He asked himself the same question. From the start he had thought of this as a dalliance, not a serious courtship; yet only a few moments ago he had been thinking how much he would like to spend the rest of his life holding hands with Nora in front of a fire. Did he really want to marry her? He realized that he did, in fact there was nothing he would like better. There would be trouble, of course. The family would say he was marrying beneath him. They could go to the devil. He was twenty-six years old, he earned a thousand pounds a year, and he was about to be made a partner in one of the most prestigious banks in the world: he could marry who the hell he liked. His mother would be troubled but supportive: she would worry, but she would be glad to see her son happy. And the rest of them could say what they pleased. They had never done anything for him.
He looked at Nora, pink and pretty and lovable, lying back on the old sofa with her hair around her bare shoulders. He wanted her badly, now, quickly. He had been alone too long. Maisie was thoroughly settled with Solly: she would never be his. It was time he had someone warm and soft to share his bed and his life. Why not Nora?
He snapped his fingers at the dog. "Come here, Blackie." It approached him warily. He stroked its head then grabbed the ribbon around its neck. "Come and guard the hall," he said, and he put the dog outside and closed the door. It barked twice and subsided into silence.
He sat beside Nora and took her hand. She looked wary. He said: "Nora, will you marry me?"
She flushed red. "Yes, I will."
He kissed her. She opened her mouth and kissed him back passionately. He touched her knee. She took his hand and guided it beneath the skirts of her dress, up between her legs to the fork of her thighs. Through the flannelette of her underwear he could feel the rough hair and soft flesh of her mound. Her lips tracked across his cheek to his ear, and she whispered: "Hugh, darling, make me yours, tonight, now."
"I will," he said hoarsely. "I will."
Section 2
THE DUCHESS OF TENBIGH'S COSTUME BALL was the first great event of the 1879 London season. Everyone was talking about it weeks in advance. Fortunes were spent on fancy dress, and people would go to any length to get an invitation.
Augusta and Joseph Pilaster were not invited. That was hardly surprising: they did not belong in the very highest echelon of London society. But Augusta wanted to go, and she made up her mind she would be there.
