by Janet Woods
She giggled, because he didn’t know how close to the truth he’d come. ‘I confess . . . I helped myself to another glass when you were conversing with the deaf old gentlemen. It’s made me feel quite lively, as if I can dance the polka all over again. I will try to be quiet.’
As they drew near to the lake the servant held out his arm to assist her into the boat. She relaxed against a pile of soft pillows. The boat rocked as Adam followed. The servant handed him a green lantern to hang from the prow as a marker to the whereabouts of other punts.
Adam pushed away from the jetty, and, with the pole trailing in the water allowed their boat to drift. There were another half-a-dozen craft on the lake, similarly occupied as they silently circled the island to the sounds of cello and violins.
The island was a fairyland of flickering lights, candles in pots that were a fiesta of colours. They spangled and danced with the ripples washing across the lake. The music touched the senses, and she sighed and closed her eyes. It was so romantic and relaxing.
‘Lottie, my love?’
His love? For a moment Charlotte contemplated it, basking in the thought that Adam had never called her that before. She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her through his grey eyes, as lustrous as rain puddles. Something mysterious, quivering and alive took root under her bodice. She found herself trembling under his scrutiny and placed her hands over the warm, blossoming spot, as if it were something she needed to nurture.
‘Adam . . . what is it?’
‘You’re the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.’
A smile drifted across her face as she tried to hide her astonishment. And Adam was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, but it would be immodest to tell him that. ‘Thank you for the compliment.’
‘Have you ever been kissed by a man?’
‘I’ve been kissed on the cheek or hand several times by men tonight.’
‘I meant a proper kiss, on the mouth, by a man who found you so irresistible he would feel compelled to kiss you senseless.’
Shock jittered through her and her eyes flew open. ‘Goodness! Of course not. I think it must be you who has drunk too much punch.’
His eyes filled with amusement. ‘Have you never been curious about how it might feel to be kissed properly?’
Her mouth began to pulse and she sensed some sort of mischief in him that she wasn’t beyond flirting with. ‘Are you about to demonstrate, Adam?’
His shrug was almost casual. ‘No . . . it would only give you the wrong idea. You would think I was in love with you and another of those foolish suitors you hold in so much scorn.’
She giggled at the thought of Adam becoming a suitor. It was too ludicrous. He wasn’t madly in love with her, and neither did he need her inheritance. He had made that very clear.
Her gaze happened to fall on his mouth then. His lips were a firm curve, and they parted into a grin to reveal the gleam of teeth. She could imagine how his mouth against hers would feel, and her hands covered the telltale roses blooming in her cheek. She felt reckless as well as restless, and rather desperate to experience the power of a kiss. ‘I promise, I would not for one moment imagine you were desperately in love with me. So you needn’t worry.’
He went down on one knee, took her hands in his and pulled her up from the cushions, uncovering her blush. The boat rocked slightly. ‘Ah . . . I see you do want to be kissed.’
The thought made her feel dizzy. ‘I admit, I would like to experience it. We have been friends a long time, Adam. If you kissed me under the privacy of darkness, rest assured, I would not take that to be a declaration of love, nor would I expect you to waltz me down the aisle. It would just be a kiss between friends.’
He took her arms and brought them around his waist. Then he took her face between his palms and his mouth covered hers. It was a kiss so warm, melting and tender that she didn’t want it to stop.
There came a series of whistles and clapping. ‘Well done, Adam. Now it’s our turn to kiss the delectable Miss Featherby.
Releasing her, Adam cursed when three of the boats bearing two men apiece closed in on them.
The tender moment when Charlotte imagined she was in love with him, shattered, she gazed at Adam with dismay in her eyes. ‘You have duped me, My Lord . . . how could you?’
He’d been right. The punch had gone to her head, and Adam had taken advantage of it, demonstrated that her will was a weak female creature when pitted against his.
Well, never again!
Heart banging against her ribs, and giving in to instinct, Charlotte flattened her palm against the viscount’s face.
‘Is this why you invited me, to be made a fool of by your friends? There . . . that will wipe the loathsome grin from your face,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, Lottie,’ he whispered, and then, as she jerked away from him and began to scramble upright, he stood, feet braced apart for balance. The boat rocked violently when he reached out for her, a warning in his voice. ‘Take care.’
But it was too late. The boat overbalanced and with a resounding splash they both fell into the lake and the water closed over their heads . . .
***
Her stepmother berated her with, ‘You have made us the laughing stock, Charlotte and I’ll never be able to hold my head up in society again! You have quite ruined everyone’s evening.’
Her father was more forgiving. ‘Nonsense. Do not upset yourself so much, Agnes, my dear. It’s the sort of mishap that could happen to anyone. Those punts are notoriously unstable and as the viscount has explained, it was his fault, for it was his responsibility to inform the servant that the boat beacons must be alight before the punts left the jetty, and he omitted doing so. ’
‘Oh, I’m quite sure Lord Denby was being kind. After all, he is a gentleman.’ She sent a smile winging towards their bedraggled young host. ‘If people weren’t already aware that Charlotte’s behavior is often clumsy and unfeminine for a young woman, they will now. How sad that her mother died before she could teach the girl any graces.’
Adam’s voice was as husky as her throat felt. ‘I beg to differ, Lady Featherby. Lottie is neither clumsy nor unfeminine. As I explained, the fault was mine, and I will not countenance any blame to be attached to her.’
He might as well not have spoken. ‘You’re so gallant still towards your childhood playmate, Lord Denby. First Charlotte makes a show of herself in that dreadful polka, then came the accident, and then on top of that . . .’ Agnes rounded on her. ‘How could you have given the viscount such a dressing down, after the dear man and his companions saved you from drowning? You were overheard by several guests. You must apologize, Charlotte, and you must write them all a personal thank you letter. James, you must thank all his friends personally for the safe deliverance of your daughter.’
Her father said rather grimly. ‘I’m well aware of the niceties in this matter.’
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. Niceties! Apologies! She’d rather strangle Adam and his companions with her bare hands first, and he’d have to use a hammer and chisel to get an apology from her.
Her father exchanged a glance with her when she snorted, and pulled her against him. ‘At least allow the child to get home first,’ he said mildly.
‘I don’t see why we have to go so early, when the maid would be sufficient to attend to her.’
‘Perhaps it’s because, on this occasion, I would be neglecting my duty towards her if I stayed. I’d rather be a support to my daughter than be at a ball prancing about like a silly monkey in a dinner suit.’
Charlotte managed a watery giggle and heard a soft chuckle from Adam.
‘Really James, must you indulge Charlotte in her silliness? She’s setting my own dear daughter, Josephine, a bad example. We should send her to stay with her aunt for the spell, where she could learn some manners.’
‘Stop this at once, Agnes!’ Her father’s raised voice was firm enough to still his wife’s tirade on this occasion. ‘
Charlotte is soaked through and shivering with cold. If that’s not bad enough you’re unfairly berating her for something that clearly wasn’t her fault. I think she has born enough censorship for one night. And if she hasn’t . . . I certainly have.’
Agnes Featherby fell silent.
Despite being wrapped in Adam’s cloak, Charlotte was racked by shivers. Her gown was plastered wetly to her body and her hair was a straggle of slimy, wet ropes around her shoulders.
She was barely holding on to her nerves. She’d been under the water for too long, and had become disorientated. It had been pitch black, for her struggles had churned up the stinking bottom mud. She hadn’t known which way was up and which was down. Then Adam had happened on her and dragged her to the surface by her hair.
How embarrassing that she’d coughed up half the lake, and her supper along with it, and with her first gulp of air . . . but how sweet that air had been.
Adam stood in the corner, bedraggled and miserable, able to hear every word of censure that came her way. Her father had already given him a good dressing down in front of his peers, despite his rank. She sent Adam a glance. What did he think of her now?
His friends had joined him in the water to search for her. It had been a subdued group of young men who’d escorted Adam as he’d carried her back to the house. They’d stood in the porch dripping water, strangely quiet after their earlier exuberance, and waiting word from their host before murmuring their apologies and fading away.
She’d refused to enter Adam’s home, choosing to wait in the front porch, sheltered from a soft but chilly breeze that had sprung up. It was a bright night.
She recalled her earlier shame. Her voice had rasped painfully in her throat as she’d whispered to him, ‘This is the last time I’ll ever speak to you, Adam, and I’ll never willingly enter your house again. You have used me for your own entertainment as well as that of your friends. Our friendship is now at an end.’
‘You don’t mean that Lottie . . . you can’t. None of this was my doing, and we mean too much to each other to just throw our friendship away. You’ll see. You’ll get over this and forget it ever happened.’
He’d sent a servant for a cloak to wrap around her and another servant to fetch her parents. Predictably, her stepmother was more interested in how this would affect the family sociably.
Agnes Featherby was not an unlikeable woman by any means. She had substituted for her own mother as best she could, but too late, for Charlotte had no intention of surrendering her independence. She could be quite sweet at times and Charlotte usually got on well with her stepmother, and loved her daughter Josephine, who’d become part of the family. But Agnes was too aware of her standing in society.
‘It’s because she wasn’t born into it and is concerned in case she does the wrong thing,’ her father had remarked once.
Adam had stayed on after his friends slunk away one by one, like wet rats. He’d stood with her until her parents had arrived, though she’d rather he had left too. When he awkwardly made his excuses and apologies to her parents, and Agnes had started her tirade, she turned her back on him.
Their coach came and she dropped his cloak to the ground, for she didn’t want it touching her skin any more. Her stepmother gave a small scream of despair as she gazed at the ruined gown, now muddied and torn from where they’d pulled her up the bank. ‘That pretty gown is ruined . . . ruined! Oh, the expense.’
Her father snorted. ‘Damn the gown and damn the expense. What matters is that my daughter comes to no physical harm from this escapade.’ He handed her into the coach, followed by his wife. ‘Agnes stop that wailing at once. Place the rug round Charlotte’s shoulders before she catches a chill.’
He turned to Adam. ‘Lord Denby I’ll expect you to present yourself with a full accounting of this incident. Two p.m. tomorrow, if you please.’
The viscount stepped forward into the flickering light of a sconce held aloft by a servant. He was a sorry looking sight. His hair was streaked with mud and plastered to his head. ‘Yes sir.’
His eyes sought the dark interior of the coach and his voice was a plea when he said, ‘Forgive me, Lottie. You can’t just cut me from your life. I won’t let you.’
‘Save your apologies for the morrow, young man, she’ll be in a better mood to receive them then, and so will I.’ Her father then called out before he banged the door shut. ‘Drive on Howard, the sooner we get home the better I’ll like it.’
After a while, Agnes said, ‘What’s that peculiar smell?’
‘Rotten fish I expect,’ Charlotte said.
Agnes shuddered. ‘Must you always be quite so straightforward?’
Her father chuckled. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked then, Agnes. How are you, Charlotte?’
She gave in to a small hysterical laugh, which was the nearest she could come to a physical stamp of the foot. ‘It was dark and I didn’t know which was up and which was down. I thought I was going to die.’ A loud sob burst from her as the dam she’d been trying to hold back, burst. ‘I hate Adam, and I hate his useless friends. All they want to do is enjoy themselves at the expense of others. ‘Oh . . . dash them. I just want to wash this disgusting stink off myself then go to sleep and forget everything and everyone . . . especially Adam Denby.’
‘It was the viscount who rescued you? He saved your life,’ her stepmother reminded her. ‘How heroic of him, and how wonderfully romantic.’
‘There was nothing romantic about the bottom of that lake, believe me, and I wouldn’t have needed rescuing in the first place if it hadn’t been for him and his friends putting me there. If his name is mentioned again I’ll scream so loudly that it will send the foxes flying back down their holes.’
‘You must not allow your temper to punish the foxes, my love. They have enough to put up with.’ Her father drew her close, absorbing her sobs into the warmth of his evening suit. ‘Hush, my dearest girl. We’ll soon get you clean again, and tucked warmly into bed. I’ll get to the bottom of this tomorrow.’
***
Josephine was not yet asleep, and came scurrying into the new bathroom that had been installed between their two adjoining bedrooms.
Her eyes rounded like saucers and her nose wrinkled. ‘Lor Lottie, what has happened to you? You stink.’
‘I fell in the lake and nearly drowned.’
‘Imagine . . . will you tell me about the ball, like you promised?’
All Charlotte wanted to do was sleep, but her stepsister looked so excited that she didn’t like to disappoint her. Josephine would have to wait until next spring before she could attend a ball. And that would be to celebrate Charlotte’s twenty-first birthday. ‘I danced the polka with the squire. He tells me he has a new hunter, and will ride it to church on Sunday, so we can inspect him afterwards.’
‘How exciting. The squire looks well on a horse, but he hits them with his whip. I shall laugh if he falls off.’
So would Charlotte. ‘Miss Carter wore a red dress, and a feather in her hair. She was quite noticeable.’
Josephine giggled. ‘Did it match her nose?’
‘You’d better not let your mamma hear you say that, since they are the best of friends?’
‘Did the viscount look handsome?’
Adam always looked handsome. Black suited him and he’d worn a low cut double-breasted waistcoat of silver brocade. ‘He looked very elegant and danced with almost every lady there.’ Except herself, and she’d been longing to show him all the dances she’d learned in his absence. Still, they hadn’t had time.’
She told herself she was furious with him.
The maids bustled about, filling the bath with hot water and soaping her hair. Back turned, Josephine chattered. After she’d bathed and dried herself, she got into her nightgown and the maid began to brush the moisture from her hair.
‘Can I sleep in your bed tonight, Lottie. You can finish telling me about the ball.’
She nodded. ‘Go and get in bed now.’
But by the time her hair was dry, Josephine was fast asleep. There was a knock at the door.
‘Come in.’
It was her father. He smiled at her. ‘Now you look more like my Charlotte. Are you feeling a little more comfortable.’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry I put you to so much trouble.’ She thought it fair to take some of the blame for what had happened. ‘I had a little too much punch, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s not a sin, my dear.’
‘I just don’t want you to place all of the blame on the viscount, even though our friendship is now at an end.’
‘We will talk about it tomorrow. Is that Josephine I see in your bed.’
‘I was going to tell her about the ball, but she fell asleep.’
‘Shall I take her through to her own room?’
‘No, she’s comfortable there, and there’s room for two.’
‘Get into bed then, and I’ll tuck you in, like I used to when you were small.’
‘And will you tell me a story like you did when I was small?
‘Your mother used to chide me for stimulating your mind before you fell asleep. She said you were too young for such nonsense.’
‘I can’t remember my mother . . . was she pretty?’
‘Barbara was elegant, but she had a streak of mischief in her, she loved you dearly.’
A smiled trembled on her lips. Do you miss her?’
‘No, because there’s such a lot of her in you to remind me of her . . . the way you smile and walk, the color of your hair and those blue eyes. When she died, she was not much older than you are now. I’m grateful to Agnes for bringing you up so well, and giving me another daughter to love. Even though she isn’t my blood Josephine is a sweet child, and Agnes is a good and conscientious woman.’
‘Do you remember the story about the highwayman? I used to fall sleep with us having imaginary adventures together.’
Her father chuckled. ‘That was a long time ago, and I made that story up for Adam rather then you. He was such a lonely child. His uncle was never here and he needed a hero. Now, I think you’ve had enough excitement for tonight, my love. Sweet dreams my lovely girls.’ He kissed her forehead and that of the sleeping Josephine, then drew the curtains back and opened the window a little before he slipped through the door, closing it quietly behind him.