who would make wonderful wives and mothers. I paid attention to some of them, and they seemed to like me. But when it came to the point where I had to make a proposal or back off I realized, each time, that what I felt was not enough. It was not what I felt for you. It wasn't love.'
Now he had said it. 'Stop,' Maisie whispered.
'Two or three mothers got rather cross with me, then my reputation spread around, and the girls became wary. They were nice enough to me, but they knew there was something wrong with me, I wasn't serious, not the marrying kind. Hugh Pilaster, the English banker and breaker of hearts. And if a girl did seem to fall for me, despite my record, I would discourage her. I don't like to break people's hearts. I know too well what it feels like.'
Her face was wet with tears, and she was glad of the tactful dark. 'I'm sorry,' she said, but she whispered so softly that she could hardly hear her own voice.
'Anyway, I know what's wrong with me now. I guess I always knew, but the last two days have removed any doubts.'
They had fallen behind the others, and now he stopped and faced her.
She said: 'Don't say it, Hugh, please.'
'I still love you. That's all.'
It was out, and everything was ruined.
'I think you love me too,' he went on mercilessly. 'Don't you?'
She looked up at him. She could see, reflected in his eyes, the lights of the house across the lawn, but his face was in shadow. He inclined his head and kissed her lips, and she did not turn away. 'Salt tears,' he said after a minute. 'You do love me. I knew it.' He took a folded handkerchief from his pocket and touched her face gently, mopping the teardrops from her cheeks.
She had to put a stop to this. 'We must catch up with the others,' she said. 'People will talk.' She turned and began to walk, so that he had to either release her arm or go with her. He went with her.
'I'm surprised that you worry about people talking,' he said. 'Your set is famous for not minding anything of that sort.'
She was not really concerned about the others. It was herself she was worried about. She made him walk faster until they rejoined the rest of the party, then she let go of his arm and talked to the duchess.
She was obscurely bothered by Hugh's saying that the Marlborough Set was famous for its tolerance. It was true, but she wished he hadn't used the phrase anything of that sort; she was not sure why.
When they reentered the house the tall clock in the hall was striking midnight. Maisie suddenly felt drained by the tensions of the day. 'I'm going to bed,' she announced.
She saw the duchess look reflexively at Hugh, then back at her, and suppress a little smile; and she realized that they all thought Hugh would sleep with her tonight.
The ladies went upstairs together, leaving the men to play billiards and drink a nightcap. As the women kissed her good night Maisie saw the same look in the eyes of each one, a gleam of excitement tinged with envy.
She went into her bedroom and closed the door. A coal fire burned merrily in the grate, and there were candles on the mantelpiece and the dressing table. On the bedside table, as usual, there was a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of sherry in case she got peckish in the night: she never touched them, but the well-trained staff of Kingsbridge Manor put a tray beside every bed without fail.
She began to take off her clothes. They might all be wrong: perhaps Hugh would not come to her tonight. The thought stabbed her like a pain, and she longed for him to come through the door so that she could take him in her arms and kiss him, really kiss him, not guiltily as she had in the garden, but hungrily and shamelessly. The feeling brought back an overwhelming memory of the night of the Goodwood races six years ago, the narrow bed in his aunt's house, and the expression on his face when she took off her dress.
She looked at her body in the long mirror. Hugh would notice how it had changed. Six years ago she had had tiny turned-in pink nipples like dimples, but now, after nursing Bertie, they were enlarged and strawberry-colored, and stuck out. As a girl she had not needed to wear a corset--she had been naturally wasp-shaped--but her waist had never quite returned to normal after pregnancy.
She heard the men coming up the stairs, heavy-footed and laughing at some joke. Hugh had been right: not one of them would be shocked by a little adultery at a country-house party. Did they not feel disloyal to their friend Solly, she thought derisively? And then it hit her like a slap in the face that she was the one who ought to feel disloyal.
She had put Solly out of her mind all evening, but now he came back to her in spirit: harmless, amiable Solly; kind, generous Solly; the man who loved her to distraction, the man who cared for Bertie, knowing he was another man's child. Within hours of his leaving the house Maisie was about to let another man come into her bed. What kind of woman am I? she thought.
On impulse she went to the door and locked it.
She understood now why she had disliked Hugh's saying Your set is famous for not minding anything of that sort. It made her feeling for Hugh seem commonplace, just another one of the many flirtations, romances and infidelities that gave society ladies something to gossip about. Solly deserved better than to be betrayed by a commonplace affair.
But I want Hugh, she thought.
The idea of forgoing this night with him made her want to weep. She thought of his boyish grin and his bony chest, his blue eyes and smooth white skin; and she remembered the expression on his face when he looked at her body, the expression of wonder and happiness, desire and delight; and it seemed so hard to give that up.
There was a soft tap at the door.
She stood naked in the middle of the room, paralyzed and dumb.
The handle turned and the door was pushed, but of course it would not open.
She heard her name spoken in a low voice.
She went to the door and put her hand to the key.
'Maisie!' he called softly. 'It's me, Hugh.'
She longed for him so much that the sound of his voice made her moist inside. She put her finger in her mouth and bit herself hard, but the pain did not mask the desire.
He tapped on the door again. 'Maisie! Let me in?'
She leaned her back against the wall, and the tears streamed down her face, dripping off her chin onto her breasts.
'At least let us talk!'
She knew that if she opened the door there would be no talking--she would take him in her arms and they would fall to the floor in a frenzy of desire.
'Say something. Are you there? I know you're there.'
She stood still, crying silently.
'Please?' he said. 'Please?'
After a while he went away.
Maisie slept badly and woke early, but as the new day dawned her spirits lifted a little. Before the other guests were up she went along to the nursery wing as usual. Outside the door of the nursery dining room she stopped suddenly. She was not the first guest to rise, after all. She could hear a man's voice inside. She paused and listened. It was Hugh.
He was saying: 'And just at that moment, the giant woke
