Chapter Two
Both Sir Gerald and Lady Audine Thornton, well mannered and well bred, were the ideal hosts. Whenever they entertained they liked to relax the rules. There was always plenty of amusement without any of the coarser element that vulgarises so many of the stately homes of England. They had sufficient force of character to steer clear of any such difficulties at their dinner and weekend parties.
Christina was most put out because James was seated on her side of the dining table and too far away for her to speak to him, but she was pleased Mr Lloyd had been seated further along, so she was saved the painful ordeal of having to converse with him. She did, however, study him surreptitiously throughout the meal. He seemed relaxed and comfortable as he ate sparingly and sipped his claret, completely at ease among the room full of strangers, and yet she had a feeling that beneath his relaxed exterior there was such a carefully restrained power, that a rash of gooseflesh raised itself on her forearms and a cold shiver raced along her spine.
Her parents kept up a flow of small talk. Fortunately the guests were all well acquainted and the conversation was animated and interesting, mostly about local matters. Mr Lloyd was a popular figure, everyone wanting to talk to him about Italy, and he spoke to them calmly and at length, explaining in detail what it was like.
Christina was to recall later how, on observing her parents, they exchanged worried glances and seemed unusually quiet as Mr Lloyd spoke, but she thought nothing of it just then. She realised their new neighbour was clever and keen minded as the conversation progressed, and he was evidently no stranger to the world at large. To her surprise she was anything but bored as she listened. He was so worldly and so well informed that she was fascinated and a little awed, and when he described the cities Sienna and Florence, and areas that were most dear to his heart, he seemed to sweep away the four walls and let sunshine and blue skies into the room.
Doing her best not to show her interest, she surreptitiously cast glances his way along the line of guests. At one point, without warning, he turned and she was caught in the act of staring at him. His gaze captured hers, and Christina raised her chin. A strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he slowly inclined his head towards her. Angrily she averted her gaze. What a conceited, arrogant man he was, and she sincerely hoped that when the evening was over it would be the last she would see of him.
When the meal was over and the ladies had retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to smoke their cigars and cigarettes and drink their port, bored out of her mind, Christina waited with considerable impatience. She was eager to talk to James, but when the gentlemen finally joined the ladies she was disappointed when he stuck to Peter and they continued discussing tomorrow’s cricket match.
Standing with the vicar’s wife, who was regaling her with the various stalls she had arranged to be set up the following day in the cricket field, Christina looked around her restlessly for an excuse to get away. Her gaze settled on Mr Lloyd, who was engrossed in conversation with Hal Jenkinson, who was not only the captain of the cricket team but the local doctor.
As if sensing her interest, Max turned. Their glances clashed and for a second she found herself marvelling at the colour of his eyes. They were bright blue, warm and glowing, as blue as a tropical sea, and in their depths was an enquiring look, as though to ask her what she had seen in them to arouse her interest. His eyes narrowed and his mouth lifted in one corner, and he cocked an eyebrow quizzically.
Furious with herself and with two spots of dark colour high on her cheeks, with as much dignity as she could summon she turned away.
As the evening wore on and it was clear that James was not going to come and talk to her, she flounced through the French windows on to the terrace.
From where he stood lounging indolently against the piano, on which one of the ladies was entertaining them by playing some lively, popular songs, Max’s eyes narrowed, and after a few moments he followed her.
Pacing impatiently up and down the terrace, a scowl marring her perfect features, from the corner of her eye Christina glimpsed a tall figure in the shadows. Convinced he was watching her, she walked towards him. The man was standing with one shoulder propped negligently against the trellising, idly smoking a cigar, the smoke curling slowly up into the night sky as he watched her in speculative silence. Only when she moved closer still and he stepped into the light spilling on to the terrace from the drawing room did she see it was Max Lloyd.
‘Why, Mr Lloyd!’ she said, boldly taking the offensive. ‘I might have known it would be you lurking in the shadows. You seem to have a penchant for creeping up on people.’
In no mood to be baited by the whip of her vitriolic tongue, Max’s eyes narrowed and his lean face darkened. ‘You’re mistaken, Miss Thornton. I never creep. Like you, I was merely taking the night air and seeking privacy to smoke my cigar.’ He extinguished his cigar in an ashtray placed conveniently on a low wall for those who, like himself, liked to smoke outside so as not to cause offence to the ladies.
‘Please don’t put it out on my account.’
‘I didn’t.’
Christina, momentarily distracted by the sound of laughter, was looking towards the French windows. A gentleman appeared, but after taking a look on to the terrace he went back inside. Max saw disappointment cloud her eyes and knew she had been hoping it was James Embleton who had come to look for her. Her reaction annoyed him and his temper took over.
‘It has not escaped my notice that you have been watching Mr Embleton a great deal,’ he remarked, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘You have had eyes for no one else all evening.’
‘And you would know that, wouldn’t you,’ she snapped, determined to make her escape, ‘since you have been watching me?’
Max’s dark eyebrows arched and his eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Thornton. I have watched you no more and no less than anyone else present tonight.’
Christina’s mouth was hard, her eyes like flint. ‘How dare you speak to me like this? You keep your nose out of my business. James is a gentleman and he treats me—’
‘Like a lady? Is that it?’
He advanced towards her, and for a moment Christina felt compelled to back away from him, almost stumbling over the short train of her dress.
‘What I saw you doing today were not the actions of a well-brought-up young lady,’ he told her—but then, he thought, even the most naïve could see that Christina Thornton was no meek young miss who did as she was told.
Christina threw back her shoulders and lifted her head imperiously, the action saying quite clearly that she was not ashamed. ‘We were doing nothing wrong,’ she retorted with an insistence meant to convince him. It was as though she had resolved to justify her actions, knowing very well that if anyone else had come along—and heaven forbid it had been one of her parents’acquaintances—her reputation would have been ruined for life.
‘It was you I saw cavorting near naked in the lake in your petticoat and with your hair flying loose, which no lady of my acquaintance would dream of doing,’ he said accusingly, not stopping to consider why he was in such a temper and why he was intent on goading her.
Max was appalled by his own words. What was wrong with him? Why was he being like this, when all he wanted to do was talk to her, look at her? He sounded priggish and intrusive, even to his own ears, and as her expression said so clearly.
‘I am different from the women you know. That’s not unusual. I am a foreigner for one thing and in Italy I believe young women are—more modest, less free and easy, and I think you want to subdue me on this account.’
‘It is for your parents to do that and why your father hasn’t done so I can’t imagine. As I told you this afternoon, I know my own would have done if you were his daughter.’
Incredulous Christina was struck speechless. For one mad moment she was tempted to slap the smile from Mr Lloyd’s arrogant lips, but she knew she could not shame her parents by creating a scene in front of their friends. Forgetting her intention to escape the presence of this overbearing man, she glared murderously into his face.
‘Then I can thank God I’m not his daughter,’ she hissed, her chin jutting dangerously and her eyes flashing in the semidarkness. ‘I wouldn’t wish the most loathsome fate of having you for a brother on my worst enemy, and I shall continue to behave as I like, however controversial that may seem to you.’
‘The kind of behaviour I witnessed today would be considered both offensive and unacceptable where I come from.’ He lifted one eyebrow ironically. ‘You know, you really should do something about that temper of yours. You’re lit up like a firecracker that’s about to explode at any minute.’
‘Explode? Believe me, Mr Lloyd, you wouldn’t want to see my temper explode. My father would show you the door if he knew you were speaking to me like this.’
Max chuckled softly, his anger of a moment earlier abating in the face of her ire. There was an edge to her that was cutting, but beneath her glaring eyes and acrimonious tongue, he sensed the warmth and passion in her, the longing to be free, to be wild and to do as she liked when she felt like doing it. He could not blame her for that; in fact, God help anyone trying to tame her—if such a thing were possible, which he doubted—and to break that spirit of hers.
She was flushed and could barely speak because of her anger, and he had a strange feeling that her rage was directed not just at himself but at James Embleton for not seeking her out.
‘Somehow I don’t think he would. He would probably congratulate me for having the courage to deal with his headstrong daughter and thank me for pointing out to her her—faults.’
‘Faults? Why, you unspeakable, insufferable… And I don’t suppose you have any faults yourself, have you, Mr Lloyd?’
‘On the contrary. I would be the first to admit that I have many. I am far from perfect, Miss Thornton.’ His lips smiled, his teeth flashing white. ‘Now, have you finished being rude to me, or are you to continue giving me a dressing down?’
Christina stared at him. He was incredulous! One minute he was reproaching her most severely for what he called her unacceptable and offensive behaviour, and the next he was treating their altercation lightly, as though it was of no consequence whatsoever. Continuing to smile, he perched his hips against the back of a bench and continued watching her intently. She did not know this man. She had never seen him before today, and yet he was watching her with a look that was much too personal—and possessive.
She became uncertain, and was beginning to feel very foolish, bad tempered and childish. In truth, he had done nothing wrong, whereas she had been ill mannered and should know better. A rueful smile lit her eyes and her lips curved softly as she responded with a spontaneity which, when she was to think of it later, would astound her.
‘You are quite right. I have been rude to you—and I beg your pardon,’ she uttered lightly, ‘but I am the one who has had a dressing down—which is a first for me—apart from Mama, of course, but she does it on such a regular basis that it doesn’t make any difference.’
Max’s eyes smiled his approval at her sudden change of attitude. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not angry any more,’ he said quietly. ‘Shall we call a truce and agree that we are even?’
A mischievous smile curved her soft lips. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
Her brows lifted in mocking challenge. ‘On whether or not you can get enough runs tomorrow to save Leyton from total humiliation.’
‘You are asking me to play in the match?’
‘Absolutely. Since you are to reside in Leyton indefinitely, you might as well make yourself useful.’
He smiled. ‘Done.’
It was a brilliant day, the summer air clear and sparkling. Christina and Molly arrived at the cricket field in a little pony carriage stacked with a heavy picnic hamper Mrs Barnaby had packed with freshly baked, mouth-watering pastries, tarts, sandwiches and delicious tit-bits. Without the slightest interest in the game, but in a love-struck state, Christina was keen to see the recipient of her unrequited devotion in action on the cricket pitch.
Enthusiastic young men in traditional white were milling about the field, waiting to start the serious business of the game in an effort to win the special trophy—a silver cup, to be presented by Christina’s father. He didn’t consider his participation an obligation, playing in a spirit of social duty and finding it a satisfactory bond of union with rustics and dependents. He was a true, passionate devotee of the game.
A large crowd had gathered—an amazing pleasure excursion from both villages and nearby hamlets—the women in every kind of dress and fancy hat and colourful parasols, the lads strutting about like peacocks while the young single women preened before them. Almost every patch of grass had been claimed. People lolled about or sat in deck chairs, some of the men drinking foaming mugs of ale that were being sold at one of the stalls.
There were entertainments for the children, who were playing noisily and romping about with reckless abandon. Colourful tents and booths had been erected, and even a coconut shy and archery range, and a band played a lively tune—in fact, it was more like a feast day than a cricket match.
Leaving the carriage and carrying the picnic hamper between them, Christina and Molly strode into the thick of it. Choosing a position of vantage and commanding a good view of the cricket pitch, with Tanglewood looming out of the trees behind them, to tower in magnificence over the village of Leyton and surrounding countryside, they settled themselves on the warm grass, but it wasn’t long before they strolled over to the coconut shy to try their hand with the villagers.
Later, when Molly had gone to gossip with some of the employees from the house, leaning her back against a tree, Christina felt her eyes drawn to the players assembling on the pitch. One figure in particular coming through a gate at the side of the field caught her attention. He was a tall man, lithe and broad shouldered and with an easy way of walking. As he drew closer to her brother on the pitch, Christina recognised the strong dark features and proud, confident manner. It was Max Lloyd. She smiled smugly to herself, happy that he had taken up her challenge to join the team. Whether or not he could save Leyton from being beaten was another matter entirely.
Despite herself she stared at him. As if he sensed her gaze, he turned and looked at her, half-raising his hand to acknowledge her, his eyes locking on hers. The effect of that lingering gaze on her was startling. Somewhere deep inside her a tremor was awakened beneath the intensity of his gaze and she suddenly felt afraid and insecure. Quickly she looked away, searching for her father. The cricketers and the crowd were becoming restless, impatient for the game to start, but they could not begin without the umpire.
Christina got to her feet and went to ask Peter what could be keeping Papa. Mr Embleton, James’s father, stepped forwards and informed everyone that unfortunately Sir Gerald was unable to take part and had asked him to stand in. After conversing with the players and a great deal of shaking of heads, they began moving into position to begin the match.
‘Where’s Papa?’ Christina asked her brother, deeply concerned. ‘He’s always umpired the game. Has something happened?’
‘Calm yourself, Christina. He wasn’t feeling himself, so he prevailed on Mr Embleton.’
‘Is Papa ill?’
‘No,’ he replied, beginning to move away, as impatient as everyone else to start playing. ‘He’s just not up to umpiring today.’ Looking towards the picnic hamper, he grinned. ‘I’m glad you’ve come prepared. No doubt Mrs Barnaby has packed enough food for the entire cricket team. Look, I’ll see you for lunch. We lost the toss, so Farnley are to bat first.’
Peter left her just as James stepped up to bowl. Christina’s eyes devoured him, thinking how wonderful he looked with the sun shining on his fair head and forming a halo of bright light that almost took her breath away. Seeing her standing on boundary, he waved to her, and in that moment Christina’s heart soared.
And so the match progressed. Christina settled herself beneath the tree beside the hamper to await lunch. The heat and the crack of ball against bat lulled her into a sleepy state and she closed her eyes, totally uninterested now James was no longer bowling. There was a great deal of clapping and shouting as the atmosphere became loud and tribal.
Suddenly there was a stirring among the crowd and Christina was aware that there was a subtle change in the atmosphere. Opening her eyes, she saw Max Lloyd striding out to bowl. She sat up straight. It was impossible not to respond to this man as his masculine magnetism dominated the scene. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long, quick strides that bespoke an active, athletic life. He caused an amazing buzz of anticipation around the field when he grasped the ball, and when the umpire called ‘play’ and he started his run in, every spectator seemed to catch their breath.
It became evident almost immediately that he had an awesome power and could dominate any kind of bowling, the very essence of a natural cricketer. His commanding presence caught the spectators’ imaginations. He seemed to have a boundless energy and an all-consuming enthusiasm. His forearms were of an unusual strength and he had an impressively muscular upper body. Taking four wickets within an hour, it was clear to all that he didn’t do things by halves and this was one of his attractions—it made him so compelling and irresistible to watch.
Max Lloyd was determined and clear sighted about his objectives and Christina couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
During the break for lunch, as they all gathered round and munched their way through the hamper, Christina couldn’t resist sneaking a look at an extremely popular Max Lloyd, and she noticed again how incredibly blue his eyes were and how attractive he was with his finely marked brows slightly raised and his hair all tousled. He was studying her closely and she was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. A curious sharp thrill ran through her as the force between them seemed to explode wordlessly.
‘Are you enjoying the match?’ he asked, strolling towards her and dropping down on to the grass beside her, where she lolled against a tree sipping lemonade.
‘Certainly not. I hate the game. Grown men knocking a ball into the air with a bat? What’s interesting in that?’ she declared scathingly. Putting her empty glass down, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms round her legs.
‘It’s clear you know nothing about the finer points of cricket,’ he laughed, leaning back on his elbow and stretching his long, lean body out on the grass.
‘How can I? I’m merely a woman.’ Christina uttered with sarcasm.
Max grinned. ‘I’d have you in my team any day,’ he said softly.
She looked at him with a stirring of respect. ‘Why, thank you for that—but if my tennis is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be any good. I rarely hit the ball and when I do it never goes where it should.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You bowled well. You must have played a great deal.’
‘I have, but not for a long time—not since my university days, in fact. I’m a bit rusty.’
‘Then you must be quite formidable when you’re on form. There’s nothing wrong with your bowling arm. So far you’ve proved an asset to the team.’
‘Enough to save Leyton from humiliation?’ he enquired, the question reminding her of what she had said last night.
She laughed lightly, her small teeth shining like pearls in the brightness. ‘It might very well be, if your batting is equally as good. We shall have to wait and see.’
‘I will be the last to bat.’
‘Then I wish you luck,’ she said, suddenly becoming aware of his closeness. He looked terribly attractive in his whites, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off the sunburned strength of his forearms, the neck of his shirt open to display the equally sun-browned column of his throat. ‘The village plays Farnley twice a year and they’re tough opposition.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘How did your meeting with my parents go?’
A shadow crossed his face and he looked away. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m curious as to why Papa isn’t umpiring. As a rule neither fire, famine nor flood would keep him from the village cricket match. I saw him at breakfast and he was as excited and enthusiastic as he always is before the match.’ She frowned and gave him an enquiring look as a sudden disconcerting thought occurred to her. ‘You must have been one of the last people to see him. You didn’t say anything that might have upset him, did you?’
‘I sincerely hope not.’ Max looked towards the pavilion where Peter and his friends were indulging in a spot of larking about. ‘Your brother and his friends are enjoying themselves,’ he remarked suddenly, keen to change the subject, ‘and it’s clear that particular young man has turned your head.’
For the moment Christina’s concern about her papa was gone and she didn’t mind that Mr Lloyd knew how she felt about James. ‘What extraordinary beings young men are,’ she remarked grudgingly. ‘Peter can’t abide anything unconnected with that beastly game. During the holidays on wet days he and his friends play cricket in the gallery, without regard to furnishings and precious objects. I think it unfair that men can be so free. I envy my brother and James. They are able to do as they like, while I strain beneath the restrictions put on me by my parents and society. I do so hate it.’
‘I can see how difficult that must be for one so spirited,’ he remarked with mock gravity. ‘Better had you been born of the male gender.’
Her eyes gently enquiring, Christina found herself quite intrigued by this stranger and their extraordinary conversation. Her mouth trembled into a smile. ‘Do you know, Mr Lloyd, I do believe you’re right. But I do believe it is man who keeps women oppressed.’
‘I agree.’
‘You do?’
‘Absolutely. In an ideal world there would be equality in both sexes. But this is not an ideal world.’
‘Are you a radical, Mr Lloyd?’
‘I do have opinions that do not always agree with those of my friends and associates, so if that is what is meant by being a radical then I suppose I am.’
They looked towards the cricket pitch. James was striding towards the wicket to take up the batting. Tall and fine, he looked splendid in his freshly ironed white trousers and shirt. Her heart quickened.
Max watched her glance at the youth, saw the melting in her eyes, and, as he stood up to join his fellow players in the pavilion, his own were speculative.
Max Lloyd had swiftly established himself as a formidable player, and when he’d buckled on his pads, taken up his bat and begun to score runs in previously unheard-of quantities, hitting his fourth straight six, cutting between two fielders, the cheers from players and spectators were deafening. There was no other player on the field of that class. His murderous treatment of the bowlers caused them to rethink their method of attack. His finest performance, his team mates noticed, had come just before the end of the day’s play when they were most needed and he steered his side to safety.
The crowd melted a pathway before him as he came off the pitch and strode through them, some giving him hearty congratulatory pats on the back. From her place on the grass Christina had a clear view of him. His face was strong, striking, disciplined and exceptionally attractive, the expression cool and unmoved by his fellow cricketers’ mood of good cheer.
Unsurprisingly, the atmosphere among the locals was euphoric, and when Mr Embleton had presented the cup to the captain and people began crowding the stall for more ale to celebrate and commiserate with the losers, it was clear the celebrations would go on for most of the night.
Concerned about her father, Christina hurried home as the sky was a deep, flawless blue fading into a pool of glowing pink and red on the horizon. Against its warm, rosy colours lay the stark black silhouettes of the trees, beyond which stood Tanglewood with the lowering sun at its back.
Christina wasn’t the only one to leave. In no mood for celebrating, Max slipped through the gate to walk along the path that would lead him to his house just a short distance away, there to await the outcome of his meeting with Sir Gerald and Lady Thornton that morning.
‘Mama? What’s happened?’ were the first words Christina spoke as she hurried into the drawing room, dishevelled and with her hair all over the place, descending upon her mother like a whirlwind. Her mother was alone, sitting at her writing desk with a pen in her hand but not writing, just staring into space. ‘I have been so worried. Why didn’t Papa umpire the match? It must be something serious for him to stay away.’
Audine rose and faced her daughter. ‘Ah, there you are. I wondered when you’d be back.’
Christina’s eyes were wide with concern, for her mother’s usually tranquil face was drawn and almost grey and she seemed uneasy. ‘What is it? Oh, Mama, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied quickly, a forced smile on her lips—even in her hour of terror she was not going to upset her daughter. Sitting on a small sofa, she made a pretence of smoothing her skirts. ‘Have you enjoyed the cricket match?’
‘No, of course not. You know how I hate that wretched game—and I’ve been worrying all day about Papa.’ Christina sat beside her mother on the sofa, facing her. Audine seemed nervous and avoided her eyes. Her hands were trembling in her lap. Christina could feel the tension in her—that strength of character which had helped her bear the burdens of life with quiet dignity seemed to have been taxed to its limits. ‘Mama, you would tell me if he were ill, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course I would,’ she said, fingering the tassels on a cushion nervously.
‘Then if he isn’t ill, has his decision not to go to the match anything to do with Mr Lloyd’s visit earlier? Mama, what is it? Why are you looking so frightened?’
‘Oh, my darling girl, I am not frightened of anything. It’s nothing, really it isn’t, and your worries are commendable but unnecessary. Now why don’t you go and get changed for dinner? You must be hungry after all that fresh air.’
‘Where’s Papa?’
‘Upstairs. He’ll be down shortly. After his meeting with Mr Lloyd he was—tired—that’s all it was.’ She smiled tenderly. ‘Your papa’s not as young as he was and, although he would never admit it, it’s catching up with him.’
Christina didn’t believe her and knew she was only trying to placate her. ‘Mama, I’m not a child and I cannot ignore what stares me in the face. We both know that for Papa to miss the cricket match it would have to be something extremely serious. Please don’t keep anything from me.’
‘I wouldn’t, not if I thought you should know. Rest assured that you papa is perfectly well.’
‘And it has nothing to do with Mr Lloyd?’
For a split second Christina glimpsed in her eyes the pain of a woman deeply wounded. A cloud seemed to pass over her face and then just as quickly it was gone.
‘Did Mr Lloyd play in the match?’ Audine asked quickly in an attempt to divert the conversation away from her husband.
‘Yes. He’s quite an exceptional player—saved the day—a good all rounder, isn’t that what they say? Papa would have been terribly impressed. It’s a shame he missed it.’
‘Yes, yes it was, but I’m sure Mr Embleton made a perfectly good umpire. As a matter of fact, Mr and Mrs Embleton have invited your father and I to visit them tomorrow and to stay overnight. I have to say that it will be a change and will do your father good to have a change of scene.’
‘Are Peter and I not invited?’ Christina was quick to ask, sincerely hoping they were.
‘No, my dear, I’m afraid not. It’s for the older generation.’ She smiled at her daughter’s crestfallen face. ‘Don’t be too upset about it, Christina. I’m sure James will find his way to Tanglewood some time during the day. You—like James, don’t you?’
Christina nodded and her eyes flashed darkly beneath their ebony lashes. ‘Yes, very much, and I mean to have him, if I can make him see me beyond Peter—who seems to think I’m some inept, empty-headed ninny. My heart is set on it.’ Getting up, she paced to and fro across the richly patterned carpet, her cheeks flushed to a rosy glow with some inner excitement. ‘I have decided that I want to marry him, Mama, and no other man will do.’
Audine disliked the wildness of her daughter’s mood and was tempted to scold her, but, relieved the conversation had veered away from Mr Lloyd and the threat he posed to her beloved daughter’s future, she decided to let her have her say. Never had she seen so much animation and passion in her. It seemed to permeate the atmosphere of the very room.
‘And when did you arrive at this momentous decision, Christina?’
‘Oh, a long time ago—ever since that first time Peter brought him home.’ She tossed her head, causing her hair to shimmer. ‘It occurred to me then that he was everything I wanted.’
‘And what of James?’ Looking into the sparkling green eyes, Audine said gently, ‘Will he be willing to fall in with your plans, do you think? Do you think it will be that simple?’
‘It has to be,’ she replied with a wickedly radiant smile. ‘He’ll be delighted when I tell him about it.’
‘You are still very young to be talking like this. Why the rush? You have plenty of time to think of marriage.’
‘Oh, no, Mama,’ Christina said, seating herself back on the sofa and frowning a little at her mother’s anxious face. ‘You were married at twenty and I will very soon be eighteen. James will want me, I know he will.’
‘A girl’s first romance always seems so enduring, so very real, but in reality the dreams never turn out that way.’
Christina jerked her head up. ‘It’s not like that with James and me. I know it’s for real, Mama. I believe it. It may be a dream for now, but I will follow it through.’
Audine smiled resignedly, reaching out and tenderly tucking a stray lock of hair behind Christina’s ear. ‘Of course you will. You have character, intelligence and spirit to do that. You will never be satisfied with empty self-delusions. Whatever happens, my darling, always look life in the eye and never make compromises. But James has had sufficient time to let you know how he feels,’ she pointed out gently.
‘I know, but Peter’s always around.’ Christina smiled confidently, trusting and full of hope. ‘I’m certain he is only waiting for the right moment to declare himself.’
‘Then we shall have to wait and see.’ On impulse Audine put her arms around her daughter and hugged her warmly. ‘For now you need guidance and advice.’
‘And you will always be on hand to give it to me, won’t you, Mama? You and Papa.’ She felt the arms about her tighten slightly, but she didn’t see the bright tears that sprang to her mother’s eyes.
‘Yes—always,’ Audine whispered, her throat constricting with painful emotion. ‘But all this is still just a dream, my darling.’
‘A dream not beyond my grasping,’ Christina said, freeing herself from the embrace. ‘I will show James how much I care for him—and before long he will be hopelessly head over heels in love with me. You see if he won’t.’
Audine looked hard at her daughter’s beautiful, rapt face. She would be perfectly happy for Christina to realise her dream, but with the arrival of Mr Lloyd she very much doubted it. Audine knew how stubborn she could be, how single-minded, and that she would have her way at any cost. But love? What did Christina know of love? As yet she had no real inkling of the intensity, the sheer driving force of passionate love, but when it touched her she would not deny herself the having of it.
Yet she wasn’t sure that James Embleton was the right man for her headstrong, rebellious child. She needed a man with drive and a fire in his veins to match her own. A man who would curb her conceits and that wild streak in her—a man like Mr Lloyd, perhaps? Or perhaps she should call him by his Italian name and title, Count Maxwell Marchesi, who had every right to take away their precious girl.
Christina had an underlying fear that something was very wrong and her concern that something had happened to upset her parents deepened throughout dinner. Celebrating the match result with his friends at the public house in the village, Peter was absent. Her father was quiet, distracted, asking few questions about the cricket match that had always been so dear to his heart. Her mother tried very hard to act as if everything was normal, but Christina wasn’t fooled.
The following day after her parents had left with Mr and Mrs Embleton, and convinced Mr Lloyd’s meeting with them before the match had something to do with their dejection, she walked the short distance to the house where he was staying. The day was hot and sultry, and, glancing up at the sky, she suspected a thunderstorm threatened for later.
Of modest proportions, the old, ivy-clad house nestling in a wooded hollow, with gardens packed with an abundance of flowers and climbing plants, was a picture. Having been here many times to visit Major Illingworth when he had been home from India, Christina was familiar with the house. Inside it was beautifully decorated in peach and palest green with heavy damask hangings and tasteful furniture.
Opening the gate, she walked up the path to the door, knocking forcefully. It was opened by a man of medium height. Of slender build, with Roman features and sleek black hair, he was dressed with impeccable neatness in a black suit.
‘Hello! I’m Miss Thornton. Is Mr Lloyd at home? He isn’t expecting me, but I would like to see him.’
‘Si, si. Please, step inside. If the signorina will be kind enough to wait a moment, I will tell him you are here,’ he said, his voice heavily accented.
‘There’s no need, Lorenzo. I saw Miss Thornton coming down the path.’ Casually attired in a lightweight jacket and trousers, his white shirt open at the neck, Max Lloyd came striding into the hall. ‘Miss Thornton! Good morning,’ he greeted breezily, giving her a debonair bow. His gaze briefly appraised her pale yellow gown before raising his eyes to her glare.
‘Mr Lloyd!’
He frowned. ‘Dear me! With a look like that, I gather you’re displeased about something.’
‘How very perceptive of you, Mr Lloyd,’ she answered. Tossing him a cool glance, she swept past him into the drawing room, removing her bonnet as she went.
‘Come in, why don’t you?’ he said, chuckling softly, amazed by her daring, not to mention her cheek. Looking at her retreating figure appreciatively, the small train of her dress rustling softly over the carpet, after speaking quietly to Lorenzo in Italian, he followed her and closed the door. ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he said, his mouth quirked in a half-smile.
Christina stopped in the centre of the room and turned to face him. ‘There’s nothing humble about your dwelling that I can see, Mr Lloyd—unless, of course, you’re used to something on a far grander scale.’
‘Tell me, Miss Thornton,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, ‘do you make a habit of calling on gentlemen alone?’
‘Of course not, but I had to come—and with good reason.’
Max’s eyebrows lifted in mute enquiry.
Christina locked her gaze on his. ‘Who are you really? You told me that Lloyd was your mother’s maiden name and that you prefer to use it to avoid complications and to be inconspicuous when you are in this country. So, how are you known in Italy, I would like to know?’
He answered her with slow deliberation. ‘Max—which is short for Maxwell.’
‘I know that. And?’
‘Count—Count Marchesi.’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Count? I am impressed.’
His smile widened. ‘I thought you might be.’
‘And why would Count Maxwell Marchesi want to rent a cottage in this out-of-the-way little village in Cambridgeshire masquerading as Mr Lloyd?’
‘I am not masquerading, and I told you I am here to reacquaint myself with old friends and to spend some time in Cambridge.’
‘That may be so, but why go to all the trouble of renting a house? You could have stayed in a hotel in Cambridge.’
‘I prefer the country.’
‘You prevaricate, Mr Lloyd.’
‘I am entitled to. It is, after all, my business where I stay. Had I wanted to stay in Cambridge then I would have done so.’
‘I am convinced there is more to it than that. What is your real reason for coming to Leyton?’
‘There has to be another reason?’
‘Yes, I’m certain of it. What did you want to speak to my parents about yesterday? You don’t know them and, as far as I am aware, you have never met them before. Whatever passed between the three of you upset them terribly. In fact, I’ve never seen my father so upset, or my mother for that matter.’
‘Then I am sorry about that. It was not my intention to cause them distress,’ he said with such sincerity that Christina found herself believing him and wondering if she was barking up the wrong tree. However, she went on regardless.
‘So? Will you tell me?’
‘Have you asked your parents?’
‘Yes. They were non-committal.’
‘So am I.’
‘They dance around the issue—just like you’re doing now.’
‘I cannot tell you.’
‘You mean you won’t.’
‘Both.’
‘Does it concern Peter—or me?’
‘I’ve told you, you must ask your parents. And now no more questions—and it’s too nice a day to be sitting inside. Let me offer you refreshment. You are my first visitor and I would like to welcome you to my home—temporary though it is.’
Christina shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I have to get back.’ She was thinking that James might call and she didn’t want to miss seeing him, yet she was curious to know more about Mr Lloyd—Count Marchesi.
‘Nonsense. I refuse to take no for an answer. Come,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘Lorenzo has prepared tea and cakes for us in the garden.’
‘How very civilised.’
‘We Italians pride ourselves on the warmth of our hospitality.’
‘But it isn’t tea time.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Well, in certain circles it would—but, no, I suppose you can be excused—since you’re Italian.’
His chuckle was rich and deep. ‘How nice of you to say so, although I’m not quite sure whether I should be flattered or offended by your remark.’
‘You must interpret it as you like—but I truly meant no offence.’
They went outside and walked along a flagstone path that separated the flower beds leading to an arbour. A white lace table cloth covered a small, round, wrought-iron table on which delicate china tea things and cakes had been set out. Max pulled out a chair for Christina and Lorenzo poured the tea before excusing himself and disappearing along the path and into the house.
‘That’s Lorenzo, by the way, my steward, secretary and—’
‘General factotum by the look of things,’ Christina was hasty to add. ‘He seems to know how to lay a perfect tea table as well as take care of his secretarial duties.’
Sitting across from her and resting one foot atop his other knee, Max unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back in the chair. Relaxed and comfortable, he looked across at his companion, transfixed as he stared at her seated against a backdrop of vibrant climbing red roses. Having removed her bonnet and with her luxuriant hair tumbling over her shoulders and her green eyes glowing from between the thick fringe of black lashes, she presented such a captivating picture that he was torn between the urge to shove the table and its crockery away and pull her into his lap, and the equally delightful desire simply to relax and feast his eyes on her.
He was unable to believe she was here with him after so many years. Ever since she had been taken away from Castello Marchesi, without fully realising what had happened he had carried his dream of meeting her again in his heart, and the fact that the boy had become a man had not diminished that dream.