‘Yes, I do.’ He saw the action but was in the dark as to why she had, for a minute, seemed to be imitating some femme fatale, rather badly.
‘Try again, and relax the wrist and your whole body. You are not going to lash the water as if needing to get a team of horses to go at full pelt.’ She was back in fishing mode, the prim teacher.
Had he imagined it? Surely not, for it was the last thing he would have expected from her, of all women. He tried again, frowning, but at his thoughts, not the action. It was not smooth, and the line, whilst going forward towards the water, landed with rather more line actually hitting the surface than was necessary, and looked ungainly.
‘At least that was in the right direction,’ Miss Lound sighed.
‘Am I a hopeless case?’
‘I hope not, Sir Rowland, for the sake of my own self-esteem.’
‘You are not considering mine?’
‘Not much, at least, not yet.’ She gave him another look from under her lashes and dimpled. He was aware of a deep sense of disappointment. He had seen in her something different, something wonderfully natural and unfettered, but it was an illusion. She was just like other women after all.
‘Perhaps it would be better if we abandoned the idea.’160His voice had lost the light-heartedness with which he had begun.
‘Oh no, Sir Rowland. Do not tell me you would be so poor spirited. Perseverance is a virtue.’
‘Like that of patience, which you claim you do not possess, Miss Lound.’ The riposte was a little too swift to be meant as a jest. Her eyes registered surprise, and then resentment.
‘I do at least try, and I am not sure that you have been trying, sir. It is not a game like spillikins.’ There was no sign of a dimple now, and her lips compressed in a thin line. They were at odds with each other, and both were not entirely sure why or how, other than a dissatisfaction that had risen between them, one with the other. That it made neither happy exacerbated the situation.
‘I think, ma’am, that I had best leave you to the fishes, with whom you can presumably find no fault. I believe I will be perfectly able to disassemble my rod back at the house. I wish you a good catch.’ He touched his hat and gave her a nod without any emotion upon his face, picked up the rod bag, and stalked away across the park, leaving Mary Lound caught between wishing she could throw something at him and a strong desire to burst into tears with anger, frustration and regret. She had managed, on a couple of occasions, to act in a suitably feminine way and he had not even noticed, as she thought.161
Sir Rowland, a man of generally very even temper, was fuming. What had he been thinking? He had been captivated by an idea that was an illusion. She was not some natural, slightly untamed beauty who would meet him upon even terms, but just another young woman trying to please a man, and since she had failed to please the others in the district and was not in her first or even second season, she was making a desperate bid to win him over. She—He stopped in his tracks.
‘I am a damned fool.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I am right and wrong by the same measure. Until today she has never shown any sign of being coquettish, indeed it seemed impossible that she could, which was why she made such a mull of it. At the same time, it must have occurred to her that I may be her salvation, giving her not only the security of a roof over her head, but the roof she loves with a passion, and she has no experience in setting her cap at a man. What woman who had any experience at all would be so clumsy at it?’ She had looked thoroughly uncomfortable, and it was patently alien to her nature. ‘But before she thought of it, she did not in any way dislike me, even if she nearly put an arrow through me, and I have now put a stop to just the sort of encounters where she could be most natural, excepting her “acting”, and we could be alone. Damnation!’
He resumed his return to the house, frowning, and once he had taken the rod apart, with an assurance that Miss Lound would have applauded, and hung its bag back upon the hook, he went to the library, and sat with162his chin resting upon his steepled fingers for some time. It was there that Tom found him some half hour later with a blank sheet of paper before him, and a pen in his hand.
‘Oh, I had not expected you back so soon. Were the fishes not biting?’ He sounded in a good mood.
‘No. Tell me Tom, do you know how to grovel without it being blindingly obvious?’
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CHAPTER TEN
Mary could not face returning to the dower house, not in such agitation as she currently felt, and she could most certainly not fish. Instead, she packed away her rod and line and went to an old, old hiding place, a retreat she had used since childhood when she wanted to be alone. The boathouse, unused for years, had split boards silvered with age and knot holes like little owlish eyes, but was a sanctuary. There was no lock upon the door, merely a rusted latch, which she lifted, and stepped within. The soft gloom had a dusty smell that promised it would not reveal secrets to the outside world. There was, alas, the very real threat of spiders, but just at the moment she was too upset to do more than sweep a bough of willow, broken off with forethought, across the simple wooden bench seat that was placed along one164side, and then sit upon it, prey to tumultuous feelings. She could not decide whom she blamed the more, herself or him. She was obviously so unattractive that even using ‘wiles’ would not encourage a man to look upon her as anything other than a sister, but he, he had evidently decided that her company was so unappealing that he could stand it no more. What had she done wrong? Was she too overbearing, too dictatorial, after all? Why could he not see she had never attempted to teach anyone anything before and was nervous? Why had he turned so cold upon her, and taken away the little laughter creases at the corners of his eyes, and the amusement in their depths?
It was hopeless. She would never catch him because she did not possess the right bait. She sniffed, sneezed at some dust, then covered her face with her very slightly fishy hands, and cried, heard only by a nervous mouse and a toad in a damp corner.
This weakness lasted only five minutes or so, and then she gulped and dried her eyes. What was she thinking to give up so easily? You could not guarantee catching a fish upon the first cast. She had got it wrong, somehow. If she could read the ways of the lake and fish, then how hard could it be to read a man? What had Madeleine done? She had made Harry Penwood feel that what he said mattered to her, had let him speak of things about which he felt confident. It could not be said that she had done the same with Sir Rowland. If men liked to feel in control and superior, the last thing they would want165would be to be treated like a ten-year-old. She must have reminded him of a first governess before he was old enough for a tutor or school, and a man was scarcely going to become enamoured of someone who reminded him of his governess. However, she could not rectify this impression if he did not want to attempt fishing with her to guide him.
‘And if things continue as they have, he will meet Madeleine Banham, and then I might as well become a hermit and live in a cave.’
She did not want to admit her failure to her mother upon her return to the house, but spoke very non-committally about ‘difficult conditions’, since Lady Damerham would have no idea what conditions were needed for fishing. Having left her lone fish with Cook, she went up to change her dress and do her hair, and looked at her image in the looking glass once again. No, there was nothing that would inspire devotion in face or features, especially under that hat. Add to that a tendency to speak her mind and act independently, topped with sounding like a strict governess, and she was essaying the impossible. For a short while she felt both dejected and rejected and wondered at her own folly in not being like other young ladies at eighteen, going out of their way to appeal to perspective husbands, securing their futures. Then she gave herself a mental shake.
‘No, that is not me, was never me. Keeping my independence has made me think for myself, not become166some puppet for a man pulling the strings. If I wed now, I would not become a puppet, and I would not deceive a man into thinking that I would. It would be both dishonest and unfair.’ It occurred to her that although she had not developed any deep acquaintanceship with Sir Rowland Kempsey, he was the only man, other than Harry and her brother James, whom she had felt could even try and accept her for who she was. ‘And I have alienated him in the space of under an hour. Hopeless!’
She rang for a jug of hot water, removed any vestige of fishiness from her hands and made herself presentable, but remained in her room, annoyed with herself, annoyed with him, and with life in general.
It was as she came down before dinner that Atlow presented a salver upon which was a letter delivered from Tapley End. For one moment her heart skipped a beat, but she managed to thank him as if it were a bill from a milliner, of no importance, and then, not wishing to read it, or even admit its existence before her mother, waited for Atlow to turn away and slipped the folded and sealed paper within the bodice of her gown. Throughout the meal she felt as if it was something warm and strangely heavy, for she was so aware of its presence, and it was only when she had wished her parent a fond goodnight and withdrawn to her bedchamber that she removed it, now indeed warm from contact with her skin, and opened it, with very slightly trembling fingers. Surely he was not going to berate her in ink? She sat heavily upon the side of her bed.167
Dear Miss Lound,
I must beg your forgiveness for my ill-mannered behaviour this afternoon. I fell into the trap of masculine pride, resenting your very reasonable animadversions upon my lack of skill, and failed to either appreciate or applaud the generosity of spirit you showed in attempting to teach me an art of which you are clearly a mistress, but which you have not previously had to impart to another. Your intent was purely to help me, but I fear that I did not accept your strictures in the spirit in which they were made.
