Golding, dressed formally and smartly, was almost tongue-tied as the journey began. Miss Haytor, dressed immaculately in a dark blue walking dress and pelisse, was stiff and silent.
Cassandra, looking ravishing in pale spring green with a straw bonnet, seemed as amused as Stephen felt, though he guessed there was no malice in the smile she exchanged with him – as there was none in his.
The burden of conversation, Stephen decided, was going to be his for the time being, anyway. But making conversation had never been difficult for him. Often it was simply a matter of asking pertinent questions.
"You were once a teacher, Golding?" he asked as his barouche picked up speed. "And you and Miss Haytor once taught together?"
"We did, indeed," Golding said. "Miss Haytor was Miss Young's governess, and I was Master Young's tutor. But his need of me lasted all too short a time, and I was forced to move on. I regretted leaving. Miss Haytor was an excellent teacher. I admired her dedication and her well-educated mind."
"I was no more dedicated than you, Mr. Golding," Miss Haytor said, finding her tongue at last. "I once found you in Sir Henry Young's study at midnight, trying to devise a method of teaching Wesley long division that he would understand. And my own education was far inferior to your own."
"Only in the sort of formal education that attendance at university can provide," he said. "At the time you were far more widely read than I, Miss Haytor. You were able to recommend several books that have since become my favorites. I always remember you when I reread them."
"That is kind of you, I am sure," she said. "But you would have discovered them for yourself eventually, I daresay."
"I doubt that," he said. "With so many books waiting to be read, I often do not know where to start and so do not start at all. I would like to hear what you have been reading in the last few years. Perhaps I will be inspired to try something new again that is not merely concerned with politics."
Stephen met Cassandra's eyes. They did not smile openly at each other.
They might have been caught doing so and might have made the other two self-conscious again. But they smiled anyway. He knew she was smiling though her face was in repose. And he knew he was smiling back.
And even if he misinterpreted her expression, at least she was not wearing her habitual mask this afternoon. She had not been wearing it this morning either. Indeed, this morning he had been unwary enough to feel that he could fall in love with her if he allowed himself to do something so foolish. When Con had drawn his attention to the bakery, it was Cassandra he had seen. He had not even noticed Meg and Lady Carling for a few moments. And when he had walked home with her and the child, he had felt…
Well, never mind. They had been foolish feelings.
Stephen had brought only a coachman with him, and Golding had brought no servants of his own, having had a hackney cab drop him and his basket in Portman Street. When they arrived at Richmond Park after a longish drive, then, the gentlemen carried the basket between them while the ladies walked ahead to choose a decent spot for a picnic.
They found one on a grassy slope some distance into the park beneath some of the ancient oaks for which the park was famous, looking down upon lawns and across at rhododendron bushes with more oaks behind them.
In the distance they could see the Pen Ponds, which were always kept well stocked with fish.
A few other people were out strolling, though not very many, and no one else appeared to be picnicking. No one else was up on their slope. As Stephen had hoped, they were to enjoy a quiet, secluded afternoon.
After the two men had set down the basket, Golding opened it and drew out a large blanket – one explanation for the fact that the basket had not been as heavy as Stephen had expected it would be. Golding shook it out and would have spread it on the grass himself, but Miss Haytor hurried to help him, grasping two corners while he held the others. Together they set it down flat, without a wrinkle.
"It is too early for tea," Golding said. "Shall we go for a walk?"
"But someone may make off with the basket and the blanket while we are gone, Mr. Golding," Miss Haytor pointed out.
"Quite right," he said, frowning. "We will not be able to walk far. We will have to keep them in our sight."
"I am quite content to sit here," Cassandra said, "and bask in the sunshine and breathe in the fresh air and drink in the sight of so much green countryside. Why do you not walk with Mr. Golding, Alice, and Lord Merton and I will stay here."
Miss Haytor looked suspiciously at Stephen. He smiled his best smile at her.
"I will protect Lady Paget from harm, ma'am," he said. "The public setting of the park and the other people strolling here will be effective chaperones for both you and her."
She was still not quite convinced, he could see. But her desire to walk – /alone/ – with Golding was being weighed against caution.
"Allie," Cassandra said, "if we have driven all this way merely to stroll together in a tight circle about the picnic basket, we might as well have stayed at home and eaten in the back garden beneath Mary's clothesline."
Miss Haytor was convinced. She went down the slope with Golding and then took his offered arm as they turned in the direction of the distant ponds.
"I believe," Cassandra said, seating herself on the blanket and removing first her gloves and then her bonnet and setting them down beside her,
"I have been incredibly selfish."
"In sending them off walking while we remain here?" he asked.
"In keeping Alice with me all these years," she said. "She started to look for other employment when I accepted Nigel's marriage offer. She even went to one interview and was impressed with both the children and their parents. But I begged her to come with me into the country, at least for a year. I had never lived in the country and was somewhat apprehensive. She came because I was so insistent, and then she stayed, year after year. I thought only of /my/ needs and told her more times than I can count that I did not know how I would live without her."
"It is basic human need to be needed," he said. "She very obviously loves you. I daresay she was quite content to stay with you."
She turned her face toward him. She was sitting with her knees bent, her arms clasped around them.
"You are too kind, Stephen," she said. "She might have met someone to marry years ago, though. She might have been happy."
"And she might not," he said. "Not many governesses are in a position to meet prospective husbands, are they? And her new employers might not have needed her for anything more than imparting a certain body of knowledge to their children. The children might have resented her. She might have been dismissed soon after acquiring the position. Her next one might have been worse. /Anything/ might have happened, in other words."
She was laughing, her face still turned toward him.
"You are quite right," she said. "Perhaps after all I have been saving her for this happy reunion with the love of her life. I think Mr.
Golding may well /be/ that. Today is not for gloom and guilt, is it?
Today is for a picnic. I have always associated that word with pure enjoyment. But there were never any picnics during my marriage. It is strange, that. I did not even realize it until today. I came here to enjoy myself, Stephen."
He sat with one knee raised, the sole of his Hessian boot flat on the blanket, one arm draped over his knee, the other slightly behind him, bracing his weight. They were sitting in the dappled shade offered by the spreading branches of one of the oaks. His hat was on the blanket beside him.
He watched, fascinated, as she lifted her arms, drew the pins from her hair, and shook it free over her shoulders and along her back. She set the pins down on the brim of her bonnet and drew the fingers of both hands through her hair to release any tangles.