Page 77 of Scandal at Greystone Manor

‘He is in the garden somewhere with some of the folks from Witherington. They decided they wouldn’t be bested by Hadlea and came to help. Shall I fetch him?’

‘No, let him be. I just want to show Miss Cavenhurst what we have done.’

‘Made a transformation, that’s what,’ she said, then to Jane, ‘Miss Cavenhurst, I heard you’d had another accident. I hope you have recovered.’

‘Yes, thank you. It was entirely my own fault. I am quite well now.’

‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’

‘When we have finished looking round, we will welcome tea, thank you,’ Mark said, leading the way indoors.

The interior had also been cleaned and painted in cream and light green and, with the ivy gone, the rooms were light and airy. ‘Oh, Mark, to think all this was done while I was idling at Broadacres.’

‘You have friends, Jane, a great many friends,’ he said softly. ‘Not just me.’

She was tempted to say he was more than a friend, but decided it would be unwise. She went from room to room—everywhere was the same. ‘It is ready to furnish,’ she said, as they made their way up the repaired stairs. ‘Do we have enough money?’

‘I think so, but we must continue to raise more. There is the fair, of course. And my mother has said she will open the house and grounds and give a musical recital for her friends. I am sure they can be persuaded to give freely.’

‘That is very kind of Lady Wyndham, but she is still in mourning, Mark.’

‘She says she will wait until the six months is up, but she is sure that is what my father would have wished. He was all in favour of your idea, as you know. In the meantime we can go ahead with the fair.’

They were standing at the window of the largest bedroom, looking out at a group of people clearing the overgrown garden and piling the rubbish into a heap for a bonfire. She was right; concentrating on the home was making her personal unhappiness almost bearable, but she wondered what all these good people would say if they knew the truth.

* * *

They had finished their tour and talked about furnishings and the fair while they sat in the kitchen drinking tea, then set off back to Hadlea.

‘I can’t thank you enough, Mark,’ she said. ‘You have made a dream possible.’

‘There is another dream I would like to make possible...’

‘Don’t, Mark. Please don’t.’

They were passing the place where they had had their picnic and he pulled up, just as he had before. ‘Let us walk a little.’

He helped her down and they walked into the field, where a footpath ran round the perimeter. There was wheat growing in it, almost ripe enough to harvest, but even Jane, who was no farmer, could see it would not be abundant and unlikely to be good enough for making bread. But it was not the state of the harvest which occupied her now, but the fact that Mark had hold of her hand and was drawing her into his arms.

‘Mark, you mustn’t.’

‘Yes, I must.’ He bent to kiss her. He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her neck, the round softness at the top of her breasts, peeping above the scooped neck of the striped-gingham dress she wore. It sent a ripple of sensation right through her body and into her groin. She clung to him, not wanting him to stop. It was he who pulled away, breathing heavily.

‘I’m sorry, Jane, my love, my dearest love, I have not made it easy for you, have I?’

‘No, you have not, but don’t be sorry, unless you regret it.’

‘Regret it! Oh, my love. How could I?’ He went to draw her to him again, but she stepped backwards.

‘No, Mark. No more. Take me home before we both do something we regret.’

‘Very well.’ He put his hand under her elbow to guide her back to the carriage. ‘There has to be a way out of this mess, there just has to be and I will find it, I promise you.’

* * *

Everyone was pleased to have her home, telling her how well she looked and that the rest had done her good. ‘Now, you are not to go dashing about as you have been doing,’ her mother said, sitting beside Jane on her bed while Bessie unpacked the few clothes that had been taken to Broadacres. ‘It is why you have these accidents. Do take more care in future.’

‘Mama, I cannot be idle. It leaves me too much time to think.’

‘Ah, I understand. You know Lord Bolsover has left the village?’

‘Isabel told me. I suppose it is too much to hope he has given up and won’t be back.’

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