Season of Light by Katharine McMahon Read Free Book Online

would say if she told them she intended to marry a Roman Catholic French radical. Of course, there was no question of him coming to England and living at Ardleigh. He was needed in Paris. Well then, she must wait, she thought, like every other respectable girl.
    But the blue and white jug had been so beautiful, as had standing at his window and seeing sunlight in the leaves above the monastery wall. It reminded her of lying in the shade of the beech tree at Ardleigh. This was the confusion – with Didier everything seemed familiar yet utterly strange. It had felt exquisitely significant to the point of physical pain to have sat in his little room holding a coffee cup between her palms, yet it also seemed as right as reading a book in the Lamberts’ parlour, as right as walking on the Downs with her father to inspect the sheep. So how could it be wrong?
    For two tormented days she heard nothing more from Paulin. Why should he remember me, she thought, when he’s busy making plans to change France for ever? And in the meantime Asa was restricted to the Montmorency or the interminable walks in the Luxembourg Gardens with her brother-in-law, who had become more aloof since Shackleford’s withdrawal. Once or twice Philippa, who felt less nauseous by the day, said she might join them. Time was running out.
    Didier’s note, when it came, said: Demain. À quatre heures. Chez moi .
    Once again Asa’s feelings veered from ecstasy to an agony of indecision. The next day Morton had an engagement and Philippa said she would rest but perhaps get up later. All afternoon Asa walked about the hotel or sat in her room attempting to read while outside the window the city teased with its racket and energy. As the clock chimed three thirty and Asa was pacing her room thinking, Shall I go? I cannot, a maid knocked and announced that a gentleman was awaiting her in the parlour below.
    Didier must have come to fetch her.
    But it was Shackleford who stood amid the stunted orange trees, apparently fascinated by the little fruits and dressed in a mist-coloured riding coat with three collars.
    ‘Miss Ardleigh, forgive the intrusion. I wanted to enquire after your sister, and to say goodbye.’
    He was infuriatingly hesitant. Time was passing yet Asa had no choice but to offer him tea. After dithering for a moment he said he would drink a glass of lemonade. Now that her chance of seeing Didier was under threat, she knew that the only thing that mattered was that she should run to meet him in the rue du Vieux Colombier.
    ‘I am going to Italy, Miss Ardleigh, and then farther afield, so I doubt you will see me again.’ Shackleford stood with folded arms, tapping the brim of his hat against his elbow.
    Go, go, go, she thought.
    ‘I know you think very little of me, Miss Ardleigh. I cannot regret what I feel for you, but I regret what was said between us in the Palais Royal. It was far too soon. I hardly know what came over me that I should have pressed you so early in our acquaintance … that I could ever have expected …’
    Asa took a sip from her glass and stared at her lap. Just go .
    ‘I wanted to say that I hope one day you and I shall meet on better terms. After all, we are cousins, of sorts.’
    In her frustration Asa glanced at him suddenly, as if the directness of her gaze might force him to leave. He smiled wryly, and his features became more defined; a crease between jaw and cheekbone, and rather deep, complicated furrows in his forehead for a man said to be under thirty. ‘That’s why I came. That’s all; to ask you not to judge me too hastily.’
    The clock on the mantel struck the quarter. ‘I wish you a very pleasant trip in Europe, Mr Shackleford.’
    ‘I shall probably not stay in Europe. Who knows? My father has all kinds of plans for me. Africa. The Americas.’ He paused, expecting her no doubt to ask further questions or even to berate him once more for his family trade. Again those unsettling eyes scanned her face.