A Lesson in Forgiveness (7 page)

“Yes, but that doesn't always stop someone from doing something, does it?”

“No, it does not. I do try to be a gentleman most of the time.” Quirking his eyebrow and looking down into her eyes as they walked, he made her smile. He was full of simple gestures that spoke volumes. There weren't many people who could express so much with only their facial expressions.

Whitmore chose one of his most docile mares for her. After it was saddled, he assisted Ginny with mounting. Putting his hands on her waist, she put her foot in the stirrup and he lifted her with ease. As she was lifted, she still had to maneuver her other leg around the pummel and fix her skirts so they were decent. It all just seemed like too much work to be worth it.

Whitmore mounted his horse like a professional and they were soon on their way. Ginny had to use her crop to goad the horse forward, since she had trouble bumping its flanks with only one stirruped foot.  She also didn't want to hit the horse too hard to send it galloping away. The two kept the leisurely pace Whitmore had promised. It turned out better for conversation.

Whitmore pointed out many landmarks and commented on some of his tenant's lands. He showed her the lake and trout stream, the mill, the outskirts of the closest village called Headley. Soon they were amongst nothing but the wilderness, so she finally had time to ask questions.

“So, what kind of trouble did you and Lord Clarendon get into?”

He laughed out loud, a boisterous sound that would make anyone smile. “I had hoped you would forget to ask me that, Miss Hamilton. It appears there is nothing amiss with your memory.”

“Like an elephant. Now, stop stalling and start spilling.”

Quirking his eyebrow, he said, “You do have the strangest vocabulary sometimes.”

“And you have a strangest tendency to stall.”

“Right you are.” He seemed to think about what stories he could tell her and those he definitely could not. The story about how they both pursued the milliner's daughter, only to find out later that they not only both caught her, but did so in the same day, seemed wholly inappropriate. He settled on a tale from when they first met, where they stole their Latin teacher's discipline stick and framed a rather tiresome schoolmate with the crime.

His face was so animated in the telling of the tale, Ginny could feel his enthusiasm. She laughed out loud at his description of the boy's face upon finding the stick in his possession at the same time their teacher found it.

“That is truly dreadful. Whatever happened to that poor boy?” she asked.

“Oh, he is married, with a dozen children and keeps his mistress well occupied.” As the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. How had it come that he forgot who he was with and instead treated a young, unmarried lady as if she were one of his male friends?

Before he could apologize, Ginny replied, “A dozen children and a mistress... one would wonder when the poor man sleeps.” Laughing at her own joke, she noticed that Whitmore looked appalled. Her laughter died and her smile faded. It was then that she realized what they had both said and knew the reason for his distress.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Hamilton. That was extremely inappropriate. I apologize for my remark.”

Stopping her horse, which at their speed wasn't that difficult, Ginny took a deep breath. By the time Whitmore noticed and turned his horse around to face her, she looked extremely vexed. Before he could say another word, she said, “Do I look so fragile, sir, that any words you say to me would have some kind of power to... disturb me?”

Whitmore bunched up his eyebrows and looked thoroughly confused. “It was inappropriate. I was only apologizing.”
“Was my remark any less inappropriate?” She took a deep breath and tried to phrase her comment so he would understand. “I am not so sheltered that I don't know what happens between men and women. I'm not asking to have a conversation with you proving this knowledge, but why must everyone apologize all the time for being honest. You answered my question. You did not reveal the forbidden secrets of the universe. I grow weary of having to pretend all the time.”

Ginny felt like she'd reached her limit of “things she could not say.” Judging by the look on poor Lord Whitmore's face, she was really tripping the light fantastic on his gentlemanly sensibilities. He had spent years learning all the rules, only to have her come along and burn the rulebook. It was just as well... she knew they had no destiny together, so couldn't she have one man she could talk to without having to worry that she'd crossed some invisible line?

His scrutiny was almost painful, it looked as if he battled with whether to chastise her or kiss her, which was exactly the feelings he was warring with at that moment. Whitmore had never socialized with innocents, only married or widowed women. He could innocently flirt if necessary, but was more often used to the same kind of honestly that she requested with only men or married women.

“You must realize that any discussions we have could only be limited to certain topics.”

“When we are around others. But when we are alone, can we just see where the conversation takes us. Do I have to always worry that the wrong word will have you angry and chastising me. Can't we just be friends?”

“Are you so open with your female friends?”

“Yes. I don't go around revealing deep, dark secrets, but I do open up and share things with my friends. I don't think you give me much credit, Lord Whitmore.”

He hadn't even thought of it that way. As far as he was concerned, he gave her a lot of credit. Credit for being intelligent, thoughtful and insightful. “I... I can try, Miss Hamilton. I cannot promise anything. I have had too many years of training to be able to completely let it go.”

“Thank you. Now that we have that decided, can you please call me Bethany?”

Whitmore groaned. This was proving harder than he realized. “I do not think that would be appropriate.” Once again, as the words came out of his mouth, her expression changed completely. Where she had finally relaxed, she began to tense up again.

“I will try... Bethany.” He knew he should stop this behavior and bring them back to a more correct, distant relationship, but he couldn't. The truth was, he enjoyed her company too much to give it up. He just started to relax when she spoke again.

“And may I call you by your first name?”

By this time, he was almost used to her strange requests. “Colin. My given name is Colin.”

“Thank you, Colin. I promise not to call you Colin unless we're alone.” She said it as if that made it better. He began to worry that maybe she did have hopes of a personal attachment with him. Bethany soon put those fears to rest. “Now, how is it you can travel to the Continent when Napoleon is running around like a crazy man?”

Would she ever cease to surprise him? He smiled and answered her questions. Even asked her about her personal life and where she grew up. All in all, the conversation wasn't terribly inappropriate, but much more than about the weather.

On their way back to the house, he asked her something that he'd been wondering about. “I notice you thank the servants a great deal. Why is that? Why do you thank them for doing what they are supposed to do?”

Taking a deep breath and knowing that Colin just opened a Pandora's box that would never again be closed, she said, “Because they do me a service. A service for which I'm appreciative. It's only right to say thank you.”

“I have overheard many of my guests commenting that your behavior could lead to servants getting ideas of being better than they are.”

“Really. How shocking! I will be honest with you, Colin. I don't think you are a better person because you're an earl and Pearce is a butler. He works very hard. Is, as far as I can tell, always available, day or night. Runs the other servants like a drill sergeant and maintains order in your household. I know I couldn't do his job. Wouldn't that make him better than me?”

Colin considered her argument and replied, “What of education and breeding?”
“Ah, yes, breeding.” She was going to say “inbreeding” but decided against it. “If Pearce was born in your place instead of you, had the same advantages, do you think then he would be up to society's standards?”

“His parents would then be part of society and therefore he would have the breeding.”

“What if he were accidentally switched at birth. Or if someone of society found a baby on their doorstep and decided to raise him or her as their own. You wouldn't know the parents. Would that make a difference? Or even better, if some society woman got pregnant, without her husband's knowledge, by say... the footman, do you think you would be able to tell the difference if you were never told?”

He eyed her with suspicion. It didn't matter what he said, he knew she would have an answer. He was somewhat shocked by her brutal honesty. She seemed to know all too well the inner workings of male/female relationships. The truth was he felt the same way. It was the reason he paid his staff well and treated them with respect. “You may have a point, Bethany.”

“Good. Then I have won one as well.”

“What do you mean?” he looked at her again with suspicion.

“The first night we were here. Our talk about 'inappropriate topics.' I conceded to you that causing a scandal would be unfair to you as my host.”

Colin burst out laughing, nearly falling off his horse. “And yet, here we are having one inappropriate conversation after another. I fear, Miss Hamilton, you have conceded nothing.”

“Very well. I will let you win the next argument. Alright?”

“I should say I look forward to winning any argument with you, Miss Hamilton. I imagine it is not an experience I will savor often.”

“Surely not, Colin. Now, do you want to talk about women's rights?”

They rode on together, heading back to the stables. Ginny's face alight with her passions, Colin's with wonderment over someone so young having so many opinions. Most of which, he was certain, her parents would be aghast over.

Chapter 7

The next few days flew by before her eyes. Every morning she spent with Colin, discussing the news, or arguing over social injustices. He was nearly delirious after their discussion of women's rights. Ginny couldn't believe how set he was in his ways, that women should be cared for and sheltered. It goaded her more than anything when he said that she was special because she could discuss certain topics without fainting.

Many of the afternoons were spent with Miles. Although she never sought out his attention, he always managed to show up everywhere she went. They had taken several long walks around the estate, discussing their families, their responsibilities and why he needed to get married. It wasn't terribly romantic, but marriage in their class was not about love. It was about good breeding and raising oneself up advantageously. In the case of Bethany and Miles, she would be elevated to new heights, marrying the son of a duke.

After all the hub bub of the past few days, Ginny was relieved to learn that the men had planned a morning outing to shoot. She would have peace and quiet for a few hours, until the giggling horde of marriage desperate girls got up and going. After her breakfast, she found a book and walked down to the lake. Whitmore had set up a gazebo, with seating that looked like Adirondack chairs. In the shade of the ivy covered gazebo, Ginny found some quiet to enjoy her book.

Engrossed in the pages of an early romance novel, Ginny hardly noticed the group of children who were fishing by the lake. Occasionally she would hear their squeals of laughter or their cries over losing their line. It was a familiar sound, having lived in a family friendly neighborhood back home, that she thought nothing of it.

Suddenly the quiet was shattered by screams. Looking up from her book, Ginny noticed that a group of children by the lake were screaming and pointing. In the middle of the lake, there was a young boy, trying to keep his balance on a piece of wood. In the next moment, the boy disappeared under the water, only to come up sputtering and yelling for help.

Ginny didn't even think. She got up and ran to the lake where the other children were yelling instructions to the young boy to hold on. One of the children had run off toward the house, apparently seeking help.

Ginny reached the lake in time to see the boy go under and not come back up. The children kept screaming, but she barely heard them. Having spent some of her career in the emergency room, Ginny was used to trauma and drama. She'd trained herself to perform, not panic. With a single-mindedness, hearing only the thoughts of what she should do and how to do them, she went about going into the water.

Realizing that her dress would weigh her down too much, Ginny quickly unbuttoned what she could and pulled the dress over her head. What buttons she couldn't reach were torn off. Next came her petticoats, slippers and stockings, then she was diving into the water. It was cool on such a warm day, but it never even entered her mind. Her only thought, drilled over and over again in her mind, was
get that boy.

The water was murky and brown. It carried the smell of stagnant water, pungent with algae. She swam to the middle, where she'd last seen his small head before it failed to come up again. She dove down, opening her eyes to the brown water, feeling around for what she couldn't see. The mantra continued, holding back the panic:
get that boy, get that boy
.

She came up sputtering for air. Quickly filling her lungs, she dove down again and almost immediately felt the lifeless arm. It was lucky to find him so quickly. She knew that God must surely be smiling down on her. Dragging him back to the surface of the water, she began the swim back to shore. The closer she got, the more muddy the bottom, pulling at her feet and slowing her progress. Finally, she was able to climb the bank and pull the boy with her. The lifeless body was heavy, dead weight, but she pulled from strength that she didn't know she had. She laid him by the shore of the lake.

The children were all talking at once, but Ginny heard only the little boy's name: Gerard. Pulling his head back, Ginny blew two puffs of air into his lungs.
Come on, Gerard, breath, dammit
, she thought. After years of training, taking basic life support probably a dozen times, the steps were easy and familiar. Ginny put her fingers to the child's sickeningly white neck and felt for a pulse.