Summer Is for Lovers

Summer Is for Lovers Page 16

by Jennifer McQuiston

  “Where shall I put the new gent?” Bess asked Mrs. Tolbertson, a bit too loudly. Even as she spoke, Branson and Hamilton tumbled into the foyer, no doubt determined to catch a glimpse of their newest competitor.

  Their mother tossed a harried look around the tight space. “The parlor, I should think.”

  Bess squawked her objection. “The parlor’s a mite small for this many men, don’t you think? They’ll be like a mob of cattle in a curiosity store.”

  “Duffington should come back tomorrow,” Mr. Adams interjected. “He was the last to arrive, after all.”

  “Yes, and I feel sure he won’t want to miss luncheon,” Mr. Branson added.

  “At least I can afford luncheon,” Duffington shot back, his dark mustache twitching. “Miss Baxter told my mother that your father’s cut you off again, Branson.”

  Branson’s chest puffed up a full three inches. “That wouldn’t be the first rumor Miss Baxter’s gotten wrong. And I am surprised your mother even let you off leading strings this morning.”

  The temperature in the foyer rose, a consequence of too many bodies, three male egos, and not enough space. Caroline’s temper begged to follow suit. She wanted nothing more than to return to the simple bit of knocking that had roused her from bed. How had the morning devolved into such mayhem? She couldn’t imagine what she had done last night to garner the attention of so many young men. If anything, emboldened by so many glasses of champagne, she had leaned toward being indecorous.

  “Perhaps they c-could all go for a walk. Much as yesterday, only as a group,” Penelope piped up.

  Six pairs of eyes stared in Pen’s direction, Caroline’s included. The line between their mother’s brows deepened to a furrow.

  “But this time I’m g-going as well. I’ll serve as a chaperone.” Pen was already setting her sunbonnet over her fair hair and tying the blue ribbons.

  Their mother lifted a hand to flutter about her throat. “I am not sure that is wise with so many—”

  “It seems a logical solution,” Caroline interrupted, warming to the idea. If she was to erase the memory of David’s rejection from her mind, she needed to fill her thoughts with other men. In fact, given David’s jaw-gritting insistence that she needed to find her perfect match, she was quite sure he would encourage this activity.

  Three gentlemen callers were standing in her foyer, each of them a fine potential match, each one an opportunity that could not be squandered. She had no reason to dislike any of them, save the fact that none of them was David Cameron. And going for a walk was a means of entertaining the lot of them and escaping the scent of flowers that threatened to crowd them all out of the foyer.

  “It’s a capital idea,” Duffington agreed. “Mother always says a bracing bit of ocean air in the morning does her a world of good.”

  Her mother’s creased forehead smoothed out a fraction. “Well,” she said hesitantly. “If the countess enjoys a nice morning walk, I suppose it might be all right.”

  Caroline’s fingers closed around the blue silk fabric and the stiff spines of the parasol Penelope held out to her. Her sister’s brave smile reminded her that Penelope’s future was as tangled up in this charade as her own. She was fortunate these men had not been put off by her champagne-drenched antics last night, but she could not afford to make that mistake this morning.

  Duffington offered Caroline his arm, clearly determined to be first in line. She placed a tentative hand on the man’s sleeve. His arm felt thick and solid beneath her fingers, but the sensation did not send her senses spinning in the same manner that touching David Cameron’s arm did.

  Well, she didn’t need her senses to skitter. She needed to convince one of these fine young men she was someone worth considering.

  With her stomach in knots, Caroline forced herself to step out the door on Duffington’s arm. She and Penelope needed to make a good impression today, so that one of these men—any of them, really—might be smitten enough to offer for her, and, by necessity, bring her sister along for the keeping.

  For her future’s sake, she needed to behave.

  Even if all she wanted to do was bolt.

  DAVID STEPPED INTO Creak’s Bathhouse just before noon and wiped a hand across his already perspiring brow. After his mother’s rough start to the morning, he had insisted on delivering her to her daily appointment himself.

  He was relieved to see the place boasted a crisp, medicinal aura. Two white-aproned attendants greeted his mother warmly and answered David’s questions about the risks and benefits of her treatments with a knowledgeable air. There was nothing of the place to send him running for a physician. Indeed, he was left with the thought of whether it might not be prudent to take a restorative bath here himself. His muscles had been bunched and knotted ever since his mother had informed him of Caroline’s stunning success of last night. Apparently, after he had gone home, she had taken him at his literal word and gone off looking for her match.

  What did you expect? Caroline had a role to play. A husband to find.

  And there was no doubt he had shoved her in that direction, with a stinging rejection and a few glasses of champagne to hurry her along.

  As his mother hobbled through the door into the depths of the stone-walled spa, David turned to the front attendant who was busy behind a counter. “Excuse me.”

  Truth be told, he felt a bit silly. Creak’s Bath House was geared toward a female clientele, from the floral print curtains on the window down to the selection of helpful creams beneath the counter, several of which guaranteed an end to unsightly blemishes. Did they even have facilities to accommodate men? He didn’t see a cream that promised to improve a man’s prowess anywhere under the glass.

  The bespectacled attendant looked up, a businesslike smile on his face. “Have you come to register for the swimming competition, sir?”

  David hesitated. This was something he had not anticipated when he insisted on bringing his mother for her appointment. “Today is the last day to sign up,” the clerk offered. “The larger purse this year has drawn swimmers from all over Britain.”

  David’s eye fell on the list the man pushed toward him. As suspected, Dermott’s name was first on the list. A memory came to him, of Caroline admitting how Dermott had kissed her, then spread the tale far and yonder. Something dark twisted inside him as his finger hovered over the man’s proud, boastful flourish.

  “Promises to be quite a race,” the clerk said helpfully. “Mr. Dermott won the purse last year, if memory serves.”

  “Did he indeed?” David’s finger curled into a fist. Manners prevented him from smashing Dermott’s face without good cause. But perhaps there was another way.

  With a vehemence that startled him, David picked up the pencil and signed his name with a determined scrawl. He placed the pencil down with a firm snick, gripped the edge of the counter, and leaned closer. “Well, should you see him, you can tell the duffer I shall enjoying thrashing him in such a public venue.”

  The clerk’s eyes widened, and the sound of the clerk’s chair scooting back a half inch reached David’s ears. “Yes. Er . . . certainly, sir.”

  All thoughts of a medicinal bath vanished as David offered the man a curt nod and strode toward the door. His decision cemented into place, courtesy of the competitive avarice Dermott conjured in him. No, he was not going to waste his time this afternoon being pampered in mineral salts. If he was going to take a dip today, it was going to be somewhere he could hone his swimming skills.

  David stepped out of the bathhouse and headed east. His body felt stretched like leather over the barrel of a drum
, taut and eager and ready for action. A renewed desire to compete in this race settled in his gut, as much for the pleasure of besting Dermott as winning the purse. But to have any sort of a chance, he knew he needed a great deal more practice with the new stroke he had just started to master.

  Yesterday, when things had still been easy between them, Caroline had agreed to meet him at the cove at one o’clock every day. David wasn’t sure if such a promise held water anymore after last night, but if he was to make it there by the appointed time, he needed to leave now. He turned toward the white cliffs that ran like a chalk line to the east, but just as he passed Broad Street, his attention was snagged by a crowd of young people near the Marine Parade. The mob appeared mostly male, but at the center towered a familiar head of brown hair beneath the shade of a blue parasol.

  His knees locked up tight at the sight of Caroline in the middle of all those men. The group was pointing west on Madeira Drive, walking in the opposite direction from where Caroline was supposed to be heading to meet him. The evidence of her rebuff felt like a blow to the head. Or maybe that was just the breath-robbing sight of her. Her hair was pulled back in that severe knot she preferred, and she was wearing a cotton print dress that did nothing to highlight the sensual body he now knew lurked beneath the yards of fabric.

  But judging by how they hovered at her elbow, the men around her seemed all too aware of the potential she hid from the world.

  Last night he had encouraged Caroline to consider other gentlemen. Hell, he had pushed her back out on the dance floor. But the full repercussions hadn’t seemed so clear at the time. Now that she was surrounded by a jostling group of young men, men who were no more trustworthy than he, his feelings on the matter shifted.

  He, at least, held honorable intentions toward her. And he, thank God, was no longer a twenty-one-year-old youth incapable of self-control.

  Did she even understand the potential danger? Not that he could be sure any of these men might have plans for her beyond the afternoon walk, but they were men. He, of all people, knew how their minds worked. If he was to both win the race and protect her from fops who were contemplating how to toss up her skirts, he needed to speak with her and convince her that it was important to continue their lessons.

  But how to gain a private moment if she was caught in this snarl of suitors? The wolves were circling, even if they were of the fumbling, juvenile variety of predator.

  And for all that she was hiding beneath an ugly dress, Caroline Tolbertson was tempting prey.

  Chapter 18

  AS THE SUN slipped past flush overhead, Caroline’s feet started to itch.

  This was the time of day she usually gave serious consideration to whether a swim might be possible. Not today, though. Today she was accompanied by three solicitous gentlemen and a sister who spent much of the half-hour walk scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal.

  Best behavior, Caroline reminded herself. There was too much at stake to even flirt with the idea of swimming. One of these men might be her future husband.

  Or her next failed kiss.

  But the stern reminder couldn’t stop her from stepping away from the group of men when their collective attention was caught by a vendor selling paper kites. She stared out at the sailboats dotting the horizon, the heated breeze brushing the damp curls on her neck. A short distance to her right, the Chain Pier rose like an ominous black spider, stretching out to deeper water. She studied it for a moment. The packet boat to Dieppe was docked alongside it, boarding passengers to France, but it was the water beneath the pier, not the well-dressed passengers on top, that pulled her attention.

  This section of ocean, from the western side of the Chain Pier running east to the Stone House, would be the site of Monday’s swimming competition. It looked to be a calm piece of surf, with no visible eddies or rocks to snag an unsuspecting swimmer. However, the water rushing in a circular motion about the iron pilings of the pier brought to mind the current in her cove.

  Most competitors, she knew, would stay far to the right of that turbulent bit of water in their sweep around the pier. If she were swimming, she would hug the line of the pier on the way out, both to avoid the frenzied rush of the other competitors and to gain a few yards’ advantage in the race to the finish line.

  Of course she wasn’t swimming. It was an exercise in futility to even imagine it.

  And after the way things had gone last night, she had to question the sanity of continuing her lessons with David Cameron. No matter his reassurances to the contrary, she had thrown herself at his feet, while he had made his lack of intentions quite clear.

  Not the sort of situation that lent itself to platonic swimming lessons.

  “Fancy a swim, Miss Caroline?”

  Caroline jumped at the words that threaded into her left ear and reached for her throat. Duffington had broken away from the others and now stood but a few inches away.

  “I beg your pardon?” Caroline searched her memory with an increasing degree of panic. Had she said something inappropriate to Duffington during their dance last night?

  Surely she wouldn’t have forgotten that.

  He waved a fleshy hand toward the wooden bathing machines that littered the lower shoreline. “It is the same with Mother. The day warms up, and all her thoughts turn to sea bathing and the pleasures to be found there.”

  Caroline unclenched her fists, one finger at a time. He was talking about sea bathing. And his mother. He seemed incapable of engaging in conversation without some mention of the woman.

  “Indeed.” Caroline forced herself to stand fast and not take the instinctive step away her feet demanded. Of all the suitors this morning, Duffington had been the most persistent, hovering near her arm, monopolizing the conversation to the point that even the vociferous Mr. Branson appeared something close to mute.

  She fastened her reluctant gaze on the row of small, wooden houses lurking in the shallows, their giant wheels mocking the very idea of deep water. The thought of four solid walls crowding in from every side was the farthest thing from pleasure in her mind.

  Not that she could let Duffington know that.

  “C-Caroline quite enjoys swimming.” Penelope’s broken voice intruded on the moment. Her sister had an innocent smile on her face and held her pencil aloft, as if she had just written that same titillating bit of slander down in her journal.

  Although Caroline supposed it didn’t count as slander, given that it was true.

  Still, how could Pen say such a thing? How could she even know it? Caroline felt a bit as though Pen had taken her parasol and given her a good whack about the head. She had never mentioned her swims to her sister. Not even once.

  Caroline reached for a bit of plaster to repair this new crack in the wall that housed her secret. “My sister is mistaken.” She laughed, fluttering a dismissive hand in the direction of the bathing houses. “I’ve never even set foot in one of those terrible machines.” She affected what she prayed to be a weak, frightened look, although she suspected she looked more like a biting midge was stuck in one eye. “Why, I am quite done in by the thought of them.”

  There. The solution was at hand. If Pen would be quiet about this, Caroline still might salvage the morning. Although there was no question she was going to give her sister an earful when next they found a private moment.

  Duffington’s fingers plucked at Caroline’s sleeve. “ ’Tis not a frightening experience, truly. They are said to be good for the constitution, even for those of delicate strength. Mother takes a sea bath at least once a week while we are in Brighton.” He leaned in, warming to the topic. “Why, you won’t even get your clothing wet, because they provide a robe. Permit me to call one of the machines up for you.”

  Caroline blinked at the large man. Out of all the suitors, his status as the third son of an earl made him the man who could most easily save her family. And he was a nice enough fellow, she supposed, if a bit hairy and attached to his mother.

&nb
sp; How to encourage his interest, while discouraging this ridiculous idea?

  “Thank you, but I think not.” She searched for another reasonable explanation, given that her facade of fear didn’t seem to be working. Sea baths cost money. Not much money, perhaps two or three shillings. But extra shillings were something the Tolbertsons didn’t have.

  Not that one admitted such a thing to a prospective bridegroom.

  Caroline patted the edge of her empty reticule. “I’m afraid I neglected to bring any coins with me.”

  A hearty laugh shook Duffington’s frame. “Nonsense, Miss Caroline. It shall be my pleasure to purchase a day’s ticket for you. Why, if you like it, I would strive to procure you an entire month’s subscription.”

  She was quite sure she gaped at him then. Was that even appropriate? A gentleman might purchase a lady flowers, or even a light refreshment while out for a walk.

  But a subscription for sea baths?

  The sound of arguing made itself heard over the din in her head. The other two men had left the kite vendor and were crowding closer. Mr. Adams had a green paper kite beneath one arm. Mr. Branson’s hands were empty but he sported a thunderous look on his face.

  He shoved his way in front of Duffington and offered Caroline a stiff, proprietary arm. “This morning’s walk has become a bit crowded for my tastes, Miss Caroline. Why don’t we take a private turn on the Chain Pier?”

  Mr. Branson’s unexpected demand sent her head spinning. As backdrop to her first lackluster kiss, the Chain Pier was not somewhere she wanted to visit on the arm of a gentleman.

  “Good God, man, have you not been following the conversation?” Duffington blustered. “She is going to take a sea bath with me.”

  “Not with you,” Caroline protested. The houses were segregated by gender, and men and women bathed on different sides of the beach.

  Mr. Branson’s cheeks flushed red. “Perhaps she would prefer to take a walk with me, Duffington.” The two men looked close to fisticuffs.

 

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