‘My lady? Lady Hartman wishes me to inform you that luncheon is being served on the lawn. Perhaps this dress would be suitable?’
It took a minute for Rosalyn’s groggy mind to register the gown of cream muslin sprinkled with small dark green flowers the maid held up for her inspection.
‘That will be fine.’ Rosalyn sat up, trying to clear her head. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Not more than three-quarters of an hour, my lady.’
It felt like much longer, but the sun had not moved from when she first shut her eyes. She heaved herself up from the bed, dressed only in her shift and petticoat.
The little abigail, who could not have been more than eighteen, made short work of tying the ribbons of her gown, expertly brushing tangled locks, and pulling Rosalyn’s hair into a high knot at the back of her head. She stepped back, pronounced Rosalyn lovely and then departed in a great hurry.
Rosalyn located her gloves and a flat straw hat she was particularly fond of. Her belongings had been unpacked and hung neatly in the mahogany wardrobe. She found it rather unnerving to think she could sleep so soundly while someone unpacked her belongings without arousing her.
She stepped out into the hallway and made her way down the staircase. A footman sprang forward as she reached the grand entry hall. She followed him through the large drawing room and out the French doors to the terrace. Laughter and talk drifted up from below. The rolling expanse of lawn stretched out before them, gently rising to a knoll where Rosalyn caught a glimpse of a summer house in the shape of a classical temple among the trees. A small lake lay beyond that.
She crossed the lawn to join the others underneath the trees. Servants were still bringing out food. Long tables groaned with mounds of chicken, fresh peas, baskets of fresh fruit, strawberries with fresh cream, luscious peach tarts.
Several people she did not recognise had joined the group from London. Rosalyn spotted Michael standing with Charles and Giles. He must have been watching for her as he immediately excused himself from the group.
‘Caroline says you have been resting. Are you not well?’ Michael said, as he reached her side.
‘There really is nothing wrong. Only a little tired, that is all.’ Her pulse fluttered at the concern in his voice.
‘Perhaps you should still be resting.’
She laughed a little shakily as she glanced up into his face. ‘It is hardly that serious. There is nothing wrong with me.’
‘I am glad. I worried the heat affected you. Those coaches can be like riding in an oven. What would you like to eat? I shall fetch you a plate.’
‘A plate? I don’t know. Anything, I suppose.’
He smiled down at her, his face relaxed and teasing. ‘Then you’re at my mercy, my lady. You may find us a place to sit.’
Small tables and chairs had been set up under the trees. Blankets were scattered about the grass for those who wanted to sit on the ground. Rosalyn chose one of the blankets spread under a towering oak and carefully seated herself on it, arranging her skirts properly over her knees.
Glancing up, she saw Helena stood nearby with a rather uncertain expression on her face. ‘Would you care to sit with us, Helena?’ Rosalyn asked.
‘Thank you.’ Helena sank gracefully down beside her. Her simple dress of white muslin emphasised her serene beauty. She smiled at Rosalyn.
‘Miss Randall!’ Lord Brighton, a thin young man with a carefully cultivated air of Byronic tragedy, hovered over them. He carried two plates of food. ‘Are you certain you should be sitting on the ground? I should hate to have you catch a chill. Young ladies with their delicate constitutions cannot be too careful. It would be especially tragic if the fairest flower of the season should lose its bloom.’
‘I never catch chills,’ Helena replied in a voice that was decidedly peevish for such a soft-spoken young lady. Then an arrested expression appeared in her eyes. ‘Oliver?’
A young man in a bottle-green coat and buckskin breeches turned at her voice. ‘Helena, what are you doing here?’
‘I have been invited by Lady Hartman for a few days.’ Rosalyn was amazed to see a blush rise in her cheeks. ‘How did you come to be here?’
‘I’m putting up with Richard Blenkham. His estate runs next to this. What luck to see you here! Your sister asked me to look you up when I arrived in London.’
By now Lord Brighton was openly glaring at the interloper. Oliver glanced in his direction and an amused expression crept into his eyes. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘That would be very nice,’ Helena said. Her eyes lit up with pleasure.
He settled down on her other side. She smiled shyly at Rosalyn. ‘Lady Jeffreys, may I present Mr Oliver Redding. He is a neighbour of my grandfather’s.’
‘I am pleased to meet you,’ Rosalyn said. She liked his open, intelligent face. He looked quite sensible.
Lord Brighton was less cordial at the introduction, scarcely bothering to open his mouth. Oliver seemed unconcerned at his rudeness.
Lord Philip joined them, followed by Beth and Charles. The small space on the blanket shrank even more when Michael arrived. He dropped down beside Rosalyn, and she jumped when his leg brushed hers.
‘It’s just me,’ Michael said. He set a plate before her.
‘I fear I was daydreaming.’
‘How complimentary you are. I was hoping you were eagerly awaiting my arrival, and instead I find you daydreaming away amidst a crowd.’ He looked around at the half-dozen people seated on the blanket. ‘I see a new suitor has joined the hopeful. Who is he?’
‘Michael! Keep your voice down. He is a Mr Redding, a friend of Helena’s. His estate runs next to her grandfather’s.’
‘He’s certainly putting Brighton’s nose out of joint. Perhaps that will have dampened his tendency to quote poetry. Otherwise, I might be forced to forgo my food.’
Rosalyn stifled a giggle. Lord Brighton’s poems were truly dreadful. He subjected them to a reading once, and it had been all Rosalyn could do to keep her countenance.
Michael grinned at her and then lowered his voice. He lightly touched her bare arm, sending shivers down to her fingertips. ‘Actually, I had hoped we could dine alone. It has been a long time since we have had a tête-à-tête.’
Heat rose in her face. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Michael, please, not here!’
‘Why not? It’s perfectly natural for a man to want to spend a little time alone with his betrothed, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose so,’ she replied, uncommonly agitated. He sat so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. His muscular thighs were pressed against her legs. It was impossible to move away from him on the crowded blanket. She reached for her cup of lemonade and nearly knocked it over.
Michael grabbed the cup and righted it. ‘Are you well, Rosalyn?’
‘Oh, of course.’ She brushed the hair back from her face giving him a vague smile.
‘Is the food not to your liking? You are not eating much. I should hate to have you grow weak from hunger,’ he said, his voice overly solicitous.
‘I find it quite impossible to eat when someone is staring at me in that way.’
‘I am merely concerned for your well-being. You should eat a bite of the chicken, it is quite tender.’
She glared at him. He grinned back and popped a forkful of the meat into his mouth.
Why must he bedevil her in front of everyone? At least no one paid any heed since the rest of the men, except Charles and Giles, were occupied with Helena. She stabbed at a strawberry and missed. It leaped off her plate and landed on Michael’s lap.
He plucked it up and stared at the fruit before placing it reverently on his plate. ‘Ah, a token of your fond affection. I will cherish it the rest of the day. Shall I carry it in my waistcoat pocket?’
An undignified giggle, bordering on hysteria, escaped her. It was impossible to do a thing with him in this mood. ‘You are quite fit for Bedlam, my lord.
Please don’t carry it in your pocket and ruin your waistcoat.’
‘Very well.’ He ate the strawberry and then set his plate behind him. ‘What a lovely smile you have, Rosalyn. It lights up your entire countenance.’
‘There is no need to offer me Spanish coin, my lord.’ Nor to fix such caressing dark eyes on her face.
‘I would never pay you idle compliments, Rosalyn.’
She dropped her eyes and stared fixedly at her half-eaten lunch. Perhaps she was unwell. Uneven pulses, trembling hands, and dizziness certainly could be signs of illness.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, Lord Hartman strolled by to announce some of the gentlemen wanted to get up an informal game of cricket. Michael rose to join them.
The ladies drifted out to watch from the side, parasols raised against the afternoon sun. The day was growing warmer by the minute. The men formed up teams and soon most of them had removed their coats, and several of the more daring their waistcoats.
Watching the game begin, Rosalyn could quite understand why men running about in nothing but breeches and shirts might prove unsettling to female sensibility. She could not keep her eyes off Michael. He was dressed most improperly, and she was fascinated. In addition to discarding his coat and waistcoat, he’d removed his cravat. Muscles as lean as a cat’s rippled beneath the thin cambric of his shirt. Tight buckram breeches displayed the contours of his legs and thighs to perfection. Every movement was graceful and effortless. Even the sight of black hair curling over his white shirt in pleasing contrast was most engrossing.
She forced her eyes away, scandalised by her thoughts. Ladies did not stare at a gentlemen’s physique in such an assessing and appreciative manner. The hot sun was undoubtedly affecting her reason.
Caroline came up beside her, fresh and pretty in jonquil and cream-striped muslin. She grimaced. ‘This will occupy them for hours. It is too hot to stand here watching them tear up the lawn. Shall we go down to the lake? It is much cooler.’
Several of the other ladies agreed. The chattering group made their way to the small lake Rosalyn had glimpsed from the house.
The temperature seemed to drop by several degrees when they reached the water. The soft green lawn sloped down to the edge and tall trees provided welcome shade. A pair of swans drifted in lazy, graceful circles.
Caroline sat down and pulled off her slippers, stockings and gloves. ‘I am going wading. Would anyone like to join me?’
Lady Cummings, a plump matron of some thirty-odd years, frowned in disapproval. ‘Really, Caroline! What an improper idea and most vulgar!’
‘I do it all the time. Giles does not mind. Beth, Rosalyn, want to come?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rosalyn hesitated, but the thought of dipping her bare feet in cool water was tempting.
‘Yes, I will go,’ she decided. She hadn’t done this for years, not since her marriage. John would not have approved. She immediately felt ashamed of her disloyal thought.
Three of the other ladies also declared cooling their toes in the water was a splendid idea. Rosalyn spotted Helena standing a little way off from the others. ‘Would you like to join us?’
Helena smiled. ‘No, thank you. I believe I will take a walk.’ She wandered off towards a wooded grove near the lake.
Rosalyn hoped nothing was wrong, but Helena seemed contented. In fact, she had appeared quite happy since Mr Redding’s arrival.
She sat down and removed her slippers and stockings. The grass tickled her toes, reminding her of the sense of freedom she experienced as a girl when she would daringly go barefooted. She pulled off her gloves and then started down towards the water.
Beth stood in the water, laughing. Caroline caught Rosalyn’s hand and they gingerly stepped into the cool water, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls.
‘Ooh! It is so cold!’ Caroline exclaimed.
Rosalyn lifted the hem of her skirt which already dripped with water. ‘Of course, I would wet this the very first thing!’
Caroline took another step forward. ‘I used to love to do this.’ Then she slipped.
Rosalyn grabbed her, steadying her small frame. ‘Caroline! Please be careful!’
‘I will. Oh, no!’ Caroline cried. Her bonnet had slipped from her head into the water. ‘Giles will scold me terribly!’
‘Oh, Caroline!’ Beth exclaimed. ‘It is your new bonnet!’
Rosalyn dropped Caroline’s hand and tried to snatch it. Her hand missed and hit the water, making small waves. The bonnet bobbed gently out of reach, its green ribbons trailing behind.
‘Oh, dear,’ Rosalyn said.
‘Tis no matter. I can get it. I’ve often waded to nearly the middle of the lake.’
Rosalyn prodded Caroline out of the water. ‘Caroline, no! You must certainly will not! Giles will really be furious then. Go sit down. I’ll fetch it for you.’
‘Rosalyn! I don’t want you risking your life.’
Rosalyn laughed, suddenly feeling very adventuresome. ‘My life? Caroline, I do know how to swim.’
‘I can’t let you. Michael will be livid!’
That decided her. Rosalyn turned and stepped back into the water. The wayward bonnet rested against the shiny round leaves of a water lily. It did not appear very far away at all. She took a few more steps and then gasped as the gentle slope gave way to a deeper pocket of water. She paused and hitched her skirt nearly up to her waist.
‘Be careful, Rosalyn. It gets deep!’ Caroline’s voice held worry.
By the time she grabbed the bonnet, the water had reached her thighs. Thank goodness the bonnet appeared undamaged except for the edges where it rested in the water.
Squeals of feminine laughter and the deeper timbre of masculine voices reached her ears. She stopped and turned to look. The men must have finished their game for they now gathered around the lake edge. Why of all times, must they show up? She undoubtedly looked like a complete hoyden.
Water soaked her skirt and the bottom of her undergarments. Damp patches spotted her bodice. Her hair, having escaped from its pins, now hung about her shoulders in wanton disarray.
The trip back seemed to take forever. Rosalyn feared she had veered off course for she kept hitting pockets of deeper water. She could hear Caroline shouting something but could not make out the words. Her tender feet, accustomed to shoes and ball-room floors, felt bruised from the rocky bed. Twice, she nearly lost her balance on moss-covered rocks.
She almost reached safety when her big toe hit the edge of a large jagged rock. She squeaked and pitched forward.
Chapter Thirteen
Strong arms encircled her, breaking her fall, and then she felt herself being pulled up against a very familiar, masculine chest. She gasped.
‘What the devil are you doing? Are you trying to drown yourself?’ Michael demanded.
‘I can swim. There is no need to clutch me like that,’ she replied, attempting to push her hair from her face. She jerked out of his grasp. Thankfully, she still held Caroline’s bonnet.
He glowered down at her. ‘What are you doing so far out in the water? You were nearly in over your head.’
‘I wanted to fetch Caroline’s hat. Besides, the water was only up to my knees.’
‘I see. That does make a difference, then. I hardly think Caroline would want you risking your life to get her bonnet.’
‘Risking my life?’ He was as absurd as Caroline. She stifled a giggle. ‘How melodramatic! I can swim in much deeper water. I only wanted to retrieve Caroline’s hat before it was ruined.’
‘A gardener could have fetched it. I suppose this was one of Caroline’s ideas, to engage in such improper behaviour.’
She stared at him, astounded. ‘Improper behaviour, my lord? Pray, what exactly do you mean by that?’
He folded his arms across his chest, looking very much like her father when he had been about to deliver a resounding scold. ‘You have no stockings or shoes on. You have discarded your hat and gloves. You are not properly dressed.
’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him. It crossed her mind they must look like perfect cakes standing in the lake arguing, but she was too irate to care. ‘Really? You are not properly dressed yourself.’
‘It is different.’
‘I see. Men are allowed to go about half-undressed, but women cannot remove their hats without being accused of impropriety.’
‘I am hardly half-undressed, my dear.’
She coolly appraised him, letting her eyes travel from the damp shirt clinging to his chest down to the point where his ankles disappeared into the lake.
‘Indeed? You have removed your coat, your waistcoat, your stock and I cannot see that you have any shoes or…’
‘That is enough, Rosalyn. I am carrying you back to the house. You cannot go about with your dress clinging to you in that scandalous fashion.’
‘I believe some ladies purposely dampen their dresses for that very purpose.’
‘Not with muddy water. And that’s hardly the style I wish my fiancée to adopt.’
His tone was so pompous she giggled. His brows drew together most ominously. He caught her wrist, yanking her towards him. She shoved him away and then watched, horrified, as he fell backward and landed squarely in the shallow water. The expression on his face caused her to fear for her life.
She gathered up her skirts in one hand and waddled out of the shallow water faster than she imagined she could move. The entire company cheered and clapped. She wanted to dive back into the lake. Except Michael was there.
‘Splendid!’ cried Caroline, running towards her. ‘I have always wanted to do that!’
‘Better not give the other ladies any ideas,’ exclaimed Charles who stood near by, watching the proceedings with a huge grin.
His fiancée cast him a sweet smile. ‘Now I know how to keep you in line—I’ll keep a jug of water on hand.’
Caroline caught her arm, mixed laughter and consternation written on her face. ‘Oh, Rosalyn! Are you quite all right? I fear this was too much trouble for you.’
‘Not at all.’ She thrust the bonnet into Caroline’s hand. ‘I think I shall go back to the house now. If I don’t show up for dinner, you will most likely find my body in the woods.’
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