He murmured agreement as he settled the bags he’d carried into the coach, then accepted hers to do the same. He dusted his hands and reached for his coat, which she’d carried along, thrown over the arm that had carried the lighter of her two bags. As she surrendered it to him, he laid it atop the bags and gave her a succinct little nod. “When we stop this evening, we should inform the innkeeper if the en masse style is our preference for the morning.”
He looked well in shirtsleeves only. Very well.
“I’d like that,” she tried to sound firm and unaffected.
A smile slowly spread across his face. “So would I.”
I am increasingly struck dumb in this man’s presence of late, Genevieve noted, almost amused by her own behavior—for she would swear that, yet again, he ever so gently flirted with her. Me? Summer? Next I’ll believe he’s flirting with the innkeeper’s wife.
She didn’t break their shared gaze, aware she might just have to learn to tolerate any flirting, or lack thereof, or having it pointed at others, or this swirling confusion about it at all, in order to complete her task of keeping him away from Summer.
“Good luck getting Penelope’s and Laura’s trunks down those stairs by yourself,” she said with a bit of a tart smile, a punishment for making her feel unsure.
He surprised her by laughing, and she turned away to find the other coach so he couldn’t catch the blush of pleasure his laughter brought her.
Chapter 9
This is the monstrosity in love, lady, that the will is infinite, and the execution confined;
that the desire is boundless, and the act a slave to limit.
—Shakespeare,
Troilus and Cresida
“Let us have a Little Riddle!” Laura commanded her brother after their picnicked luncheon that afternoon.
“Yes, give us a Little Riddle,” Michael echoed, although around a yawn. He was stretched out on the luncheon cloth, prepared to nap for the second day in a row.
It was testimony to the day’s lesser temperature that the ladies had brought forth needles, thread, and scissors, and conspired to work with the lace their brothers had gifted them with in High Wycombe. They worked to make a set of four shawls, one for each. There was even a light breeze that suggested shawls might actually be necessary this evening. However, their work was now set aside, awaiting them within the carriage for when they returned to the day’s travel.
“Why are you such a sleepyhead?” Laura nudged Michael with her foot. “It’s been Kenneth and Haddy doing all the driving.”
“I said I would eat no more dust, and I shall not. I refuse to be made to feel guilty that Kenneth must lie in the bed he made by suggesting this journey. But as to your question, it’s exhausting work watching ladies sew.” He’d crowded into the coach with them, choosing not to ride Kenneth’s horse. “In and out, in and out, with any evident change very slow to be advanced. Tedious. How you ladies manage to stay awake yourselves is beyond me.”
“Perhaps we have something rattling around inside our heads to keep us awake?”
“‘Rattling’ being the appropriate word.”
“Oh, is that so?” Laura made a face at him, rather unlike her usual Most-Grown-up-Sibling etiquette. “Well, let us have my brother’s Little Riddle and we’ll see who has more between their ears.” She nudged Michael again with her foot, this time none too gently. She turned to Kenneth, giving a militant nod that said he was to proceed.
He obliged, this time from memory, not bothering with a clue from his pocket. “Since we are now in Warwickshire, our question should relate. What is Alcester famous for?”
“Cheeses,” Xavier and Summer said together, making everyone laugh.
“Famous for? Alcester?” Haddy asked with a sigh. “The better question might be: what, or where, is Alcester? Kenneth, one day you’ll have to ask a question I know something about.”
“If I slip and knock my head and lose half my mind, I might be able to manage it,” Kenneth said, unsuccessfully repressing a grin.
Haddy scooped up a handful of dry grass and tossed it in Kenneth’s direction. The grasses danced in the light breeze, settling largely on the remains of the meal. The group groaned and Laura scolded, “Haddy!”
Genevieve moved forward on her knees, picking grass pieces out of the meat pie and off the thin slices of bread that had been generously smeared with strawberry jam. Xavier watched her, almost moving to help, but thinking better of it. He’d vowed not to show any signs of his preoccupation with the lady. His altruism would be suspect where his laziness would not, so it was best to resist his impulse.
“Alcester. What can it be famous for?” Laura reminded them, reaching out a negligent hand to sweep bits of grass off the cloth.
“Lollards,” Haddy supplied.
This time Kenneth threw a handful of grass at him, again more of it floating into the food than hitting its target.
“Boys!” Penelope scolded, moving forward to assist Genevieve, who’d stopped to put her hands on her hips and scowl at the miscreants.
Xavier lowered his head, hiding a grin. He’d seen her gesture any number of times, and hadn’t realized how endearing the mannerism was—at least, if someone else was the recipient.
“Could your answer be wine?” he ventured to Kenneth, just in order to join the discussion.
Kenneth shook his head.
“Coal?”
Another shake.
“I don’t know about Alcester, but I do know Coventry is known for its silk. Could it be silk, Kenneth?” Laura asked.
“You’re growing nearer the target,” he conceded.
“Nearer the target?” Michael echoed, meeting Summer’s eyes where they looked down upon him. “Satin? Brocade?” he asked. Kenneth shook his head at each question.
“Perhaps they make thread?” Summer asked, never taking her gaze from Michael. He reached up with a blade of grass and tickled her nose.
“No. Keep going.”
“Closer and closer to the answer grow we,” Michael chanted in a singsong voice, and Summer giggled, snatched her own blade of grass, and tickled his nose in return. He laughed and sat up, rubbing his nose.
Genevieve sat back, her skirt caught beneath her, revealing the form of her thigh underneath the fabric. Xavier noted if no one else did, letting his vision stray in that direction every so often.
“It’s to do with sewing,” the lady announced as she began to wrap the remains of their luncheon in their paper wrappers.
“Velvet?” Michael asked, but Kenneth shook his head at once. “Not a cloth then. Not thread. What else has to do with sewing?”
“Thimbles?” Laura asked.
“Not the answer.”
Summer folded her hands before her breast, a gesture of inspiration as she tried, “Needles?”
Kenneth lifted a hand in salute. “Summer has it again.”
“Thou art a genius!” Michael cried, sitting up and coming to his feet. He lowered both hands to Summers’, and pulled her to her feet, leaning in to claim her kiss again before she could offer it.
She took back one hand to press it to his lips, interrupting what would have been a stolen peck. “Michael,” she spoke breathlessly, not quite able to make it sound like the scold it was meant to be. “I get to choose whom to bestow my Little Riddle kiss upon.” She considered for a moment, then leaned forward and accepted his kiss after all.
He kissed her, and turned to the group, the two of them laughing. “Do you see, lads? I’m to wed the brightest in the group.”
Summer glowed, her smile up at him as bright as the halo her hair made around her face.
“And when is that wedding to be?” Haddy asked as he brushed some crumbs off his shirtfront.
Belatedly he looked up, his eyes darting around the group as he realized several pairs of barbed looks were being cast his way.
Summer, if she was aware of the sudden lapse in conversation, seemed to ignore it. “Yes,” she echoed softly, “when i
s that wedding to be?”
“Someday, my dear,” Michael said, slipping her hand over his arm. “Someday when we aren’t on a delightful romp, as we are now. As for the moment, shall we stroll for a brief while ere we travel on?”
Some of the light faded from Summer’s features. “Perhaps we can discuss a date as we stroll?”
Michael’s answer was a nonchalant nod as he pulled her forward.
“Not too long,” Haddy called after them, though they didn’t appear to hear. More dark glances came his way. “What?” he cried.
“Honestly , Haddy, have you no romance in your soul at all?” Penelope complained.
“Romance? I don’t take your meaning—”
“Exactly,” Laura chimed in. “That is your sister,” she pointed in the direction of the couple strolling away, “trying her best to get her betrothed to finally set a wedding date. And what do you do to help? You tell them not to take too long together. Bah!”
“Bah yourself,” Haddy bristled. “I’m the one brought up the subject of weddings in the first place.”
“And fortunately for Summer, the subject may not be an utter disaster today. Haddy, everyone knows Michael has refused to set a date. How is it you’re the only one who doesn’t know of your sister’s frustration, or are you so gauche that you lay it out like a raw wound, as you just did?”
“They cannot very well discuss it if it never comes up—”
“Oh men!” Laura cried, throwing up her hands and receiving a commiserating nod from Penelope.
“The two seem to be strolling happily enough,” Xavier tried to smooth the moment.
“They have the correct idea, I believe,” Penelope said, rising to her feet. “A few minutes at one’s discretion. I’m for the shade myself.” She didn’t wait for an endorsement of this thought by anyone else, stepping off toward a small wood.
“And I’m for picking wildflowers,” Laura said as everyone came to their feet. She indicated with a sweep of her eyes flowers scattered through the tall grasses of their luncheon site. “I like to press the tiny ones, then affix them to the wax when I seal my letters.”
“Oh yes, I’ve noted that. I find it most charming,” Genevieve said. “I’ll help you find some. Haddy? Xavier? Kenneth? Would any of you care to join us?”
“Certainly. May surprise you to know I have quite an eye for the flora,” Haddy grumbled, perhaps still disconcerted at the censure he’d received.
“Not at all,” Genevieve assured him. “A huntsman would know that sort of thing, yes? Have to know the different environs for various quarry.”
“Exactly so,” Haddy said approvingly.
Xavier joined them silently, spending at least as much time watching the way Genevieve moved among the tall grasses as he did ostensibly looking for miniature wildflowers. He liked the way she’d commended Haddy’s interest, how she’d not scoffed at his declaration of interest in botany. It was easy to make fun, but much more difficult to know when not to—and that balance was a gift Genevieve possessed, he thought to himself.
He forced his vision away, watching the irregular flight pattern of a gnat, even as his jaw tightened. Why couldn’t he merely turn off such admiring thoughts? Why did he let longings creep in whenever he let himself consider the lady?
No one seemed in any hurry to be off, not even Haddy for a change. Xavier grew weary, both of the search and his unending awareness of Genevieve donning a hat against the sun, Genevieve admiring a flower Haddy had found, Genevieve’s rounded curves…
He increasingly felt a need to hide, from himself as much as anyone, and so Xavier lowered his length to the earth, pressing down the long grass stalks with his weight. He stretched out, his hands behind his head. As he stared up, his eye saw only the browns, yellows and greens of the tall grasses reaching up around him and the faded summer blue of the heavens above.
Now that he was hidden, he let his thoughts wander where they would. Imaginary scenes flitted through his mind, scenes wherein he rescued a particular dark-headed damsel from a castle turret, or lay down his coat that she might tread safely across a puddle, or how it came to be they found themselves quite alone in a snowbound hunting cabin. Nonsensical, impossible thoughts, the sort that stirred the soul. They were not thoughts of possession or truth, but idle ones of yearning so secret and infeasible that he could find a kind of contentment in just the longing itself. They were daydreams, not even hopes.
A shadow crossed the sun, its absence rousing him from his half-slumber, and his eye opened to find a dark-haired figure standing over him.
“We were wondering where you’d got to,” Genevieve said, her dark hair haloed by the sun behind her, her face lost inside that brilliance. The bright light behind her, the murky loss of her features, made her for a moment seem a part of one of his daydreams. He nearly reached to catch her hand, to pull her down to his side just as his dream-self would do, but then she shifted, the sunlight now no longer behind her and able to light the familiar face, to remind him how very real she was.
He struggled to sit up, even as she bent down, settling in the tall grass next to him, her pale blue skirts billowing around her softy as though to chide some of the grasses for turning brown and dry.
“Is it time to go?” he asked at once, blinking back the drowsiness, preparing to stand. He moved his left cheek, relieved to find his eye patch lay where it ought.
She put a hand on his arm, which served at once to keep him where he was, and shook her head. “Penelope hasn’t returned. Haddy went to find her. There’s time yet.”
“Nothing’s gone amiss—?”
“Not at all,” she soothed at once. “Or, at least, nothing unfortunate…I hope.”
He looked at her, the way her head was canted to one side, the uncertainty in her voice, and then he leaned back, his arms extending behind him, supporting his weight. He crossed one leg over the other before he said “Ah.” He paused again, but her serious expression spoke volumes, urging him to say what her features declared. “Am I correct to think perhaps Kenneth is missing also?”
She nodded, slowly. “Do you…do you think there are feelings there, between them?”
It was only a moment before he decided to answer her. “Yes, although I’m not sure what to call those feelings,” he said, returning her steady gaze. She didn’t ask, but he felt her new question pressing at him. “I’ll tell you a secret, but you must keep it to yourself.” At her nod, he continued. “There was something, once. Papa was right to put an end to it, as unkind as it may seem. Kenneth is but the son of a knight, with usually very little in his pockets, and Nellie the daughter of an earl.” He hesitated. “But still…one wonders.”
She gave another nod. “One wonders,” she repeated. My, but her mouth was inviting when it was posed in this aspect of worried consideration.
“I’d thought perhaps this journey would clear the air between them. At times I believe all is going as it ought…”
“And at other times, it seems perhaps a spark remains among the coals?” she questioned.
He nodded reluctantly.
She drew up her knees, her skirt forming a circle around her, and hugged them to her chest in an informal manner that only long acquaintance would allow. She put back her head to gaze at the sky. She slanted a look his way. “May I tell you something peculiar?”
Tell me anything. He nodded.
“This field,” she said, and pursed those charming lips. “It’s sun-warmed and large and peaceful—but somehow it has set all my faculties aflame. I should be feeling serene, but instead I am filled with a kind of edgy, tingling feeling. I feel as though any moment a cannonball will smash among us, and scatter all to the winds....” She ducked her head into her arms for a moment, blushing a little. She shook her head. “I’m being silly. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Then he did what he seldom practiced; he spoke from his heart, her words having touched him. “I feel it, too. You’re right, it’s just a field. So wh
y these feelings of change? Of tension?” Her quick smile showed she appreciated his reply. “Can it be, are we just a little bored and therefore imagining things?” he asked, creating an excuse.
“I’m not bored,” she said firmly. “Do you know what I think it is?”
“What?” he asked, really wanting her to put a simple or neutral name to the day’s upheavals.
“I think we—all of us—have become something other than we’ve been for years. I think we’re all of a sudden seeing each other as being grown up.” She blushed again. “I mean emotionally.” Fluster or not, she was on the verge of a laugh at herself. “I always wondered what ‘grown up’ would feel like.” She did laugh then, picking up a twig with which to stir the grasses. “I don’t think I care for it much.”
That made him laugh, too, but he otherwise said nothing, because she was only right. Of course things were changed. And they’d continue to change, for the girls had all put up their hair and become women now, had had their come-outs, been presented to and acknowledged by their Queen at court. Once the ladies returned to London, another Season would come, and one or more of them would no doubt find husbands, and then have children. Their families would move on to new circles of acquaintances, only perhaps retaining some of the old as they moved through the lives before them.
Xavier absently watched Genevieve abandon her twig to break off several long stalks of grass and begin plaiting them together. “I believe I hear you saying this is the last summer of our youth,” Xavier murmured.
“Xavier,” she said, turning a stunned face to his, her brown eyes wide. “Why, I believe it is! Our last summer. How extraordinary.”
“Extraordinary to realize it.”
“That is exactly what I mean.” She tossed aside the twig, and rose to her feet, now excited, her hands on her hips, her face glowing. Her voice grew as she spoke. “We don’t really have any say-so, do we? We must move on. That quite explains to me why everyone seems so on edge. Do you know, you’ve quite settled that odd feeling I was having. We’ve put a name to it, and so banished it.” She half-turned as though she intended to run and find the others, to explain it to them, but then she turned back to Xavier. “Now I feel entirely differently. I wish to complete this journey. To enjoy every moment of it. It will never be the same again, will it? No, we must cherish this very particular time, this summer.” She did a complete twirl, arms wide, and laughed. “Do you feel it, too? Do you feel this need to be as gay as we possibly may?”
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