“You were beginning to look cross-eyed with boredom,” Viscount Whitleaf told her.
“Oh, I was not!” she protested indignantly. “I would not be so ill-mannered.”
“But it is interesting to note,” he said, “that you do not deny that you were bored. Anyway, I have rescued you. What are friends for?”
She laughed, and they stood talking to each other for a while beside the tea tray until Mr. Crossley and Miss Krebbs joined them.
One afternoon he rode over to Barclay Court with Miss Raycroft and her brother, and the three of them stayed for tea. But when Mr. Raycroft rose to leave, his sister protested that she wanted to see some watercolors of Vienna the countess had brought back from Europe and promised to show her since Vienna was where Alice Hickmore was spending the winter. Mr. Raycroft sat down again to continue his conversation with the earl, Frances took Miss Raycroft up to her room, and Viscount Whitleaf invited Susanna to stroll out on the terrace with him until his companions were ready to leave. He told her-at her prompting-about his years at Oxford, where he had studied the classics. It seemed from what he said that he actually had studied, not merely used the years away from home to kick up his heels and enjoy life.
Her opinion of him took another turn for the better.
The next day was chilly and blustery, but Susanna and Frances decided to walk into the village anyway for fresh air and exercise and for Frances to deliver a basket of food to a former housekeeper at Barclay Court who had celebrated her eightieth birthday the month before when Frances and the earl were still away. Susanna wanted to buy some new ribbon to trim the old gown she would wear to the assembly.
She explained that to Viscount Whitleaf, whom they met as he was striding along the village street after escorting two of the Calvert sisters home from Hareford House, and at his suggestion Frances proceeded on her way to deliver her basket while he escorted Susanna to the village shop, where she made her purchase before being taken to the village inn to be treated to a glass of lemonade and a pastry.
And then he offered to escort them both back to Barclay Court, insisting when Frances protested that he could never deny himself the pleasure of having a lady for each arm as he walked-and that he hoped she would not deny him that pleasure.
“Far be it from me to cause you any such misery,” Frances said with a laugh, taking one of his arms while Susanna took the other. “And thank you.”
He talked about music with Frances, skillfully drawing Susanna in too. He had, she realized, considerable conversational skills when he chose to use them. And considerable knowledge too.
If Susanna felt some small disappointment in the friendship, it was in the fact that Viscount Whitleaf had not solicited her hand for any of the sets at the assembly, which was fast approaching. He was, of course, engaged to dance at least the first four sets-she remembered that from the day they had met. Perhaps he had promised all the others too.
Or perhaps friends did not feel the need to dance with each other.
No one had yet reserved any sets with her. She was almost sure, of course, that the earl would dance with her, and probably Mr. Raycroft too. Perhaps even Mr. Dannen. But how lovely it would be-what a crowning delight-to dance with Viscount Whitleaf. It would be something to tell her friends about, something to relive in memory all the rest of her life. And if it happened also to be the waltz…
But she would not dwell upon that slight disappointment. Already this was turning into a holiday that would buoy her spirits all through the autumn term at school. She must not be greedy.
Perhaps he would ask her when the evening came.
Or perhaps, if he had no free sets, he would at least find some time to come and talk with her so that she would feel less of a wallflower.
It did not matter. She had a gentleman friend. What startling stories she would have to share with Claudia and Anne when she returned to Bath.
In the meantime, the holiday was still not at an end.
6
The whole neighborhood had been invited to an afternoon picnic at Barclay Court, and fortunately the good weather had returned for the occasion after a few days of clouds and winds and chill.
Peter was greatly enjoying himself despite memories of an affectionate, subtly reproachful letter that morning from his mother, whose house party was proceeding without him. If he were there at Sidley Park now, he thought, he would very possibly be attending just exactly the same type of event as he was here. Except that there he would know that one in particular of the young ladies present had been selected as a potential bride for him-Miss Rose Larchwell. And he would know that his mother’s fond, anxious eyes were following him wherever he went. There he would feel all the burden of being loved dearly by someone he had forgiven, though he had not forgotten.
Perhaps it would have been better not to have forgiven, or at least to have forgiven conditionally. Perhaps he ought to have made it crystal clear to her that he would not accept any further interference in his life, especially as a matchmaker. Perhaps he ought to have told her that Sidley could no longer be her home. But she had been so brokenhearted-for him as well as for herself. And he had been only twenty-one. Besides all of which, he had loved her and still did. She was his mother.
And so she seemed to feel it was her mission in life to atone, to find him a bride in place of the one she had lost for him.
He shook off the thought of what might be proceeding at Sidley and concentrated on what was happening at Barclay Court. Here he could relax and enjoy himself with whomever he chose-or with whoever chose him.
The picnic site was a wide, grassy bank close to the narrower end of a large lake, at some remove from the house. There was a picturesque three-arched stone bridge spanning its banks nearby. The waters from a river flowed rather swiftly beneath it into the lake. From the center of the bridge, where he stood for a while early in the afternoon with Miss Raycroft, Miss Mary Calvert, and Miss Krebbs, he could see that the swiftness of the water was caused by a waterfall farther back along the river among the trees. He gazed appreciatively at the scene while they chattered about the upcoming assembly.
Partway along the bank on the far side of the lake there was a pretty octagonal wooden pavilion. He walked there a little later with Finn, Miss Calvert, Miss Jane Calvert, and Miss Moss and her brother. They sat inside the structure for a while admiring the view, talking merrily, and laughing a great deal.
Most of the conversation there too concerned the assembly, to which they were all looking forward with eager anticipation. It was the first, apparently, since last Christmas.
After they had returned to the picnic site, Peter sat for a while on one of the blankets that had been spread for the convenience of the guests, conversing with the Countess of Edgecombe and a few of her older neighbors. In answer to their questions she told them something of her recent singing tour of Europe.
The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun warm without being oppressively hot. There was a very light breeze. It was a perfect summer day.
The boats were proving popular. There were four of them, each designed for no more than two persons, one rower and one passenger, though Peter found himself with two ladies squeezed onto the seat facing him every time he was at the oars. He made no complaint. Why should he when there was a pair of ladies to admire each time instead of one? In their flimsy summer finery and bonnets, they all looked good enough to eat. And they were all clearly enjoying the rare treat of a lovely summer day coinciding for once with an outdoor social event.