Simply Perfect (11 page)

He laughed and so did she.

“I suppose,” she said, “the adventure would not seem such a magical thing when night came on and I remembered that I do not have my shawl with me and you developed blisters on your hands.”

“How very unromantic of you,” he said. “We will have to save the adventure for another time, then, when we can make more sensible plans. Though romance does not always have to be sensible.”

The sun shaded her face less efficiently as he turned the boat in the middle of the river. Somehow their eyes met and locked and held before she looked away rather jerkily and
he
looked away just a moment later.

There was a curiously charged feeling to the air around them.

He was almost certain she had been blushing as she looked away.

Good Lord, what had
that
been all about?

But it was a redundant question. It had been a moment of pure sexual awareness—on both their parts.

He could not have been more astonished if she had stood up and executed a swallow dive into the river.

Good Lord!

By the time he looked back at her, she had donned full armor again. She was stiff and stern and tight-lipped.

He rowed the rest of the way back to the jetty in a silence she did not attempt to break and he could not think of a way of breaking. Strange, that—he was normally quite adept at making small talk. He tried to persuade himself that nothing untoward had happened after all—as indeed nothing had. He hoped fervently that she was not feeling as uncomfortable as he.

But, good Lord, they had merely been sharing a joke.

…
romance does not always have to be sensible.

His sister was standing on the riverbank close to the jetty, he could see as the boat drew closer. So were Sutton and Portia Hunt. He had never been more glad to see them. They gave him a way of breaking the silence without awkwardness.

“You have discovered the best part of the garden, have you?” he called cheerfully as he tied up the boat, stepped out onto the jetty, and handed Miss Martin out.

“The river is picturesque,” Wilma said. “But both Miss Hunt and I are agreed that Mrs. Corbette-Hythe's gardener has been remiss in not having planted some flower beds here.”

“May I present Miss Martin?” he said. “She is owner and headmistress of a girls' school in Bath and is staying with Viscount Whitleaf and his wife for a short while. My sister, the Countess of Sutton, Miss Martin, and Miss Hunt and the earl.”

Miss Martin curtsied. Wilma and Miss Hunt favored her with identical gracious nods, while Sutton, not to be outdone in cold civility, inclined his head just sufficiently to indicate that he did not choose to insult his brother-in-law.

The temperature must have dropped at least five degrees within the minute.

Wilma and Sutton would not enjoy being introduced to a mere schoolteacher, Joseph thought with what would have been wry amusement if he had not been concerned for the lady's feelings. She could hardly fail to notice the frostiness of her reception.

But she took matters into her own hands, as he might have expected she would.

“Thank you, Lord Attingsborough,” she said briskly, “for rowing me on the river. It was very obliging of you. I will go and join my friends now if you will excuse me.”

And she strode off in the direction of the house without a backward glance.

“Really!”
Wilma said when she was scarcely out of earshot. “A schoolteacher, Joseph! I suppose she hinted that she would like to go out on the river, and you could not bring yourself to deny her the treat. But you really ought to have done so, you know. Sometimes you are just too good-natured. You are easily imposed upon.”

It often amazed Joseph that he and Wilma could have been born of the same parents and raised in the same home.

“I escorted Miss Martin up from Bath last week when I came back to town,” he said. “I did it as a favor to Lady Whitleaf, who used to teach at her school.”

“Yes, well,” she said, “we all know that Viscount Whitleaf married beneath him.”

He was not about to wrangle with his sister at a garden party. He turned to Portia Hunt instead.

“Would you care for a turn on the river, Miss Hunt?” he asked her.

“Yes, I would, Lord Attingsborough,” she said, smiling and allowing him to hand her into the boat. She raised a white lacy parasol above her head, angled just so to shield her complexion from the sun.

“It was extremely kind of you,” she said after he had pushed off, “to bring that teacher out here. It is to be hoped that she is properly grateful, though to her credit she
did
thank you.”

“I enjoyed Miss Martin's company,” he said. “She is an intelligent woman. And a very successful one.”

“Poor lady,” she said as if he had just told her that Miss Martin was dying of some incurable disease. “Lady Sutton and I were speculating about her age. Lady Sutton declares that she must be on the wrong side of forty, but I could not be so cruel. I believe she must be a year or two under that age.”

“I think you are probably right,” he said, “though one can hardly be blamed for one's age whatever it is, can one? And Miss Martin has much to show for the years she has lived, however many they are.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, “though having to
work
for a living must be unpleasantly demeaning, would you not agree?”

“Demeaning, no,” he said. “Never. Tedious, possibly, especially if one has to take employment at something one does not enjoy. Miss Martin enjoys teaching.”

“Is this not a delightful garden party?” she said, twirling her parasol.

“Indeed it is,” he agreed, smiling at her. “Was the soiree enjoyable last evening? I am sorry I had to miss it.”

“The conversation was very agreeable,” she said.

He tipped his head to one side as he rowed. “Am I forgiven, then?” he asked.

“Forgiven?” Her eyes widened and she twirled her parasol once more. “Whatever for, Lord Attingsborough?”

“For going to the Whitleafs' concert instead of the soiree,” he said.

“You may do whatever you wish in life and go wherever you please,” she told him. “I would not presume to question your decisions even if I had some right to do so.”

“That is kind of you,” he said. “But I assure you I would never demand so compliant a companion. Two people, however close they are, ought to be able to express displeasure openly with each other when provoked.”

“And I assure
you,
my lord,” she said, “that I would never dream of expressing displeasure with anything a gentleman chose to do—if that gentleman had some claim to my loyalty and obedience.”

Of course, there was more than one way of expressing displeasure. There was open, forthright speech, or there was something altogether more subtle—like introducing the topic of bonnets into the conversation when the only man present was the one to whom one owed loyalty and obedience. Not that Miss Hunt owed him anything yet.

“The weather is almost perfect for a garden party,” she said, “though it is perhaps a little on the hot side.”

“But heat is preferable to rain,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed. “But I do think some clouds and some sunshine in equal measure make for the perfect summer day.”

They fell into an easy conversation in which there was not a moment's silence though nothing of any significance was said. That last fact did not particularly concern him. It was no different from a dozen conversations he held with various people every day. Not all persons could be Miss Martin, after all.

Miss Hunt looked even more lovely out here on the river, the white of her apparel and the delicacy of her complexion in marked contrast with the deep green of the water. He found himself wondering—as he had with Miss Martin—if there was any passion underlying the inbred elegance and refinement of her manner.

He certainly hoped so.

Claudia strode up the sloping lower lawn until the flower gardens and the terrace came into view again. Then she changed direction and headed toward the orchestra. She needed to calm herself before joining her friends. Her body and mind were seething with unfamiliar, and quite unwelcome, emotions and sensations. She felt like a girl again, totally out of control of her own normally tranquil center.

She ought not to have agreed to the boat ride. She actually enjoyed conversing with the Marquess of Attingsborough. He seemed to be an intelligent man, even if he
did
live an essentially idle existence. But he also happened to be easily the most attractive man she had ever encountered—not to mention handsome—and from the start she had been aware of the dangers of his practiced charm. Except that she had been aware of them on Flora and Edna's behalf during the journey, assuming herself to be immune.

Oh, but she
had
enjoyed the boat ride—both the exhilaration of being on the water and actually running her fingers through it and the pleasure of being rowed by a personable man. She had even indulged in a little romantic daydreaming if the truth were known. There she was on a warm summer afternoon boating on the River Thames with a gentleman with whom she had shared laughter both last evening and this morning. She had consciously liked him.

Until he had spoken those words.

…
romance does not always have to be sensible.

She
knew
he had meant nothing by them. She
knew
he had not been flirting with her. But suddenly fantasy had not remained buried deep in her thoughts but had obviously shown openly on her face for a fraction of a moment—but quite long enough for him to notice.

How horribly, utterly humiliating!

She looked around for a seat on which to relax while listening to the music but, seeing none, she stood on the lawn close to the rose arbor instead.

And if she had not been feeling raw enough with embarrassment—for his silence during the return to shore had clearly indicated that he
had
noticed—there had been that introduction to the Earl and Countess of Sutton and Miss Hunt.

She bristled at the memory. They had behaved just
exactly
the way she always expected the aristocracy to behave. Nasty, superior lot! Yet all three of them probably had nothing but fluff between their ears. And money to burn. She despised herself more than she did them for allowing herself to be upset by them.

She applauded politely with a few other guests as the orchestra finished playing one piece and arranged its music for the next.

And then Claudia smiled despite herself. The very ferocity of her indignation amused her. All three of them had appeared to be sniffing the air as if they smelled something nasty. But really they had done her no harm at all. They had done her a favor if anything. They had given her an excuse for getting away from the Marquess of Attingsborough. She had certainly been in need of one. Indeed, she would still be quite happy to dig a hole in the lawn at her feet and stick her head in if someone would just offer her a shovel. Instead, she headed for the rose arbor.

She fervently hoped she would never see the Marquess of Attingsborough ever again.

Some holiday
this
was turning into!

7

“Claudia!”

Even before she reached the rose arbor Claudia heard the sound of her name being called and turned her head to see Susanna hurrying toward her from the direction of the terrace. Peter was some distance behind with Viscount and Viscountess Ravensberg—and Charlie.

“Wherever have you been?” Susanna asked as she came closer. “We have been looking for you. Frances was feeling tired and Lucius has taken her home.”

“Ah. I am sorry to have missed saying farewell to them,” Claudia said. “I have been down by the river.”

“Have you been having a good time?” Susanna asked.

“It is beautiful down there,” Claudia replied. She hesitated. “I have actually been
on
the river. The Marquess of Attingsborough was obliging enough to take me out in one of the boats.”

“How good of him,” Susanna said. “He is an amiable and charming gentleman, is he not? He deserves the very best out of life. I am not sure he will have it with Miss Hunt.”

“Miss Hunt?” Claudia asked, remembering the haughty, beautiful lady dressed all in white who had treated her with such icy civility a short while ago.

Susanna pulled a face.

“She is
the
Miss Hunt,” she said, and when Claudia looked blankly at her she explained. “Miss
Portia
Hunt. The one Lucius almost married instead of Frances. And now Lauren tells me that Joseph is to marry her. Of course, they
do
make a handsome couple.”

They did, Claudia agreed. Oh, goodness, indeed they did. She felt somehow foolish as if everyone within sight of her would realize what silly daydreams she had indulged in while out on the river. Miss Claudia Martin was not usually given to daydreams, especially silly ones—and more especially
romantic
ones.

“But Claudia,” Susanna continued, smiling warmly as the rest of her group came up to them, “we have been having a long talk with the Duke of McLeith, and he has been telling us that you grew up together almost like brother and sister.”

They were all smiling, obviously happy for her. Charlie was beaming.

“Claudia,” he said, “we meet again.”

“Good afternoon, Charlie,” she said.
Brother and sister,
indeed!

“How wonderful that you should meet again now,” Lady Ravensberg said, “when you have not been in England for years, your grace, and Miss Martin has come to town for just a week or two.”

“I can scarcely believe my good fortune,” Charlie said.

“Kit and I are organizing a party to Vauxhall Gardens the evening after tomorrow,” the viscountess continued. “We would be delighted if the two of you could join us. Susanna and Peter have already said yes. Will you come too, Miss Martin?”

Vauxhall Gardens!
It was one place Claudia had always wanted to see. It was famous for its outdoor evening entertainments, with concerts and dancing and fireworks and fine food and lantern-lit pathways and alleys to stroll along. It was said to be a magical and unforgettable experience.

“I would love to,” she said. “Thank you.”

“And your grace?”

“You are most kind,” he said. “I shall be delighted.”

Claudia felt less shock at seeing him today. It was almost inevitable that they meet again, she had realized this morning when she woke up. And perhaps it was just as well it had happened. The long-ago past had never been quite exorcised. Perhaps now it would be and she could let go of the memories at last.

“Oh, lovely!” Lady Ravensberg said. “Our party is complete, then, Kit. Elizabeth and Lyndon will be coming and Joseph and Miss Hunt and Lily and Neville. Oh, and Wilma and George too.”

Lovely indeed, Claudia thought with heavy irony. And so she would see him again after all—
him
being the Marquess of Attingsborough. Well, she would just have to frown and look stern and make him believe that he must have been mistaken out there on the river. And those last two people the viscountess had named must be the Earl and Countess of Sutton. She really had walked into the fire with her enthusiastic acceptance of her invitation, but it was too late now to withdraw it.

Besides, she wanted very much to see Vauxhall Gardens, and why should she
not
go? She would have friends there.

“Claudia,” Charlie said, “would you care to take a stroll with me?”

Everyone else beamed happily at them as they moved away from the group, weaved their way among other guests, a few of whom greeted him as they passed, and headed in the general direction of the river.

“You live in Bath, Claudia?” he asked, offering his arm, though she did not take it.

He knew nothing about her, then? But she knew nothing about him either, did she? Not anything that had happened to him since her father's death, anyway.

“Yes,” she said. “I own and run a girls' school there. It is quite successful. All my dreams have come true, in fact. I am very happy.”

And how was
that
for a defensive answer to his question?

“A school!” he said. “Well done, Claudia. I thought you were a governess.”

“I was for a short while,” she said. “But then I took a chance on opening my own establishment so that I could enjoy more independence.”

“I was surprised when I heard that you had taken employment at all,” he said. “I thought you would marry. You had any number of admirers and would-be suitors, as I remember.”

She felt a flash of anger as they started down the long slope. But there was some truth in his words. Even apart from her modest dowry, she had been a pretty enough girl, and there had been something in her nature that had attracted attention from the young men of the neighborhood. But she had had eyes for none of them, and after Charlie left—or at least after the last letter he wrote her less than a year later—she had renounced the very thought of marrying. Her decision had caused her father some pain—she knew that. He would have liked grandchildren.

“Did you know that Mona had died?” Charlie asked.

“Mona?” she said a fraction of a second before she realized that he was speaking of his wife.

“The duchess,” he said. “She died more than two years ago.”

“I am sorry,” she said. At one time that name had been written on her heart as if with a sharp instrument—Lady Mona Chesterton. He had married her just before Claudia's father died.

“You need not be,” he said. “It was not a particularly happy marriage.”

Claudia felt a renewed flash of anger on behalf of the dead duchess.

“Charles is at school in Edinburgh,” he told her. “My son,” he added when she turned her head to look at him. “He is fifteen.”

Oh, goodness, only three years younger than Charlie had been when he left home. How time went by!

The Marquess of Attingsborough and Miss Hunt, she could see, were walking up the slope from the river. They would meet soon.

She wished suddenly that she had never left the tranquillity of her school. Though she half smiled at the thought.
Tranquillity?
School life hardly offered that. But at least there she always felt more or less in control.

“I am sorry, Claudia,” Charlie said. “You really do not know anything about my life, do you? Just as I know nothing of yours. How could we have grown so far apart? We were once as close as any brother and sister, were we not?”

She pressed her lips together. They
had
been like siblings once upon a very long time ago, it was true. But not toward the end.

“It was not your fault, though, that I left home never to return, was it?” he said. “Or mine either for that matter. It was the fault of circumstances. Who could have predicted that two men and one boy, none of whom I knew, would all die within four months of one another, leaving me with the title of McLeith and properties that went with it?”

He had been planning a career in law. She could remember how stunned he had been when the Scottish solicitor had arrived on her father's doorstep one afternoon—and then how consumed with excitement and happiness.

She had tried to be happy for and with him, but there had been a chill of apprehension too—one that had been fully justified as later developments had proved.

It was the fault of circumstances.

Perhaps he was right. He had been just a boy thrust into a world so different from the one in which he had grown up that it might have been a different universe. But there was no real excuse for cruelty no matter what the age of the perpetrator.

And he had certainly been cruel.

“We ought to have continued to write to each other after your father's passing,” he said. “I have missed you, Claudia. I did not realize how much until I saw you again last evening.”

Had he really forgotten? It was astounding—
we ought to have continued to write to each other…

Miss Hunt was all gracious smiles as she approached on the marquess's arm, her eyes on Charlie. Claudia might have been invisible.

“Your grace,” she called, “is this not a lovely party?”

“It has just,” he said, smiling and bowing, “turned even lovelier, Miss Hunt.”

         

Joseph found himself facing a dilemma. Miss Martin was walking with McLeith. Did she need rescuing again, as she had last evening? But why should he feel responsible for her today? She was no wilting violet of a woman. She was quite capable of extricating herself from McLeith's company if she wished.

Besides, he had been rather hoping not to encounter her again today. He had embarrassed himself earlier. He did not know quite what had come over him. She was looking severe and unapproachable, the quintessential spinster schoolmistress again—certainly not the type of woman with whom he would expect to share a spark of sexual awareness.

Should he stop now to see if she showed any sign of distress about her companion? Or should he merely nod genially and pass by? But the matter was taken out of his hands. Portia, it seemed, had an acquaintance with the duke and hailed him as soon as they were close enough to be heard clearly.

“You flatter me, your grace,” she said in reply to his lavish compliment. “The Marquess of Attingsborough and I have been on the river. It was very pleasant, though the breeze is a little too cool out there and the sun is glaring enough to damage the complexion.”

“But not yours, Miss Hunt,” the duke said. “Not even the sun has that much power.”

Joseph meanwhile had caught Miss Martin's eye. He half raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly in the direction of McLeith—
do you need help?
Her eyes widened a fraction in return and she shook her head almost imperceptibly—
no, thank you.

“You are too kind, your grace,” Portia said. “We are on our way up to the terrace for tea. Have you eaten?”

“An hour or more ago,” he said, “but I suddenly find myself ravenous again. Are you hungry, Claudia? And have you been introduced to Miss Hunt?”

“I have,” she said. “And I have not eaten yet this afternoon though I am not hungry.”

“You must come and eat now, then,” Miss Hunt said, addressing herself to McLeith. “Are you enjoying being in England again, your grace?”

And then all four of them were walking in the direction of the house, though they had somehow changed partners. Miss Hunt was slightly ahead with McLeith while Joseph fell behind with Miss Martin.

He clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. He was
not
going to allow an uncomfortable silence to descend upon them again.

“I forgot to ask when I spoke with you earlier,” he said, “if you had spoken with Miss Bains and Miss Wood yet.”

“I have,” she said, “and, as you suspected, they were ecstatic. They can scarcely wait for tomorrow to come so that they can present themselves for interviews. They paid not the slightest attention to my warnings. They showed me, in fact, that my teachings have been altogether successful. They can think for themselves and make their own decisions. I should be ecstatic too.”

He chuckled even as Miss Hunt tittered lightly at something McLeith had said. The two of them were walking faster than he and Miss Martin.

“You will go with them to the interviews?” he asked.

“No.” She sighed. “No, Lord Attingsborough. A teacher—just like a mother—must learn when to let her charges go to make their own way in the world. I would never abandon any of my charity girls, but neither would I keep them in leading strings all their lives. Though I was prepared to do just that this morning, was I not?”

The other two had moved far enough ahead by now that he could speak without fear of being overheard.

“
Did
you need rescuing just now?” he asked.

“Oh, not really,” she said. “I did not last evening either, but then there was the shock of seeing him so suddenly after so many years.”