The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall. Kathleen McGurl

if she chooses not to marry?’ Sarah asked. Her tone was flirtatious. ‘After all, Good Queen Bess never married, so an unmarried queen is not unprecedented.’

      ‘Perhaps she will find someone suitable who meets with her advisers’ approval and whom she loves,’ Rebecca said. She did hope so. It felt a bit like her own situation – being expected to marry but wanting to love the person her parents had chosen for her. She stole another sideways glance at Charles, then blushed when she realised he was looking at her.

      ‘I hope she does,’ he said, quietly. ‘No one should be forced to marry someone for whom they don’t care.’

      After dinner, when the party had retired to the drawing room, the call went out once again for Rebecca to provide some music. She nervously settled herself at the piano, and looked to Sarah to stand at her side and turn the pages of her music. But Sarah was across the room, deep in conversation with Charles, their heads close as they chuckled together over some private joke. Rebecca noticed her mother frown as she saw them together. This was clearly not part of the plan.

      In the end Spencer was called upon to act as page-turner. As Rebecca played a selection of Bach arias she lost herself in the music. When she finally finished playing, she glanced up to find Charles gazing at her from across the room, an expression of deep admiration on his face. Sarah, beside him, looked distinctly unhappy.

      The next day dawned bright and clear, and Sarah shook Rebecca awake early.

      ‘Hurry up! Charles will be here soon. Remember we promised to go riding with him?’

      Rebecca groaned and hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘You did. I don’t ride any more, as well you know.’

      ‘But I can’t go with him on my own. It wouldn’t be proper, if just he and I went riding. If we both go, that is more acceptable. Besides, you are supposed to be getting to know him, aren’t you? What better opportunity than trotting gently through the woods together, side by side, chatting about this and that? I shall follow behind as your chaperone, and I promise I will not get in the way, nor encourage you to gallop.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Though I may have a gallop myself across the open parkland. I doubt I shall be able to resist.’

      Rebecca sighed. ‘Sarah, I have not ridden since Bluebell threw me. I do not intend going riding again. You know my preferred pursuits are quieter, less strenuous and indoors. I don’t understand why you torment me like this.’

      Sarah sniffed. ‘I am only trying to help progress your budding romance. If you don’t want to go, then I shall have to go alone with him after all. We mustn’t disappoint him, as he is expecting to go riding. When we return perhaps you could delight him with your musical skills again, or show him your embroidery. I am sure he would enjoy that.’ She left the room, letting the door bang closed behind her.

      Rebecca was left bemused. Why was Sarah acting like this? They had always been so close. It broke her heart when Sarah treated her badly. She shook her head. Perhaps she was being too sensitive. She decided to keep out of the way until Sarah and Charles returned from their ride, and to spend some time with him afterwards. He had been invited to lunch with them, so there was plenty of time. She rang the bell for her maid Tilly, and asked for breakfast to be brought up to her in her room. She sent Tilly away with a message: ‘When Mr de Witt arrives, please ask Spencer to tell him I am indisposed for riding but will gladly meet him later for lunch.’

      A little while after breakfast, she stood at her bedroom window and watched Charles and Sarah ride across the parkland behind the hall. They looked good together – Sarah’s dramatic red riding habit looked stunning against the grey mare she was riding, and Charles’s green coat contrasted well with his black mount. They appeared to be laughing together at something, as they cantered over the grasslands. Rebecca lost sight of them as they approached the woods at the far side of the park. She turned away from the window. Perhaps Sarah would be a better match for Charles than herself? He’d appreciated her piano-playing last night, and they had discovered a similar taste in literature, but if he wanted an adventurous, lively wife then Sarah would be better for him than she would. If only she hadn’t liked him so much, or if her parents had not planned for her to marry him, she would gladly have stepped aside and made way for Sarah.

      But she did like Charles, and she did not want to let him go without a fight.

      Rebecca was reading in the library when the riders returned. There was some commotion in the entrance hall, so she put down her book and rushed out to see what was happening.

      Charles was standing in the hallway, being relieved of his mud-encrusted green coat by Spencer. ‘Sir, I shall have this cleaned for you, and perhaps you can borrow something of Mr Winton’s to wear on your ride home this afternoon.’

      ‘Thank you. I fear it is quite ruined. Ah, Miss Winton! We missed you on our ride, did we not, Miss Cooper?’ said Charles.

      ‘Oh, please, Charles, do call me Sarah. Let’s not be quite so formal with each other. I am so sorry about your fall, truly I am.’

      ‘Whatever happened?’ Rebecca asked, torn between wanting to reproach Sarah for being so informal, and concern for Charles who was walking stiffly across the hall, rubbing at his shoulder.

      ‘It was nothing,’ said Charles, taking a seat on a hall chair.

      Rebecca crossed the hall to kneel before him. ‘You are hurt? Should Spencer send someone to fetch the doctor?’

      ‘Not at all. It is just a bruise.’ He smiled at her, and Rebecca felt her heart leap. His smile was warm and made his eyes light up. Was it only for her, or did he use that smile for everyone?

      ‘Poor Charles,’ Sarah said, coming to kneel beside Rebecca. ‘His horse took fright as we went through the woods. I tried to help but am afraid I could not manage to catch the reins of his horse before it threw him.’ She suppressed a giggle. ‘Oh, do excuse me, but it was rather funny, you see, he landed right on the muddiest part of the path. A foot to either left or right and his coat would not have suffered as much.’

      ‘But I think my shoulder would have suffered more. The soft mud at least cushioned my fall.’ Charles was unsmiling as he answered Sarah.

      ‘Come, Mr de Witt. Let’s sit in the drawing room. It is not long till lunch, but I shall ring for refreshments for you immediately.’ Rebecca stood up. Instinctively she held out a hand to pull Charles to his feet, but retracted it before he could take it. She wasn’t sure now whether he was courting her or Sarah.

      Mrs Winton joined them at lunch. Mr Winton was in town on business. Sarah told the story of Charles’s fall, once again. Rebecca flinched at her sister’s undisguised glee at the poor man’s misfortune. Mrs Winton seemed not to approve either, glaring at Sarah from her place at the head of the table. She insisted on providing a carriage to take Charles home, rather than allow him to ride with his injured shoulder.

      After lunch, when Charles had left, Rebecca and Sarah were making their way upstairs to their sitting room, when Mrs Winton called them back and bade them sit a few minutes in the drawing room with her.

      ‘Charles has grown into a very pleasant young man, has he not?’ she asked, addressing her question to Rebecca.

      She blushed. ‘Yes. I like him very much, Mama.’

      ‘I like him also,’ Sarah said. There was a touch of defiance in her voice. It worried Rebecca. What Sarah wanted, Sarah generally got, by one means or another.

      ‘You, my girl, are to stay clear of him. He is promised to Rebecca. We have had an understanding with the de Witts for many years, that when Charles and Rebecca were grown, if they liked each other they should be encouraged to marry.’ Rebecca watched as Mama wagged her finger at Sarah as though she was a misbehaving child, and Sarah set her jaw. ‘Do you understand?’

      ‘Yes, Mama,’ Sarah said.

      ‘I am not your mama. Do not forget your place in this household, Sarah. My husband has indulged you for too long. As has Spencer. You will not steal