The Complete Wideacre Trilogy: Wideacre, The Favoured Child, Meridon. Philippa Gregory

      ‘You should have called for me, Beatrice,’ she said, gently reproving. ‘You really should not see him alone.’

      ‘He only came to inquire how I was,’ I said casually. ‘I never thought to send for you. He was only passing the house on the way to the Springhams; one of the little boys is ill.’

      My mother pursed her mouth to thread her needle and nodded, unconvinced. ‘I can’t like the idea of a doctor who calls socially, anyway,’ she said. ‘In my younger days apothecaries only came when they were sent for, and then came in by the kitchen entrance.’

      ‘Oh, Mama!’ I said. ‘Dr MacAndrew is hardly an apothecary! He is a doctor, qualified at the University of Edinburgh. We are indeed very lucky that he has chosen to stay in the neighbourhood. Now we shan’t have to send to London every time someone is unwell. It can be nothing but an advantage. And besides, he is a gentleman and that makes it much easier to talk to him.’

      ‘Oh, well,’ my mother said equably. ‘I suppose it’s the new thing. It just seems so odd, that’s all. But I’m glad he was here to look after you, dearest.’ She paused and made a few stitches. ‘But I shall not hear a word of his attending Celia when her time comes.’

      ‘Good heavens!’ I said, irritated. ‘They’re a fortnight from marriage and you are already looking for an accoucheuse!’

      ‘Beatrice, really!’ My mother sounded shocked but there was a smile in her eyes. ‘If you talk so freely I shall have to start planning a marriage for you.’

      ‘Oh, I’ve no taste for it, Mama,’ I laughed. ‘I couldn’t bear to leave Wideacre and I couldn’t be bothered with a husband. I’ve a fancy to stay here and be a sister to Celia and an aunt to all the dear little Celias and baby Harrys.’

      ‘All girls say that before their marriage is arranged,’ my mother said calmly. ‘You will be glad enough to leave when you see your future before you.’

      I smiled. It was a conversation that could have no conclusion. I sat down beside her and pulled the workbox towards me. We were engaged in the respectable task of hemming Harry’s cravats. My sewing had improved and as I placed the neat, regular stitches I imagined this would be the very cravat he would wear on his wedding day and I would be the one – not shy little Celia – who would pull it from his throat on his wedding night.

      ‘Harry is planning a surprise for you on your return from the wedding tour,’ Mama said, interrupting my daydream. ‘I mention it only because it would be such a waste to do all the work he is planning when it is not suitable.’

      I raised my head and waited in silence.

      ‘Harry is not just renovating some of the rooms in the west wing; he is converting them for your exclusive use,’ she said. Her voice was unruffled but I thought I could detect a note of anxiety. ‘I am sure that you will tell him it is not what you would like?’

      She waited for my assent but I said nothing.

      ‘Did you know of this scheme, Beatrice?’

      ‘Harry suggested it some while ago,’ I said. ‘I thought it a good idea. I had no idea he had got so far forward as to have the work set in hand.’

      ‘You both planned this, and neither of you consulted me?’ Mama was becoming agitated. It was important to keep the whole discussion as calm as possible.

      ‘Mama, it had gone wholly out of my head,’ I said calmly. ‘Harry thought it a good idea that while I am here I should have a suite of private rooms. Much as I love Celia it would be good for all of us to have our own drawing rooms for privacy. After all, Mama, you have your parlour and dressing room and bedroom upstairs, but I have only a bedroom.’

      My mother’s concern as usual was for appearances only.

      ‘It will look so odd,’ she complained. ‘It is most unusual for a girl of your age even to think of her own rooms in such a way. You should have no need for privacy.’

      ‘I know, Mama,’ I said gently. ‘But our situation is odd. Harry really does still need help on the land, and you know I keep the accounts of the estate. It will be some years before he is fully able to run the place alone and while he continues these improvements I think he will always need another person to check the figures and measure the yields. It is unusual for a young girl to have these responsibilities but since I do, I need somewhere where I can work without disturbing you or Celia. In any case the alterations are fairly minor. A small study and a dressing room where the old scullery and breakfast room were. I dare say no one will even notice.’

      My mother bent her head over her stitching.

      ‘I don’t understand the estate,’ she said. ‘But I should have thought Harry could have managed it on his own. He is the Master. He ought to be able to run the place without his sister.’

      I knew I had won, and the knowledge made me generous. I put my hand on hers.

      ‘Why should he?’ I asked in a warm, teasing voice. ‘He cannot do without his lovely mother. He obviously needs a sister, too. You have spoiled him, Mama, and we are giving Celia a sultan for a husband who needs an entire harem in his house!’

      Mama smiled and the worried look left her eyes.

      ‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘If that is what you and Harry and Celia want then I can have no objection. But all the work will have been wasted when you marry a lord and go off to live in Ireland or somewhere!’

      ‘Oh, no, an Italian prince!’ I said, relieved to be able to end the discussion in a light tone. ‘I shan’t be satisfied unless I come home a princess! Think of the opportunities I shall have in Paris and Italy!’

      We laughed together and returned our attention to Harry’s cravats with such industry that at the end of the fortnight he was able to pack fifty new ones in his trunk and see it safely stowed in the post-chaise along with Celia’s four-trunk trousseau and my more modest two trunks and three boxes. The heavy carriage with Harry’s man and my maid and Celia’s maid, all crammed inside, would follow us through France and Italy. An odd trio they would be, and our post-chaise in front even odder, with an untouched wife, but a satisfied husband and an affectionate sister bowling along in the autumn sunshine.

      ‘I can hardly wait,’ I said and leaned on Harry’s arm as we watched the grooms load the trunks and boxes in the stable yard. Harry’s hand, out of sight, caressed the small of my back in silent agreement. His square hand straddled my spine and stroked me like a cat. Imperceptibly I swayed towards him.

      ‘Two months of nights,’ he said softly. ‘Two months of nights and no one to notice us.’ His hand rubbed up my spine sliding on the silk of my dress and I had to school my face not to shut my eyes and purr like a stable kitten. The muscles of my face I could keep still, but no control on earth could have stopped my eyes from growing green with desire. The servants were busy round the coaches and no one glanced at us.

      ‘May I come to your room tonight?’ Harry asked, his mouth so close to my ear I could feel the warmth of his breath. We had been together very seldom in the past few weeks of my illness and drugged sleeping and I could feel my old appetite rise in me. ‘I am a bridegroom, remember,’ Harry said.

      I chuckled. ‘Then you should be out carousing with your friends, enjoying your last night of freedom before your jealous, your passionate, wife claims you for ever.’

      Harry laughed softly with me. ‘Somehow I cannot see Celia in that role,’ he said. ‘But truly, Beatrice, I should like to lie with you tonight.’

      ‘No,’ I said, slowly relishing the pleasure of a short abstinence. I pulled myself away from him and turned to face him, my slanty eyes half closed from that secret, brief caress.

      ‘No, I shall come to you as your bride tomorrow, on the night you are wed.’ I swore it as a promise. ‘Tomorrow we will stand together before the altar and every word you say, every “to have and to hold”, shall be for me. And every reply