The low murmur of voices was punctured by a gurgling laugh, followed by a girl’s voice saying, ‘I always feel so happy when we’re together like this, Henry. In fact I think it’s the only time I am truly happy. Do you know what I mean?’ ‘Of course I do. You know I feel the same, lass.’ ‘Then how can you even think of marryin’ Hilda? She set her cap at you from way back, you know it, same as you know you only love me. You can’t marry her, Henry.’ ‘Don’t start that again.’ Henry Farrow was of slender build, his finely boned body and delicate, almost pretty face giving the impression of someone much younger than his twenty years. In direct contrast, the girl lying beside him in the fragrant hay was hefty, her broad frame and voluptuous curves reminiscent of a full-blown Rembrandt beauty. She propped herself on one elbow now, stroking the side of Henry’s face as she said softly, her voice still holding an echo of laughter, ‘I will start it, I have every right to.
