As she had hoped that he would, Edwardbent down onto one knee and took her left hand in his. In the glowingorange light from the surrounding candles, Edward’s boyish face had neverlooked more handsome to Mary. She thought then of how stupid she had beenwith her immature fascination with Lord Rothborne, then instantly castigatedherself for potentially spoiling this wonderful moment thinking about him.
‘Mary Kate Mercer,’ Edward said in atrembling voice. ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Mary smiled and tears welled in hereyes. ‘I would be delighted,’ she said, almost unable to vocalise heracceptance.
Edward leapt up and threw his arms aroundher. ‘I’m so happy you said that, Mary!’
She watched as he withdrew a ring from hispocket and slid it onto her finger.
‘It was our great grandmother’s,’ Edwardsaid.
Mary held it close to her face. Itwas a solid gold band with a stone set in the centre. It was simple, butwhere it came from made it the most beautiful thing on earth. She lovedit. ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’
‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to see thatyou got it from me. More delighted probably than the rest of our familywill be about the situation.’
Our family. Her euphoria, her belief that herfuture had just started crumbled in the instant Edward had mentioned herfamily. She allowed herself to be held by him but her thoughts hadreturned home. Her stifling lifeless home. She could only imagineher father’s reaction at the news she was to marry her cousin. Whatwould that do to his bout of melancholia? Then she thought ofEdie. Her twin sister who was also sweet on Edward. How would sheever find the words to tell her? Only her mother would understandand she was miles away, locked up in a sanatorium.
‘What’s the matter, Mary?’ Edward asked,sensing her sudden detachment.
‘You mentioned our family. What onearth will Caroline, Edie and Mother make of it all? I doubt they’ll talkto us ever again.’
‘Your mother will be absolutely fine, Ediewill come round eventually and Caroline—well, who cares about heranyway?’ Edward squeezed her hand. ‘At least you won’t have toworry about getting used to a new surname!’
Mary smiled and hoped that it was enoughto cover the growing discomfort inside. She knew, as soon as she saw thenote, what Edward was going to do tonight. Perhaps she had known sooner,when they had first made love. But now it was real and serious, theywould have to tell people. Tell the other servants at Blackfriars. Tell Mrs Cuff and Mr Risler.
Edward began to kiss Mary’s neck, movinghis lips slowly up towards her mouth. Mary banished thoughts of thefuture and reciprocated his kiss. Edward gently lifted the blanket fromMary’s shoulders and allowed it to fall to the petal-strewn floor beforebeginning to unbutton her dress.
Anunfamiliar sound woke Mary. Birds singing unusually close by. Sheopened her eyes in horror; she was lying on the wooden floor in the upper partof the old folly. ‘Edward!’ she gasped, leaping up and pushing away thepile of blankets under which they had slept. She pulled open the door andpeered outside. The dark, night sky was beginning to yield todaylight. The other servants were bound to be awake by now. ‘Edward, get up! We need to get back to the house.’
Edward’s eyes pinged open on hearing theurgency in Mary’s voice. Instantly he knew what had happened. Thepair quickly pulled on their clothes. Mary began to scoop up theblankets.
‘Leave all that, I’ll come back for itlater,’ Edward urged.
‘What about the candles? Someonemight see them.’
‘It’ll be okay, nobody ever comes overhere.’
The pair dashed back down the spiralstaircase, aware that they were running out of time. Edward rowed back tothe boathouse as fast as he could, the oars chopping desperately and noisily atthe water. Mary’s eyes darted all around them, certain that someone wouldsee them. Everybody—even the gardeners—rose early.
‘Let’s split up. I’ll go the longerway round past the ice house and back in through the meat larder. See youat breakfast,’ Edward panted, kissing Mary on the lips.
‘Bye, fiancé!’ Mary called after him,hurrying back towards the kitchen.
Althoughher son, Cecil was now the Earl of Rothborne, Lady Rothborne occasionally likedto flex and exhibit her seniority within the Mansfield family. Followingthe death of her husband, she insisted on having his former bedroom, located asit was in the most favourable position of all the rooms in Blackfriars. It was situated on the first floor with windows facing south over the maingardens and windows facing east over one edge of the lake. Since beingwidowed at the age of fifty-two, she had found the need for very little sleep;she was usually the last family member to retire for the night and the first torise. Today, like most mornings, she enjoyed standing at the east windowwatching as the faintest glimmers of the morning sun began to penetrate thenight sky. On warmer days, she would open the window to let in thewondrous sound of the blackbirds’ dawn chorus on the early morningbreeze. For Lady Rothborne, there was no time of day quite like it. Everything was still. The world was at peace and happy. She lookedout of the window, absorbing the minute changes and new things that she couldsee, suddenly made visible by the rising sun. She spotted somethingmoving on the path beside the lake. A deer, perhaps? shewondered. She squinted hard and pressed her face to the window. Twopeople walking. Running. They began to grow into focus.
‘The footman and the third housemaid,’ shesaid quietly. ‘Very interesting.’
Lady Rothborne continued to watch untilthe pair had separated and disappeared inside the house using two differententrances.
A wide smile erupted on her face.
Marypushed open the kitchen door and braced herself for a tirade in French, butBastion was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen thankfully lookeddeserted. Mary closed the door and heaved a sigh of relief. She’dmade it back in without being seen. Now she just needed to get backupstairs. What was the time?
‘Nice night for it,’ a booming, hollowvoice said.
Mary leapt with fright and turned in thedirection of the voice, which she did not recognise.
