Starting Over

Part V

The next day, William went to the Manor House with Rosalind, and together they stayed with Mr. Deane for almost an hour. Mr. Deane seemed more cheerful than he had been the day before, and although he was content to listen and not to take part in any conversation unless there was a question directly put to him, their visit had noticeably cheered him. William had enough sense to hide his concern when he saw the state Mr. Deane was in. Rosalind was rather proud of her little brother and the way he behaved with their invalid neighbour. Mr. Irving stayed out of sight, for which Rosalind was glad. It was bad enough that she had to be in his company the entire next day -- though he was unlikely to escort them to the shops in Warwick. Rosalind therefore resolved to take her time in choosing her new gowns and stay out of his way for as much as possible.

Those new dresses had been the main topic of conversation in her sisters' room the night before -- Beatrice and Miranda had tried to decide what kind of fabrics they were going to buy. Each of them was to have a new evening dress, and one gown for day wear. Rosalind had fallen asleep listening to their discussion of silks (which their mother would not buy anyway, Rosalind thought), and muslins, wishing their outing to Warwick were already over. She did not mind buying new clothes, on the contrary -- she had become acutely aware of how dowdy she must look, and was looking forward to having something new to wear. But she had the uncomfortable suspicion that her mother had chosen this moment of all others to buy them new dresses because she wanted to throw her daughters into Mr. Irving's company, and her father's reaction to her plan to go shopping in Warwick had told Rosalind that he thought so too. Rosalind did not know which of them her mother had chosen for Mr. Irving, but she hoped her mother did not count on her. She would not marry Mr. Irving if he were the last man on earth. If there were only she and Mr. Irving left, the human race would be destined for extinction.

In the afternoon, Rosalind went to the church, taking some rags and a bucket of water with her. She was planning to give the ornate pulpit and the pews a thorough cleaning. Whoever had built St George's Church had not kept any practical issues in mind, Rosalind believed. They could not, or they would have realised that dust was going to settle on the elaborate stonemasonry and beautifully carved pews, and that it was almost impossible to get rid of it. A feather duster was not effective enough. What was needed was a rag, a bucket of water and determination.

She had worked for about half an hour when the church door opened and Mr. Irving walked in. Rosalind's heart missed a beat. Was there no avoiding that man? And why, she thought crossly, did he always turn up when she looked her worst? She was wearing the same gown she had worn when she had visited the Smiths, her hair was a mess and her apron was not as clean as she could wish. In other words, her attire was not such as she wanted him -- or anyone else -- to see.

"Miss Acton," he said, obviously surprised to meet her. "What are you doing here?"

"Cleaning, as you can see," she said sharply. "I suppose you came here to say your prayers?" Her tone indicated that she believed no such thing.

"No, I came here to have a look at the church," he replied calmly. "I did not have an opportunity to do so on Sunday -- my new neighbours demanded too much of my attention." He smiled apologetically. "If you want me to, I can leave and come back later. I do not wish to inconvenience you."

"I do not think it will be necessary for you to leave," Rosalind said. "Unless the presence of a bucket of water and a parson's daughter wearing a dirty apron offend your artistic eye. We are certainly not a very inspiring sight, the bucket and I."

She took her rag and set to work on one of the pews, pointedly ignoring Mr. Irving. But he refused to be ignored for long. Rosalind should have known that God's gift to the female population of England was not going to put up with this kind of treatment. Even though she had taken pains to look very busy and efficient, he came up to her and asked her to explain some of the stained-glass windows to him.

"I am afraid I do not know much about them," she said, with an impatient ring to her voice she was unable to repress. "My father would be a much better person to ask. He knows everything about St George's that there is to know."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Acton is not here so I cannot ask him," Mr. Irving said.

"You could make an appointment with him, sir. I am sure he'd be delighted to share his knowledge with you."

"Whereas you are not." Mr. Irving said matter-of-factly.

"No, I am not," Rosalind admitted. "As you can see, I have a great deal of work to do right now, so it is rather inconvenient."

"You seem to be always busy," Mr. Irving said. "I have never before seen a lady work as hard as you do."

He had probably meant this as a compliment, but Rosalind very much doubted it.

"Perhaps you associate with a different kind of ladies," she said. "London ladies are unlike Warwickshire parsonage chits."

She had unconsciously used the same expression Mr. Irving's friend had used on that fatal evening in London -- and looking at Mr. Irving, she realised that she had betrayed herself.

"So this is it," he said quietly. "We did meet in London."

"You cannot blame me for not wishing to be reminded of the fact," Rosalind said, sitting down in the pew she was in the process of cleaning. "It is not a very pleasant memory."

Mr. Irving sighed. "It seems I have a great deal to explain," he said.

"I do not want to hear any explanations, sir, thank you very much." Rosalind said briskly, hoping he would not notice how much the memory still upset her. "I do not need any. I do not want to know why a perfectly harmless girl who had given no offence to anyone should be served such a cruel trick."

"Miss Acton..."

"And I do not want to hear that it was just a misunderstanding on my part, because I know it wasn't. Neither do I want to hear any excuses, because what you did is unpardonable. So spare your breath, sir, and leave me alone."

"I am very sorry," Mr. Irving said, sitting down next to Rosalind. "I know it will not be much of a comfort to you, but I really am. All this happened at a time of my life when I was ... not myself. As you said, this is no excuse. There is no excuse for treating a girl the way I treated you, I realise that. It would be easy to put the blame on those friends I associated with at the time, but I won't take the easy way out. I cannot deny that I took an active part in a sordid game, and therefore I am as much at fault as everyone else concerned. You were not supposed to find out about it, though."

"I daresay I wasn't," Rosalind said angrily. "But I did. I overheard your friend -- what was his name? Mr. Reynolds? I heard when he told the story to someone else, I forget who he was. I do not suppose you can imagine what that did to me."

"Had I known that it would make you suffer, I would not have agreed to take part in the scheme. Even at my worst I was not so much of a scoundrel to totally disregard the feelings of others, Miss Acton." Mr. Irving said earnestly. "I got rid of that entire set of cronies when I realised they made me act in a way that made me feel disgusted with myself."

"I suppose you are to be congratulated for doing so," Rosalind said coldly. "But you do not owe me any explanations, and I do not want any."

"Will you accept my apologies, at least?"

"They are a bit late, don't you think?" Rosalind asked.

"Late, but sincere," Mr. Irving said earnestly. "Come, Miss Acton -- we are going to be neighbours. Can't we try to forget what happened and start all over again?"

"What do you mean with starting over?" Rosalind asked suspiciously.

"Merely that I want to be on good terms with all my neighbours," Mr. Irving said. "I do not blame you for having taken me in dislike -- I quite understand why you did. But I mean to show you that I am not such a bad fellow after all. I have changed, Miss Acton. Let's try to be friends."

"I do not think I shall ever be able to see you as a friend," Rosalind said. "It is only fair to tell you as much. But I am quite happy to try and forget what happened between us. I am not particularly proud of the way I behaved at that party."

"There is no need for you to be ashamed," Mr. Irving said. "It was my fault entirely. -- In a way I am glad we talked about that incident," he continued. "Now I know you have a good reason for hating me. I suspected our meeting on the road outside the village could not have been the only cause. It seemed a trifle irrational to me that you should dislike me for such a paltry reason as that."

"Will you promise me one thing, Mr. Irving?" Rosalind asked quietly. "Please do not mention what happened in London to anyone. So far, I have been able to pass myself off as a respectable young female. I'd like things to stay this way, if you do not mind."

"I do not mind at all," Mr. Irving said. "No one shall ever hear about it from me, you may rest assured." He laughed. "But if you keep giving me such dark looks whenever I am near you, some people might start asking questions."

Rosalind laughed. "You are right, some people are quick to sense a scandal," she said. "I'll try to be a good neighbour just to spite them, then."

He smiled. "Could you start by explaining those windows to me," he asked. "Please?"

"But no longer than five minutes," Rosalind said, giving in. "I want to be finished with my cleaning by dinnertime."

Warwick had two prominent landmarks. One was Warwick Castle, and the other was the tower of St Mary's Church. Both welcomed visitors approaching the town from a distance, and even though Rosalind was fairly accustomed to the sight because she had often visited Warwick, it was still awe-inspiring.

She was travelling in Mr. Deane's carriage with her mother and sisters, while her father and Mr. Irving had chosen to go on horseback. It was a fine day -- the sun was shining, but it was not as hot as it had been the week before. Mr. and Mrs. Acton had agreed to go separate ways in town -- Mrs. Acton would take her daughters to the linen-draper's shop they usually frequented, and would have a look in at the milliner's too, while her husband would show Mr. Irving around. They were planning to see the Castle, and St Mary's Church, which was where the entire party would meet again once the ladies had done their shopping. They were going to end their trip with a light repast at a respectable hostelry, and then make their way back to Rampton again.

Rosalind had been greatly relieved when Mr. Irving had arrived at the Rectory that morning, acting as if nothing had happened between them. He had treated her with the same easy courtesy he used with her sisters, and after having made some polite remarks he had turned to her father and left her in peace. During their journey, they did not see anything of him. If the day continued in this manner, Rosalind thought, she would be able to bear it.

They took their time choosing their fabrics in the linen-draper's shop. Rosalind knew what she wanted and was rather quick in making her decision, contrary to her plans. Her sisters were not in a hurry to settle their business. Visits to Warwick and that particular shop were a comparatively rare occasion, and they wanted to make the most of it. They had a look at almost every fabric that was on display, whether they could afford it or not, and discussed its merits at length. Therefore it almost took them two hours until they were able to leave the linen-draper's and move on to the milliner's. Rosalind had the uncomfortable suspicion that it would take her sisters another hour and a half until they could decide on one particular bonnet, but she was proven wrong. The milliner's shop did not have many items on offer that took Beatrice and Miranda's fancy -- after another half hour, they had finished their business and made their way to St Mary's Church where they were to meet the gentlemen.

Mr. Acton and Mr. Irving were inside the church, looking at the works of art to be found in the building. The ladies joined them, and listened while Mr. Acton finished his lecture.

"Now there is only the tower left," he finally said. "You get a stunning view of the countryside from up there. Do you want to go up?"

Mr. Irving said that though he liked the idea of going up the tower, he did not want to keep the ladies waiting.

"But we can go up too," Beatrice said. "We have often climbed the tower, haven't we, Rosie?"

"We have," Rosalind said with a smile. "Do you remember how the boys would make a race of it?"

"Did they?" Mr. Irving asked.

"Oh yes. They always raced up the stairs to see which one of them was the fastest," Beatrice said. "What do you think, Rosie? Shall we go up with Mr. Irving?"

Rosalind saw the look Mr. Irving gave her. It was a challenge, she knew. He expected her to decline, and she decided to disappoint him.

"Why not," she asked. "I have not climbed the tower in a while."

"Are you coming too, Miss Miranda?" Mr. Irving asked.

"Miranda is afraid of heights," Beatrice said before Miranda could answer.

"I am not," Miranda protested. Rosalind assumed that she did not want to appear cowardly, but it would be stupid of her to join them. Everyone in the family knew that Miranda was even afraid to climb a ladder, but she did not want to admit to that weakness in front of strangers. "I'll certainly come with you."

"But, Miranda, the tower is very high," Beatrice reminded her.

"Do you think I do not know?" Miranda asked sharply.

"Are you sure you want to come with us?" Rosalind asked.

"Perfectly sure," Miranda said. "Shall we go?"

Rosalind realised that it would be useless to try and persuade her sister to stay with her parents while she and Beatrice went up the tower with Mr. Irving. For some reason, she did not want to be left behind. Rosalind hoped her youngest sister was not developing a tendre for Mr. Irving -- he did not strike her as the kind of man a girl of sixteen should fall in love with. In fact, she knew he was not. She had not been much older than Miranda when she had first met him. After having ascertained that she had a vinaigrette in her reticule which she could use on her sister if the need arose, Rosalind gave up her opposition and only told Miranda in a whisper that she should stay near her at all times.

Their parents told them they were going to wait for them outside the church. Like her youngest daughter, Mrs. Acton disliked heights, and her husband did not want to leave her all by herself. So they entered the staircase of the tower and slowly made their way up. The spiral staircase was narrow, and there was only room for one person at a time. Beatrice was the first to ascend the stairs, followed by Miranda. Rosalind was next, and Mr. Irving brought up the rear. When they reached the top, Beatrice began pointing out the places of interest to Mr. Irving, while Miranda stayed as far away from the balustrade as possible, trying to look unperturbed. She failed.

"Are you quite well?" Rosalind asked her quietly. "Do you want to go downstairs again?"

"And make a fool of myself?" Miranda asked derisively. "Certainly not."

She made an effort to look cheerful, and attempted to join Beatrice and Mr. Irving at the balustrade. But one look at the square below made Miranda go pale and feel faint. Gripping the balustrade, she averted her eyes from the surrounding countryside and tried to recover her courage. Rosalind was the first to notice her panic, and quickly went to her.

"Come, I'll take you down again," she said determinedly. "You'll faint if you stay up here any longer."

Beatrice was quick to scold her sister for being so foolish as to climb the tower with them when she knew very well that heights terrified her. Rosalind opened her mouth to tell her to be quiet, but Mr. Irving was quicker to reply than she.

"I do not think your lecture will do your sister any good, Miss Beatrice," he said and turned to Miranda. "Do you need assistance, or can you go down those stairs by yourself?"

"She will have to," Beatrice said. "The staircase is too narrow for anyone of us to walk next to her. Stupid girl! She should have stayed downstairs. I knew how it would be!"

"That will do, Beatrice," Rosalind said, kneeling down next to Miranda who had sat down on the floor to avoid looking down. She held her vinaigrette to Miranda's nose, which seemed to revive her a little.

"We must think of a way to get her downstairs," she said, looking up at Mr. Irving.

"I could carry her," Mr. Irving said.

"I am afraid the staircase is too narrow for that," Rosalind said. "We will have to find some other way."

"I'll walk ahead," Mr. Irving said. "Your sister will follow, and you'll go after her. Should she feel faint, I believe the two of us will be able to support her."

Rosalind gave a nod of approval. The idea sounded sensible. She had to hand it to Mr. Irving -- he had his wits about him in moments of crisis.

Slowly but surely they walked down the stairs and, to Rosalind's great relief, they reached the entrance of St Mary's without any problems. Beatrice lost no time in informing her parents of the incident, while Rosalind led Miranda to a pew inside the church and made her sit down.

Miranda was still shaking with fear, and it took her a couple of minutes to calm herself.

"Are you feeling better?" Rosalind asked her quietly. Miranda nodded.

"Why did you go up in the first place?" Rosalind wanted to know.

"Don't start telling me off too," Miranda said.

"I won't. I just wanted to know," Rosalind replied.

"I don't want you to treat me like a baby," Miranda said.

"Did I?"

"No, you didn't -- but Bea did. Answering the questions Mr. Irving had asked me, as if I couldn't speak for myself."

"And so you decided to climb the tower, even though you knew what would happen?"

"It could have been different this time, couldn't it? I might have got rid of that stupid fear of mine by now." Miranda said defensively.

"So now you know the fear is still there," Rosalind said dryly.

"Do you think Mr. Irving is very angry with me? He did not get to see much up there," Miranda said contritely.

"He did not look angry to me," Rosalind reassured her. She looked up and saw their mother and Mr. Irving coming towards them.

"Are you feeling well enough to come to the inn with us?" Mrs. Acton asked Miranda.

"I think I am," Miranda said quietly, and turned to Mr. Irving. "I am sorry I spoiled everything, sir."

"Oh, you did not," Mr. Irving said cheerfully. "I had a wonderful day so far." He then assisted Miranda in getting up, and offered her his arm.

Rosalind followed them with her mother, and could not help worrying. She saw the looks her sister gave Mr. Irving and realised that her fears were not without reason. Miranda was smitten with him, there was no denying it, and there was no telling where this would lead. Right now he was behaving with perfect propriety, and nothing in his manner could be interpreted as taking a special interest in Miranda. But she was familiar enough with a sixteen-year-old girl's way of thinking to know that Miranda would still manage to misconstrue the situation. She only hoped Mr. Irving would realise the danger before it was too late -- and that he would not break Miranda's heart the way he had broken hers.

Part VI

Luckily, none of the Acton ladies saw much of Mr. Irving during the following days. They were too absorbed in their preparations for the charity bazaar to have time for anything else. Rosalind kept visiting Mr. Deane every morning, but Mr. Irving was usually out when she did -- apparently he was going over the property with Mr. Deane's steward, or so Mrs. Piggott said. Only once did Rosalind meet him, when she was on the point of leaving the Manor House.

"Good morning, Miss Acton," he said with a smile. "How is my uncle today?"

"Better, I think," Rosalind said.

"It is a lucky coincidence that I should meet you," he said. "I have been meaning to speak to you ever since yesterday."

"Have you?" Rosalind asked warily.

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had," he explained. "I went to see Rogers today."

"Mr. Rogers the carpenter?"

"That's the man. I want him to build a chair for my uncle."

"A chair?"

"I felt my uncle would like to get out of his room sometimes," Mr. Irving said. "Since he cannot walk, we will need some means to carry him. A chair with handles, so we can carry him downstairs or even outside into the garden. What do you say, Miss Acton?" He gave Rosalind an expectant look.

"It is a good idea, certainly," Rosalind said slowly. "I am sure it would do Mr. Deane a great deal of good to be able to see more than just his bedchamber for a change. But I fear we might tax his strength if we attempted to do any such thing before he has been out of his bed. So far, he has been lying in bed all day. He needs to get used to getting up now and then. Take small steps at a time, Mr. Irving, or you'll do more harm than good."

"You're right, of course," Mr. Irving said, after a moment of thought. "I had not considered this."

"If Philips starts getting your uncle out of bed for a few minutes every day, he might be able to leave his room in a week or two," Rosalind said. "Knowing Mr. Rogers the way I do, the chair will not be ready any time before then anyway."

Mr. Irving laughed. "I will instruct Philips accordingly."

"Let him seat Mr. Deane by the window," Rosalind said. "Mr. Deane has always loved his garden. He'll enjoy the view."

"I will," Mr. Irving said. "Now, where are you going Miss Acton? May I escort you?"

"No, thank you," Rosalind said. "I am only going across the village green, to the school."

"Preparing for the bazaar?" Mr. Irving asked, smiling.

"Quite so. We need to get the room ready," Rosalind said. "There is still a great deal to be done."

"Will you be finished until tomorrow?" Mr. Irving asked.

"Heaven knows," Rosalind said with a sigh. "We will just have to go on working until we are. -- Good bye, Mr. Irving."

Rosalind found her mother and sisters as well as Lady Wilcox, her daughter and Mrs. Fletcher in the schoolroom. While Judith, Beatrice and Miranda assisted Lady Wilcox with her flower arrangements, Mrs. Acton and Mrs. Fletcher were preparing the tables that would serve as stalls, and were negotiating which of the local ladies was to have which stall. Mrs. Fletcher told Mrs. Acton that she did not need a stall for herself, since all she had to sell were her paintings, and they were to adorn the walls. They agreed that Mrs. Jacobs would be very much put out if she did not get the largest table, but since she had not nearly as much merchandise as Mrs. Bates she would have to give way, no matter what idea she had of her own consequence. To soothe her ruffled feathers, Mrs. Acton suggested, they would place Mrs. Jacobs to the left of Lady Wilcox's booth. Mrs. Acton and Miranda were to have the table to the right of Lady Wilcox's, and Rosalind and Beatrice were to sell cakes and beverages opposite the entrance of the room.

Mrs. Fletcher turned to Rosalind with a smile. "Is there any chance we will get a taste of your elderflower cordial, Miss Acton?" she asked. "Please say it is so. I have been looking forward to it for ages!"

Rosalind laughed. "What is so special about my elderflower cordial, Mrs. Fletcher?"

"Only that it is the best of its kind I have ever had," Mrs. Fletcher said. "If I were a man, I'd ask you to marry me just for the sake of it."

"Is this the way to catch a husband?" Rosalind asked, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "All I need to do is get a man addicted to my elderflower cordial? And there I thought I had to make him fall in love with me."

"Men fall in love for the oddest reasons," Mrs. Fletcher replied. "I should know. My husband always said he'd fallen in love with my smile first. Does that sound reasonable? And yet he was a sensible man, not at all prone to insanity."

Impatiently, Rosalind's mother demanded to know whether Rosalind had seen her brothers, who were supposed to help them with hanging the pictures.

"I am afraid they have forgotten all about it," Rosalind said. "I heard William tell Papa that they were planning to go fishing with Martin Wilcox. Had I known you wanted them to assist us I would have reminded them. "

"I should have known," Mrs. Acton said angrily. "Whenever I need them, they just run off. Just wait until I get my hands on them! Surely it is not too much to ask of them if I want them to help us for half an hour or so. Where is your father?"

"He has gone to see old Mother Smith again," Rosalind said. "But he will be back soon, he said, and is going to look in on us before going home."

"Then he will have to hang those pictures," Mrs. Acton said determinedly. "After all it was he who let your brothers go fishing."

Upon his arrival, Mr. Acton raised no objection when his wife presented him with a hammer and a bag of nails and told him to set to work immediately. He readily admitted that he had been at fault for letting the boys go fishing without asking for her opinion, and promised his wife that it would not happen again.

Towards the evening, the school room was ready for the charity bazaar, and the ladies were quite satisfied with the way it looked. It was not quite as elegant as the Long Gallery of Effingham Court would have looked, but it was more likely to attract visitors. The bazaar, they hoped, would be a great success. It had to be, Rosalind thought. The church was in desperate need of a new roof -- as things were, divine service on a rainy Sunday was no fun.

The next morning dawned brightly, and promised to turn into a beautiful sunny day. Rosalind was glad -- had it rained, their bazaar might not have been a success. As it was, many people from the villages surrounding Rampton would be induced to come and see what was going on, and only few would leave without having bought something -- or without having eaten and drunk at least.

Mrs. Acton had arranged cakes and sandwiches on her best china plates, and the arrangement of food looked very tempting. As for beverages, the ladies offered coffee and tea, as well as lemonade and Rosalind's elderflower cordial, which had earned itself some reputation in Rampton. Mrs. Fletcher was not the only person who was partial to it, as Rosalind well knew, and so she had taken care to prepare enough cordial for the occasion.

There was some unpleasantness over Mrs. Bates getting the largest table in the room, just as Mrs. Acton had predicted, but finally Mrs. Jacobs graciously accepted Mrs. Acton's explanation as to why she had been allotted a smaller table. Mrs. Acton pointed out to her that she was to be in close proximity to Lady Wilcox, which seemed to gratify her and made her forget the slight she had had to endure. The ladies arranged their merchandise on their tables, and everything looked just as it ought. Only the customers were missing now, Rosalind thought, and hoped that there would be some before long. She need not have worried. By the time Lady Wilcox opened the bazaar, people were gathering on the village green, impatient to get in.

Rosalind hardly knew how many glasses of elderflower cordial or how many pieces of cake she had sold in the subsequent hour, but there were many of them. She barely registered Mr. Irving's presence until he came to her booth, carrying several parcels.

"Have you found something to your taste, Mr. Irving?" she asked him.

"I did. I bought some embroidered handkerchiefs for my mother," he replied, and turned to Beatrice. "I have been told it was you who made them, Miss Beatrice. May I compliment your skill? They are exquisite!"

"Thank you, sir," Beatrice said. "I hope the present will please your mother."

"No doubt it will," Mr. Irving said. "Now, what refreshment can you offer me, ladies?"

"Coffee, tea, lemonade or elderflower cordial," Rosalind said. "No doubt you will find our collection of drinks quite insipid."

"Why should I?" he asked.

"I daresay you have much more to choose from at similar functions in London."

"Not at this time of day, in any establishment where one is bound to find ladies," Mr. Irving said. "In fact, there's more to choose from here than at Almack's."

Rosalind had never been at Almack's, but she supposed Mr. Irving was right.

"I am afraid I cannot make up my mind," Mr. Irving continued. "What would you recommend?"

"Try Rosie's elderflower cordial, sir," Beatrice said. "Anyone here can tell you it tastes heavenly."

"Beatrice!" Rosalind blushed. "Whatever will Mr. Irving think?"

"I will tell you what I think as soon as I have tried your cordial," Mr. Irving said with a smile.

Beatrice was just in the process of pouring Mr. Irving a glass of cordial when there was some commotion at the door. A pair of very fashionable-looking females entered the schoolroom, and was looking about them in a haughty manner that immediately set up Rosalind's bristles. Lady Wilcox, upon seeing them, instantly left her booth to the sole charge of her daughter and went over to meet them. She greeted the elder of the two ladies in a way that demonstrated the intimacy of their acquaintance, even though no one else in the room knew who the newcomers were -- except Mr. Irving. The moment he had perceived the ladies, he had muttered something under his breath that had been by no means complimentary, judging by the way he looked at the two ladies. When they came over to greet him, however, he had got rid of his exasperated look and faced them calmly.

"Mr. Irving!" the younger of the two ladies exclaimed. "What a delightful coincidence that we should meet you here!"

Rosalind doubted that the meeting was a coincidence, and would have laid any bet against Mr. Irving finding it delightful.

"Miss Delaney," Mr. Irving said stiffly, and bowed.

"So this is where you have been hiding yourself, sir," the elder lady said. "A pretty place, to be sure, though a bit ... rustic."

"I did not know I was hiding, Mrs. Delaney," Mr. Irving said. "Everyone who was interested enough in my movements knew I was going to pay a visit to my infirm great-uncle."

"So this part of the story is true?" Miss Delaney asked, giggling. "I would not have thought it!"

"I am sorry that you should have such a poor opinion of me, Miss Delaney," Mr. Irving merely said.

"Oh, I haven't -- but there are some people in Town who think your tale was just a fib," Miss Delaney said, giving Mr. Irving what she probably thought was her sweetest smile. Rosalind hated her. Miss Delaney was the embodiment of what she detested in other women.

"Come, Patience my dear, what will these good people here think of Mr. Irving?" Mrs. Delaney asked. "As if he were in the habit of telling untruths!"

At that point, Lady Wilcox intervened and introduced Rosalind and Beatrice to her friends.

"Mrs. Delaney used to be a school friend of mine," she said, "and when she wrote to me, telling me that she was going to Leamington to give the waters a fair trial, I decided to invite her to stay with us for a while. -- Come, Albinia, I will show you around."

With a haughty nod, both Mrs. and Miss Delaney took leave of Rosalind and Beatrice, and followed in Lady Wilcox's wake. Mr. Irving watched their progress across the room and heaved a barely perceptible sigh.

"Friends of yours, Mr. Irving?" Rosalind asked maliciously, taking delight in his obvious discomfort.

"Friends of my mother's," he replied coolly. "Mrs. Delaney is a regular visitor at her house."

Miss Delaney turned around and beckoned him. He acknowledged it with a nod, drained his glass and put it down on the table.

"It seems Miss Delaney wishes to speak to me," he said. "Thank you for the cordial -- you were indeed right about it, Miss Beatrice."

He bowed to them, and went over to join the group surrounding Lady Wilcox.

"How lovely," Rosalind said sarcastically. "An addition to Rampton society."

Beatrice laughed. "You do not like them," she said.

"I don't. Do you?"

"I have no reason to," Beatrice said. "Poor Mr. Wilcox!"

"What does Mr. Wilcox have to do with this?" Rosalind asked.

"They are staying at his house," Beatrice said. "And I do not think his shyness will deter Miss Delaney."

"Not likely," Rosalind said darkly.

"That's why I said poor Mr. Wilcox," Beatrice said.

Mr. Wilcox did not seem to realise the danger he was in, or if he had realised it, it did not seem to bother him overly much. He came to their booth shortly after Mr. Irving had left it, together with Mr. Acton and Mr. Trent, the curate of a neighbouring village. Mr. Trent was eight-and-twenty, single and, in one of the Actons' housemaids' words, he "liked the sight of Miss Acton".

"What a delightful gathering," Mr. Trent said to Rosalind. "Your father told me this was your idea, Miss Acton?"

"It was only partly my idea," Rosalind said. "Most of the credit is my mother's due -- and Lady Wilcox's."

"Don't hide your light under a bushel, Rosie," her father said.

"I don't. Just because I said people would be likelier to donate for the church roof if they got something in return, this does not mean the whole bazaar was my doing."

"Modesty is most becoming in a lady," Mr. Trent said. "But you are too modest, Miss Acton. If you are not careful, people will fail to notice your good qualities. Surely you do not want that?"

"I suppose I cannot help it if people fail to see them," Rosalind said. "Still I think it is an abominable practice to be continually fishing for compliments."

"I can absolve you of that sin, my dear," her father said dryly. "Mr. Trent is right; you ought to learn to accept compliments with good grace."

"Did you buy something, Mr. Trent?" Rosalind asked to change the topic.

"I did -- Mrs. Fletcher did a charming water-colour of Kenilworth Castle that quite took my breath away."

"Mrs. Fletcher is a very talented artist, isn't she?" Rosalind said. "I have seen the picture you are talking about -- it is one of her masterpieces. Have you already thought of where you are going to put it?"

"Yes, I have -- I think it will look very well above the fireplace in my study."

"I have no doubt it will," Rosalind said with a smile. That moment she saw Mr. Irving turn around and look from her to Mr. Trent and back with a frown. Somehow this amused her -- without doubt Mr. Irving had not thought she could be attractive to anyone. Well, it was just about time for him to find out that he had been wrong.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Trent?" she asked, giving the curate what she hoped was a sweet smile.

"I have been hoping you'd offer me some of your cordial, Miss Acton," he replied. "Lady Wilcox has said so much in its praise that I cannot leave this place without having tried it."

"But surely you are not going to leave yet," Rosalind said.

"Oh no ... not yet, certainly not yet," Mr. Trent stammered. Rosalind was fully aware that she had given Mr. Trent more encouragement than she had ever done before, even without her father's warning glance directed at her.

Beatrice poured some cordial for the three gentlemen, and even made Mr. Wilcox say something in reply to one of her remarks. This was a good sign, Rosalind thought -- once Beatrice got Mr. Wilcox to speak to her, she would notice that Mr. Wilcox was just as much in love with her as she was with him.

When the gentlemen left Rosalind and Beatrice again, Rosalind was at leisure to watch Miss Delaney and Mr. Irving. It was quite obvious that Miss Delaney was setting her cap at him -- she was an accomplished flirt and not averse to using her charms. Rosalind was not sure whether Mr. Irving was impervious to Miss Delaney's charms or whether he only pretended to be so. They would make a fine couple, Rosalind thought bitterly, as she watched Miss Delaney say something to Mr. Irving and pulling him towards Mrs. Bates' stall. It seemed Miss Delaney had been inaccurately named. She was anything but patient.

Beatrice seemed to think so too. "I do not think Mrs. Delaney showed much insight in naming her daughter," she said.

Rosalind laughed. "It is my firm belief that children who have been named after a virtue will grow up to have any virtue but the one they were named for," she said. "Let us only hope Miss Delaney does not have a sister by the name of Chastity. The family would be facing some serious problems before long."

Beatrice giggled. "Rosalind, you have the wickedest sense of humour," she said.

Rosalind shrugged. "I am my father's daughter," she said. "What did you expect?"

That evening, the bazaar and the new arrivals at Rampton were what occupied the Acton sisters most.

"Do you think Mr. Irving is in love with Miss Delaney?" Rosalind heard Miranda's voice say as she lay in bed, trying to fall asleep.

"He did not look like it," Beatrice said. "Did he, Rosie?"

"No, certainly not," Rosalind said sleepily.

"I hate her," Miranda said passionately.

"You don't even know her," Rosalind said, though she silently agreed with Miranda.

"I don't have to know her to hate her," Miranda said. "I heard some of the things she said to Mr. Irving -- she is so mean! I wish she would go away. No one wants her here."

"She will not leave in a hurry," Rosalind said. She did not like the prospect of meeting Miss Delaney more often, but she was afraid there was nothing she could do to avoid it.

"We'll have to make her then," Miranda said. "I'll talk it over with Judith -- she hates her too."

With some amusement, Rosalind listened to Miranda's plans to get rid of Miss Delaney. If only things were as easy as that, she thought. If only Miss Delaney could be frightened away by some childish tricks played on her. But, according to Rosalind's estimate, the lady was made of sterner stuff. She had her sights on Mr. Irving -- and would not rest until she had him safely in her clutches. Rosalind felt almost sorry for him.

Part VII

The next day, Miranda accompanied Rosalind when she visited Mr. Deane. Her reason for doing so was obvious, though she refrained from mentioning it. Miranda had always been as fond of Mr. Deane as her siblings, but she had never made a fuss about her appearance when they had gone to pay him a visit before. The fact that she had put on her best gown and glanced into the mirror several times before setting out was telling.

To Miranda's great dismay and Rosalind's relief, Mr. Irving had gone out when they came to the Manor House, and so Miranda had to follow her sister to Mr. Deane's room without catching a glance of her hero. Her disappointment was evident, but she was well-bred enough not to let Mr. Deane see any of it.

They found Mr. Deane out of his bed -- he was sitting in an easy chair by the window, propped up by a couple of pillows, looking rather cheerful. He gave Rosalind the lopsided grin she had grown familiar with; as if to indicate that he was proud of the progress he was making.

"Good morning, Mr. Deane!" Rosalind said with a smile. "How are you today?"

Mr. Deane scribbled something on his slate.

Fine.

"Wonderful, Mr. Deane! This is just the news I like to hear," Rosalind said, beaming. "Is this the first time you are out of bed?"

No. Yesterday.

"I can see you find it easier to write, too. You are getting stronger every day, sir. My compliments!"

Not dead yet.

"And not for a long time, I hope," Rosalind said cheerfully. "What would we do without you? You will need to stay around for a while. -- Miranda, why don't you read to Mr. Deane for a few minutes? There are a couple of things I need to settle with Philips."

Leaving her sister with Mr. Deane, Rosalind went to the adjoining dressing room where she knew she would find Mr. Deane's valet. After a short discussion of Mr. Deane's diet and some instructions on how to continue Mr. Deane's exercise, Rosalind returned to the sickroom. With one glance she realised that Mr. Deane was very tired -- having been in bed for weeks, even sitting in a chair by the window for half an hour had exhausted him. Rosalind called for Philips, and took her leave of the old gentleman when Philips had gently lifted him back into his bed.

Miranda did not say anything while they were in the house, but once they were crossing the South Lawn she said, "Mr. Deane is very ill, isn't he?" It was evident that she had not really thought so before.

"A stroke is not a bout of the flu," Rosalind said. "It is not as if it will heal and leave no trace of illness behind."

"You mean he will never be able to walk again?"

"It is not likely," Rosalind said. "Probably he will not be able to talk either."

For a few moments, Miranda seemed struck and said nothing. Then her mind turned to another subject.

"Too bad Mr. Irving was not at home," she sighed.

"He is never at home when I pay my visits to Mr. Deane," Rosalind said. She thought it was useful to point this out to her sister. She had no objection to Miranda visiting Mr. Deane, but she thought it was wrong to do so merely to run across his nephew.

"Why not?" Miranda asked, surprised.

"He told me he'd make sure not to be in when I called. For reasons of propriety."

"Propriety?"

"Mr. Irving thinks it is not proper for him to be at home while I am calling on his uncle," Rosalind said. "He believes people might talk."

"What nonsense," Miranda snorted. "Why should it be improper? It is not as if you were calling on him, after all."

"No, but you know there are people who'd be ready to believe anything bad if it entertains them," Rosalind replied. "Unfortunately, it is much more entertaining to think ill of other people than to think well of them."

Miranda giggled. "I suppose you are right," she said. "But if I am with you to chaperon you, Rosie, there is no need for Mr. Irving to stay away, is there?"

"It is very generous of you to lend me countenance," Rosalind said dryly. She was almost certain that Miranda had not made the offer to protect her virtue.

"You make me sound like an old matron," Miranda giggled. "But really, I think we ought to tell Mr. Irving he need not take the trouble to go out every morning just because you are calling on his uncle. Surely he'd rather stay at home."

"I told him he need not go away, and still he prefers to do so," Rosalind said. "I do hope you will not tell him to stay because you will be calling along with me. It is a shockingly forward thing to do, and gentlemen do not like forward girls."

Well, perhaps they did, she added mentally, but they certainly did not respect them.

"Mr. Irving seems to like Miss Delaney," Miranda protested. "And if she is not forward I do not know who is."

"We do not know whether he likes her," Rosalind reassured her sister, even though she had to admit that it would be more convenient to make her sister believe he did. "Mr. Irving is a well-bred gentleman, and he treated Miss Delaney the way he is supposed to do. This does not indicate any liking on his part, merely good manners."

"You are right, of course," Miranda said, sounding relieved. Rosalind cursed herself for not having made use of a perfect opportunity to set Miranda in her place -- but she disliked the notion of telling lies to achieve one's goal, even if it was such a laudable one as talking her sister out of her infatuation with Mr. Irving.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon and Rosalind decided to go out and gather some more elderflowers. She had used up her entire stock to make elderflower cordial for the charity bazaar, and needed some more because elderflowers were an essential ingredient for the herbal tea she made if anyone in the household had a cold. So she took two baskets, told her mother what she was about to do, and set out into the fields surrounding the village.

Rosalind loved this time of the year. The farmers had just made hay, so the grass on the meadows was relatively short and she could walk across them to reach the hedgerows without doing any damage to the harvest. The Warwickshire scenery looked beautiful in the glowing sunlight, and listening to the birdsong made Rosalind feel content and at peace with herself.
She walked to a hedgerow that bordered Mr. Deane's property, which contained many elder trees, and set to work there. She had not been the first one to raid those trees. Most farmers in the area knew about the healing power of elderflowers, and had sent their children out to pick as many as they could carry. Besides, the season for the flowers was almost over -- many of them were at the point of turning into berries.

The best flowers were to be found in the upper regions of the trees where children's hands could not reach them, and so Rosalind had to stretch and, at some occasions, even climb the stone wall to get hold of them. Her progress was not as quick as she had thought it would be, and by the time her first basket was full she was hot and tired and lay down in the grass to rest for a couple of minutes. Watching the clouds go by and trying to identify the shapes they were making, Rosalind fell asleep and only awoke when, suddenly, someone touched her shoulder.

"What..." she began, sitting up, and looked into Mr. Irving's smiling face.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Acton," he said. "But I needed to make sure you were not injured."

"Why should I be?" Rosalind asked.

"You were lying at the foot of a stone wall," Mr. Irving said. "For all I knew you could have taken a fall while picking elderflowers."

"With all the flowers remaining in the basket?" Rosalind asked, with an amused smile.

"You are right, it was silly of me to be worried," he said, looking hurt.

"No ... it was very kind of you, really," Rosalind said, and then blushed when she saw his grin. "You know what I meant to say," she said crossly, getting up and brushing her skirt to hide her embarrassment.

"I am not sure I do," Mr. Irving said.

"What I meant to say was that it was kind of you to inquire whether I was hurt or not," Rosalind said. "I should be grateful -- who knows how long I'd have slept, had it not been for you. What is the time, by the way?"

"Four o'clock."

Rosalind was relieved. She had probably not slept for much longer than a quarter of an hour. Her mother had not sent out a search party just yet.

She picked up the second, empty basket and said, briskly, "Thank you for waking me, Mr. Irving. I need to get on with my work now, or I'll never be finished before dinner time."

"May I help you?" Mr. Irving asked. Rosalind hesitated.

"Surely two people will get the work done more quickly than just one," he said. "Besides I am taller than you, and can reach the upper branches more easily."

"Well..." Rosalind began.

"Naturally, if my company is repugnant to you, I shall leave," Mr. Irving said, looking towards his horse that was tied to one of the trees a couple of yards away.

"No, you need not," Rosalind said quickly. "If you really wish to help me and have nothing else to do -- I would not wish to keep you from your duties, sir."

"I have not planned anything for today that cannot be postponed for an hour or two," Mr. Irving said, walking towards a promising elder tree and climbing the stone wall to reach the top branches.

They worked in silence for about half an hour until the basket was filled with flowers.

"There you are," Mr. Irving said. "Do you want me to carry the baskets home for you?"

"No, thank you," Rosalind said. "They aren't heavy. I can carry them myself."

"I'll escort you home," Mr. Irving said, untying his horse.

"There is no need to do so," Rosalind pointed out. "This is Rampton. Surely no harm can befall me here."

"I do not wish to doubt that," Mr. Irving said. "But a gentleman is supposed to escort a lady, isn't he?"

"Not if the lady does not wish him to," Rosalind said.

He laughed. "You don't trust me, do you?"

"No farther than I can throw you," Rosalind agreed. "And with good reason too, you have to admit."

"You need not fear for your virtue, Miss Acton."

"I don't. I have grown older and more sensible since we met in London. No one will trick me quite as easily now as you did then."

"Are you sure you have grown more sensible," Mr. Irving asked provocatively.

"Absolutely," Rosalind and, deciding that she did not wish to discuss her character with Mr. Irving, took her leave and walked away. Mr. Irving, however, was not easily shaken off.
He followed her along the lane, keeping a respectful distance until Rosalind stopped.

"This is ridiculous," she said.

"I couldn't agree more," Mr. Irving replied.

"Why don't you get on your horse and ride away?"

"Because I want to escort you home," he said. "I told you so."

"Very well," Rosalind said. "Escort me, if you must, but don't expect any conversation."

He laughed. "I won't."

Silently, they walked along the lane leading to Rampton, each of them following their own train of thought. Rosalind could not fail to notice that Mr. Irving, from time to time, cast a sidelong glance at her, but she tried to ignore it. At last, when they had almost reached the village, a gig approached them from behind, travelling in the direction of Rampton. The driver stopped the gig next to them, and Rosalind gave him a welcoming smile. It was Mr. Trent.

"Good afternoon, Miss Acton," he said, beaming at her. "Are you on your way home?"

"I am," Rosalind said.

"Then will you allow me to take you home?"

"Certainly, sir, if it is not very inconvenient for you." Rosalind said, noticing Mr. Irving's scowl as she accepted Mr. Trent's offer.

"Oh no, it is not," Mr. Trent assured her. "In fact, I am going to pay Mr. Acton a visit."

"My father will be pleased to see you, to be sure. He is fond of your conversation," Rosalind said and turned to Mr. Irving. "In this case, I need not trespass on your chivalry any more, sir," she said with a smile. "You can have no objection to letting Mr. Trent take me home, especially since it is not at all out of his way."

Mr. Irving bowed and said that he had no objection, but his expression belied his words. Mr. Trent moved over to make room for Rosalind, and Mr. Irving handed her and her baskets into the gig.
Once Mr. Trent had set the vehicle in motion again, Rosalind saw Mr. Irving mount his horse and speed off in the opposite direction. This was strange, she thought. Why did he not go home? Surely he had been heading for that direction when they had met.

Mr. Trent's cheerful talk soon diverted her mind from Mr. Irving and his destination, and when they arrived at the Rectory Rosalind decided it was none of her business wherever Mr. Irving chose to go. She decided not to worry about him any more. He was certainly not worth it.

Arriving at Rampton Rectory, Rosalind thanked Mr. Trent for taking her home and, once the visitor had entered her father's study, took her baskets of elderflowers upstairs to the attic. There she took a clean linen-sheet, laid it out on the floor and spread the elderflowers on top of it to dry. While working, she thought of Mr. Irving and his behaviour that day. Why had he looked so angry when she had accepted Mr. Trent's offer to take her home? Surely he had not expected her to walk on with him if such an opportunity was offered to her? If so, Rosalind decided, his annoyance was his own fault. He had no claim on her, after all, and if she chose to be taken home by a dozen gentlemen he would have to live with that.

Rosalind worried about Miranda though. She wondered whether she should drop a word of warning in Mr. Irving's ear, but had no idea how to accomplish the task. She would not get a chance to speak to him privately, and to be honest she did not really want to. She did not want to write to him either -- not because such a plan offended her sense of propriety but because she was not certain whether he'd be the only person to read her note.

Upon reflection, however, Rosalind decided that Mr. Irving was not a green youth but a young man with no inconsiderable experience with women. Surely he knew how to handle Miranda and her infatuation.

Having finished her work, Rosalind went to her room, washed and put on a clean gown before she went downstairs into the drawing room.

There she found her mother and sisters discussing Mr. Trent. Apparently, her father had invited him to dine with them, which had upset her mother. Hospitable as she was, she did not like having to provide dinner for a visitor at such short notice.

"We will just have to stretch our dinner as far as possible," Mrs. Acton said disapprovingly. "I daresay Mr. Trent will think it a shabby affair, but what is a woman to do?"

"Mr. Trent will surely understand, Mama," Beatrice said. "You know he is a very modest man, and does not expect anyone to go out of their way to please him."

"Besides," Miranda chimed in, "he'll be too busy staring at Rosie to notice what is on his plate."

"He does not stare, Miranda," Rosalind said calmly and sat down on the sofa next to her mother.

"But he keeps looking at you whenever he thinks no one will notice," Beatrice said. "He did so at the bazaar yesterday."

"It would have been rude not to look at me when he was speaking to me, Bea," Rosalind merely said.

"Are you in love with Mr. Trent, Rosie?" Miranda blurted out, giggling.

"Nonsense," Rosalind said curtly. "Besides, I wonder what business of yours it would be if I were."

"Stop bickering, girls," Mrs. Acton admonished.

"I am not bickering, Mama, I was just trying to make Miranda get rid of a misapprehension," Rosalind said. "But now that I have made matters clear to her I hope there won't be any need to continue the discussion."

She picked a stocking that needed mending out of her workbasket and began her work, and for a couple of minutes no one talked.

"You could do worse," Mrs. Acton suddenly said.

Rosalind looked up from her stitching. "Are you talking to me, Mama?"

"Indeed I am. I said you could do worse."

"Worse than what, Mama?"

"You could do worse than marry Mr. Trent," Mrs. Acton said.

"Have I missed something?" Rosalind asked with a smile. "Mr. Trent has never offered for me, and what gives you the idea that he would?"

"I am only saying, Rosalind, that if he did offer for you you'd be a fool to refuse him."

"Then perhaps I am a fool," Rosalind merely said, hoping she need not say more to make her mother comprehend her opinion.

Luckily, at that moment William and Henry entered the room, and Richard followed them only a few moments later. Mrs. Acton therefore remained silent, and left Rosalind to her uncomfortable thoughts. Had her mother been trying to give her a hint? Rosalind knew that Mr. Trent seemed to have taken a liking to her, and in a way his attentions were flattering. Still, she could not see him in the role of her future husband. Despite his kind nature and even his undeniably good looks, he was not the kind of man Rosalind felt she could fall in love with, and she had never thought of marrying a man she did not love.

True, she was twenty-one years of age, and no doubt her mother feared she'd dwindle into an old maid before long, but Rosalind felt she was not at her last prayers yet. She might not be the prettiest girl in the world -- the truth be told, she was not even the prettiest girl in Rampton -- and she was not rich enough to tempt anyone either, but she felt that this did not exclude her from the circle of marriageable females. She had seen many a woman who was uglier, or poorer than she, or both, who had still managed to catch herself a husband. It could not be so very difficult after all.

Part VIII

Rosalind hoped that Mr. Trent got the hint that evening. She did not want to marry him, and did not want to subject him to the painful humiliation of being openly rejected. So there was only one course of action available to her -- she had to hint him away before he got to the point of proposing.

This was not as easy as it sounded, however. Mrs. Acton had seated Mr. Trent between herself and Rosalind at the dinner table, and naturally Rosalind was expected to take part in the conversation. Mr. Trent beamed at her whenever she answered one of his remarks, and apparently mistook her civility for affection.

The topic of their dinner conversation was not a very safe one either. Mr. Trent mentioned that he had had news from his uncle in Staffordshire, who was going to provide him with a living as soon as its present incumbent either retired or died. Apparently, Mr. Trent did not have to wait for much longer. The current vicar of the parish he was to take over had become sickly of late, and was thinking of retiring. Mr. Trent admitted that although he was not supposed to rejoice in somebody else's misfortune he could not help but be glad about the way things were developing.

"In my present position, my income is only just large enough to provide for me," he said. "But I do not want to stay alone forever. Therefore the sooner I can take over the parish in Staffordshire, the better it will be."

"You will be missed here, I am sure," Mr. Acton said. "From what I have heard, you are well liked in Dalby."

Mr. Trent smiled. "I must say I have become fond of the place," he said, "and were I offered the living there I'd certainly accept it. But this is not likely to happen, so I will have to leave the place sooner or later. I must think of my future."

"Certainly," Mr. Acton agreed. "You should make use of any chance that is offered you."

Feeling that any expression of regret on her part could be interpreted as some more encouragement, Rosalind refrained from saying anything of that sort. She merely remarked that Mr. Trent must be looking forward to his new position, and turned her attention to her dinner.

It was her brother Henry that made her pay attention to the general conversation again. He had been at Effingham Court that morning, and told his family all about the guests staying there. Rosalind noted with satisfaction that the Delaney ladies had not made a good impression on her brother. Mrs. Delaney, according to Henry, was a cantankerous lady who was determined to find fault with everything. During the short time he had spent paying his respects to the ladies, she had complained about her room (too draughty), the servants (too slow), the weather (much too hot for the time of year) and the food Lady Wilcox had given them (too rich for her poor stomach). At the same time her daughter had done her best to catch the attention of every gentleman present, had flirted with poor Martin Wilcox who had not known how to deal with her and had finally retreated to the billiard room, she had deliberately dropped her needlework so that Mr. Irving had to pick it up and admire it, and had treated Judith Wilcox with a condescension that Miss Wilcox had found hard to bear.

"I do now know how Lady Wilcox came to have such friends," he ended his narrative. "I always thought very highly of her good sense."

"I admire her good sense, Henry," Mrs. Acton said, giving her son a look of reproach. "Perhaps Mrs. Delaney was different in her school days."

"Must have been so," Henry agreed. "But I guess that by the end of three days Lady Wilcox will wish her at Jericho, and I cannot blame her."

Rosalind looked at Beatrice, who did not seem too pleased to hear about Miss Delaney flirting with Mr. Wilcox, though the fact that Mr. Wilcox refused to be flirted with seemed to gratify her.

The evening ended rather pleasantly, for despite Rosalind's fears Mr. Trent did not seek her company but sat down to play backgammon with his host. William read to them, and Rosalind and her sisters busied themselves with their needlework -- Rosalind finished mending her stockings, Beatrice was embroidering a handkerchief and Miranda was crocheting a shawl.

Since everyone was busy, Rosalind could allow herself to follow her own train of thought. She wondered how well Mr. Irving and Miss Delaney knew each other. He had said the Delaneys were friends of his mother's, but Miss Delaney had treated him with a most possessive air. There had to be more to it than just a friendship between their families, and Rosalind did not like the thought. Though, Rosalind thought with some satisfaction, Mr. Irving had not seemed very pleased when he had seen Miss Delaney at the bazaar. On the contrary, there had been something like annoyance in his eyes before he had regained his composure and greeted Miss Delaney. Perhaps Miss Delaney had followed Mr. Irving to Warwickshire in the mistaken belief that he felt more affection for her than was actually the case? She would not have been the first young lady be misled in such a way, Rosalind thought bitterly. Still, even if this could be so, Rosalind could not bring herself to pity her.

Henry interrupted her musings. "You look gloomy tonight," he said, sitting down next to her.

"Do I? I'm sorry," Rosalind said. "I do not want to spoil anyone's evening."

"Oh, you couldn't, Rosie, not even if you tried," Henry said, smiling. "But here is something to cheer you up. Did Mama tell you that we are invited to dine with the Wilcoxes tomorrow?"

"No, she did not mention it," Rosalind said.

"Lady Wilcox said she'd be very grateful if we could find the time," Henry said with a grin. "No doubt she wants some agreeable company for a change."

Rosalind laughed. "You are wicked, Henry."

"No, I'm not. Just perceptive."

"You do not like the Delaneys?" Rosalind asked.

"I have yet to meet someone who does," Henry said. "Apart from Lady Wilcox, who probably feels she ought to like Mrs. Delaney for old times' sake. But even she is going to change her mind before long, mark my words, if Mrs. Delaney goes on the way she does."

Rosalind did not know Mrs. Delaney and her daughter very well yet, but she had to admit that her impression of them coincided with her brother's. Amiable and kind as Lady Wilcox was, she would not put up with a pair of guests behaving in such a way as the Delaneys did. But since the rules of hospitality forbade her to show them the door, there was not much Lady Wilcox could do to get rid of them, and while they stayed it was her duty to entertain them as best she could. Rosalind pitied her, and hoped that the quiet country life the Wilcoxes were leading would soon drive the Delaneys away. They did not look like the sort of people who'd endure such a life for long, so if Lady Wilcox was wise she would not go out of her way to entertain them.

Rosalind's opinion of Mrs. Delaney and her daughter did not improve during the following evening. Had the Delaney ladies resolved to be as disagreeable as possible, they could not have succeeded any more than they did by being their natural selves.

It began when the guests arrived at Effingham Court. Mrs. and Miss Delaney found it very difficult to remember the names of people they had met only two days before, and Miss Delaney gave every young lady an appraising and then pitying look, designed to make them feel duly inferior. Rosalind had her fair share of this kind of treatment. Upon Lady Wilcox's re-introduction, Miss Delaney looked Rosalind up and down with a superior smile, and then said, patronisingly, "We have met before, I presume."

"We have," Rosalind said without much enthusiasm. "At the bazaar."

"Oh yes, the bazaar." Miss Delaney said. "I must admire your endurance -- I could not have stayed there for longer than an hour -- a terrible crowd, wasn't it, all sorts of people too , and the heat was unbearable -, but I have been told the Parsonage ladies remained in the village school all day."

"We were supposed to," Rosalind said. "St George's Church is going to benefit by the proceeds, after all. I have to admit though that I enjoyed myself very much."

"I see. Well, I daresay for someone who does not get much in the way of entertainment such a function is delightful. I prefer Almack's, however." Miss Delaney said condescendingly.

"Almack's is indeed a place more fitting for refined young ladies," Rosalind said dryly. "Yet I have been told the assemblies there are a rather insipid affair."

"Oh, do stick to this opinion, Miss Acton," Miss Delaney said viciously. "It will keep you from repining. I do not think you will ever set foot there."

"No," Rosalind said, with an amused smile. It took more than denying her access to a place she did not want to see to insult her. "I am afraid I am not refined enough to be admitted."

Miss Delaney gave Rosalind's attire another critical look. "You are quite right," she said coldly, and then turned back to her mother. Rosalind was glad to escape and sat down with her sisters, who were seething with anger.

"If she hates everyone here so much, why is she staying?" Miranda whispered. "No one would be sad if she left."

That moment Mr. Irving entered the room, and Miss Delaney immediately went to greet him.

"I think there is your answer," Rosalind whispered back. "Right now, Warwickshire is by far more attractive than London."

"Do you think she'd leave if Mr. Irving fell in love with someone else?" Miranda asked.

"From what I have seen of her," Rosalind replied, "Miss Delaney does behave like the kind of female who'd think that impossible."

"Did she treat you like a country bumpkin too?" Beatrice asked. "The way she looked at me one might have supposed I was a beggar in the street."

"Something the cat had dragged in, in my case. She must like you," Rosalind said. "But I do not mind it. I'd have more reason to be concerned if she approved of me, and her pitiful attempts at affronting me were amusing, nothing else."

At that moment, Judith Wilcox sat down next to Miranda.

"How can you stand Miss Delaney?" Miranda asked her in a whisper.

"Oh, she is not so bad," Judith said with a pained smile. "When she is sleeping."

"Is there no way to get rid of her?" Miranda asked.

"I am afraid not," Judith said gloomily. "Martin refuses to cooperate."

"What does Mr. Wilcox have to do with it?" Beatrice asked suspiciously.

"He says he will not catch any snakes for me to put into Miss Delaney's bed," Judith said. "He says it is an un-gentlemanlike thing to do. How can it be un-gentlemanlike to do his sister a favour, I want to know?"

Beatrice laughed. "I believe you can count on your brother in serious issues," she said. "He just does not want to play a part in this one."

"But this issue is serious," Judith said. "They are going to drive Mama crazy if we do not take action to prevent it. I told Martin so but he told me to stop being ridiculous."

Beatrice looked incredulous -- she could not believe that Mr. Wilcox, who was so shy that he barely spoke to her, could be so rude to his sister. Before she could express her disbelief, however, Mr. Wilcox himself joined them, and she refrained from doing so. Instead she tried to draw him out, and was more successful than usual. Mr. Wilcox seemed to be in a talkative mood and even went so far as to sit down beside Beatrice to talk to her. Rosalind noticed that the fact was not at all to Miss Delaney's liking. The looks she gave them were poisonous, to say the least. Rosalind put her down as the kind of female who would not rest until she had every man in her acquaintance languishing at her feet, while the entire female population might well disappear from the earth as far as she was concerned. She had met more than one woman like that, most of them in London. Perhaps this was what London life did to a young lady, Rosalind thought. They were supposed to outshine each other, to make the most brilliant match of the Season, to be wittier, more beautiful and more elegant than everybody else. The thought did not make Rosalind like Miss Delaney any more than she did, but she could see where her attitude towards her contemporaries came from.

"Rosie, are you listening?" Miranda suddenly asked. "You look as if your thoughts were miles away."

"I am sorry," Rosalind said. "What did you say?"

"Mr. Wilcox asked if we'd join his family on a trip to Kenilworth Castle tomorrow," Miranda said. "Do you think we may go?"

"You will have to ask Mama, not me," Rosalind said and turned to Mr. Wilcox. "Lady Wilcox seems to take great pains to entertain her guests," she said.

"Oh yes, she does," Mr. Wilcox agreed.

"Do you have reason to believe that Mrs. and Miss Delaney are interested in the Castle?" Rosalind asked.

"Well..." Mr. Wilcox stuttered, "I ... I saw Miss Delaney read The Castle of Otranto the other day, so ... so I suggested it to her and she ... she said she would surely enjoy a visit to Kenilworth Castle."

"Then let us hope she will not be disappointed when she finds Kenilworth Castle in ruins," Rosalind said. "If Miss Delaney wants to climb ancient towers and castle walls she had better go to Warwick."

"I did tell her there were only ruins at Kenilworth," Mr. Wilcox said. "She said she loved ruins. She ... she thinks they are romantic."

Rosalind and Beatrice looked at each other and giggled. Romantic, indeed. Rosalind did not think Miss Delaney actually knew the meaning of that expression, but refrained from saying a word about it, not wishing to appear catty.

She noticed Mr. Irving was looking in her direction, but though he gave her a polite nod he did not come over to talk to her. Despite herself, Rosalind was disappointed. Considering they had spent half an afternoon gathering elderflowers together the day before, one might have assumed he'd come over and talk to her. Luckily, Rosalind's ability for rational thought soon returned. She had to admit to herself that she had offended Mr. Irving by leaving his company so readily when Mr. Trent had turned up. He had tried not to show it, of course, but the signs had been noticeable all the same. It was no wonder that he did not wish to talk to her now, Rosalind thought dejectedly. Still, she could not forgive him for preferring Miss Delaney's company to hers. However unkind she had been to him, she was still better company than Miss Delaney.

At the dinner table, Lady Wilcox formally invited her guests to join her family and the Delaneys on their outing to Kenilworth Castle the next day. Though Mr. and Mrs. Acton declined the invitation for themselves, they allowed their children to go and hoped they would enjoy themselves. Rosalind doubted that, and tried to find an excuse for staying behind. The last thing she wanted was to spend a day watching Miss Delaney trying to dig her claws into Mr. Irving.

"What about Mr. Deane?" she asked. "He will be by himself all day. I'd better go and keep him company while Mr. Irving is gone."

Mr. Irving looked at her across the table. "If my going means that you will have to stay at home, Miss Acton, I won't go. I'll stay with Uncle Francis, do not worry."

"There is no need for you..." Rosalind began, but was interrupted by her father.

"I see no reason why any of you should stay behind," he said. "I will go and visit Mr. Deane tomorrow when you are gone."

"My uncle will be pleased to see you, sir," Mr. Irving said.

"Well, if you do not mind, Papa," Rosalind said, giving in.

"I do not," Mr. Acton said. "You know I have always enjoyed my visits at the Manor House. You go off and have fun at Kenilworth."

Rosalind saw the poisonous look Miss Delaney gave her. She did not know whether it was because she was to go to Kenilworth along with her or because she had distracted Mr. Irving's attention from her. Probably for both reasons, she finally decided, and perhaps a couple of other reasons she was not aware of either.

Had it not been for the Delaneys, Rosalind would have looked forward to the outing. Kenilworth was beautiful, and though she had been there quite often she always looked forward to seeing the place again. Besides she knew that Lady Wilcox was an excellent hostess, and would treat them to her cook's famous delicacies. Lady Wilcox's cook was said to be the best in the county, and for that reason invitations to Effingham Court were never declined. Still, not even the beautiful scenery and excellent food could make Rosalind look forward to the trip. Perhaps a miracle would happen, and she'd fall ill before the next morning. Or Miss Delaney fell ill and her mother decided to stay behind to nurse her. Rosalind rather preferred that option, although she knew such thoughts were evil. Her thoughts had never taken such a direction before. Rosalind blamed Miss Delaney -- that woman was capable of bringing out the worst in her.

So, all in all, the trip to Kenilworth was nothing to look forward to. She would have to face a catty Miss Delaney, Mrs. Delaney who was no better than her daughter as far as Rosalind could judge, and a resentful Mr. Irving. She'd probably have to stick to Miranda and Judith Wilcox all day, and though Rosalind loved her sister she was not fond enough of Judith Wilcox to fancy doing so. Rosalind hoped for rain.

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