Marjorie Farrell (27 page)

“Would you like to take a turn about the conservatory?” Nora replied. “I would like to tell you more about it.”

“So…did you go home?” Simon asked, as they walked.

“I did, Simon, and I am very glad. My father had thought me dead, for his letter was returned. He had forgiven me years ago.”

“And you? Had you forgiven him? And yourself?”

Nora stopped and looked at him wonderingly. “It was easy to forgive my father. I understand his remarriage better, now that I am older. And I understand my young self better too. But how did yet another person realize before I did that I had been blaming myself all these years? My father and Joanna have said the same thing to me.”

“It is not often that anyone can act against society’s expectations without feeling some sort of guilt. And society’s expectations for women are very strict. You were passionate and followed your heart. I don’t know a better situation than that to create shame in a woman.”

“You should be a novelist, Simon,” teased Nora, “with your insight into a woman’s heart.”

“And have you forgiven yourself for running off with Breen?” Simon replied, refusing to be distracted by her attempts at lightness.

“Yes, I believe I have. Anyway, Miranda and I will need your help in the spring.”

“Anything.”

“My father and stepmother will be in town for the Season, and I need all my friends to confirm my story that I made a marriage that alienated me from my family, but that a reconciliation has finally taken place. I want no hint of scandal touching Miranda.”

“There will be, no doubt, some excited gossip, but I think you can bring it off. And of course I will back you up. Have you told anyone else about your family?”

“Not yet. I suppose I will have to over the holidays.”

“Lavinia will be a great help with the gossips. And, of course, Sam.” Simon felt Nora’s arm tremble slightly when he mentioned the viscount’s name.

“Yes, you are right. I will tell them when we visit Alverstone.”

“Come, we’d better get back to the others, or they will start gossiping about the Duke of Sutton and the most wicked Mrs. Dillon,” teased the duke, and they rejoined Miranda and Judith for a comfortable discussion of Sophy’s latest achievements.

Tempted as he was to visit Heathside, Sam decided that it would be safer to see Nora in public. When he received an invitation to a literary evening at Lady Hollingford’s to which both Nora and Joanna had been invited, he decided to agree to Lavinia’s request that he escort her. “For you know Miranda and Jeremy are staying home. You won’t mind if we leave early?” she asked. “You know how bored I get at these gatherings. All these intelligent conversations about books I haven’t read, and the bluestockings looking down their noses at me.”

Sam laughed. “Lady Hollingford is hardly a bluestocking. She is having this little soiree to prove to her archrival, the Duchess of Devonshire, that she too can host a stimulating evening. I am quite sure that there will be other ladies there, equally bored. And Nora could hardly put anyone to sleep.”

“That is true, Sam, but she will be in her element.”

“Well, I will come to your rescue,” Sam agreed. “Be ready at half-eight.”

* * * *

The next evening he found himself discarding cravats like any young man on the town for his first Season. As his valet smoothed his coat over his shoulders, the viscount surveyed himself in his glass and groaned at his image. He had never worried about his appearance before, but now, as he looked at his long, lean frame, he was dissatisfied. After all, he did not fill his coat to perfection, nor were his thighs noticeably muscular. The muscles were there, to be sure, but not outlined as on the heroes in Nora’s books. Did she create her heroes for her audience or for herself? he wondered. And how had Dillon’s breeches fit him?

He noticed Henryson’s face in the glass and laughed at his valet’s puzzled expression. Sam rarely spent this much time dressing, and he and his valet knew that he looked as elegant as a tall, rangy type like himself could look.

“Come, we must cheer up. You have done your usual good job at turning me out.”

Henryson’s face brightened as he handed the viscount his hat and gloves.

“No one need wait up for me, John.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

* * * *

By the time Sam stopped at Lavinia’s and waited for her to finish dressing, he knew the evening was well under way. Indeed, they were two of the last guests to arrive, and as he surveyed the room, he saw Nora animatedly conversing with an editor from the
Gentleman’s Magazine
and one of the bluestocking ladies Lavinia so feared. He made sure to settle Lavinia with the women he knew would be there, the women who attended these evenings to be fashionable, not to enjoy themselves. After working his way around the room, he finally reached Nora’s corner, and was gratified to see her eyes widen in surprise and, he hoped, pleasure.

“Please go on with your conversation,” he said.

It seemed, however, that they had exhausted their topic, Miss Grey was thirsty, and Mr. Woodcock quite willing to escort her in to the refreshment table.

“I hear you are quite recovered, Nora,” Sam said rather stiffly. He had not intended to be alone with her.

“Yes, I have not been ill like that for many years. I suppose I never had the luxury, with Miranda to care for.” She laughed. “I was most grateful for your help, Sam, and for the flowers,” she said hesitantly, with her eyes on the carpet.

“Please. It was nothing,” he protested, and they both stood silent for a moment, until Nora, unable, for the life of her, to be bright or witty, blurted out: “I hope you have been well. I have not seen you at Lavinia’s these past weeks.” Oh, why ever did I say that? she agonized. Why should I have missed him, after all?

So, my absence did pique her interest a little, Sam thought. “I have been quite well, thank you.” Another silence fell and Sam watched Nora’s blushes fade, leaving her a pale rose. She lifted her eyes to Sam’s face, only to be put to the blush again by the intent look upon his face as he gazed down at her. They were both intensely aware of one another. He marveled at how the candlelight heightened the auburn lights in her hair, and was amazed he had never noticed the length of her eyelashes. She was idly wondering if his valet polished his boots with champagne, as she made herself focus on their shine rather than the scent of clean shirt and Caribbean lime which threatened to undo her.

They might have stood like two statues for longer had not Joanna made her way over to them and brought them back to a more expanded, if not as pleasant, awareness. Joanna had brought one of the young and promising dramatists who tended to plague her at these parties, and the four of them were soon involved in animated conversation about the latest play at Drury Lane. A few others soon joined them, and for the rest of the evening Nora was never available for any private conversation. Sam resigned himself and did his duty by Lavinia. He was determined to see Nora soon, however, and before he left, he found her at the refreshment table and bade her good-bye, adding as he turned away, “I hope to call on you in a few days, Mrs. Dillon.”

Nora spent the next morning tormenting herself. Surely she had imagined what had seemed to be a mutual feeling of attraction. And even if the feeling was mutual, it probably meant nothing. Sam was evidently in the habit of attaching widows. He was certainly not in the habit of marrying them. And why was she even thinking of marriage? He was a confirmed bachelor with no desire for a wife at this late stage in his life. And surely she was not looking for a husband?

“Surely,” she laughed to herself, “I’d better get my mind on something else!”

She attempted to write, but was suffering from a surfeit of physical energy, and decided instead to clean and rearrange the cottage. Miranda had taken most of her things with her, and her room, while it would ever be her room, might be used as an extension of Nora’s “library-study.” So she threw herself into two days of dusting and moving books. And sneezing. Her nose ran and her eyes watered as she dusted.

“A few days” had meant more than two to Nora, so she was surprised and almost angry when Sam arrived on the afternoon of her second day of cleaning. Drat him, she thought. He always finds me a mess: covered with dirt or dust or unkempt and ill.

As soon as they walked inside the house, she began sneezing. After three “God blesses” from the viscount, she put up her hand. “Don’t bother,” she said as she turned to him, her eyes streaming. “It is only the dust. Thank goodness I am just about finished.”

Sam looked at her red nose and swollen eyes and was caught between amusement and concern.

“Are you sure you should be doing this so soon after your illness? Won’t all this sneezing be an occasion for a relapse?”

“Truly, I feel fine,” Nora protested. “And I am very pleased with my work. Come and see how much more room I have in my study.”

Sam approved of the new arrangements and asked her if she had stored her books.

“Oh, no, I put in a few shelves in Miranda’s old room.”

“So you are getting used to her absence, then?”

“Oh, I’ll never be completely used to it. But I feel more comfortable with her absence since I returned home.”

“And how was your trip north? I have never really heard about it.”

“You have hardly had the chance,” Nora replied
—rather evasively, Sam thought.

“Well, let us remedy that,” Sam said. “Why don’t you take a rest from your labors, and we’ll go for a walk. It is an unseasonably warm day, so we should take advantage of it.”

It was, indeed, a beautiful day, one of those isolated days before the full onset of winter, which teases with its memories of summer. Nora was quick to wash and change. She carried her old wool cloak, in case the sun were to play tricks with them.

She almost regretted it, for both of them were wet with perspiration after only fifteen minutes. Sam stripped off his coat, and folding it inside her cloak, constructed a makeshift knapsack, which he hung from his waist by the cloak-strings. Nora exclaimed in admiration, and asked where he had ever learned to do such a thing.

“I have been on many a long hike where one is overdressed for the first few hours and then regrets leaving cloaks behind. I’ve learned to make do.”

“I am always in awe when I think of your travels to such remote parts of the world. I cannot conceive of hiking in mountains. I think of myself as fairly sturdy, but I am content with the small hills of the Heath, and with discovering the birds and plants here. While I have been admiring primroses, you have been discovering orchids and seeing leopards!”

“But you have raised a daughter. Now, that is foreign territory for me,” Sam replied seriously. “Although I have been involved with Jeremy for the past few years, I have never carried the full responsibilities of a parent.”

“Did you never wish to be married, Sam?” Nora asked quietly, surprising herself by how naturally the question came out.

“Years ago, I was passionately in love, or so I thought, with Lavinia. She chose the right man, however long it took me to realize that.” Sam laughed. “I started traveling then, to get over my heartache. And I guess I mistrusted my feelings after I returned home and saw that Lavinia would never have been right for me. I did not want to marry only to produce children. And so I have done as many men: contented myself with my
chères
amies
.
Although I think I have been lucky to have at least found affection in my liaisons. And they have always ended by mutual agreement.”

They had walked quite a distance, and Sam said, “Let us sit for a while in the sun. It will likely be our last chance until the spring.” He spread out Nora’s cloak and they both sat, knees clasped, facing the sun.

The walk had relaxed both of them, so they sat in comfortable silence. The sun’s warmth had its way with Nora, who was tired from her work of the past two days, and Sam felt her head sink down onto his shoulder. He whispered her name, but she was clearly sound asleep, and he eased her down so her head was resting on his chest, and sat there with his arm around her.

The clouds Nora had predicted were beginning to roll in, and as she became chilled, she awoke, slowly becoming aware that her head was pillowed on Sam’s chest and he was stroking her hair. She could have stayed there forever, but without thinking, stretched reflexively and turned toward him. Her mouth was open in an automatic yawn, but closed as she saw the look on his face. He traced her cheek with his finger, and then, cupping his hand under her chin, lifted her head up as he bent down to kiss her.

Nora was still half-asleep, and relaxed into his strong hands, letting herself be kissed into oblivion. Or into blessed awareness. She was disappearing into the pleasure of the kiss, and then, every cell in her body was awake and aware of him. She moaned as he explored her mouth with his tongue. The sun and his kisses had melted her. There was no wall between them, and she began to nibble at his lips and his earlobes. She had not realized how hungry she had been all these years, until this moment, when it seemed that nourishment was hers for the taking.

They slipped down on the cloak and her body acted on its own, having remembered everything she had forgotten.

Sam was kissing her neck and her ears as he reached under her dress. His fingers found her almost immediately and he smiled at how moist and warm she was. Her pleasure became his as he stroked her gently and then more forcefully, bringing her up and up and up before she came down into his arms, shuddering convulsively. He held her close and rocked her as she buried her face in his shirt.

She finally lifted her face to his and he leaned down to seal the moment with one last kiss before he pulled her up to sit beside him, his arm over her shoulders.

There was nothing to say, thought Nora, as the chill began to penetrate her dress. He must think her…well, what could he think of her after that? And she still had not told him anything.