turned her head when Beatrice stood beside her and smiled. Her eyes sparkled and a pretty flush coloured her cheeks as she sipped a glass of lemonade cooled with crushed ice.
‘There you are, Beatrice. I thought you had disappeared for good.’
‘Are you enjoying your party, Astrid?’
‘Oh, yes. Mama has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make it right. Although I do find it all rather awe-inspiring,’ she admitted, envious of her cousin’s self-assurance.
Beatrice nodded in agreement. Looking around, she saw couples wandering away to indulge in a little starlit privacy. Lord Chadwick was watching her from across the stretch of lawn that lay like a rich velvet carpet between them. He raised his glass and bowed briefly, his smile both approving and challenging as his gaze from beneath hooded lids swept over her with practised scrutiny. She turned away to listen to what Astrid was saying.
‘George is paying a good deal of attention to Leonora Fenton, Sir Philip Fenton’s daughter. He always does. He’s never said anything, but I think he’s quite taken with her. What do you think, Beatrice?’
Beatrice glanced towards where George conversed with a slender, extremely attractive young woman in a yellow high-waisted gown. ‘She’s very pretty. But I wonder if your mother would agree to a match between them.’
‘I don’t see why not. George is of an age to choose his own wife. Miss Fenton has all the required requisites—title and money—so I don’t see why Mama should have any objections. But come, Beatrice,’ she said, linking her arm through her cousin’s, ‘I care nothing to standing still. Let’s circulate. I want to have a word with you about this wager you have made with Lord Chadwick. It is quite insane—you know that, don’t you? Mama is furious.’
‘She’s already spoken to me about it, but I know what I am doing. I will not be bullied out of it. I have no intention of backing out.’
‘But—you could get hurt. Lord Chadwick is not the sort of man to take kindly to being bested by a woman.’
Beatrice stared at her. ‘Bested? Yes, I might well beat him. I certainly intend to try. But does the forfeit I will demand of him not concern you?’
‘No. When you accepted his wager I heard you tell him that you will not ask him to return Larkhill to you, but I suspect it features somewhere in the forfeit.’
‘Yes it does. I wanted to speak to you about the race, Astrid. Your opinion matters to me very much. Aunt Moira has her sights set on Lord Chadwick as a serious contender for your hand in marriage. Will it upset you very much to see us together, racing hell for leather against each other?’
Astrid paused and turned to her cousin, her attitude one of calm resolve. ‘Be assured, Beatrice, that whatever aspirations Mama has of my future husband, it will definitely not be Lord Chadwick. I will not marry him, not even to appease Mama.’
They carried on walking. Astrid said nothing else. Beatrice had expected something—a word of blame, of disappointment, of condemnation for the manner in which she had asserted herself in Lord Chadwick’s eyes, but she had nothing from Astrid but a calm look which was somehow full of relief…and gratitude.
Why, Beatrice thought, seeing her gentle cousin truly, as if for the first time, I have done her a favour. Astrid really didn’t want to marry Lord Chadwick. She never did. She was being pushed into it by her forceful mama, and she, Beatrice, was giving her a way out.
Astrid glanced across at a young man sitting on a bench in the shadow of a spouting fountain. ‘Will you excuse me?’ she said a little breathlessly, excitement leaping to her eyes and brightness lighting her face as she spoke. ‘I can see Henry and I simply must speak to him.’
Beatrice watched her hurry away. Normally Astrid was always far too timid and serious to be giddy. And yet when Henry Talbot was near it was like the sun coming out after a dark period and she suddenly became light-hearted, foolish and gay. With a smile Beatrice turned and sauntered in the direction of the house. Her step was light as she walked slowly along a walkway lined with a profusion of fragrant pink roses that clambered all over trellising. It was a tunnel of shadow, broken at intervals by warm squares of light from lanterns hanging in the trees. With a contented sigh she closed her eyes and