by Mary Balogh
Rebecca stopped guiltily in the middle of performing the awkward task of buttoning her dress at the back. She had been thinking almost exclusively of Christopher in the last few days. Yet she was engaged to marry Philip. She must spend the afternoon concentrating on the friendship and mutual respect they had for each other. She would be foolish to let go of those things when she had nothing to gain by brooding over Christopher. Her feelings for him were purely regrets for a past that might have been. He was not now the sort of man whom she would wish to captivate even if that were possible.
Rebecca spent five whole minutes before the shelf of her closet in an agony of indecision over which of her very plain bonnets she should wear. She wished she had something just a little prettier or more frivolous. Perhaps she would be quite reckless and buy one for the annual fair in three weeks' time.
***
Rebecca was very glad to ride the mile to the river from the Sinclairs' house in the gig with Ellen and Primrose. She had driven over there with Lord Holmes, Maude, and Harriet in the closed carriage. And the baron had insisted that all the windows remain closed for fear of a draft. Rebecca had thought she would explode before the twomile distance had been covered. However, most members of the party had driven or ridden to the picnic site while Primrose was showing off her new horse. By the time they returned to the house, only the gig, a very irate Ellen, and Mr. Carver remained.
"Oh, do come along, Prim," Ellen called out crossly as soon as they were within earshot. "We will miss all the fun. You could have shown Miss Shaw your horse at some other time."
"I am afraid the fault is mine, Ellen," Rebecca said with a smile. "One look was not enough for me. I had to go right into the stall and get to know the horse. He is a beauty."
"All we will have missed," Mr. Carver said with a smile, "is the work: lifting down baskets of food and spreading blankets. I think it clever of you, Miss Primrose, to have thought of that." He shook with quiet laughter so that Rebecca feared for a moment that he might fall from his horse's back.
Primrose giggled. "You and I will do our share of the work later when it comes time to eat, Mr. Carver," she said conspiratorially, and he actually winked at her from above his high and sharp shirt points, Rebecca noticed with some amusement.
They had indeed missed most of the fuss and bluster of the arrival, they found when they caught up to the others on the riverbank. Lord Holmes, it was true, was still on his feet, instructing his coachman to move his blanket yet again so that it would remain in the shadow of a large tree even when the sun shifted its position. The site that had originally been chosen for him, Mrs. Sinclair explained sotto voce to Rebecca and her girls, had been well shaded but too much exposed to the wind. And they all knew how delicate his lordship's health was, poor soul.
"What wind, Mama?" Primrose asked tactlessly and rather too loudly.
Harriet was impatient to walk. "I have always loved the old stone bridge," she said wistfully, gazing upstream to the single-arched structure over the river that made this particular site so picturesque. "There is such a delightful view from the center of it, and such a lovely walk through the trees on the opposite bank. Do let us take a walk."
She smiled generally around the group, though her eyes lingered rather longer on Christopher than on any of the others. She twirled the blue parasol that matched perfectly the blue of the cornflowers in her bonnet and complemented the paler blue of her light summer dress. She presented a very pretty picture against the swift-flowing waters of the river.
Christopher smiled. "I should be delighted to accompany you, ma'am," he said. "I am in the mood for exercise. Will you take my arm?"
Harriet smiled with delight, though the smile faded slightly when Mr. Bartlett got to his feet and turned to Ellen. "Shall we join them, Miss Sinclair?" he asked, bringing a blush to the girl's cheeks by bowing in courtly fashion before her and smiling warmly.
"Come on, Carver," Christopher said, grinning back at his friend, who was already reclining indolently beneath a tree. "It would do you good to take to your feet too. Give us a chance to convince you that the countryside has as much to offer in the way of entertainment as the city."
"I could be entertained just as well sitting b'neath this tree," Mr. Carver grumbled. But he pulled himself to his feet. He sighed and glanced wistfully in the direction of the blanket on which Julian sprawled, looking less than delighted with life, and turned to Rebecca. "Will you bear me company, Miss Shaw?" he asked. "You may take m'arm. I believe I can support you through the ordeal of a country walk." He shook with laughter again.
The six of them strolled toward the bridge, Harriet tugging rather impatiently at her companion's arm.
"I used to come here often when I was a child," she *aid as they began to cross over the river, "with Julian. We used to try to fish from the bridge until we realized that the water was too fast flowing to make it possible to catch any."
"That was far more innocent than my favorite game when I was a boy," Christopher said with a smile. "We used to walk along the wall and try not to fall into the water. It is amazing that we never did. We might have ended up with worse injury than a soaking."
"Oh," Ellen said, "I remember when you caught me and Julian doing that, Christopher, and gave us a thundering scold. You threatened to tell Papa if you ever caught us at it again. You said it was very dangerous."
"And so it is," he said. "The stones on top of the wall are irregular and it is not too wide to start with. Add to that the fact that it is not flat but continuously curved to form the arch and you have a pretty tricky walking surface. All children are mad daredevils. I suppose we become too staid and dull as we grow up. You see, all of us are perfectly content to cross the bridge sedately on the roadway."
"Oh, I would do it," Harriet cried, twirling her parasol behind her head and smiling gaily at her companions. "Does anyone dare join me?"
Ellen giggled. "Not me any longer," she said. "I have' learned wisdom with age. I always used to be petrified, anyway."
Christopher smiled engagingly at Harriet. "I must admit you would make a remarkably pretty picture walking across," he said. "But I cannot allow it."
"Ah," she said, smiling brilliantly and giving the parasol another twirl, "but I am not your sister, sir, and am not obliged to do as you say. Hold my parasol, please, Rebecca. I shall show you who is old and staid in this party."
Rebecca was seriously alarmed. She knew that once Harriet got an idea into her head, it was very difficult to dislodge it. "You really must not try, Harriet," she said. "Indeed, it is very dangerous. And remember that your papa is looking on. He will be very distressed if he sees what you are about."
"Pooh," Harriet said. "Papa will be proud of me."
Before the paralyzed gaze of her five companions, Harriet ran lightly back to the end of the bridge, where the wall was low enough for her to get up on it despite the hampering influence of her long skirt. She held out her arms to the sides to get her balance and began to place one foot after the other ahead of her up the uneven incline to the center of the arch. The onlookers dared not move or say a word once she had started for fear of startling her and pitching her into the fast-flowing waters below.
She walked even more slowly and carefully on the downward slope at the other side of the bridge. Twice she stopped altogether and had to make an effort to regain her balance. But after what seemed like an age to those watching, she finally reached the other side and jumped down into the roadway. She laughed with triumph and made an exaggerated curtsy to the five people still clustered at the beginning of the bridge.
"Miss Shaw," Christopher said, hurrying forward, "if you were my sister, I should give you the worst tongue lashing of your life. As it is, accept my compliments, ma'am. I am full of admiration."
His voice was rather grim, Rebecca noticed, although he spoke lightly and was smiling at her cousin. Rebecca felt almost limp with relief. She could cheerfully have shaken Harriet until her teeth rattled. Looking anxiously bac
k to the spot on the bank where the other members of the party were gathered, she saw that they were all on their feet gazing at the bridge, including Uncle Humphrey.
"Now," Harriet called gaily, "who said something about. us all being staid and dull? I see only five such people!"
"Now there is a young lady," Mr. Carver said to Rebecca, "who needs a firm hand. A heavy hand, perhaps. Don't she realize that Sinclair or Bartlett or I would have been obliged t'jump in after her if she had fallen in? Selfish little hussy!"
Rebecca was surprised at the vehemence of his attack. But she held her peace. She felt that her cousin thoroughly deserved such censure.
"I think that was very foolish," Ellen said, looking up at Mr. Bartlett. "Harriet is the same age as I, but I consider myself too old for such foolishness."
He patted her hand, which was tucked through his arm. "Ah, yes, Miss Sinclair," he said. "You are a very sweet and sensible young lady. I would be shocked to see you behave like a daredevil. Of course," he added, raising his voice just a little, "there is something very charming about a lady who is willing to take a risk and dare the consequences. My compliments, Miss Shaw. I salute your bravery."
"Thank you, kind sir," she replied, favoring him with a deep curtsy again and a dazzling smile.
"Perhaps we should walk on for a way," Christopher suggested, "before it is time to turn back for tea. I hope the pathway through the trees here has not become overgrown. It was always a place of great beauty, especially in the autumn when the leaves are of all colors."
His head turned rather jerkily toward Rebecca as he said the last words, and their eyes met. He flushed; she was sure she had not imagined it. She had certainly done so herself. It was a painful walk. It had been from the beginning. In a way she had almost been glad of the distraction of Harriet's madness. The bridge and the path beyond it had been one of their favorite retreats during those months when they had been in love and planning a life together. They had used often to stand on the bridge, leaning on the stone wall and staring downstream.
She could remember sitting up there once while Christopher stood before her, one hand resting on the stones either side of her, his face on a level with hers. When he had started kissing her, she wrapped her arms around his neck. And she ended up shrieking while he laughed into her ear. He bent her backward so that she was suspended over the water, only her hold of his neck and his of her waist between her and certain disaster.
And they had walked often in the woods during that autumn, their arms around each other's waist, marveling at the incredible beauty of the trees, their footsteps hushed by the still-soft leaves underfoot. They had talked and talked, planning and dreaming of a future that was not to be. They grew closer together in those months so that at last it seemed that there were no barriers left between them. They laughed a great deal, too, though she could no longer remember what had been so amusing.
They had become physically more familiar with each other during that time, too. They had always walked close to each other when there was no one else nearby, and they had kissed frequently. These woods, where they were walking now, the chatter loud and gay, had been the perfect setting for stolen embraces. Not only kisses. He had frequently explored her back and her breasts while he kissed her; she had often let her hands roam over the muscles of his back and shoulders and chest. And she gradually came to share his urgency, that heat of desire which had always finally driven them apart, smiling ruefully at each other.
Could this be the same place? And could that man ahead of her, the one bending his head with a smile to hear what Harriet was saying, be the man with whom she had walked and shared those confidences and those intimacies? Rebecca was conscious of a dull ache inside, which she could not disguise even by persisting in the conversation with Mr. Carver.
She was glad at least that it was not autumn.
Chapter 6
Harriet was taken to task as soon as the group of six returned to the rest of the picnickers-by Julian.
"Really, Harriet," he said, leaping to his feet as soon as he saw her approach and steering her by the elbow away from the others, "do you have windmills in your head? What was the point of that ridiculous exhibition you were putting on at the bridge?"
"I was walking across the wall," she said, staring at him haughtily and jerking her arm away from him, "if it is any of your business, Julian. Anyway, you have done it a hundred times yourself. I have seen you."
"When I was twelve years old and younger and knew no better," he said. "Really, Harriet, I thought you had more sense."
"You are behaving just like a mother hen!" she snapped, striding ahead of him to the river-bank, where their quarrel could be a little more private. "Thank you kindly, Julian, but I do not need you to tell me what I should or should not do."
"I suppose it is all done for Christopher's benefit," he said scornfully.
Harriet glared at him, snapping open her parasol and twirling it behind her head. "And what is that supposed to mean?" she asked.
"You are showing off, Harriet," Julian said sullenly.
"Don't think I have not noticed that you have set your cap at him."
"Well!" she exclaimed. "You sound like a jealous lover, Julian. What if I do enjoy your brother's company? He at least is fun to be with. He admired my courage earlier."
"I doubt it," Julian said, his face contemptuous. "He probably was playing the gentleman. I wouldn't doubt that he really considers you to be a silly chit."
"Well!" Harriet said again. "At least I know where I stand with you, Julian Sinclair. And you have been declaring undying love for me for the last two years." She lifted her chin and turned back to the group of people seated on the blankets.
"I do care," Julian said, looking miserable now. "I just hate to see you make a cake of yourself, Harriet, that is all."
She tossed her head but did not deign to reply. She strode across to sit beside her father. There she received another scold.
Rebecca was talking to Mrs. Sinclair. She had been planning to join Philip but changed destination when she realized that Christopher had the same idea. The two men now appeared to be in earnest conversation.
"And when are you planning to set the date of your wedding, Miss Shaw?" Mrs. Sinclair asked. "Mr. Sinclair and I have been expecting it all summer, but the best of the season is already past."
Rebecca smiled. "We still have not set a date, ma'am," she said.
"It is such a long time since there was a wedding of any note in the church," Mrs. Sinclair said with a sigh. "It would be such a treat to have another. We were very disappointed, you know, when Lord Holmes decided to marry his lady in London before bringing her home."
"You can be sure, ma'am," Rebecca said reassuringly, "that when we do set the date, you will be among the first to receive an invitation."
"Such a very proper young man," Mrs. Sinclair said, looking across at Philip with an affectionate smile. "He will make you a good husband, Miss Shaw. He is very like your poor dear papa except that he is perhaps a trifle more serious. Perhaps he will soften somewhat under your influence."
Rebecca too looked across at her betrothed. He was very serious. She rarely saw him smile. She could not imagine what he found to talk about so earnestly with Christopher. She wondered what Mrs. Sinclair's thoughts were about the past. Everyone had known that she and Christopher were seeing each other. Surely they must have suspected that the relationship was a serious one. Did they ever wonder what had happened? Of course, perhaps Christopher had explained the situation to them. Perhaps they knew more than she did.
Philip looked up at her while she was still staring in his direction. He beckoned and called to her above the hubbub of voices. Rebecca got reluctantly to her feet and moved over to where he sat with Christopher. Both men got to their feet as if they were in a formal drawing room rather than outdoors at a picnic.
"I have been telling Mr. Sinclair about the school," Philip explained to her as they all sat down on the blanket.
"I like the sound of what you have been doing there, Miss Shaw," Christopher said. "It is quite a brave venture."
"I do not know about brave," she said, raising her eyes to his at last. "I think it only right. The poor should have as much right as we to an education."
He inclined his head. "And do you find that the boys learn easily?" he asked.
Rebecca felt irritated. The school was too important to her to become the topic of a polite conversation. What did he care about the school or about the boys? "Probably as easily as any boys anywhere," she said. "Those at Eton, for example."
He raised his eyebrows, and she was annoyed to see that he looked amused for a moment. "I am glad you feel strongly about it," he said. "But then I might have expected it. You always did feel passionately about the unfairness of class distinctions, I remember."
Rebecca stared back, unable to look away from those blue eyes, and unable to think of anything to say in reply.
"Mr. Sinclair would like to visit the school one day, Rebecca," Philip said. "I have suggested that he come tomorrow."
"No!" Rebecca said sharply. "Tomorrow is my day, Philip. I am sure Mr. Sinclair would far prefer to see you teach. You are more competent than I."
"I should like to be free to show him around," Philip said. "It really would be more convenient if you would do the teaching."
Rebecca looked back in dismay to Christopher. What right did he have to interfere with her activities this way? Was it such a great curiosity, a novel amusement, to be able to watch a village school in operation? She hated him for a moment.