whereabouts. If I were of a suspicious nature I might think you had been spying on me.”
Margaret chose to ignore this impudence. “What has happened to your horse?”
“I am not certain except to say he appears to be lame, a stone in his hoof, I daresay. I must get him to the farrier to have him looked at.”
“Pray tell, Mr Lawrence, where were you headed?” asked Margaret, knowing that his destination must be Delaford House. “You appear to be rather far from home.”
“I came to call on you, Miss Dashwood, as you are well aware,” he answered, and gazed so directly into her eyes that she could not look at him.
She looked back toward the house for somewhere to fix her eyes. “You could have the groomsman look at him, but I do not think you will be able to lead your horse through this doorway. Besides, this part of the garden has too many narrow pathways, there is not enough room for a man and his horse.”
“No, but there is a post just along here where I might tie him up, so he can rest. And as you say, I could alert Jackson. I can fetch my horse in a little while, after he has been seen. In the meantime you could show me round the garden.”
“Will you not come up to the house and say how d’ye do?” asked Margaret as she watched him tie up his horse. She felt rather uneasy about having stopped him now. If Marianne or, more particularly, Elinor had found out that she had behaved in such a manner, they would be shocked. Not only shocked but horrified that she had been so outspoken. And she was not sure that being alone with him in the garden would be approved of as pleasing conduct.
“I do not think that will be necessary,” he smirked. “After all, I only came to see you and no one need be any the wiser. Will you not show me round? I remember an old yew arbour at the top of the lawn where I played hide and seek as a small boy with Uncle William. Is it still there?” He smiled at her so artlessly that Margaret was instantly charmed.
“Yes, I was sitting there when I saw you. There is a capital view of the road and it is the best place in the world to hide.”
“Show me.”
Margaret knew it was wrong but as much as she told herself that she should insist on their going up to the house, her feet immediately disobeyed her. They left their dewy prints on the rain-soaked grass and climbed the ascent to the ancient arbour, Margaret conscious that he followed closely behind with loping strides. The yew arbour loomed before them, like a giant plum pudding, its entrance almost concealed by foliage. Margaret stopped just outside.
Henry swept past and was swallowed up out of sight by the giant arms of the dark yews. Margaret looked about her. What should she do? To follow him would be most inappropriate. She heard Henry call her name. “Miss Dashwood, look here,” he called.
Hesitantly, she entered the space. Henry was sat upon the seat but rose when she stepped forward. The trees dripped over their heads and a magpie chattered above, breaking the silence that ensued.
“Look here, upon the trunk,” Henry said, pointing to a mark at waist height.
Margaret bent down to peer closer and saw the carving in the bark. The initials H. A. L. were hewn into the old tree. “Are they your initials?” she asked.
Henry nodded. “Uncle William gave me the knife. It was just before we left for France and I was sad to be leaving England. He said that a part of me would always remain here, not only in the hearts and minds of my family but here at Delaford, in the very soul of the place. He was very kind.”
“He is one of the kindest people I know,” Margaret agreed. She stood up to become conscious of their close proximity. That he was staring at her, she was acutely sensible.
“Thank you for dancing with me last night, Miss Dashwood,” he said in a low voice.
“It was my pleasure, Mr Lawrence,” she answered. She still could not bring herself to meet his eyes.
“Come,” he entreated, taking her hand with one of his and reaching into his pocket with the other. “Make Delaford part of your history, too.”
Before she had a chance to snatch back her hand, she realised she had completely misconstrued his actions. He had a small knife in his other hand, which he pressed into the one he was holding, with a plea to do as he had done in the past and carve her name. She grinned up at him before cutting into the bark, whittling away at the wood until her initials were carved next to his.
“M. E. D., Margaret Elizabeth Dashwood,” Henry guessed.
“I suppose you think you are very clever,” she retorted, “but you are quite wrong. I do not think you will guess my middle name in a month of Sundays. However, whilst you contemplate the possibilities, I have something to say. It is my turn to guess your name. Let me think, a letter A has many possibilities…” Margaret paused and was bold enough to look him up and down, with her head on one side and her hands on her hips.
Henry laughed.
“I do not know what you find so amusing, sir, because I am never wrong in these matters. Hmm… Alexander, I think. Yes, you look like a Henry Alexander to my mind!” she announced with a chuckle.
Henry laughed again and shook his head. “You are entirely mistaken, Miss Dashwood. I shall give you a clue. My name has a starring role in
“Oh, that is too easy, you must be Adam!” Margaret cried.
“Then perhaps you are my Eve. Am I not correct?”
“Nothing like, the E stands for Evelina,” Margaret admitted, blushing as she spoke.
“Precisely, just as I said, you are my Eve. Have you come here to tempt me, pretty girl?”
Margaret could not hide her confusion. She was utterly aghast at his bold manner and flirtatious words. “Mr Lawrence, I think it is time for me to go back to the house. Marianne will be wondering where I am.”
“I do not think your sister will mind you talking to me,” he declared, taking a step nearer.
Margaret knew this was probably true, but even so she knew it was wrong to spend so much time alone with Mr Lawrence. If she were found out there would be trouble.
Henry turned toward the trunk of the tree once more to busy himself with the knife, carving fresh marks into the bark.
“I really must go, Mr Lawrence, it has been good to see you again,” Margaret faltered, holding out her hand to say goodbye.
“You would not accept my heart when I offered it to you yesterday,” he said. “But you see it carved here on this tree, right next to your name.” He took her hand, holding it firmly within his grasp, and Margaret wondered whether he would ever let it go. She knew she must depart soon before someone came looking for her, despite the fact that she was enjoying the sensation of her hand clasped in Henry's. At last she managed to look up at him to meet his steady contemplation. His countenance bore such an expression that she could not tell whether he was laughing at her or whether he was completely serious. He raised her hand to his lips and then Margaret knew she must leave. Without a glance behind her, she snatched her hand away and ran. She ran as fast as her legs would take her and it was only when she reached the safety of her bedchamber that she dared to look out of the window. The outlook onto the garden gave a tantalising glimpse of the arbour, but she could not see nearly enough of it to be able to ascertain whether Henry was still there. She watched for half an hour and decided at last that he must have gone in search of the groom moments after she had left. She would be very careful in future, she thought, not to be left alone with him again. But, however hard Margaret tried to be cross with him, she found it to be impossible and found herself caressing the spot where his lips had brushed her skin with tender care.
Chapter 15
On the eve of the Goose Fair, Colonel Brandon returned from an excellent morning of shooting to discover that he was the recipient of bad news, a letter, which demanded his immediate attention. Miss Williams had written to tell him that little Lizzy was unwell again, but assured him that it was no more than one of the hundreds of childhood ailments that small people were apt to contract. There were hints of fever and infections, and though Miss Williams had stated that there was no reason for alarm, that very insistence gave the Colonel cause for
