Mary Balogh - The wood nymph

Of one thing she was sure. She wanted to see him again before the inevitable exposure of her identity the following evening. She should not, of course. She should not play with fire. But he was going to read her the poems of Mr. Wordsworth. She smiled guiltily and glanced in the direction of the hut. She could have produced her own copy of Lyrical Ballads and read to him. Would he not have been surprisedl

Looking at the hut made her consider another problem. What if she returned tomorrow to find that he was already here? Either he would see her in her everyday clothes and know the truth, or she would have to steal away and miss the chance of a meeting with him. There was only one solution. She would have to take the dress with her and hide it somewhere else so that she would be wearing it already when she arrived.

Ten minutes later Lady Helen Wade emerged from the hut wearing the same riding outfit as she had worn on the previous occasion. She carried the faded cotton dress over her arm. She gazed lingeringly in the direction of the riverbank before walking away toward the western edge of the wood, where she had tethered her horse.

“Mr.Mainwaring has asked me for the first set this evening," Melissa announced with studied casualness at the breakfast table the next morning.

"I think it only right and proper that he should," her mother replied. "He has singled you out quite markedly, my love, and I think everyone would expect that be will show you deference tonight."

"He has also suggested that we ride together one morning," Melissa continued, "but I told him that I would have to consult Papa."

"Young puppy would probably fall off at the first fence," the earl grumbled into his beefsteak. "Or else he would ride an extra two miles to avoid the fence. Ride with him, Melly, if you must. You will be as safe with him as with a nursemaid."

'"It would not surprise me in the least if he were to declare himself before the week is out," the countess said. "It would be a splendid match for you, my love, for all that he is only a mister. He must be worth twenty thousand a year if he's worth a penny."

“More, I shouldn't wonder," said the earl. "The fella owns half of England and Scotland."

"I think you exaggerate somewhat, my love," his wife suggested. "But really, Melissa, it would be a grcat triumph to have a daughter married to a man of such consequence. Now, if only we could find someone equally distinguished for dear Emily."

“I am not at all in a hurry to fix my choice, Mama," that young lady was hasty to add. "I have not yet met the man I consider worthy of my esteem. I would think it somewhat vulgar to snatch the first presentable man to appear in the district since we emerged from the schoolroom."

"Quite right too, my love," her mother agreed, not appearing to notice the slur that had been cast on her younger daughter. "And then, of course, there is Helen. I really do not know what we are to do with her." She gazed hopelessly and fondly at her youngest, who had sat silently through the preceding conversation.

"You need not worry about me, Mama," she said now. "I shall stay a spinster and remain with you and Papa."

"Yes, but you see, child," her mother said quite seriously, "you will never be a comfort to my old age if you continue to play the pianoforte as if it were your mortal enemy and work your embroidery as if it called for your undivided attention and wander, off whenever your presence is most called for."

Helen lowered her eyes and crossed to the sideboard for more coffee.

It was going to be the most awful day in her life, Helen reflected somewhat later as she wandered to the stables to watch the grooms brush down the horses and clean their stalls. This evening she was going to have to bear the introduction to Mr. Mainwaring. That was bad enough. But through a restless night she had reconciled herself to its inevitability. If she could only meet him once more during the afternoon, before he knew the truth, she would be satisfied. If only he would kiss her again… But she did not dwell on the thought. Just to see him and talk to him would be enough, and to hear him, perhaps, read to her some of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry.

But now to have found out that he had promised. Melly the first dance and had already asked her if she would ride with him one morning! And he had taken her driving the Sunday before. Was he developing a tendre for Melly? Was Mama right, and they might expect a betrothal between Mr. Mainwaring and her sister in the near future? Somehow the thought made her feel slightly sick. She wandered over to her own horse, which had been led out of its stall. She patted its nose and buried her face briefly against its mane.

Of course, it was all very possible. He knew her only as a rather ragged girl. He had talked with her twice, kissed her once. It was ridiculous to dream that perhaps his thoughts were centered as much on her as hers were on him. If he did think of her, it was probably with some amusement and perhaps with some interest in carrying on a mild flirtation. A man of his class just did not lose his heart to a lower-class girl. And a man of his class would see no dishonor in flirting with a servant girl, or even in having an affair with her, while conducting a serious courtship of a lady who was his social equal. There was nothing especially inconsistent in Mr. Mainwaring's behavior.

But there was something upsetting about it. She so wanted him to be perfect. Helen had long ago lost faith in the people of her class, both male and female. But he had seemed different. Despite the fact that he looked stern and almost morose at times, she had seen humor, kindliness, and intelligence in him. She had dreamed that he was like her, dissatisfied with the rigidity of the code of behavior by which they were expected to live, eager to find out some of the deeper meanings of life that must be hidden behind the superficiality. And, of course, she liked to believe that the man to whom she was so strongly drawn physically was worthy of her regard.

Helen dreaded now to find that he was really no different from any other man. It would be almost impossible, of course, for him to fall in love with the girl he thought she was. But sometimes it was pleasant to dream that the impossible could happen. Now the afternoon had been somewhat spoiled for her. She did not know whether she still wanted to see him. It would be painful to discover that perhaps her suspicions were true, and that he was interested only in the rather interesting physical relationship that had budded the day before.

Yet she knew that she had to go. Tonight he would know the truth. For the rest of her life, long after he was married to Melly, perhaps, she would wonder what would have happened had she gone to meet him. It was altogether possible, of course, even probable, that he would not come. He must have a great many social commitments with which to fill his afternoons. She would go and consider herself fortunate if he did not appear.

***

William Mainwaring was in a similar quandary for different reasons. He had suffered a half-hour of guilt and remorse as he had walked home across the fields the afternoon before. He should not have gone to see her. Meeting a young girl alone in the woods was a potentially dangerous situation under any circumstances. In his case it was perhaps doubly so. He was unhappy; for almost a year he had been separated from the woman he loved and would never possess, and he had recently been reminded very forcefully of the fact. He was lonely and felt more so among these strangers who would not leave him to his own solitude.

She had come almost like a gift from heaven, his little wood nymph. A gift from the devil, more like! She was beautiful and she was very unusual and he wanted her more than he had imagined he would ever want a woman after Elizabeth. He had wanted very much earlier to lay her down on the bank and to lift her skirts and bury all his hurts inside her. He could only imagine what it would be like. He had lived an almost totally womanless existence despite his one-and-thirty years. But he had wanted Nell, had been closer than he cared to think to giving in to the temptation. And he did not think that she would have resisted. That fact alone scared him. The responsibility, the decision, was entirely his.

He could not do that to her. She was probably an innocent. He would have all the responsibility of having taken her virginity if he gave in to his desires, and would perhaps ruin forever her chances of making a contented marriage. If he felt an honest affection for the girl, perhaps there would be some excuse for him. But how could he offer any woman even the smallest part of his heart when it all belonged entirely and forever to Elizabeth? He would be using the girl purely to soothe his physical frustrations. Somehow he felt that Nell deserved better than that. For all that she was a poor and uneducated girl, she had feelings as he or anyone else had and she deserved to be loved by the man who would possess her first.

By the time he reached home after his encounter with Helen, Mainwaring had decided that he must go no more to the woods. He must not see the girl again. He must make a more determined effort to mix with his neighbors, to keep himself occupied so that he would not have the time either to brood about his lost love or to think with lust about Nell. In an effort to put his resolve into immediate effect, he had stridden to the stables, saddled his horse himself, and ridden into the village to return a book that the vicar had loaned him the previous week.