Page 14 of Just a Little Daring

“No man is that,” Nani Maa said with a snort. “Not even you, tota,” she added, ruffling Ash’s thick black hair until it was all mussed.

“Argh!” Ash exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “Now I must do it again,” he complained, heading for the nearest mirror.

“Perhaps I should call you my dear peacock,” the old woman mused, her eyes alight with amusement.

Viv sniggered.

“Who is he then, this paragon of male virility?” Nani Maa asked, picking up a small bell and ringing for Mary, whom she’d only just dismissed.

“Mr August Lane-Fox,” Viv said wistfully, as Mary hurried back in and looked expectantly at her mistress.

“A fresh pot of tea, Mary, and some of that gingerbread, and don’t tell me there isn’t any. I smelled it baking,” Nani Maa said.

“The doctor—” Mary began, but might as well have saved her breath.

“That silly quack is more of an old woman than I shall ever be,” Nani Maa retorted. “Now run along.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mary hurried away again.

“Lane-Fox,” Nani Maa mused, thoughtful now. “Isn’t he one of those naughty boys that were always causing trouble? Friend of the Marquess of Bainbridge.”

Vivien’s eyebrows went up, though she didn’t know why she was surprised that her grandmother knew of their exploits. It was amusing too, to hear the men referred to as boys. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Mmm. That Bainbridge is a fine man,” the old woman said with a happy sigh. “So big and virile. I do like a man with such a large—”

“Nani Maa!” Ash exclaimed in horror, finally turning away from the mirror.

“I was going to say personality,” she said, looking the picture of innocence.

Viv didn’t believe her for a moment.

“Anyway,” the dreadful creature said with a dignified sniff. “You want this fellow. Is he courting you?”

“No,” Viv replied, unable to keep the despondency from her voice. “He doesn’t want me, thinks I’m too much bother.”

To her dismay, far from being sympathetic, Nani Maa gave a bark of laughter. “Oh ho! The fellow has sense, meri Shona! I like him already. It’s about time you found a man who doesn’t faint at the sight of your beautiful face. Working for his attention will be good for you.”

“What a rotten thing to say!” Viv folded her arms indignantly.

Nani Maa shrugged, unrepentant. “If you don’t have to work for something, you don’t appreciate what you have. It won’t do you the least bit of harm, and likely a deal of good. Him too, perhaps, if he thinks he can’t handle you, or doesn’t want to. Perhaps he needs the challenge.”

Ash took his place again, finally satisfied his hair was just as it ought to be. “There, see, Viv? I told you. You just need to show him what he’s missing.”

“Ah, mera tota, you are not so foolish as you look,” Nani Maa said with affection, her eyes glittering with mischief as she reached out to ruffle Ash’s hair once again.

21st February 1841, Rother House, Burwash, Etchingham, East Sussex.

Although he had known it was a bad idea, August stayed away from his mother and sisters for over six weeks. Dare and his lovely new wife, Elspeth, had made him most welcome. Indeed, August found himself enchanted with his friend’s bride. She was everything a wife ought to be, to his mind, and he congratulated Dare heartily on his good fortune. With that thought in the forefront of his mind, he wasted no more time pining for Miss Anson. Not at all. The vision of her beautiful face never, ever entered his head. Not once. Really, he had completely forgotten about her. It wasn’t as if his heart skipped if ever anyone mentioned her in conversation, or he looked for her wherever he went, always hoping to catch sight of her, no matter how unlikely. No, no. There was absolutely no silly behaviour like that. None. Not a bit.

Six weeks might easily have become eight, if not for the rumours.

It began, as it often did, with a few sly remarks dropped within his hearing. He ignored it at first, too used to his female relations causing indignant muttering of some kind or other to fret unduly.

It soon became clear ignoring it would not make it go away. So, steeling himself for the worst, he went home. Rother House was a grand manor house built by August’s ancestors in the early seventeenth century. It was a handsome building, built of local sandstone, with hipped roofs and six towering chimney stacks on the main roof alone, all made of Weald clay. Coming back here always provoked a confusing tangle of emotions for August. The first sight of the building he loved so dearly relieved his heart and made him feel he truly had come home, back to the place he had known as a boy, and yet it was generally accompanied by the knowledge there was a drama of some variety that needed his attention.

Much to his frustration, this time was no different. The gossip was entirely true.

“Couldn’t you stop her?” he demanded of Anna, once they were ensconced in the cosy if well-worn parlour with their sister, Gwen, and a large tray of tea and cakes.