cloth and offered her a glass of fruit punch.
‘But is he?’ asked Jennifer, returning to her earlier theme. ‘Lord Ravensford. Is he as handsome as Mr Windham?’
Marianne glanced at Mr Windham again, and was disconcerted to find he was looking at her. But he quickly looked away.
‘His features are not so perfect,’ said Marianne. ‘But I don’t think it would be possible to grow tired of looking at Lord Ravensford’s face, in the way it would be with Mr Windham’s.’
‘Oh, here is Lord Ravensford!’ exclaimed Jennifer, going bright red as he crossed the room towards them. She gave a long sigh. ‘Oh! He looks like a dream.’
Marianne felt her heart begin to beat more quickly, for he did indeed look like a dream. His wild dark hair was pulled back from his face, accentuating the masculine line of his cheek and jaw, before being tied in a black ribbon bow at the nape of his neck. His dark green tailcoat, cut away to reveal a heavily embroidered gold waistcoat, clung effortlessly to his broad shoulders, and his knee breeches fit his long legs like a second skin. White silk stockings revealed the firmness of his lower leg and then disappeared into black pumps.
Marianne opened her fan and began to waft it to and fro, creating a cooling breeze, for not only was her heart beating more quickly at the sight of Lord Ravensford, but she could feel herself growing hot. She did not know why, but Lord Ravensford seemed to have this effect on her. She was not sure whether she liked the feeling. It was unsettling; disturbing; but she felt that, before she had experienced it, she had only been half alive.
His eyes met hers with amusement, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she found herself blushing. Really! She was behaving like a débutante , instead of a twenty-three year old who ran a country estate.
Giving a sardonic smile, as though satisfied with the effect he had had on her, he turned his attention to Jennifer.
‘Miss Cosgrove,’ he said politely.
‘Lord Ravensford!’ Jennifer gave a long sigh.
He smiled, but there was no mockery in the smile, Marianne was pleased to see; no double edge, as there was when he smiled at her. It was a kindly smile; the sort of smile a brother might bestow on a younger sister.
‘Miss Travis,’ he said, turning to her once more. ‘I have come to remind you of your promise. You owe me the first dance.’
Marianne accepted his hand, feeling her skin tingle through her glove, and as the musicians struck up the chords for one of her favourite country dances, they took their places on the floor.
The Cosgroves’ house was lacking a ballroom, but the double doors between the dining-room and drawing-room had been thrown open to make a tolerably large room and the dancing began.
Lord Ravensford proved to be a good dancer. After years of having her feet trodden on, and her dresses torn, it was a pleasure for Marianne to dance with a man who was in control of his body. And that was one of the things that set him apart from the other men, she realised, his degree of control. There was a tension about him, as though he were controlling himself all the time; as though he could not afford to reveal his true self; and it deepened her feeling that there was something mysterious about him.
‘I thought you would like to know that all the mantraps have been cleared,’ he said as they came together, touching hands as part of the dance. ‘Now that the snow has melted, it has been possible to check that none remain.’
‘Has Jakes given you dire warnings about poachers, now they have gone?’ asked Marianne.
‘He has. But I told him that a good manager didn’t need pieces of iron to do his job for him.’ He smiled. ‘Jakes was not amused.’
Marianne laughed. ‘I should think he wouldn’t be. But you must not tease him too much. Good estate managers are hard to find, and Mr Billingsdale won’t thank me if I lose Jakes for him.’
‘It won’t come to that,
‘But is he?’ asked Jennifer, returning to her earlier theme. ‘Lord Ravensford. Is he as handsome as Mr Windham?’
Marianne glanced at Mr Windham again, and was disconcerted to find he was looking at her. But he quickly looked away.
‘His features are not so perfect,’ said Marianne. ‘But I don’t think it would be possible to grow tired of looking at Lord Ravensford’s face, in the way it would be with Mr Windham’s.’
‘Oh, here is Lord Ravensford!’ exclaimed Jennifer, going bright red as he crossed the room towards them. She gave a long sigh. ‘Oh! He looks like a dream.’
Marianne felt her heart begin to beat more quickly, for he did indeed look like a dream. His wild dark hair was pulled back from his face, accentuating the masculine line of his cheek and jaw, before being tied in a black ribbon bow at the nape of his neck. His dark green tailcoat, cut away to reveal a heavily embroidered gold waistcoat, clung effortlessly to his broad shoulders, and his knee breeches fit his long legs like a second skin. White silk stockings revealed the firmness of his lower leg and then disappeared into black pumps.
Marianne opened her fan and began to waft it to and fro, creating a cooling breeze, for not only was her heart beating more quickly at the sight of Lord Ravensford, but she could feel herself growing hot. She did not know why, but Lord Ravensford seemed to have this effect on her. She was not sure whether she liked the feeling. It was unsettling; disturbing; but she felt that, before she had experienced it, she had only been half alive.
His eyes met hers with amusement, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking, and she found herself blushing. Really! She was behaving like a débutante , instead of a twenty-three year old who ran a country estate.
Giving a sardonic smile, as though satisfied with the effect he had had on her, he turned his attention to Jennifer.
‘Miss Cosgrove,’ he said politely.
‘Lord Ravensford!’ Jennifer gave a long sigh.
He smiled, but there was no mockery in the smile, Marianne was pleased to see; no double edge, as there was when he smiled at her. It was a kindly smile; the sort of smile a brother might bestow on a younger sister.
‘Miss Travis,’ he said, turning to her once more. ‘I have come to remind you of your promise. You owe me the first dance.’
Marianne accepted his hand, feeling her skin tingle through her glove, and as the musicians struck up the chords for one of her favourite country dances, they took their places on the floor.
The Cosgroves’ house was lacking a ballroom, but the double doors between the dining-room and drawing-room had been thrown open to make a tolerably large room and the dancing began.
Lord Ravensford proved to be a good dancer. After years of having her feet trodden on, and her dresses torn, it was a pleasure for Marianne to dance with a man who was in control of his body. And that was one of the things that set him apart from the other men, she realised, his degree of control. There was a tension about him, as though he were controlling himself all the time; as though he could not afford to reveal his true self; and it deepened her feeling that there was something mysterious about him.
‘I thought you would like to know that all the mantraps have been cleared,’ he said as they came together, touching hands as part of the dance. ‘Now that the snow has melted, it has been possible to check that none remain.’
‘Has Jakes given you dire warnings about poachers, now they have gone?’ asked Marianne.
‘He has. But I told him that a good manager didn’t need pieces of iron to do his job for him.’ He smiled. ‘Jakes was not amused.’
Marianne laughed. ‘I should think he wouldn’t be. But you must not tease him too much. Good estate managers are hard to find, and Mr Billingsdale won’t thank me if I lose Jakes for him.’
‘It won’t come to that,
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