“It really is the tiniest sprain, Sir Thomas, and I wish you would not fuss so,” she said, wriggling a bit, trying to get free.
“Hold still, you silly child,” he said, holding her more firmly. “Do you want to send me tumbling down the stairs? I haven’t recovered from that last crack on the head you gave me.”
He pushed open the door to her bedroom and deposited her on the bed, and then sank down beside her, a little breathless from the effort.
“Now, I will go down to Stamford and get Hepburn the surgeon for you,” he said after a pause.
“Not tonight. It is not so bad as that.”
“If you were one of my horses I would not let this pass.”
“Well, I am not,” said Griselda.
“No, you’re my wife and I ought to take more care of you than of my horses,” he said.
“There is no need to get the surgeon. Hannah can make me a poultice for it, and if I rest it properly…”
“If you are sure?”
“Quite sure. Perhaps Mr Hepburn might look at it tomorrow.”
“Very well,” he said, and got up. He reached under the counterpane and extracted a couple of pillows, and having gently lifted Griselda’s leg, tucked them underneath her ankle. Then he untied the ribbons of her evening sandal and took it off.
“Shall I take your stocking off?” he asked. “The poultice will work better if I do.”
Griselda was now lying flat on her back, staring up at the silk canopy above her. She was trying to think of nothing, but she was all too aware of his fingertips brushing across the top of her toes.
“Shall I?” he asked again.
“Er, yes,” she managed to say, but was not quite sure she would be able to bear it if he did.
He turned back her skirt and she felt him fumble slightly as he unfastened the garter. And then he touched the bare skin inside her thigh as he rolled the top of her stocking down. She closed her eyes and lay almost paralysed with a mixture of delight and horror as he pushed it down to her ankle.
“I’ll try not to make it worse,” he said, and slipped it over her heel. She gasped. There had been a little pain in moving it, but that was not what was uppermost in her mind. She lay there breathing heavily and she could hear him breathing too, as if he too were tempted again.
Then he gave a slight cough and stood up. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there, rolling up her stocking.
“I’ll go and tell Hannah to see to a poultice.”
“Yes, and then you had better go back to our guests.”
He smiled briefly.
“You have made many friends there, I think,” he said. “For a moment I worried that you might think our customs strange here. A little improper, perhaps.”
“How could I?” she said, raising herself on her elbows to look at him properly. “When I thought everything was just as it ought to be.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Very glad.” There was another pause. “I’ll send Hannah to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Rest well, then. I don’t want you lame,” he said and then added, with a touch of emotion. “I could not bear it if you were.”
“I will rest, I promise.”
“Good,” he said, going towards the door.
“Sir Thomas,” Griselda said, wanting to stop him.
“Yes?”
“About the shawl,” she began. “I was wrong, very wrong in what I did. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Of course. If you will accept the shawl?”
“Yes. It is very fine.”
“Good,” he said. “Good. Well, I must get Hannah for you.”
The door closed behind him and Griselda sank down onto her back again. Outwardly she might have been still, but inwardly she was far from at peace. Her ankle was throbbing but it was nothing compared to the aching of her heart. How desirable he was – and yet how impossible it was to desire him, at least not without tearing her conscience to shreds like a piece of worn-out linen.
***
Tom closed the door, and stood on the landing for a moment, his back to the door, half-crazed with temptation. Why should he not go straight back into her room? She did not need a maid and a poultice as urgently as he needed her. She had been enchanting that evening. The moment the children had come, she had seemed to forget her grudges. He thought of her kneeling on the floor, in a pool of black velvet, smiling and putting them all at their ease. She had known exactly what to do and had done it perfectly. And to see her laughing – it was like drinking a glass of rare tokay. He felt completely intoxicated and bewildered.
“Is everything all right, Sir Thomas?”
Mrs Austin was coming up the stairs towards him.
“Yes, she’s resting.”
“Well, I shan’t disturb her.”
He came down the last few steps to meet her.
“How are they doing downstairs?”
“Miss Finch is sending them home. Some of the little ones are falling asleep.
Tom smiled. “Sugar plums and custard tart often have that effect.”
Griselda slept longer and later than she had intended. Hannah had brought up a poultice and a glass of some foul-tasting powder dissolved in brandy. Mr Gough, apparently the resident amateur apothecary of the house, had mixed it up for her especially. Whatever was in it, Griselda did not know, and hesitated for a moment before drinking it. However it did a great deal of good – she slept deeply because of it and woke up feeling refreshed. She realised she had not slept well in weeks, not since she slept in a ditch on the way to Cromer. All the grand and comfortable beds she had occupied since then had not brought any relief to her.
She dressed in her old habit which after a thorough brushing and mending by Hannah looked a great deal more respectable than Griselda could have imagined. It was a crisp and misty autumn morning and she was determined to be outside, and although her ankle was still sore, there was nothing to stop her riding. She hoped Thorpe would not interfere.
She had been told he was in the stable yard, which fortunately for the sake of her ankle lay within easy distance of the house. She strolled through the pleasant service court, which looked like an Oxford quadrangle with its honey-coloured walls covered in late-flowering roses. A handsome archway opened into the stable yard where she found Thorpe in conference with his head groom.
A boy was leading a delectable milk-white and grey mare up and down the yard, while Thorpe and the groom discussed her finer points.
“Well, sir, you may ask the lady herself about it,” the groom said, catching sight of Griselda. “Good morning my lady.”
“Good morning,” Griselda said.
“Should you …?” Thorpe began.
Griselda put up her hand.
“I will sit down directly, I promise,” and she went to the mounting block and sat down on the second step. “And my ankle is very much better. But I must have some exercise and I thought if I might ride…”
Thorpe nodded and came and sat down beside her.
“What do you think of this mare? I bought her from a neighbour but she’s not used to a woman on her back. She might be a little ungovernable – but then I imagine you are experienced?”
“I have only ever had a pony to hack about on,” Griselda admitted. “My father’s purse did not run to such beauties as this.”
“You like her? She’s large for a woman, of course, but you are taller than most. I can’t think there is anything about her that you could not manage. You might hunt with her, if you were inclined.”
“Do women hunt here?” said Griselda.
“No, not usually. But you may set your own rules,” he said, getting up and going to the horse, and taking the bridle from the stable lad. He patted and muttered something affectionate to the horse before leading her over to Griselda. “Her name is Bellefleur. She’s yours, if you’ll have her.” Griselda hardly knew what to say. Her confusion must have shown, because he continued, “You had better try her first. Jack, please go and get a side saddle for Lady Thorpe. And bring out Juno for me.”
The horses were made ready, and before mounting, Thorpe helped Griselda into the saddle.
“How does that feel?” he asked.
“Quite magnificent,” exclaimed Griselda, once she had settled in the saddle and the stable lad had released the leading rein. Bellefleur was eager to be off, as was Griselda, and they broke into a trot as soon as they left the cobbled yard.
She could hear Thorpe coming up behind her and glanced back at him. He was turning Juno onto the broad swathe of grass that formed the open prospect from the windows of the house.
“A race?” he asked, pointing with his whip. “That will put her through her paces. To the obelisk?”
“Put me through my paces, don’t you mean?” said Griselda, feeling the excitement of the moment bubbling up in her. “Where’s the starting line?”
Thorpe drew up his horse, and Griselda came alongside him. He gave her a rather wicked grin and Griselda, without wanting to, remembered how he had smiled when he had first seen her standing in her shift. If she had any sense of what was right, she would turn her horse around and go straight back to the stableyard, before returning to the house and shutting herself up in a closet with a book of sermons. Instead it seemed she was about to indulge herself again.
“We can’t have a race without a wager,” she said. “What do you suggest?”
“The winner claims a kiss,” said Thorpe.
“And the loser?”
“The loser submits.”
“Very well,” said Griselda.
They set off. Griselda was astonished at the sheer pleasure of riding such a powerful and well-schooled horse. Bellefleur wanted to gallop. There was no stubborness, just speed. The green turf seemed to vanish under her hooves and Griselda, delighted, urged her on.
She expected to see Thorpe matching her, but he was not there. She drew up the reins and bringing Bellefleur to a halt, looked around. There, some twenty yards behind, Thorpe and Juno were taking a leisurely canter.
He was letting her win.
She turned Bellefleur and rode towards him
“That’s hardly sporting,” she said.
“But irresistable,” he said.
They circled each other. Griselda was suddenly nervous with that sick feeling of guilt that came in the wake of her losing control again.
“You agreed to the wager,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but…”
“But?” he said, catching the bridle of her horse, and bringing Bellefleur towards him, to that they were facing each other, stirrup to stirrup.
“I…”
“You can’t go back on a wager,” he said. “Especially when you proposed it.”
“And you shouldn’t cheat to get what you want.”
“How do you know it isn’t what you want?” he said, and released the bridle. He was facing the obelisk and suddenly he was galloping off towards it. Griselda, who was facing back towards the house, had to turn her horse and make up as best she could.
He won.
***
A wager was a wager, of course, but Griselda was not a drinking companion. She was his wife and a lady.
Did she want him to kiss her? He was certain that she did, or else why would she have agreed to it in the first place? And that sudden little interlude of doubt – that was her knotting up her conscience again in a web of nicety which he had to admit he found admirable. Misguided, but admirable.
He relaxed in the saddle watching her make up the last few paces between them. She had slowed to a walk, as if she were suddenly afraid of him. And then his own certainty disappeared. He should not dismiss her conscience so quickly. That was not a honourable thing to do.
She rode straight up to him and looked him straight in the face.
“You win, sir,” she said.
He took her gloved hand and bent over it, kissing it as lightly as he could.
“Griselda,” he murmured, “I cannot bear…” He stayed there, bent over her hand, the smell of the leather filling his nostrils. She did not move her hand. He straightened up, still holding her hand and looked at her. “Do not be afraid.”
Now she moved her hand away.
“It is starting to rain,” she said, and Tom wondered if she had not just cast a spell on the clouds to get her out of an awkward situation. “We should get back to the house.”
***
The rain came on heavily and sitting alone that afternoon in her little sitting room, Griselda felt she deserved the storm. She had forgotten herself and now she must sit in silence and deal with it.
Worse still, the mail had come with a letter from Hugh:
“Dear Griselda,
Your cousin, I regret to say, is not well. She and my aunt remain at Cromer for the present – she is too indisposed to travel. I would like to be of some service to her, but I feel my very name is an object of pain to her.