He helped his mother down to Brighton’s eastern beach. Evidence of the competition and the townspeople’s enthusiasm swirled around him like leaves caught in a gust of wind. Almost overnight, the bustling seaside town had taken on a circuslike air. Food vendors lined the Marine Parade and Madeira Drive, their sharp cries mingling with the smells of meat pies and fried fish. Chairs had been set up in rows along the wide swath of beach. And the London visitors that Caroline had so decried appeared to have come out in droves, their thick, common accents mingling with the softer sounds of the Brighton locals.
As they made their way toward the section where the spectators would be seated, his mother was struck by a sudden fit of coughing. As he held up her frail body and felt the bones in her arms shift beneath his hands, David questioned anew the wisdom of exposing his mother’s failing lungs to the moist air.
“Perhaps it would be better to return to the Bedford, Mother,” he offered, worried.
“I can’t see a thing from the window of my suite.” She shook her head. “No, I want to do this. The newspaper claims it is an event not to be missed.”
“You are too ill for these types of exertions,” he pointed out. “The doctors said—”
“The doctors might be concerned with the state of my lungs,” she interrupted, wheezing slightly. “But I am more concerned with the state of my mind.”
David tilted his head, staring down at his small, stern mother. She seemed entirely lucid. Perhaps too lucid, given her propensity toward stubbornness. Indeed, he suspected she would be far easier to manage if it was her mind that was giving her fits. “There is nothing wrong with the state of your mind.”
“If I am healthy in that regard, it is only because I refuse to live in the past, clinging to the doctor’s recommendation. I didn’t ask for this affliction, or such a dire prognosis. But I also refuse to lock myself away and just give up on the business of enjoying my life.” She offered him a glance that appeared both shrewd and maternal at the same time. “One shouldn’t stop living, just because of a little hurt, David. You would do well to remember that.”
David drew in a breath at her unexpected insight. “Why do you say that I need to remember that?” he asked, guiding her to an empty chair, and shooing away a pair of seagulls that seemed intent on guarding their perch. “I am not ill or injured.”
“Perhaps not physically. But you’ve been living a stilted version of life since that unfortunate business with Elizabeth Ramsey, David. Don’t think your father and I haven’t noticed.”
David’s lungs funneled shut. The murmuring crowd and the distant sound of the waves receded to a dim point on his internal horizon. His mother had never spoken of this to him, not once in eleven years, though he had always suspected that she, along with everyone else in Moraig, believed him at fault for Elizabeth’s death.
Why did she bring it up now?
His mother’s long-fingered hand reached out to clasp his own suddenly clammy skin. “You’re a fine man, David. You rescued that family from the ocean yesterday, as selfless an act as I’ve ever seen.”
He drew back as if his frail, reed-thin mother had struck him with a pugilist’s fist. “How did you know about that?” He hadn’t told her. In fact, he’d made a point of not telling her, being averse to having her worry any more than she already did.
Her fingers tightened on his wrist. “It made the front page of the paper, David. My lungs are failing, but I assure you my eyesight is as keen as ever.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” he protested. “Anyone would have—”
“Anyone would not have,” his mother interrupted, shaking her head. She released his wrist. “And according to the paper, no one else did, except that girl Miss Tolbertson.” She lowered herself into the chair, settling in with a relieved groan. “You just don’t seem able to see what the rest of us have always known. The man who dove into the water to rescue that poor family yesterday is the same man you were during that business with Elizabeth. You have a good heart, David, and if you had been given an opportunity to save her, there is no doubt in my mind you would have.”
A hard lump formed in David’s throat as he crouched down beside his mother and fussed with the blanket around her feet. “I had the opportunity, Mother. But I chose the wrong path.”
She shook her head. “I know she turned down your offer of marriage, son. And I also know something else that you do not. She had already set her sights on James MacKenzie, before you even made it out of town.”
David drew in a sharp breath. Elizabeth was rumored to have turned to his former best friend, James MacKenzie, for comfort in those final days. He had gleaned that much from the undercurrent of gossip that percolated through Moraig like the Highland wind. But he had always presumed he had driven her into the man’s arms, not that she had gone there willingly.
“How do you know that?” he demanded.
“Mothers talk, David. You know that James has recently come to a better understanding with his own family, and he clarified some of those facts with his mother.” She shaded her eyes with a hand and peered out at the horizon, as if she was not talking about the single most agonizing event in David’s life. “Terrible thing, the choice that girl made. A selfish choice. Elizabeth could have come to us. We would have gladly seen to her welfare.”
Her hand lowered slowly, and he could see tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “It hurt us too, you know. That was our grandchild. You wouldn’t talk about it, and we could only watch your suffering and trust that time would heal us all.”
David busied himself adjusting the lower edge of her blanket, trying to think of something to say. No wonder his mother was so fixated on seeing him marry and holding a blond-haired granddaughter. Until this moment, he had not considered she might have been dealing with her own version of loss.
When he trusted his throat to work again, he said, “I didn’t realize you knew so much about what happened with Elizabeth.”
“Yes, well, you were away on your army assignment. Your father and I didn’t realize quite how much it affected you either. But since you’ve come home to Moraig, it has become all too clear that you are still living under that shadow. We both decided you needed a little shove to start living again.” She shifted in her seat, but refused his help when he tried to adjust the back of her chair higher. “This trip was intended as much for you as me, as I am sure you have surmised.”
David’s lips firmed. He had suspected some degree of plotting afoot, certainly. But he had presumed the journey was about finding him a wife, not helping him to heal. His mother’s insistence on Brighton as their destination made more sense now. She had known he was stationed nearby, and must have suspected that geography would play a role in his reckoning.
David swallowed hard, pushing the gratitude that threatened to well up in his throat down to a more proper depth in his chest. He hadn’t truly understood his need for forgiveness, or his mother’s determination to deliver it to him, until now.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
His mother reached out a bony hand and squeezed his again. “You spent ten years in uniform, sacrificing your own healing for God and country. Whatever mistakes you made as a boy, whatever role Elizabeth herself had in those mistakes, don’t you think it’s time to forgive? And if not forget, at least move on?”
David expelled a long, shuddering breath. It was as if his mother had picked up a loose thread and pulled, and now he was unraveling. He could not deny that if Elizabeth’s letter had reached his hand sooner, he would have returned to Moraig in a thrice, hang the consequences and the displeasure of his commanding officer.
“I can promise to try,” he told his mother. With his mother’s understanding, the facts of that day were already shifting about in his head. His past and his future coalesced smoothly, as if they had always fit up against each other and he had just been too distracted to realize it.
If he permitted himself to think of a future—and it was jarring to do so
, after eleven long years of self-denial—his thoughts flew to only one destination.
He wanted Caroline. And bugger it all, against all odds, against all logic, she wanted him too. She knew everything there was to know about him, had absorbed his confession and accepted his past and still offered him her love.
But he had pushed her away, and now it was too late. He had shoved her toward Dermott and she had made her decision, and now he feared he was going to spend the next eleven years mourning her loss.
His mother scanned the crowded beach. “Now, according to the social section, you’ve met at least two nice young ladies since we arrived in Brighton. I see Miss Baxter over there.” She pointed to the young red-haired woman, who was walking some distance away, a tiny dog in her arms. “You should go and say hello, in case there is any hope there.”
“I am not sure—” David started, but then he fell silent. No, he was actually quite sure. There was no hope there. Not even the slightest possibility of it.
Miss Baxter, while lovely, was not where his intentions lay.
“I’ve no interest in Miss Baxter that way,” he told his mother.
“Hmmph. How about this Miss Tolbertson, the one I’ve read so much about in the paper?” She craned her neck, searching the crowd. “I’ve no idea what she looks like, of course. Do you think she’ll swim today? The Gazette’s description of her was quite scandalous.”
David choked on his surprise. “She shall attend, I think. But the competition does not permit women to swim.” He paused, then added, “She has been teaching me to swim using her unusual stroke. I am competing today.”
Shrewd eyes raked his. “When were you planning on telling me this?”
“Well, I had hoped you would be occupied by your daily appointment at Creaks. You should know that if I win, I am planning to give half the purse to her.”
His mother’s eyes lit up. “What do her suitors think of that? According to the social section she’s received scads of proposals. Has she accepted any?”
“Aye, she has.” David felt as though his mother had found a wound and was now poking about to see what she might find in it. “But I really don’t care what her suitors think. If I can win today, she will have earned it.”
“Oh.” A beat of silence passed and then his mother’s eyes narrowed. “Is she pretty?”
David sighed. “Aye. There are some that think so.” And he counted himself among that small but discerning group. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s going to marry someone else.”
“Well,” his mother said, settling back against her chair and adjusting the brim of her bonnet against the advancing sun with a delicate, blue-veined hand. “If she has taught you to swim even half as well as the newspaper claims she can dance, I imagine this will indeed be a competition to remember.”
Chapter 32
CAROLINE FINALLY FOUND three empty seats near the water’s edge, and waved Penelope and her mother toward them. Queen Victoria was clearly not visiting Brighton this summer—further proof that Miss Baxter was not to be trusted—but it seemed as though everyone else was. Ladies in fashionable dresses and men in smartly cut coats sweated in the late morning sun, and she had to elbow at least one surprised gentleman aside to procure the chairs. It was worth it, though. From this position, they would be able to see the swimmers as they made their loop around the edge of the pier and began the hard crawl toward the finish line.
It was a beautiful morning, with clouds like carded cotton and a sky so blue an artist would have been hard-pressed to duplicate it using any normal palette of colors. Red and purple pennants flew from the iron spires of the Chain Pier, adding a cheerful wash over the scene. She wanted to stare out at it forever.
Except she couldn’t. Because try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone else was staring at her.
“Isn’t that the girl from the paper?”
“Were you there? Did you see her swim?”
Caroline could have laughed. She would never have predicted that a story more shocking than the circumstances of her first kiss could ever snag the attention of the summer set.
Apparently she had been wrong.
“Mama, are you sure this isn’t too much for you?” Caroline asked as her mother settled into one of the wooden folding chairs. “The sun is very strong, and your skin is not used to it.”
“As I explained at length, I want to see the swimming competition,” her mother said, arranging her skirts carefully. She swiveled her head, studying the beach’s other occupants. “Now, Penelope. In your recent position writing the social column you must have paid very close attention to the activities of most of the young people here. Would you be so kind as to point out these individuals who have been less than kind to your sister? I am thinking I might like a word with their parents.”
Caroline groaned. Her mother claimed that this, her first real social outing to somewhere other than church in eleven years, was because she wanted to attend the race, but hadn’t she suspected that Mama had ventured out for a different reason?
Pen looked down at their mother and grinned. “Well, Miss Baxter has said some mean-spirited things on occasion.” She paused, and then pursed her lips. “Of course, she has also said some nicer things. Rather an enigma. I c-can’t figure her out.”
As if called by the very direction of Pen’s thoughts, Miss Baxter walked by, her pert face shaded by a sunbonnet whose brim threatened to eclipse the entirety of the sun. A small white dog rested in her arms.
“You look lovely today, Miss B-Baxter,” Pen called out, waving as if they were the best of chums.
Miss Baxter shifted her dog from one arm to another as she stopped and turned to regard them. “And you both look . . . pleasant enough.” The girl sauntered closer and glanced down at their mother. “You must be Mrs. Tolbertson. I am Julianne Baxter.” She waited a beat, and when their mother did no more than raise a haughty brow, she added, “The daughter of the Viscount Avery.”
Mama’s face settled into a practiced smile. “Oh. Of course. I believe my father and your grandfather were roommates at Eton together. I knew your father well, many years ago, during my come-out in London. Please do pass my condolences on to Lord Avery. I am sorry I could not make it up to London for your mother’s funeral.”
Miss Baxter’s mouth fell open. “I . . . er . . . that is, you could pass those wishes along yourself.” She blinked, regrouping. “He has come down from London for a few days.”
Their mother nodded. “I shall do that. It will be nice to reacquaint myself with an old, dear friend.”
Miss Baxter was, for once, effectively silenced. She chewed—in a most unladylike fashion—on her lower lip, no doubt trying to decide if this was a problem or a boon for someone in her social position.
“Miss B-Baxter,” Penelope said, breaking through the awkward moment. “Did you know . . . your d-dog matches the exact shade of your gown.”
Miss Baxter colored up, although Caroline would not have put it above the toothsome girl to match her pet to her dress. “Why, thank you. I have always admired the color of Constance’s coat.” She rubbed one cheek against the little dog’s fur. “Madame Beauclerc made the dress. She is quite brilliant with a needle, isn’t she? It is surprising to find a seamstress of such talent in such a quaint little town like Brighton.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes at the slight to the city she loved. She searched her mind for an appropriate rejoinder, but could find no fault with Miss Baxter’s elbow-length gloves or the sash around her small waist, a splash of pink embroidered with tiny pink roses.
Not that she liked roses, per se. Given that the Tolbertsons’ foyer was still sporting a few dozen of the dubious flowers, Caroline was developing an intense dislike for the thorny blooms.
“Can we help you with something?” she prodded. “Directions to the reserved seating area, perhaps?” She wished Miss Baxter would move along. The race would be starting in less than a quarter hour, and she still hadn’t seen Da
vid in the crowd yet.
Miss Baxter’s perfect nose wrinkled in thought. “I wanted to offer my congratulations, of course. News of your engagement to Mr. Dermott is spreading. You appear to have attracted the imagination of the entire town, and without the help of a single word from me. Few in London can claim such notoriety.”
Caroline gritted her teeth. It had not escaped her that the man to whom she was supposedly engaged appeared to be avoiding her this morning. In fact, she could see him beyond Miss Baxter’s shoulders, near the sign-in table, warming up his muscles with a series of windmilling arm motions. The movement had the misfortune of exaggerating the inelegance of the shapeless woolen swimming costume he had donned for the day’s race.
She returned her annoyed focus to Miss Baxter, who, unfortunately, was not showing any signs of moving on. “Er . . . thank you. Was that all you needed?” She wondered if a good, strong shove might facilitate the situation.
Miss Baxter touched a white-gloved finger to her lips. “Well . . . there is one more thing. You see, I am trying to decide if I believe the rumors about your little ocean adventure, given that I have been denied the pleasure of starting them.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you really swim as well as a man?”
Mama gasped at the girl’s audacity. Caroline’s tongue seemed sewn to the roof of her mouth. Everyone in Brighton already knew about her swimming abilities, of course, thanks to Penelope’s front page headlines. But it was a sensation entirely too close to drowning to have a discussion with Miss Baxter about it.
Pen was apparently emboldened with a different response. “I suppose it d-depends on the man, Miss Baxter.”
The red-haired girl’s eyes narrowed on Pen. “It is my experience that the truth has a way of being distorted when amateurs recount the events at hand. I know I would not want to risk my reputation by repeating such gossip in London without first seeing it with my own eyes.”
Summer Is for Lovers Page 29