unaware of her sister’s tension was Deborah Stratton.
‘
‘Oh, well, if
There was another awkward pause.
Lady Sally threw herself into the breach. ‘How splendid,’ she said, quite as though there had been no undercurrent to Olivia’s words. ‘And if I might prevail upon you, Miss Odell, to speak to Lord Newlyn, then I think we might rightly be proud of the collection of truly distinguished gentlemen who will grace my watercolour book.’
Rachel jumped. She had just been reflecting that Cory would detest being part of a project such as this when she realised that Lady Sally was addressing her. Rachel felt the eyes of the group fixed on her. Helena Lang was looking rather envious all of a sudden.
‘I doubt I have any influence with Lord Newlyn,’ Rachel said. ‘It is true that I have known him for years, but I would not say that he was a very persuadable gentleman.’
Lady Sally’s eyes widened with amusement. ‘Oh, do you think not?’ she said. ‘A great pity, for he is quite the most charismatic man of my acquaintance.’ She smiled gently at Rachel. ‘Would he not be susceptible to a little flirtation, Miss Odell?’
‘Not if I was the one doing the flirting with him,’ Rachel said, laughing at the very idea. ‘I believe he would ask me if I had had too much sun!’
Everyone laughed, although Lady Sally looked pensive. ‘It seems a pity,’ she said. ‘Lord Newlyn would look vastly attractive in watercolours.’
‘He would look vastly attractive in anything,’ Lily Benedict added drily, ‘or nothing.’
Rachel bit her lip and concentrated very hard on not thinking about Cory wearing nothing at all. She had only just managed to banish the image and here it was back with a vengeance. She fanned herself surreptitiously with her book.
‘Oh, please try to persuade him, Miss Odell,’ Helena Lang interposed. ‘Lord Newlyn would be the most perfect choice. He is so dashing.’
Rachel looked at the pleading faces. Her strongest impulse was to refuse. The thought of asking Cory to grace Lady Sally’s watercolour book was an excruciating one.
‘I really do not think-’ she began.
Lady Sally put out a consoling hand. ‘Please do not worry. I would not wish you to feel obliged to approach Lord Newlyn, Miss Odell, not if it would embarrass you. Perhaps one of the other ladies could exert a little charm to persuade him.’
‘I am sure that we shall be drawing lots for the privilege,’ Lily Benedict said.
Rachel frowned. The idea of another lady flirting with Cory made her feel rather possessive, although she knew this was entirely inappropriate. She looked at Lily Benedict’s face, with the slanting dark eyes that held a flicker of malice, and decided that she did not like her very much nor would she give her the chance to flirt with Cory. The same went for that vulgar Miss Lang.
‘I suppose I can at least talk to him,’ she said. ‘I should be happy to do that.’
‘Oh, goody!’ Helena Lang exclaimed. ‘How exciting to have such a famous adventurer in our midst! Was it not Lord Newlyn who wrestled a crocodile in the Nile and survived the curse of Amenhopec? He is the most complete gentleman, is he not?’
‘The crocodile incident was much exaggerated,’ Rachel said coolly, wishing to depress Helena Lang’s pretensions and reduce Cory’s appeal at the same time. ‘As for the curse, I do not believe that Lord Newlyn escaped so easily. He had a dreadful stomach upset for weeks after he excavated that tomb. They call it the Pharaoh’s Revenge.’
There was a ripple of scandalised laughter from the group as the ladies took her meaning. ‘My dear Miss Odell,’ Lady Sally said, wiping the tears from her eyes, ‘I do believe that you have demolished Lord Newlyn’s dashing reputation in one move. An upset stomach indeed! How very unromantic! I cannot wait to tease him about this.’
‘You might sketch Lord Newlyn wrestling a crocodile, ma’am,’ Helena Lang said hopefully to Lady Sally. ‘Without his shirt, perhaps-’
‘In the waters of the Winter Race?’ Lady Sally said. ‘What a fertile imagination you have, Miss Lang. Not that I totally discount the idea. So, ladies-’ she looked around the group ‘-to work! I am relying on you.’
The meeting broke up on that note. Rachel declined Olivia Marney’s offer of a ride back to Midwinter Royal in the gig, preferring instead to take the footpath that skirted the riverbank. The air was fresh here, straight off the water, and held a tang of salt. The Winter Race was a small tributary of the larger River Deben, originally feeding the watermill at Midwinter Bere, but these days the mill was derelict and the water flowed sluggishly between low banks in the summer and in the winter flooded the mud flats and marshes. On such a clear day she could see directly across to the Deben, where the yachts and wherries were moored on the quay at Woodbridge.
The sand track was soft beneath Rachel’s shoes. A rabbit scuttered through the undergrowth, startling a pheasant out of the bracken. As she walked she thought about Lady Sally’s reading group and the planned book of watercolour drawings. It was the most shocking matchmaker’s charter and as such she was certain it would be a raging success.
Rachel paused to look out across the Winter Race. The breeze teased tendrils of hair from beneath her bonnet and she stopped to tuck it back in. Ahead of her the riverbank sloped up towards the Midwinter Royal burial ground. There was a knot of pine trees that gave a sheltered lookout across the river in one direction and over the fields to Midwinter Royal in the other. Last year’s pine needles were a soft carpet beneath Rachel’s feet and they gave off a sweet, resinous scent.
She paused on the top of the hill to watch the excavation. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell were working in the southernmost corner of the field, digging one of the long barrows and sorting the earth into a huge spoil pit. Rachel sighed. It all looked so messy and she detested untidiness.
Cory Newlyn was much closer to her, digging a trench into the side of a burial mound. Cory did not favour the accepted method of digging straight down from the top of a barrow; he maintained that this could damage the finds buried inside. Instead he would open a small, exploratory ditch and work inwards from there. Rachel could not see that it mattered one way or another. Soon her parents would be tramping the dirt through the house and she would have to spur Rose into action to clean it all up again. Then the scullery would be full of bits of pot to be washed and the dining room would have bones laid out on the breakfast table. It was always the same.
She watched as Cory paused in his digging and leaned on his spade, rubbing a hand across his forehead. His disgusting broad-brimmed hat tilted at a more rakish angle still. Rachel looked at him and tried to work out why Lady Sally had described him as one of the most charismatic men of her acquaintance. She had an appreciation of classical statuary and by those standards Cory was not particularly good looking. His face was too thin and his features slightly irregular. Nevertheless, the hard, clearcut planes of his face were somehow pleasing to the eye and it was difficult to tear one’s gaze away. Then there was his thick, tawny hair and his cool grey gaze and his long, rangy body that looked so good in the saddle-or emerging from the river…Oh, yes, Rachel could appreciate Cory Newlyn in a completely objective manner. Even so, there was nothing objective about the strange pit-a-pat of excitement in her stomach as she watched Cory at work, and when he turned to look at her, she looked away and hurried off without speaking to him. She felt strangely embarrassed and certainly not brave enough to broach the subject of the watercolour book. That would have to wait for another day.
As Rachel hurried along the path towards the house she imagined that she could feel Cory’s gaze on her retreating back. Impartial appreciation…Yes, she understood how attractive Cory might appear to another lady. For a brief moment, though, impartial was not how she felt at all, and she did not like it.
Chapter Four
Cory Newlyn straightened up, drove his trowel into the sand and reached for the
