Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  “Of course, everyone is here this summer,” Mrs. Hammond-Smythe put in. Though untitled, she was even more starched-up than Lady Wilton, who was a countess. “A surprise to see you back in England, ma’am.”

  “Is it, ma’am?” Anne said.

  “Yes. One had thought you were settled in the Indies.”

  “One was wrong,” Anne said, smiling pleasantly.

  “We mustn’t keep you ladies,” Giles said, stepping back and doffing his hat. “Come, Anne. I see Lord Petersham ahead. Shall we go speak to him?”

  “By all means. Ladies.” Anne smiled coolly. “Old cats,” she added, as they turned away.

  “Hush. They’ll hear you,” Giles said.

  “I don’t care. They’re still old cats.”

  “At least they didn’t cut you, Anne.”

  Anne stopped. “Beth told you.”

  “Yes.” Giles gazed down at her. She didn’t like what she saw in his eyes. She could not stand Giles, of all people, pitying her.

  Shaking off his hand, Anne strode along. “It was because of what happened in the past, wasn’t it?” she said, stopping and turning so abruptly that Giles, hurrying behind her, had to pull himself up short. “Wasn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so. Anne—”

  “Then why don’t they snub you, too? As I recall, you were also involved.”

  “Who jilted whom, Anne?” he asked, his voice cool.

  Anne stared up at him. There. It had been said, what had lain between them since her return. “You know quite well.”

  “Quite. And it isn’t something I wish to go into here.”

  “Oh, no, of course not. People are watching, so we mustn’t cause a scene.” This time, when Giles took her arm, she didn’t pull away. “It’s been seven years, for heaven’s sake,” she said, more calmly. “I would think people would have forgotten by now.”

  “People don’t. Have you really forgotten what society is like?”

  They had reached the edge of the cliff. The tide was out, and below them the shingly beach glistened in the sun. Anne took a deep breath, letting the peacefulness of the view seep into her. “No. Oh, I suppose I had forgotten how vicious it can be, but I do remember that people hold onto scandals.” She paused. “And we did cause a scandal, didn’t we?”

  “You did,” he agreed, gravely.

  “What do I do, Giles? I’ve never had to face anything like this.”

  “You wish my advice?”

  “I thought you were going to tell me how to go on.”

  That made him smile briefly. “What would you like to do?”

  “What I would like to do is extremely unladylike and would only cause another scandal!” She looked up at him. “I suppose I’ll just have to face it out, won’t I?”

  “I can’t see anything else to do.” He looked away. “Of course, I’ll be beside you.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course. Anne.” His voice was chiding. “Do you really think I’d make you face it alone?”

  “I wouldn’t blame you,” she said, candidly.

  “I wouldn’t do such a thing. It would be shirking my responsibility.”

  “Oh. I see. Your responsibility.”

  “You are, after all, part of my family. I would not see you hurt.”

  “Mm-hm.” This grew worse. She didn’t want to renew their past relationship, surely she didn’t, but to have Giles acting almost as a kindly uncle was infinitely worse. “Giles, don’t you sometimes just want to tell them all to go to hell?”

  “Anne!” he said, laughing.

  “Don’t you?”

  “You do need me beside you, I fear.” He turned, and again they began walking, on the Marine Parade, the road which ran along the cliff. “If you’re alone, God knows what sort of disasters you’ll cause.”

  “It would be fun, though. Admit it.”

  “Perhaps.” For the first time he allowed himself to think of what had once been between them. For the first time in a long time, he let himself wonder why, after all they had meant to each other, she had suddenly married his cousin.

  They walked for a few moments in silence. “You were lucky,” he said, abruptly.

  “Why?”

  “You escaped.”

  Anne stopped and looked up at him. “I didn’t think of it that way at the time.”

  “Nevertheless. Do you know how I envied you and Freddie, living as you did? You had the chance to live your own lives.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t always easy, and if a mere letter from you can bring me back to England, my life’s not really my own, is it?”

  “More than you know. You’re not hemmed in by duty and responsibility.”

  “Never mind your duty and responsibility. You have freedoms, too, that most people don’t have. Why, Giles, you could do whatever you wanted to. I know.” She grasped his arm suddenly. “You must come visit us in Jamaica. I remember that you always wanted to travel. And, if you’re worried about your responsibilities, you could see for yourself how the plantation is being run. Oh, the more I think of it, the better it seems! A sea voyage is just what you need.”

  Very gently, Giles disengaged himself from her. “I think not, Anne.”

  “Oh.” Anne looked up at him. “Oh, Giles, I am sorry. That was tactless of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He drew in a deep breath. “But you meant no harm. At my age, I still shouldn’t dislike the sea.”

  There was such vulnerability in his face that she wanted to comfort him, but she didn’t dare. The Giles she had once known would have understood. This man might very well reject her. “Then we are both stuck here, aren’t we?”

  “Is that so bad?”

  “No. It could be worse.”

  “So it could.” He smiled down at her. “Shall we brazen it out together?”

  “The scandal? Yes.” Anne’s eyes sparkled. “In fact, can you imagine what everyone will say when they realize we’re together? We’ll be the talk of the town.”

  “God save us,” Giles groaned, but he was smiling. “Come, let us return home.”

  “Yes, Giles.” Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. “Thank you for standing by me.”

  “Why shouldn’t I, Anne? After all, you’re family.”

  “Oh, yes.” Family. She mustn’t forget that, she admonished herself as she fell into step beside him, the glory of the day just slightly tarnished. She was the widow of his late cousin, and that made her his responsibility, nothing more. Surely she didn’t wish for more.

  Quiet now, they finished their walk, occasionally receiving greetings from passing riders or carriages. In almost every case the reaction to Anne was cool. Foolish though it seemed, it appeared she was going to be punished for something she’d done long ago. Something for which she thought she’d already been punished quite enough.

  “Anne.” Giles spoke just as Anne was about to go up to check on Jamie, making her turn on the stairs. “About what happened, when you married Freddie—”

  “It’s past, Giles.” Anne gripped the banister, glad she was wearing gloves so that he couldn’t see how white her knuckles surely were. “I bear you no ill will.”

  “Thank you very much.” Giles sounded surprised. “Nor I, you.”

  “Was that all you wished to say?” she said, when he continued to look at her without speaking.

  “Hm? Oh, yes. That, and that you have my assurances that neither my family nor I will ever snub you, nor prevent you from going out in society as you wish.”

  “How kind of you. I gather you no longer fear that I don’t know how to go on?”

  “Dash it, Anne, that wasn’t what I meant at all.”

  “Oh, I know quite well what you meant. If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I need to see to my son.”

  “Anne,” he said, but she was already walking up the stairs, away from him. He wouldn’t chase her. It wouldn’t be dignified, and it would, in some subtle way, give her an advantage in the struggle between them. An u
ndeclared struggle, true, but real, nonetheless. One day it might explode into more than just cryptic, but meaningful, statements.

  Frowning, Giles turned and went to the book-room, muttering a curse to himself as the toe of his hessian boot caught in the metal grill set in the floor. Foolish contraption, this heating system, new and therefore not to be trusted. Until this morning, he’d had no other complaint about the house, or about Brighton. Now, though, things had changed. He had since seen the look of deep hurt in Anne’s eyes when she’d realized how far-reaching peoples’ memories were.

  Giles leaned back in the comfortable leather desk chair, closing his eyes. Usually he didn’t allow himself to dwell on the past, but today he could not seem to help it. After all these years, there were moments when it hurt as if it had happened just yesterday. He had loved Anne. Calf love, he knew that now, but real and intense, all the same. He never had found out why she had eloped with Freddie. Nor did he understand her simmering hostility on the matter. After all, he had been the one wronged, not her.

  And he’d paid for it. Not with ostracism, but with pity, which had been infinitely worse. Society had felt sorry for him, maliciously so. It was the way of the world he lived in. Scorn, disdain, anger—all those, he could have handled, but pity merely made him furious. As had the way people had greeted Anne this morning.

  Strange that. Not that they should be cool; it was Anne’s first time back in England, and society had long ago ordained that one who broke the rules must pay. No, nothing so simple. It had been the look in Anne’s eyes that had touched him, the wariness at seeing old acquaintances, and then the blankness that had hidden everything. She’d assumed that look quickly, like a mask, as if she had practice at it. It did not accord with the Anne he had known. She had changed.

  One thing hadn’t, though. When something hurt her, as this morning’s events had, it hurt him. Not a comforting thought. God help him if he started to care for her, all over again.

  Anne closed the door of her room behind her, briefly leaning her head against it, her eyes shut. That was over, thank heavens. It had been more of an ordeal than she had expected, and not simply because of society’s reactions to her. Being with Giles had been difficult. Yes, he had been unexpectedly supportive during their morning walk, even if what had once been between them was still unresolved. And yesterday, when Felicity had spoken of their “ghost,” there had been that moment of shared, silent amusement. It had seemed so easy, so natural. There had been rapport between Giles and her, and she didn’t trust it for one minute. If she weren’t careful, she would find herself growing attached to him again, and that would never do.

  Anne looked at her reflection without pretense, her eyes clear and candid. She had made a mull of her life. She had to admit it. Marrying Freddie had been the biggest mistake of her life, even if Jamie had resulted from the union. Had she married Giles, she would probably have made a mull of that, too. She had been too young, too flighty, to be a proper wife. That she had grown up, changed, matured, didn’t matter. The damage had been done long ago, and she could not undo it. All she could do was face the future with as much courage, and sense, as she could.

  Nodding her head at her reflection, Anne turned and went out in search of her son.

  Chapter Eight

  The summer season was in full swing. As the cream of the ton flocked to Brighton, more and more entertainments were held. Brighton Theatre announced a varied and interesting schedule of performances, cricket matches were held and horse races run at the racetrack to the east of town, and, of course, nearly everyone began planning their own entertainments. There were routs and soirees and musical evenings, picnics and promenades and Venetian breakfasts, and, most prized of all, dinners at the Marine Pavilion. And, on Wednesdays and Fridays, there were the balls at the Old Ship Inn, which no one wanted to miss. Except, perhaps, Giles.

  After much pestering from his mother and sister, Giles had finally agreed to escort them to the ball at the Old Ship. They would, he supposed, have to start attending social events. That he would rather stay home was not to the point. He had a duty to the women of his family. Since they would be in Brighton all summer, it would be foolish to shun the company of others. It was all rather a bother, though. Not for the first time Giles wished he had not let himself be maneuvered into bringing his family with him.

  On the night of the ball Anne dressed with special care. Really, she was as nervous as a girl making her come-out, she thought, absently watching her reflection in the dressing table mirror as Jenny, her maid, dressed her hair. It had been so long since she had attended such a tonnish event. Added to that was her fear of being snubbed. She would have friends at the ball, but there would also be people who would delight in cutting her. That she remembered well from her season.

  “Thank you, Jenny,” she said, and rose, giving her reflection one last critical look. She had chosen to wear the gown of white satin with the coral pink crepe bodice, and to this had added a simple strand of pearls and elbow-length gloves. Her hair was dressed simply, too, pulled back and allowed to fall over one shoulder in a long curl. The gown was far more sophisticated than anything she had worn as a girl, and needed little adornment. She would do, she supposed.

  Voices floated up to her as she began to descend the stairs, and she paused, looking down. Oh, dear. The family had already foregathered in the hall. She was late again. The sight before her was so splendid, though, that she stayed still for a moment, taking it in. The golden sunlight of late evening flowed through the sidelights, glinting on the floor like crystal. It touched on Julia, resplendent in a gown of purple satin and a magnificent brocade turban, and on Beth, sweetly pretty in her apricot evening gown. It was Giles, though, who caught, and held, her eye. It was Giles who made her heart stop, as if she were seeing him for the first time. Perhaps, in a way, she was.

  He was dressed again in black and white. Stark colors, true, and yet they suited him. His evening coat of black velvet fitted so perfectly across his broad shoulders that she knew it had been crafted by a master tailor, as had the white satin breeches, which displayed legs in no need of padding. Against the rich, dark velvet his hair gleamed brighter, his eyes glinted, and his face looked rugged and lean. He was utterly civilized, of course, and yet, as he prowled the hall in obvious impatience, there was something untamed about him, something totally and unmistakably male. Something that Anne had never before recognized about him, and which set her heart to pounding. He was very much a man, who would take whatever he wanted. And if he wanted her?

  At that moment Giles looked up, though she had made no sound, and she felt her knees turn to jelly. The light she so missed in his eyes still wasn’t present, but she thought she saw something flicker in them briefly. Something to do with her. Stilling the shivers her thoughts had caused, she raised her head and glided down the stairs. She hadn’t meant to make quite so dramatic an entrance, but, since she had, she would carry it off in style. They were all watching her, she knew, including Giles. If he wanted her...

  Reaching the hall, she swept into a curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace. What a lovely evening,” she said, and rose to see Giles shaking his head. “What is wrong?”

  Julia had raised her quizzing glass and was studying Anne through it. “That gown is unsuitable,” she said.

  “Unsuitable? Why?”

  “I’ll deal with this, Mother,” Giles turned back to her. There was something strange in his face. “It won’t do, Anne. Not if you’re trying to reestablish yourself in society.”

  “But what is wrong with it?” Anne demanded, all pleasure in the moment gone. Oh, yes, Giles was a man. Just like every man in her life, he was ordering her about. “I understand this is the style.”

  “It is indecent,” Julia said.

  “Indecent!” Anne exclaimed, and then started to laugh. “Oh, really—”

  “It is much too low, Anne,” Giles sounded regretful; she wasn’t sure why. “You haven’t even a shawl.”

  �
��On such a warm evening? Really, Giles!” She stared at him. “When did you become such a prude?”

  “I am not being prudish,” he said, patently reasonable. “It is my duty to help you mend your reputation, which you’ll hardly be able to do so by flaunting yourself. Were there time I’d tell you to change—”

  “Flaunting myself! For heaven’s sake, Giles!” She faced him squarely, her hands at her sides balled into fists, her fan of ivory and delicate netting in danger of snapping. Never had she been quite so angry in her life. “Duty and responsibility! Do you never think of anything else? You’ve done nothing but order me about since I’ve returned, and I’ve had a surfeit of it! I don’t care if you are head of the family,” she swept on, as he would have spoken, “you have no right to tell me how to behave. And I’m glad to know,” she said, her voice bitter, “that you have such a high opinion of me.”

  “Anne,” Giles said, wearily. “I don’t mean to offend you. If you would only accept my guidance—”

  “Not when you’ve made such a mull of your own life,” she retorted.

  “Indeed,” Giles’s voice was icy. “This accomplishes nothing. Come. Our carriage is waiting.”

  The short ride to the Old Ship Inn was accomplished in tense, strained silence. Giles stared out the window, tight-lipped, arms crossed. Damn. He’d handled that all wrong. Were it up to him, he would approve the gown, she looked so damned beautiful in it. But no, he had only her welfare in mind, or so he’d told himself. He should have known that the slightest hint of criticism would be enough to get Anne’s back up, and he hadn’t exactly been tactful. But when he had seen her on the stairs, wearing that gown... She had to know the effect it had, how she appeared in it. She had to know she looked appealing and seductive, and very, very beautiful. A woman trying to reestablish herself in society should behave with decorum, not with boldness. The ladies present tonight would be jealous, no question of that, and so all the more censorious. While the men—he knew exactly what the men would say. He was thinking it himself.