father was kind enough to present you with the opportunity to quash rumours of any lingering bitterness between us...by attending my sister's wedding next month.'
'That's next month. This is now. Why wait so long?'
'Why, indeed?' Rachel rejoined softly after a long pause. For an awful moment she thought he might make no more of it and go. But his expression suddenly softened from an impassive study into a smile. In a move that seemed oddly conciliatory to Rachel, he stepped down to join her on her lower step rather than expecting her to rise to meet him. His bow might have been a little mocking, though, she supposed, as he held out an arm. It was the least she could expect. After a tiny hesitation her long, elegant fingers hovered on his sleeve, and for the first time in six years she allowed Connor Flinte to escort her to polite society at play.
Chapter Four
The first people Rachel noticed as they walked in silence into the music room were her parents. Through a chink in a curtain of stirring bodies she saw that her mother was facing her, her father was presenting his solid squat back to the entrance. And Mrs Pemberton was, it seemed, still their good friend.
Rachel observed the moment that her mother caught sight of them: she abruptly ceased talking. After a stupefied second, Mrs Meredith's neat little jaw sagged further, making her appear a deal more dull and double-chinned than she actually was. Her expression, so severely altered, prompted Pamela Pemberton to inquisitively crane her neck about to locate what was so astonishing. Fortunately, the human shutter was already closing. Rachel was grateful for being spared her hostess's immediate attention. But it would come. Oh, it would certainly come.
Her father, of course, was oblivious to it all, for he was not attending to the ladies' chatter, but to his own. Despite standing with his wife, Edgar Meredith was actually conversing with a man in another group. Positioned like bookends, rigid-backed and with hands in pockets, they were talking with their chins jutting parallel to their shoulders, eyes darting up and down to the ceiling while they jigged from foot to foot. Edgar's interlocutor seemed equally bored with the company, even though the ladies in his circle looked considerably younger and rather glamorous. It was a moment before she realised that the man was in fact her father's brother-in-law. It was a long time since she had seen Nathaniel Chamberlain and she barely recognised him. Never a handsome man, in the interim he had become quite podgy and quite bald.
Nathaniel was married to her papa's sister, Phyllis, who had refused to have anything to do with her brother, or his family, since Rachel scandalously jilted Connor. Phyllis had been quite happy to bask in the glory of having been the one to bring together her niece and the son of one of her acquaintances. For Phyllis and Lady Davenport had once moved in the same circle. Rachel wondered, as she had many times before over the years, if they still did...
As Rachel peeked at her papa and his brother-in-law, she was stabbed with an ache of remorse: it was because of her jilting the man beside her that these once good friends must make conversation in such a clandestine fashion.
It had been at one of the Chamberlains' mediocre little dances that Rachel, then nineteen years old, had first been introduced to the handsome young Major. In common with the other young debutantes present, she had found him wonderfully attractive with his glossy black hair and sapphire eyes and that soft southern Irish brogue that so swooningly honeyed his tone. When he singled her out for particular attention that evening, she had been unbelievably flattered and so pleased. Not least because so many of her peers could barely contain their bitter-eyed envy. Yes; she had to admit that, at nineteen, beating her rivals to him had considerably boosted Major Connor Flinte's appeal.
Determinedly, she looked about, took in her
'That's next month. This is now. Why wait so long?'
'Why, indeed?' Rachel rejoined softly after a long pause. For an awful moment she thought he might make no more of it and go. But his expression suddenly softened from an impassive study into a smile. In a move that seemed oddly conciliatory to Rachel, he stepped down to join her on her lower step rather than expecting her to rise to meet him. His bow might have been a little mocking, though, she supposed, as he held out an arm. It was the least she could expect. After a tiny hesitation her long, elegant fingers hovered on his sleeve, and for the first time in six years she allowed Connor Flinte to escort her to polite society at play.
Chapter Four
The first people Rachel noticed as they walked in silence into the music room were her parents. Through a chink in a curtain of stirring bodies she saw that her mother was facing her, her father was presenting his solid squat back to the entrance. And Mrs Pemberton was, it seemed, still their good friend.
Rachel observed the moment that her mother caught sight of them: she abruptly ceased talking. After a stupefied second, Mrs Meredith's neat little jaw sagged further, making her appear a deal more dull and double-chinned than she actually was. Her expression, so severely altered, prompted Pamela Pemberton to inquisitively crane her neck about to locate what was so astonishing. Fortunately, the human shutter was already closing. Rachel was grateful for being spared her hostess's immediate attention. But it would come. Oh, it would certainly come.
Her father, of course, was oblivious to it all, for he was not attending to the ladies' chatter, but to his own. Despite standing with his wife, Edgar Meredith was actually conversing with a man in another group. Positioned like bookends, rigid-backed and with hands in pockets, they were talking with their chins jutting parallel to their shoulders, eyes darting up and down to the ceiling while they jigged from foot to foot. Edgar's interlocutor seemed equally bored with the company, even though the ladies in his circle looked considerably younger and rather glamorous. It was a moment before she realised that the man was in fact her father's brother-in-law. It was a long time since she had seen Nathaniel Chamberlain and she barely recognised him. Never a handsome man, in the interim he had become quite podgy and quite bald.
Nathaniel was married to her papa's sister, Phyllis, who had refused to have anything to do with her brother, or his family, since Rachel scandalously jilted Connor. Phyllis had been quite happy to bask in the glory of having been the one to bring together her niece and the son of one of her acquaintances. For Phyllis and Lady Davenport had once moved in the same circle. Rachel wondered, as she had many times before over the years, if they still did...
As Rachel peeked at her papa and his brother-in-law, she was stabbed with an ache of remorse: it was because of her jilting the man beside her that these once good friends must make conversation in such a clandestine fashion.
It had been at one of the Chamberlains' mediocre little dances that Rachel, then nineteen years old, had first been introduced to the handsome young Major. In common with the other young debutantes present, she had found him wonderfully attractive with his glossy black hair and sapphire eyes and that soft southern Irish brogue that so swooningly honeyed his tone. When he singled her out for particular attention that evening, she had been unbelievably flattered and so pleased. Not least because so many of her peers could barely contain their bitter-eyed envy. Yes; she had to admit that, at nineteen, beating her rivals to him had considerably boosted Major Connor Flinte's appeal.
Determinedly, she looked about, took in her
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