He looked where she pointed. “Yes, but it is a very small one.”
“Perhaps it is a son or daughter of Old Gus.”
Daniel reached down to grab it but the frog jumped and landed a few feet away with a tiny plop. It disappeared under the water.
“You may be right. It is just as wily.”
He put his hands on his knees to see where it had gone.
“Ah, now watch. There is a trick to hunting frogs. One must be swift … and stealthy.”
He made another grab but came up empty-handed.
“Damnation, he got away.”
Jo looked down into the water. Something had brushed against her foot. But she saw nothing. She kept looking down and was rewarded by the sight of a small frog circling her ankle. Very slowly she reached down, grabbed just ahead of where it was swimming, and came up with it, holding it with utmost gentleness in her closed fist.
The little frog gulped and blinked. It scrabbled a bit at her fingers, then stopped. She felt its cool belly touch her palm as it breathed and gulped.
“Very good, Jo!” Daniel waded over and stroked the frog between the eyes. It gulped and closed them.
“Do frogs enjoy that?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but it does make them close their eyes.”
“I expect it wants to be back in the cool water. Good-bye, little friend.” She bent down and opened her hand. It hung in the water for a fraction of a second, then swam away, kicking its back legs with all its might.
“I confess I feel ashamed. You have caught a frog and I have caught nothing but a leaf between my toes.” He leaned down to pull it out and let it float away upon the shallow water. Then he dried his hand upon his breeches and reached out to her, saying nothing more.
Jo took his hand. “Do you remember that my nursemaid never would let me go in the water? I feel quite bold.”
“Does you good. You look very pretty, you know.”
They waded on until the water became deeper and colder.
“Shall we turn back? I do not think we will find Old Gus here. He probably prefers to be where it is warm, like all old creatures do.”
“Yes.”
They turned around together, taking measured and deliberate steps to avoid slipping or pulling each other over.
“This is like a dance,” he said.
“It is a funny one.” Jo giggled. They returned the way they had come, keeping an eye out for other frogs, but they saw none.
“Hunting frogs is hard work and I find that I am ravenous. Let us go back.”
“We have been in the water for only a few minutes, and we have not caught Gus.”
“You mean that I have not caught Gus. He is too big a frog for you to capture. No, I reserve that honor for myself.”
“I see. Well then, you must build up your strength.”
They waded to the bank and scrambled up it. Jo dropped the hem of her dress the second she was out of the water.
Settling themselves upon the blanket once more, they did justice to Mrs. Nottingate’s picnic lunch, and then lay back to digest and watch the clouds drift by.
“Shall we go back in?” she asked.
“No. Never mind Old Gus. Or my manly honor. I am too happy to hunt at the moment. You make me happy, Jo.”
“Oh …” If only life could always be like this, she thought. Free. And easy. And not at all respectable or proper.
Jo was determined to enjoy every moment of their brief idyll in the sun. She would have far too much to fret over when they arrived in London on the morrow. For now—just for now—she put her worries aside.
She was drowsy and closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, she saw Daniel raise one hand and count on his fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“Counting the kisses I have given you.”
“You will need two hands.”
He rolled over and stroked her hair. “You looked so lovely lying there. I did not want to disturb your sweet slumber.”
“Oh, please don’t talk like that,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun and laughing.
“Like what?”
“Like one of Hugh’s silly characters. Sweet slumber, indeed. I was only napping.”
“Are you completely awake?”
“Yes, why?”
“Never let it be said that I took advantage of a sleeping woman.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her quite passionately. Several times.
“You are supposed to push me away, Jo.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I will have to marry you, you know.”
“Is that a proposal?”
He held her close and nuzzled her neck. “It is. If you don’t mind marrying a second son with no money and no prospects.”
“Not at all. I love you.”
He rose up on his elbows.
“Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, Daniel.”
“Then there is nothing more to say, except that I love you.”
“Oh …”
He kissed her again.
Chapter Fourteen
The promised musicale would begin in an hour. Lizzie sat at a gilt harpsichord, banging its ivory keys with vigor and warming up with a naughty song. Ginny told her in a fierce whisper to stop when Upton came through the doors of the music room, leading the way for the tweeny.
The girl carried a tray filled with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade that looked most refreshing. The day had been warm and the French doors of the music room were flung open to catch the evening breeze.
“Our last night here,” Ginny said. “Seems a shame to leave. London will be much hotter.”
“I can’t wait,” Lizzie said, experimenting with a few crescendos and diminuendos.
“Be careful with that there instrument, Lizzie. I am sure it is old and valuable.”
“It is out of tune.”
“That doesn’t mean ye can bang upon it in that disrespectful way. Ah, here is Lord York.”
He entered through the far doors on the other side of the room with Josephine on his arm.
“Don’t they make a handsome couple,” Ginny said admiringly.
Lizzie closed the harpsichord’s lid. “Yes, they do. I sometimes wonder if they are in love. If I were Jo, I would not let that one get away.”
“Whatever do ye mean?”
“It is plain to see that he adores her.”
Ginny watched Lord York and Josephine stroll out the French doors together. “Yes, ye’re right. But she might not be so sure of her feelings for him. She is young yet.”
“Pshaw,” Lizzie said, “she should not shilly-shally. We must encourage them. Someone else might snap him up from under her nose.”
“If he truly loves her, that will not happen.”
Lizzie snorted. “It happens all the time.”
“Now, Lizzie, not another peep. They are coming back.”
Lord York and Jo came through the French doors. She was holding a pink blossom of some sort and her eyes were glowing.
“Aha. She looks radiant. He has given her a flower.”
“A ring would be better. Swear eternal love, post the banns, and get it over with.”
“Oh, Lizzie,” the wardrobe mistress chided her, “there is more to it than that. He is a deliberate sort o’ man. Step by step, that is how he likes to do things.”
“You seem to have become great friends with him.”
Ginny, remembering the part she had played in their last visit to a garden, hid a smile. “P’raps.”
Lord York and Jo walked toward them, and Lizzie opened the harpsichord lid again. She played a sprightly air.
“Why, you play beautifully, Miss Loudermilk. That is a country dance, one of my late mother’s favorites,” Lord York said. “I am afraid the instrument is sadly out of tune, however.”
“I noticed.” She launched into some interesting variations, absorbed in the music.
Ginny looked at the young c
ouple, beaming. She caught Lord York’s eye and moved her feet as if she were dancing. He took the hint.
“Ah, may I have this dance, Miss Shy?”
“It would be my pleasure, sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
He straightened, bowed, and took her hand, and they moved into interesting variations of their own, through a waltz and a minuet and others, until Jo was breathless and rosy.
“Do you know,” Ginny whispered to Lizzie, “I don’t think they need any encouragement.”
Lizzie looked up and studied the dancing couple. They moved in step, following each other’s rhythm to perfection as they gazed into each other’s eyes with obvious love.
“Hmmm, perhaps you are right. Well, let’s see if their newly budded love survives our opening night. Nothing like a theatrical production to bring out the worst in people.”
“Hush, Lizzie. I don’t think so. That looks like true love to me, and the best is yet to come.”
“If you say so.”
Lord York and Josephine ended their dance and bowed to each other, grinning like fools.
Ginny handed round the lemonade, and they made merry until the moon came up.
Tom Higgins pulled up at the Derrydale stables and let the groom see to the horses and the wagon. They would not be leaving until tomorrow, of course, but Terence had instructed him to get an early start, and roll Miss Loudermilk out of bed himself if he had to.
Tom had no intention of doing any such thing. Lizzie would probably bite him on the ankle. No, they would leave when she was ready and not afore, he thought.
The groom directed him to the front of the house, but Tom chose to ramble a little under the full moon and stretch his legs. He could hear music coming from somewhere, and Lizzie’s glorious, full voice in song. A lighter, sweeter soprano joined hers. Miss Jo, no doubt.
Tom bumped into an animal he had not seen at first. It didn’t bark. Well, no it wouldn’t. It seemed to be a sheep. A few other sheep drifted closer, looking at him with mild eyes.
Interesting. He had seen a great many sheep upon the journey to Richmond and he supposed these belonged to Lord York. Gentlemen kept them to graze upon their lawns, he knew.
He stood still, not wanting to startle the silly beasts. They drifted away, white and dreamlike in the moonlight. It occurred to him that they would look very nice upon the Covent Garden stage, in just such a bluish light, in the climactic scene of The Shepherdess.
“Add a touch of that there verisimilitude, they would,” he said softly.
He sat down, and pulled up a few stalks of tender grass. “Here, sheepy sheepy. Come, then. Come to me.” The stupidest-looking of the lot responded to his coaxing and turned around.
He supposed it was female. It had no horns. The creature stood there and eyed him warily.
“Here, sheepy sheepy.”
Wonder of wonders, the ewe came to take the grass from his hand. She chewed and swallowed, and cast a loving look upon him. Or was it a hungry look?
Tom didn’t care. If this one was willing to eat from his hand, the others might also. And if he could hide them in the wagon and bring them to London, he would set them loose upon the stage and give Lizzie Loudermilk her much-deserved comeuppance.
A gleeful grin spread across his face.
The morning of the next day dawned bright and clear. The women bustled around the carriage, checking to make sure that every valise, case, portmanteau, sacque, and reticule had been brought down from their rooms.
“I will never understand why women travel with so many things,” Lord York said. “I myself require only one bag.”
“Pooh pooh,” said Lizzie, “you have an entire house in Mayfair to hold your kit. It is easy for you to travel light, my lord. Hold your tongue.”
“Lizzie!” Ginny said.
Lord York only laughed. “I find I have grown accustomed to her abuse, Mrs. Goodchurch. You need not scold her. Besides, our opening night is not far away. She must be nervous.”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Me? Nervous? No. Never. I just want to get back to London. But I do love the country. The mushrooms were unforgettable. And the musical entertainment was second to none, even if I did have to provide it myself. Do have that harpsichord tuned, my lord.”
“Oh, get in the carriage, ye bad-mannered hussy!” Ginny cried. She practically shoved Lizzie through the door, then clambered in after her. “Come, Penelope!”
Jo’s cousin walked slowly to the carriage, again looking somewhat unwell. “Thank you, Lord York. I did enjoy my stay, even if I did not leave my room very often. I was—”
“No need to explain,” he said gallantly. “I do hope you will return, and soon.”
Penelope looked at Jo. “Yes, mayhap.”
Jo helped her in and picked up her bag. “Ready, my lord?”
“My what?” he said very softly.
“My love,” she whispered.
“That’s better. Let us go.” He gave her a hand up and entered last of all.
The return journey was wearisome. The road to London was crowded with wagons heaped with vegetables and fruits, and travelers from the South. The four women went to sleep one by one, Jo last of all. But not Lord York.
He studied her sweet, dreaming face and imagined what it would be like to see her head upon a pillow next to his, sharing the sensual intimacies of a happy marriage.
He had no doubt their marriage would prove happy. Jo was a level-headed, loving girl, for all her unconventionality. Her parents were a highly proper old pair, who might be surprised to hear of their sudden engagement, but Daniel could smooth over any ruffled feelings when the time came to tell them.
But how to tell Terence? He might only shrug and wish them both well. Terence was decidedly casual about too many things. Of course, Jo could not help her brother’s devil-may-care attitude. Yet they were alike in their unfailing kindness to others.
Jo was not always completely respectful to Daniel, of course, but that was to be expected. She was in love. With him. She had said so. Reciprocated love was so much nicer than the other sort. He considered himself a very lucky man.
Most importantly, she had said yes, even though his proposal had been unplanned. He had gone down to the river with little else in mind besides enjoying an impromptu picnic with her.
Of course he had taken great trouble with the invitation, ripping up five drafts for minor errors in penmanship before producing the final version, which Upton’s lad had delivered.
He had instructed the boy as to which door to knock upon, not wanting the invitation to fall into the wrong hands. Not that Ginny or Lizzie, cheerfully cavalier about morality like all theater folk, would have scolded Jo or told her not to go alone. No, it was Jo’s cousin Penelope he was not sure of.
The girl seemed somewhat odd and distant, staying in her room for the first several days and not coming down to dinner, offering only vague excuses. But she had brightened up considerably when Jo had returned to Derrydale.
Daniel supposed that she would be staying with Jo and her brother in the Guilford Street house. At least Penelope was a more seemly companion for Jo than Lizzie Loudermilk. Her dowdy dresses and disheveled air, plus the spectacles she occasionally wore, made her a perfect chaperone. He was glad to know that most of Jo’s near relations were thoroughly respectable. Certainly no one would ever expect Penelope of romantic inclinations, though the girl might be pretty enough with a little help.
He smiled to himself. He supposed Lizzie could do the honors, if it came to that. The singer was a formidably attractive female when she wanted to be—and sometimes just formidable.
But her best friend, Ginny Goodchurch, was a treasure. He wondered if she might be persuaded to leave the theater and come to Derrydale once he and Jo commenced setting up their nursery.
He looked forward to begetting a tribe of little Daniels and Josephines—as many as his future wife might want. They had not discussed the subject of children but he assumed that
she would want them.
The thought of her angelic voice singing a lullaby over a cradle made his heart contract. How dear she had become to him in only a matter of weeks!
Daniel looked out the window to see the moon high above the trees. The blue light it cast let him see the occupants of the carriage well enough but it was Jo’s face his eyes lingered on.
Sweet dreams, my darling. Had he been able to, he would have kissed her soft cheek. At last he drifted off …
The carriage hit a bump in the road and he awoke with a start. Penelope did too. She looked distinctly unwell, even by moonlight.
He could see beads of perspiration upon her forehead. She clamped a hand over her mouth.
Daniel leaned forward. “Shall I wake Jo?” he asked softly.
But Penelope was already shaking her cousin by the shoulder and whispering something in her ear.
Jo’s eyes flew open. “Yes, Penny. Daniel, ask the coachman to stop.”
He nodded and rapped the stick placed in the carriage for that purpose upon the carriage roof. The coachman slowed the horses and pulled gradually to the side of the road, roundly cursing a wagon that had not moved out of their way quickly enough.
“She is going to be sick,” Jo said in a measured tone.
He admired Jo’s aplomb in such trying circumstances but even so. “Jo, it is dark outside. Allow me to help her—”
“No!” Penelope took her hand off her mouth long enough to say that and just as quickly covered it again. The two women scrambled out. Lizzie and Ginny looked about groggily, awakened by the motion.
“Why have we stopped?” Ginny yawned.
“Jo asked me to.” Lord York did not look outside the window or the door, which was swinging open. He could hear Penelope being very sick indeed.
“What is the matter with her?” Lizzie said.
“Which her?” Lord York asked politely.
“Whichever one is puking.”
“That would be Penelope, I believe.”
“Poor girl,” Ginny said sympathetically.
She reached out to help Jo and Penny back in. Lord York took a good look at Penelope. Her full bosom … he realized with a start that it had grown fuller in the ten days she had been with them. Her luminous, troubled eyes. Her queasy expression. He looked at Jo, who did not look away. In fact, she glared at him.
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