pose or affect, and he felt oddly moved by his remembrance of her visit to the frigate to claim her brother.
A twinge of guilt had him looking about the room for Kydd. He finally caught sight of him behind the crush, bent down in trying to make a deaf old lady understand something. He realised what was happening but shrugged mentally: Kydd would have to make his own way in this world now — if he could.
The dance ended. Cecilia laughed with pleasure. 'That was the most enormous fun,' she said, 'but I am quite out of breath.' She swayed dramatically against him, clutching at his arms, and seeming quite unaware of the electric effect on him of her breasts against his chest. 'May we cool off in the garden for a spell?'
Renzi had been propositioned as brazenly before, but sensed that this was a far more innocent invitation. Again he warmed to her. 'But of course, my dear,' he said, offering his arm.
The garden was not large, but dark and scattered with well-tended shrubs and rockeries. They strolled together, Cecilia's arm on his. Renzi's thoughts swelled and deepened - but this was no time to be interested in a girl, no matter how high the sap had risen. 'You danced divinely, Cecilia,' he said, quite truthfully.
'Why thank you, Nicholas,' she replied happily, squeezing his arm. 'It is my first essay,' she said shyly, 'but thanks to you . . .'
'Cecilia . . .' he began, but cold reason came unbidden to destroy the thought.
'Nicholas?' she said, sensing something and stopping to meet his eyes.
Renzi could not let even Kydd know of his thoughts - in any case they were too complex: the return to polite company after so long, the impossibility of explaining the effect of experiencing war at the first hand to this innocent country society, the presence of a handsome beauty of such touching ingenuousness, it was too much. He swung her round to face him, her other hand went up to meet his and she searched his face. 'Cecilia!' he began again, thickly.
Her expression tautened, then softened to an exquisite
longing. 'Nicholas,' she said, her voice low and throaty. Her hands gripped his. 'Nicholas - it's . . . Thomas, isn't it?' Renzi froze.
'It's Thomas — you're worried for Thomas, you think he'll be unhappy, don't you?' she breathed. Her eyes glistened. 'That is so sweet of you, Nicholas, so like you.' She disengaged and dabbed at her eyes. 'But don't worry, I pray — we are going to take good care of him for you.' At Renzi's stricken look she hurried on, 'I know he would probably be a wonderful sailor, to sail the seas and see strange lands and fight in dreadful battles, but—' She broke off and hugged Renzi with all her might. 'I do pray you will come back to us, and tell of your adventures on the high seas. You will, won't you, Nicholas? Promise me.'
Renzi nodded. 'I promise,' he said softly.
She sighed, linking her arm in his, and they walked on back to the house.
Suddenly the string trio stopped playing and the happy confusion of chattering and laughter died away. Then a general roar of approval met the musicians getting to their feet and taking position for country dancing.
Cecilia gave a squeal of delight. 'Shepherd's Hey!' she exclaimed. In dismay Renzi saw the couples forming up. Too late, the reel was quickly taken by three couples, and the dancing began again, much more boisterously than before with flushed faces, happy calls, whispered asides.
'I do apologise, Cecilia, I fear I am not accustomed to these particular steps,' Renzi said quietly. A slight shadow passed over his features.
'Then we shall sit, sir,' she said.
'On no account — be so good as to rescue poor Thomas.' She left, but Kydd had already cheered up at the rustic
dancing and was striking the hey with the best of them, at last enjoying himself.
A sudden commotion at the end of the line of men resolved itself into a loud clunking. Renzi knew what it must be; the boatswain had been drawn to the joyous sound of the dance and had joined in. With his red face split by a huge smile, first one leg then his wooden peg rose and fell with a clunk as the line advanced and bowed, advanced and reared. The assembly roared with good-humoured laughter and the violinist redoubled his efforts.
The evening wore on — Mr Bedsoe performed most creditably on the flute, and Miss Eccles was greeted with much polite applause on presenting her new poem. Then, after more dancing, it was clear that the evening was drawing to a close. Renzi sought Cecilia again, and found her in conversation with her brother. 'I find this is the final dance. Should you stand up for me, I would be obliged,' he said.
'Oh, stuff and nonsense, Nicholas, of course I shall.' She laid her hand in his and they moved out on to the floor again. She looked up at him — fondly, he thought.
The dance began, the couples swirled and exchanged. His new partner prattled on, clearly flattered at partnering Renzi. The arches formed, the girl went through with a giggle, and another presented herself to be exchanged, grinning vapidly up at him. His eyes strayed about, looking for Cecilia. On the opposite side he saw her, twirling around a serious young man he had seen her with before and who obviously knew her.
The music skirled on heedless, and it was time to exchange again. But Cecilia did not — the young man had whispered something to her and she had stopped dead, staring at him. Renzi missed his step in his concentration and had to apologise to his partner. When he looked again, it was to see the pair disappearing into the garden.
With rising feeling he endured the wait, mechanically stepping out the measures. Eventually they returned, hand in hand, Cecilia's face a study in happiness. Impulsively, she pulled down the young man's shy face and kissed him, looking up at him intensely.
Renzi stopped dancing, letting his hands fall to his sides. A welling bitterness rose, not at Cecilia but at life - existence itself.
Astonished, his partner stared at him in dismay. He mumbled his excuses and left the floor, enduring the stares and muttered comments of the other dancers. He took a glass of shrub and downed it quickly. Kydd was over in the corner, reclaimed by the deaf old woman who was maundering on at him. Renzi strode over and interrupted, 'Brother, I crave fresh air. The evening is over. Do you wish a walk home, or . . .'
Kydd looked at him in surprise, but quickly recovered. 'O' course, m' friend.' Renzi noted with relief that he needed no explanations. Courteous but firm, Renzi paid his devoirs to Mrs Daryton, explained their intent to a puzzled Mrs Kydd, and they were soon afoot on the three-mile stretch back to Guildford.
