The Art of Love (29 page)

‘What is it like in the winter?’ she asked.

Mark seemed pleased by the question. ‘It is comparatively sheltered,’ he said. ‘The Isle of Wight bears the brunt of the storms.’

‘I like a good storm,’ Tara said idly. ‘I like the thunder and the lightning and the way it looks as if the world is coming to an end.’

‘Not that we don’t get storms,’ Mark said hastily, ‘but we are not prone to the flooding that can be so damaging at other seaside towns.’ They hiked for miles in a large circuit and with every step Tara felt her mood lighten. Leo might not love her, but he desired her - she had plenty of evidence of that - and here they both were in this beautiful place until the end of summer. All was not yet lost; Bournemouth still had time to work its magic.

Uncannily Mark seemed to sense something of what she was thinking, and his next words were of Leo. ‘I believe my cousin is leaving tomorrow,’ he said. ‘He told me he has hired a carriage to transport his pictures. That’s what he was doing down in the town yesterday, he had not remembered the Tuesday night concerts, it was simply good luck that he ran into us.’

‘Oh!’ Tara said and turned away to hide her consternation. ‘The view is particularly lovely here, don’t you think?’ she gabbled and kept her eyes firmly, but unseeingly on the coastline. All her hopes were dashed, she had been so sure that Leo had sought her out yesterday evening because he could not bear to be apart from her, but evidently she was quite wrong if he were leaving tomorrow.

‘Where is he going?’ she asked, hoping, but doubting, that the enquiry sounded casual.

‘Who? Oh, Leo. I’m not sure,’ Mark said. ‘He didn’t say. I do know that he has always wanted to paint in Italy though, and Portsmouth runs a boat to Florence.’ Italy! Tara felt completely crushed. She clenched her hands together in an effort not to give herself away. ‘Oh, look,’ Mark said, pointing to a horse silhouetted on the skyline, oblivious to the way in which Tara’s world had crashed about her. ‘There’s one of the wild ponies that live on the downs. Shall we go a bit closer? There might be a whole herd on the other side of that ridge.’ Action was better than inaction. Although admiring wild ponies was the last thing she wanted, Tara dutifully forced herself to climb up to the ridge with Mark and when he offered her a hand when it got steep, she grasped it as if she were drowning. The human comfort of his touch seemed like a lifeline through her despair.

Mark was right, a whole herd of ponies, grey, brown and bay cropped at the grass in a sheltered hollow the other side of the ridge. Tara watched them in silence allowing the rhythmic action of their movements to temporarily soothe her frayed feelings. Then she realized Mark was still holding her hand and made to pull away but he gripped it more firmly and turned her to face him. ‘Tara,’ he said, ‘there is something I particularly wanted to ask you.’ If she had not been so shattered by the news of Leo’s imminent departure, Tara thought later, she would have seen what was coming, but as it was, she did not. ‘I’m very glad you like Bournemouth,’ Mark went on diffidently. ‘I’m sure you would like it in all seasons. I know it’s not London and what you are used to, but we don’t do too badly for diversions down her as you have seen. We have concerts, balls and parties, and there are plenty of places for excursions. I think you would be very happy if you made your home here.’ Tara nodded when he paused, thinking some kind of response was expected. ‘Good, good,’ Mark said and placed his other hand over hers, encasing it in a firm, dry grip. ‘What I’m saying is, all things considered, would you like to marry me?’ Just for a moment Tara was on the verge of giving him her stock response to all his suggestions to date by saying that she would be delighted and then the meaning of his words struck her and she mercifully found herself speechless. ‘Now don’t answer right away,’ Mark said hastily. ‘But please promise me you will consider my offer and let me know. I’m not going anywhere.’

The unintended barb struck home. Leo might be leaving, but Mark was staying here and he had made her an offer which let her know exactly where she stood with him. He had a very pleasant personality, he was handsome in an unexciting way and he was quite right, she did like Bournemouth and she liked his family as well. Particularly his cousin she thought, and then strove hard to squash down the thought that if she married Mark she would at least be related to Leo. Her first thought had been to reject him immediately as she had done with all the proposals she had received over the last five years, thinking always that an immediate refusal was kinder than a delayed one, but she held back. She had completed five London seasons, perhaps it was time to marry before the opportunity slipped from her grasp forever.

Tara looked at Mark wondering how to put her thoughts into words as honestly as possible without actually saying
If I can’t have your cousin, then you are the next best thing
. ‘I will consider your offer,’ she said at last. ‘It is quite unexpected, but I am very touched by the compliment you have paid me.’

‘What would you like me to do with the gentleman’s laundry, Lady Tara?’ Betty asked Tara that evening as she was helping her to get ready for bed.

‘Which laundry is that?’ Tara asked.

‘A shirt and breeches, my lady,’ Betty said as she brushed out the tangles the breeze had tied in Tara’s hair that afternoon. ‘They’re washed, ironed and folded and they’re waiting down by the copper, but I didn’t know what to do with them next.’ Betty was referring to the clothes she had borrowed from Leo when she had been drenched by the rain on the evening of Lord Davenham’s ball, Tara realized. She had left them on the floor of her bedroom when she went to bed. In the morning they had been gone and she hadn’t given them another thought.

‘Parcel them up and leave them in the front hall,’ she said decisively. Suddenly she knew that she needed to see Leo one last time and returning his clothes would be her passport. Mark had said Leo was leaving tomorrow, but if she rose early she was sure she would catch him, it should take some time for him to load all those paintings securely into his carriage. She would see him and she would give him one last chance to admit that he felt the same way about her as she did about him and if he did not take that chance she would put him out of her mind forever.

Perhaps it was all the exercise she had taken, or perhaps it was because she had a definite plan, but whatever the reason, Tara slept well. As soon as she opened her eyes in the morning she found herself wide awake and slipping out of bed she rang for Betty at once. ‘I shall take an early breakfast,’ she informed her, already dressed for walking when her maid arrived.

‘Yes, my lady,’ Betty said and Tara found tea, toast and porridge waiting for her just a few minutes later when she entered the parlour. As she had instructed, Leo’s clothes were parcelled up and waiting for her by the door. Leo’s abode, as she had discovered last week, was only a twenty minute walk from Dogrose Cottage. As she walked briskly through the early morning sunshine Tara considered what she would say to Leo. She did not think that she could quite bring herself to tell him that Mark had proposed, it would seem too much like a cheap trick and besides she had never felt it was the done thing to make proposals of marriage public knowledge unless they were accepted. But she wanted to make it quite clear that she had come to a turning point in her life and if Leo wanted to be part of it he needed to act now.

As she had expected, there was a carriage waiting outside Leo’s cottage when she arrived, the horses hobbled and tugging at the short, tufty grass beneath their feet. Leo’s door was open and the interior of the cottage was dark in contrast with the bright morning sunshine. Tara knocked, trying not to peer inside.

‘This is an unexpected surprise,’ Leo said, setting down the wrapped canvas he was carrying. He came over to her and she could see the suggestion of a smile hovering around his eyes.

‘I came to return your clothes,’ Tara said firmly.

‘Thank you,’ Leo said, ‘I admit I have been rather short of breeches this week.’ Unbidden the forbidden glimpse of Leo she had had when he removed his wet clothing rose in Tara’s mind. He had looked so long and lean, and powerful, and so desirable that she felt herself blush at the pleasurable memory. Leo took the parcel and deposited it in the wicker basket he seemed to use as a clothing chest. The basket was not by the wall, where she had seen it last, but was in the middle of the floor as if en route to the carriage. Tara felt her heart sink a little. Leo really was preparing to go; despite the presence of the carriage outside she realized she had still harboured the hope that he was only making a short journey, perhaps delivering his paintings to his studio in London. But when she looked closely she saw that the dresser had been cleared of brushes and paints and all his cooking utensils had disappeared. Leo really was leaving.

‘Weren’t you going to tell me you were going?’ she blurted out, her cool reasoning of the morning forgotten.

Leo raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise. ‘I didn’t think you’d notice,’ he said. And why would he? Tara berated herself. They shared no social engagements, all their meetings in Bournemouth had been accidental. He had no reason to think she would notice his absence. But she could not so easily dismiss the heights of ecstasy to which he had raised her last Saturday night. It was inconceivable that Leo had not shared her passion - but if he had, how could he calmly walk away from her now? She forced herself to remember the reason she had come here and to act rationally.

‘I may not be in London next spring,’ she said at last, wondering if he would construe anything from that. She thought she saw his shoulders stiffen as he picked up another painting but she could not be sure. She pressed herself into the door frame to allow him to pass, and watched as he put the canvas inside the carriage, waiting for his answer.

The canvas stowed, Leo returned for the next, pausing in front of her so they were almost touching, but not quite. He looked down at her. ‘I think that’s very unlikely,’ he said.

Tara gasped at his audacity. ‘I have a number of choices I am considering,’ she said hotly. There, that was a blatant hint if ever there was one. Did Leo really think she would remain a debutante until she turned seamlessly into a spinster? That was never going to happen. Tara might not have found anyone she wished to marry other than Leo, but she had too much sense to remain unwed forever. A fragile kind of peace settled over her, she had laid her cards on the table and the next move was up to Leo, there was nothing more she could do.

Leo reached up and spiralled his finger through a tendril of her hair which had escaped from confinement. ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said lightly and for a moment Tara was mesmerised. Leo seemed to have an inner belief that everything would turn out for the best. It buoyed him up and put a spring in his step and it was hard not to fall in with his mood. But he had said nothing to give her hope, nothing at all. Tara knew she must not delude herself any longer.

With dignity she stepped away from him. ‘I will bid you good morning,’ she said primly. ‘Have a…a safe journey.’ She had faltered in the middle when she realized these might be the last words she ever said to Leo, but it was not her place to give him advice, or a maxim to live by so she settled for a conventional farewell.

‘Au revoir,’ Leo said, his eyes still full of the light that Tara felt her own would never hold again. Without another word she turned and left, counting each step back to Dogrose Cottage, while tears she would never let him see streamed down her face unchecked.

His visit from Tara that morning had been strange, Leo thought, but then all encounters with her were out of the ordinary, that was one of the many things which drew him to her so irrevocably. As he loaded the last of his paintings into the carriage he felt that he was getting close to his goal. He had amassed a large quantity of work, far more than he needed for his proposed exhibition and he was wondering if he might be able to show a few pieces in conjunction with some other artists in the autumn, bringing forward by several months the time when he felt he had redeemed his family name, the time when he, Lord Fosse, could hold his head up high and propose to Lady Tara Penge.

He was readying the horses when he saw in the distance, another figure toiling up the dusty track to his cottage. The visitor must be seeking him, no one came this way for any other reason. As the scurrying person drew closer, he saw that it was his cousin Caroline. ‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ she said, plonking herself down on the steps of the carriage. Leo smiled down at her fondly, after next year, when she made her official debut, Caroline would never behave so boyishly again.

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you tea or any other refreshment,’ he said, gesturing to the barren cottage behind him. ‘Everything is packed up.’

Caroline shook her head. ‘It is of no matter,’ she said. ‘I have just had breakfast and I came to you directly. I thought I might have missed you, but when Mark told me I had to see you.’

‘But you knew I was going to London today,’ Leo said, perplexed although touched that Caroline thought it so important to say farewell. ‘I’m seeing a gentleman about my exhibition tomorrow. Did you come to wish me luck?’

‘Luck and you’ll need it in spades,’ Caroline said grimly.

‘I’m not starting from so poor a position as all that,’ Leo protested, amused by her girlish vehemence. ‘Lord Seaforth knows my work, the exhibition is agreed to in principal. We’re meeting so I can show him my latest paintings and consider which pieces would be best for the collection.’

Caroline looked up at him wide eyed, having apparently got her breath back. ‘I’m not talking about the exhibition. I’m talking about Tara,’ she said.

‘What about her?’ Leo asked, the first pricklings of unease assailing him. He had assumed that Tara had come to see him off that morning, but now he thought about it he wondered how she had known he was going anywhere.

Caroline looked him in the eye, as if making sure she had his full attention. ‘My brother has proposed to her,’ she said.