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‘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?’
