Free The Flight of Swallows by Audrey Howard Page B

and he realised she was making sure her maid was still with them. What did she think he might do? Throw her on one of the beds and ravish her? Her one remark, or rather question, was about her maid.
    ‘And where is Kizzie to sleep?’ she asked. ‘I wish her to have her own room.’
    ‘Kizzie?’ He was bewildered.
    ‘My maid,’ turning again to indicate the quiet woman at their backs.
    ‘She is to come with you? I thought you might care for one of—’
    ‘Oh, no! Kizzie will come with me, and then there is . . .’ She hesitated, her gaze going off somewhere over his shoulder so that he was tempted to turn round to see what she was looking at.
    ‘Yes, what is it?’
    She moved to the window of the room that was to be hers, the room that she had not yet realised she was to share with him, he was sure. He followed her and stood beside her looking out over the gravel drive and the circle of grass.
    ‘There is my brother, Robbie. I suppose Father told you he is to go to the grammar school in Dewsbury. He is too young for the school in York where his brothers are going and until he is I wish him to remain with me.’
    There was a long silence while he digested this request. His face was totally without expression and she might have just asked him if it would be all right for her to have her dog with her. She did not turn to look at him. It was not really a request she had made but a demand. I wish my brother to remain with me! To live with them. To be there at every meal. To sit with them in the evening when he had hoped to spend time alone with her. At all times except when he was at school there would be a six-year-old boy forever hanging about her skirts. It was intolerable.
    ‘You do not agree,’ she said sadly as the silence lengthened, and when he still did not answer she sighed and turned away.
    ‘You see I cannot leave him on his own with Father and . . . and that woman, so if you do not wish it I cannot marry you. I must have him with me. Father tells me that I must find a post as a governess or . . . or perhaps in a school. I think I could teach young children and he and I could find lodgings somewhere. But . . . Oh, dear God . . .’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘I had forgotten, Father swears that . . . well, I suppose I will have to . . .’ She turned to him passionately, her eyes pleading.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Please say you will take Robbie. I will keep him out of your way as much as possible but if I don’t become your wife as Father says I must he will send the boys, all of them, including Robbie, to a school up in Northumberland and I will . . .’
    Again his heart wrenched in agony, her agony, but this time he gave way to his feelings and with a small sound in the back of his throat he put his arms about her, drawing her to him gently, calming her, just holding her as friend holds friend and it began then. Kizzie felt a lump come to her throat and without a sound drifted from the room and left them alone.
    ‘Don’t, Charlotte, don’t worry so. You may have your Robbie to live with us as long as you promise that you and I can spend time together on our own .’
    ‘When he is at school, Mr Armstrong.’ Her face was radiant.
    ‘And providing you call me Brooke.’
    ‘I will. Oh, how can I thank you, you are the kindest, best man.’
    ‘No, no, do not make me into a saint.’ He was laughing now and so was she and when they left the room Kizzie saw that they were holding hands.
    She really was the most beautiful bride any of the congregation had ever seen. Her eyes shone with the blue-green depths of aquamarine like the waters of the sea off the Cornish coast, one guest remarked, and her cheeks were flushed with rose. Her tawny hair had been brushed and brushed to the gloss of copper by Kizzie, and was in a full roll about her head like a small crown. Her gown was of white satin with a separate back-fastening bodice with small puff sleeves and the skirt was padded at the