thing in a way, perhaps, but in another way a sad blow, because now she would have to find the money to replace it.
He looked at her in concern. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said quickly. She had no desire for him to learn how poor she was.
He looked at her closely. ‘If something is worrying you, I hope you know you can tell me,’ he said. ‘If you need any help . . . ’
‘What help could I possibly need? It is simply that . . . ’
‘Yes?’ he asked.
She thought hard for an excuse. She did not like misleading him, and yet her pride demanded that she come up with some innocuous reason for her sigh.
‘It’s just that it seems such a pity the party will be over tomorrow.’ Adding hastily, in case he read anything particular into it, ‘Alice was saying so as we came downstairs, and her mother and I both agree.’
He looked at her intently, as though realizing she was hiding something, but then decided not to press her.
‘I’m glad you feel that way. And Alice and her mother, too,’ he added with a wicked smile.
The music drew to a close. Alex bowed over her hand then led her to the side of the room. Cicely’s heart sank as she saw that Eugenie Postlethwaite was waiting for him and the poisonous memories, pushed aside during the waltz, returned with full force. But the sight had come as a timely reminder. She would be unwise to allow herself to entertain feelings towards Alex that could not possibly be returned.
‘Thank you,’ she said formally. ‘That was most enjoyable.’
He frowned at her cool manner, but made a polite rejoinder before she excused herself, greeting Lord Chuffington who had just wandered over to her and accepting his hand for the next dance.
The evening was almost over. Cicely felt a flood or relief. Although it had been enjoyable, it had also been something of a strain, and she would be glad when she could return to the safety of the Lodge. There were no perplexing feelings there. Everything was straightforward and safe.
She went out onto the terrace. Though late - supper was over - it was not yet completely dark. A dusky light still lingered, enhanced by an almost-full moon and the yellow gas light that streamed out from the Manor. A number of other people had also taken to the terrace. Among them was Alex.
Cicely was about to draw back when one of the group, Mrs Weston, hailed her.
Realizing she could not slip away unseen she went forward to join the small party.
‘ . . . take it down altogether,’ young Mr Phelps was saying. ‘It blocks the view, Evington, you know it does.’
‘Perhaps. I might do that,’ replied Alex, as he smoked a cigar and swirled a brandy in his glass.
Cicely looked enquiringly at Mrs Weston, wondering what they were talking about.
‘The chestnut,’ said Mrs Weston.
‘Ugly thing, and completely unnecessary,’ said Mr Phelps, waving towards a magnificent chestnut which had stood in the centre of the lawns for time out of mind.
Cicely felt her stomach lurch. Not the chestnut, she wanted to cry, but she had no right to do so. Alex was entitled to do whatever he wanted with the house and grounds. The Manor belonged to him.
Even so, Cicely could not remain to hear her beloved chestnut tree talked about in that way. It had too many memories for her. Mumbling an inarticulate excuse she ran down the steps of the terrace and onto the wide lawns, away from the chattering group.
But she had not gone far when she became aware that there was someone behind her. She began to run more quickly. She knew without looking who that someone was, and she did not feel equal to talking to Alex whilst her emotions were running high. Lifting the hem of her gown with one hand she sped across the lawns. But the sound of footsteps grew louder behind her and she began to fear she would not escape.
‘Cicely!’
She ignored his voice and ran on.
‘Cicely! Stop!’
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was almost upon her. She ran forward again but it was no good. He caught her arm and spun her round.
‘Cicely, what is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Not nothing,’ he returned. ‘You’re as white as a sheet. And you’ve been crying.’
‘No. You’re mistaken.’
He pulled her close, taking her chin in his hand. Turning her face he revealed the remains