I’m not at all sure,’ said William slowly. ‘But I intend to find out. Did I hear Mrs Winbolt issue you with an invitation to visit Shearings?’
‘Yes, I asked her about its famous gardens and said how much I wanted to see them. We have arranged to go next week.’ Sir Reginald stirred restlessly. ‘You needn’t come, Reggie. William will escort me, won’t you, dear?’
‘I certainly will,’ said her godson. ‘I would very much like to have a closer look at…the gardens.’
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