with her feelings ‘-like knowing too much about my own brother!’
Cory was watching her. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable.
‘So your feelings for me are brotherly?’ he asked.
Rachel fidgeted, pulling a sliver of wood from the doorframe. She felt rather hot and awkward, without really understanding the reason why. ‘What else would they be, Cory?’
She saw Cory’s expression change and had a sudden feeling of panic at the thought he might actually answer her-and that the answer might not be to her taste. She could hardly deny that their scandalous encounter by the river had had a wholly unexpected effect on her. Yes, she had been shocked, but she had also been captivated, tempted, excited…Her thoughts broke off in utter confusion as she saw that Cory was smiling at her with speculation in his eyes.
The clock on the tower chimed ten and Rachel felt almost faint with relief. ‘Oh! I must go. I am promised to the reading group at Saltires at half past.’
Cory paused, brush in hand. ‘At Saltires? Lady Sally Saltire hosts a reading group? Well, I’ll be damned!’
Rachel paused. ‘Do you know Lady Sally?’
‘Everyone knows Sally Saltire,’ Cory said. ‘She is a most prominent London hostess. In fact, she is the only woman I know who has made being bookish a fashionable occupation. I believe that she was known as
‘The beautiful bluestocking,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘That is pretty.’
‘It is a soubriquet that could equally be applied to you,’ Cory said, his gaze warming.
Rachel blushed. ‘Thank you, Cory, but you know that I look no more than well to a pass.’
Cory’s eyes narrowed and once again Rachel felt a quiver of panic at what he might be about to say. For a moment he looked quite angry.
‘What are you comparing yourself with, Rae? A classical Greek statue?’
‘We were speaking of Lady Sally Saltire, not myself,’ Rachel said hastily.
‘So we were,’ Cory said. ‘I believe society was amazed that she chose to bury herself in the country this summer rather than visit the fashionable resorts.’
Rachel smiled a little. ‘But surely everyone knows that Lady Sally seldom does the expected thing?’
‘Those who know her well, perhaps.’ Cory cocked his head. ‘Had you met her before then, Rae?’
‘We met in Egypt,’ Rachel said, ‘several years ago. Just before Napoleon’s invasion.’
Cory nodded. ‘Of course! I remember. Your father has a talent for choosing to excavate in precisely the place you would wish him not to be.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Papa is so unworldly. He barely notices the great events unfolding around him. When we were forced to flee Egypt, he merely complained that Napoleon’s army had forced him to lose a year’s work.’
‘You were lucky that you got away with your lives,’ Cory said drily.
‘I know. It was far too exciting for me. Which is why I prefer Midwinter Royal and Lady Sally’s reading group.’
‘What is the text that you are studying?’ Cory asked.
‘I have only been to one meeting of her reading group,’ Rachel said, ‘but we are currently discussing
She thought that she saw Cory’s shoulders shake slightly. ‘Why, what is the matter?’
Cory straightened and gave his horse a final pat. ‘Your classical education has no doubt been magnificent, Rachel-I know of no other young lady who can read Hebrew and Chaldean-but your literary one is sadly lacking. I believe
Rachel raised her chin. She did not care to have Cory make fun of her reading tastes. ‘So? It is a charming book. I dare say that you have not read any Minervas, Cory, so you do not know what you are talking about.’
Cory inclined his head. ‘There you have me. I do not. I beg your pardon. They are probably excellent publications.’
‘You are suspiciously quick to retract your views. Either you are humouring me or else you are still secretly laughing at me!’
Cory raised a hand in mock surrender. ‘Acquit me, Rae. I would not laugh at you. What is the plot of
Rachel shot him a mistrustful look, certain that he was still funning her. ‘It is a most edifying tale,’ she said. ‘The hero, Sir Philip Desormeaux, has just put an advertisement in the newspaper in order to find himself a wife.’
‘A most practical gentleman.’ Cory quirked his brows. ‘No doubt you approve of such a sensible approach to matrimony?’
‘Naturally,’ Rachel said. ‘I have a lowering feeling, however, that he will succumb to romance in the end.’
Cory grinned. ‘Is that what gentlemen generally do?’
‘In fiction, certainly.’ Rachel said. ‘In real life, I doubt it.’
‘Yet you advocate sense over sensibility yourself?’
‘Of course.’ Rachel said. ‘Romance is like travel.’
‘Exciting, daring, and dangerous?’
‘Uncomfortable, inconvenient and hopefully of short duration,’ Rachel said. ‘Good day to you, Cory.’
His laughter followed her as she went out of the stable and into the bright sun of mid-morning. Already the heat was building and the white doves sought the shadow of the clock tower. Rachel, who intended to walk the couple of miles from Midwinter Royal House to Saltires, went to fetch her parasol. In the hallway her mother’s packing boxes were still half-full and Rose, the only housemaid who had agreed to take the job, was laboriously polishing the banisters, wheezing as she worked.
Rachel went up the wide staircase, turned right where it branched, and entered the second door on her left. Midwinter Royal was only a small house and she had chosen for her own a bedroom on the west side with a view across Midwinter Common to the forest beyond. She had given her parents the biggest bedchamber on the south side of the house, for although Rachel knew that they would not have noticed if they had been sleeping in a trench, she wished them to be comfortable. They had a view across their beloved burial mounds to the river, the Winter Race, beyond.
Rachel’s room was bright and full of sunshine. The curtains rippled in the breeze from the open window. She went across and extracted her parasol from the white-painted wardrobe in the corner. All of her belongings had been stacked away neatly upon arrival. Nothing spoiled the pristine neatness of her bed, for although she had to share a maid with Lady Odell, she would never have countenanced leaving her clothes draped about the room as her mother did.
It was as she was closing the wardrobe door that she turned and caught sight of Cory Newlyn strolling down the path that cut through the shrubberies towards the fields at the back. He had his hands in the pockets of his disreputable jacket and he was whistling under his breath. As Rachel watched, he took off his battered old hat and thrust his hand through his fair hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Then he looked up at her window, saw her watching and raised one hand in casual greeting. The sun was on his upturned face as he smiled at her.
Rachel stepped back from the window suddenly. It was odd but she felt as though she had been caught in the act like a peeping Tom. Yet surely there was nothing wrong in looking out of her own bedroom window…
When she dared to look again, Cory had disappeared around the corner of the house. With a small sigh, Rachel tied the blue ribbons of her wide-brimmed straw hat under her chin, donned her light spencer and checked in the mirror that she looked neat and tidy. She did. Her russet-brown hair was braided ruthlessly to subdue the curl in it and there was not a thread out of place on her pale blue promenade dress.
She picked up her parasol and hurried down the stairs. Cory had disturbed her morning in more ways than one. Now she was going to be late, and in a strange way, it felt as though it was all Cory’s fault.
Chapter Three
Rachel was halfway along the dusty road that led from Midwinter Royal to Saltires when she was overtaken by a gig containing two ladies. The pony was travelling at a lively trot and stirred up quite a
