I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

and silk and lace. And creamy-white orchids and a veil so long that –

      ‘Lovely – yes. But listen! Andrew intends coming to the house tomorrow and telling Mama and Giles that he wants their permission to write to me and visit me here and at Aunt Sutton’s when I’m in London – if ever I’m allowed to go to London again, that is!’

      ‘Oh, Lordy, miss. You should’ve told him it isn’t done.’ Even a servant knew it wasn’t done. ‘You’ve got to stop him or the cat’ll be out of the bag about London, and I’ll be up to the ears in it, an’ all.’

      ‘But that’s it, Hawthorn. You won’t be in trouble because I intend telling them what really happened in London. What I won’t tell them is that Andrew and I met alone. I shall say that you were with us at all times and that it was me who insisted on meeting the doctor and that there was nothing you could have done about it, short of locking me in. So you won’t be in any trouble, I promise you. That’s why I had to see you so that when I’ve told Mama you’ll be able to confirm that it was all perfectly correct – if she asks you, that is – and that no blame attaches to you.’

      ‘I said so, didn’t I, miss; said our sins would find us out. But marry him! You said yes, didn’t you?’ She must have said yes.

      ‘Of course I did. But you’re the only one who knows, Hawthorn, so you mustn’t breathe a word until I’ve talked to Mama and warned her that a very determined doctor intends presenting himself tomorrow at ten o’clock. And I’ll die of shame if she doesn’t receive him.’

      ‘She will, Miss Julia. She’s too much of a lady not to. But I hope it turns out all right for you, and that her ladyship doesn’t forbid you ever to go to London again. The doctor’s a lovely gentleman, and if I can I’ll try to get out for just a few minutes – tell it to the rooks, for you, to make it all right. And thanks for not landing me in trouble. I’m ever so grateful, though it’s going to mean we’ll both have to tell a few fibs.’

      ‘But it’s worth it, Hawthorn. I wish tonight were over and done with, though. I don’t want to set Mama at defiance and tell her that if she won’t see Andrew and says I must never see him again, I shall marry him anyway, as soon as I’m twenty-one.’

      ‘You wouldn’t do that – her ladyship’s got worries enough being without Sir John, and your brother away in India. You’ll think on, won’t you, miss? Wasn’t she just like you, once, with a young man she was in love with, and didn’t it turn out all right for them? Promise you’ll count to ten?’

      Oh, Lordy. What a mess it all was. And where would it end? Because soon it would be out in the open. What would happen then, Alice Hawthorn shuddered to think about!

      ‘Mama,’ Julia whispered, when dinner was announced. ‘When she has served us, can you ask Mary to leave – please?’

      ‘Leave us?’ Normally she would have refused such a request, but Helen Sutton heard apprehension in her daughter’s voice and saw it in her eyes. ‘What is so important that it cannot wait until later?’

      ‘Something that needs to be said to you both, and it can’t wait any longer, though I’ve been wanting to tell you ever since I got back from –’

      ‘From London?’ On reflection, she thought, her daughter had not been quite her usual impetuous self, though she had supposed it was due to the quietness of Rowangarth after the flurry and whirl of London.

      ‘No, dearest; from Harrogate. And it isn’t,’ she hastened, ‘anything awful. Just something you and Giles must know. You will, won’t you – ask Mary to leave us alone so I can talk to you?’

      ‘If I must.’ Helen Sutton slipped her arm through that of her son, frowning as he led her to the dining-room, wondering what had happened between noon and five o’clock to cause such consternation. ‘Did you lose your purse? Your ticket?’

      ‘No, Mama.’ If only it were that simple. But further talk was impossible, because Giles was drawing out his mother’s chair and Mary stood smiling, soup ladle at the ready, and it seemed an age before the joint was carved and plates passed round and her mother was able to say, ‘Thank you, Mary. We can manage quite nicely now. Coffee in the conservatory tonight, I think it will be. I’ll ring when we are ready for it. And now, if you please, Julia,’ she demanded as the door closed quietly, ‘what is so important that dinner must be disrupted because of it?’

      ‘Well, it’s – it’s …’ Julia drew in a steadying breath, the carefully rehearsed words forgotten. ‘When I was in London I met a young man – a doctor – and he intends calling on you and Giles tomorrow morning, at about ten.’

      There now, she had said it, and in her usual tactless, bull-at-a-gate manner. And oh, please, please, Mama, and you too, Giles, don’t look so stonily at me.

      ‘I see.’ Helen Sutton laid down her knife and fork.

      ‘Well, I’m damned.’ Giles’s fork remained suspended between plate and mouth. ‘Calling, is he?’

      ‘He is. I told – asked – him not to, but he’s set on it, so you will receive him, Mama? And please listen to what he has to say – sympathetically, I mean.’ Her voice trailed into silence and she looked from one to the other, eyes pleading.

      ‘Do I know this young man?’

      ‘No. Nor does Giles.’ She refused to tell one more untruth. ‘But if you’ll let me introduce him to you, and if you’ll at least let him stay for coffee, you’ll – you’ll …’

      ‘Perhaps begin to understand why you appear to be so taken with him?’

      ‘Yes, Mama. So can I –’

      ‘Can you get on with it, I hope you mean,’ Giles smiled, ‘and let Mama and I eat our dinner whilst you tell it, for there’s nothing worse than mutton gone cold.’

      Then he winked at her and she saw the sympathy she so needed in his eyes, and was grateful that at least her brother was on her side.

      ‘Well,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning and it began when I fell in Hyde Park.’

      ‘And he was the doctor who helped you. Then he must have called on you again?’

      ‘No, Giles. I called on him.’ Her eyes were downcast, her fingers plucked nervously at the napkin on her knees. ‘He’d left his card and I wanted to thank him. No. Not to thank him, exactly.’ Her head lifted and she looked directly into her mother’s eyes. ‘I wanted to see him again. And nothing happened. He walked me – us – back to the motor bus, then asked if we would both like to walk in the park the next day. It was all perfectly proper.’

      ‘It was not proper and you know it, or you’d have told me the truth of it long before this, Julia. I thought you were sensible enough to be trusted alone, but it seems you were not. And Hawthorn encouraging you …’

      ‘No! It wasn’t like that! Hawthorn spoke most strongly against it, even though she was relieved and grateful he was there to help when I hit my head. But I insisted.’

      ‘She’s right, Mama. You can’t blame Hawthorn,’ Giles urged. ‘What else was she to do, when Julia had her mind set on it?’

      ‘Very well – I suppose Hawthorn acted as properly as she was able. And how many times, Julia, did you meet this doctor?’

      ‘Twice. And correctly chaperoned.’ She closed her eyes for shame at yet another lie, even though it was uttered to protect Hawthorn. ‘Then he said he was coming to Harrogate to study the water cures and asked me to meet him there. And I did and now you know it all,’ she finished breathlessly.

      There was a long, apprehensive silence before Helen Sutton demanded, ‘All? Then what foolishness has prompted this man to call on me tomorrow without invitation?’

      ‘His name, Mama, is Andrew MacMalcolm,