Mary Balogh - Simply Magic

And so she and Raycroft set off without him, and he spent the morning chopping wood for Miss Honeydew, despite her vociferous protests, a task for which he was rewarded with effusive thanks, a few tears, and an insistence that he eat half a dozen of her housekeeper’s special cakes, which this time were suspiciously black at the bottom and nearly rock-hard in the center. He took the dog for a run before driving his curricle back to Hareford House.

The morning had been cloudy-one of those days that could not make up its mind whether to dissolve into rain or open out into sunshine. If it had rained, he might have persuaded himself to remain at the house to play chess with Raycroft’s father, who was always eager for a game with someone who could at least come close to beating him.

But the sky cleared off instead and the sun shone. The outdoors beckoned.

Peter rode over to Barclay Court. He left his horse in a groom’s care at the stable and strode across the terrace and up one branch of the horseshoe steps. The butler was already in the open doorway and informed him that his lordship and the ladies had just finished luncheon and would surely be delighted to receive him in the drawing room.

He would, Peter decided as he followed the butler up the stairs, stay for fifteen or twenty minutes and then leave. He would wish Susanna Osbourne a pleasant journey and a happy autumn term at school. Perhaps he would kiss the back of her hand-or perhaps he would merely bow over it.

Good Lord, such self-conscious planning was quite uncharacteristic of him, he thought ruefully. The appropriate good manners normally came so naturally to him that he did not have to think them out in advance.

The butler opened the double doors of the drawing room with a flourish, as if he were about to announce the Prince of Wales himself-and then paused.

Susanna Osbourne was rising from a window seat. The large room was otherwise empty.

“Oh, Mr. Smothers,” she said, “the earl and countess went downstairs to the library. Did you not see them?”

The butler turned an almost comically mortified face to the guest, but Peter spoke up before him.

“But it was Miss Osbourne I came particularly to see, Smothers,” he said. “If she will receive me, that is.”

The butler looked back to the lone occupant of the room.

“But of course,” she said, walking halfway across the room before stopping. “It is quite all right, Mr. Smothers. How do you do, my lord?”

He was not doing very well at all actually. He had been assaulted again by the rather foolish panic he had felt when he awoke. This was the last time he would see her. Tomorrow morning she would be gone. The day after so would he. It was no comfort at the moment to try telling himself that by this time next week he would probably have forgotten her.

He smiled and advanced into the room, and the butler closed the door behind him.

“Frances received an invitation this morning to sing at a series of concerts in London later in the autumn,” she explained. “She and the earl have gone down to the library to check on dates and make some plans. But they will not be long.”

They would not be long. Suddenly their absence seemed to him like a gift he had avoided but longed for.

She was looking rather pale, he thought, until he looked more closely and realized that actually her face was slightly bronzed from exposure to the sun. But there was something…It was in her eyes even though they smiled. No, the rest of her face smiled. Her eyes surely did not. Like him, he thought, she was not unaware that this was the last time they would be alone together, the last time they would see each other.

Of course she was not unaware of it. Over the course of ten days or so they had developed a friendship that was rare in its warmth. How foolish of him to have deprived them both of two days.

“I came to say good-bye,” he said.

“Yes.” She spoke softly.

“It has been a pleasure knowing you,” he said, though it struck him that there was so much knowing yet to do-if only they had more time.

“Yes,” she said. “It has. Been a pleasure.”

“Yesterday’s excursion was enjoyable,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I have never been to Taunton before.”

“Nor I,” he said.

He saw her swallow, and she turned her head away for a moment before looking back at him.

“I hope you have a pleasant journey the day after tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes. Thank you.” He clasped his hands at his back.

“Shall I-”

“Will you-”

They spoke together and stopped together, and she gestured for him to proceed.

“Will you come out for a stroll with me?” he asked her, abandoning without a thought his careful plan for a fifteen-minute formal call. “It has turned into a beautiful day out there.”

“I will fetch my bonnet,” she said.

She left him on the landing while she ran up to the next floor, and panic returned. What if they could not get out of the house and out of sight before Edgecombe and his lady emerged from the library? There was this one afternoon left. This was it-his last chance. This time tomorrow…

His last chance for what, for God’s sake?

As they stepped through the stairway arch into the hall, Edgecombe and the countess were coming out of the library, all hospitable smiles when they saw him.

“Ah, there you are, Whitleaf,” Edgecombe said. “Smothers came and told us you were here-sorry about the misunderstanding, old chap. We were on our way up to join you. You are not leaving already, are you?”

“Please do not,” the countess said.

“Miss Osbourne and I are going to take a stroll outside,” Peter explained. “This sunshine is too lovely to miss.”

“You should go and see this end of the wilderness walk,” Edgecombe suggested. “It is all very picturesque-deliberately so, of course. In fact, we will come with you, will we not, Frances?”

Her hand came to rest on his sleeve.

“You were concerned yesterday,” she said, “that I had had too much exposure to the sun during the picnic. Remember?”

“Eh?” He looked down at her with a frown.

“I think I had better do the wise thing and stay indoors today,” she said.

Peter saw comprehension dawn in Edgecombe’s eyes at the same time as it dawned in his own mind.

“Oh, absolutely, my love,” Edgecombe said. “I’ll stay here with you. Will you mind, Susanna?”

“No, of course not,” she said.

“Sunstroke can be a dangerous thing,” Peter added.

And so they stepped out of the house alone together, he and Susanna Osbourne-with the blessing of the Countess of Edgecombe, it would seem.

But blessing for what?

She had not misunderstood, had she? She did not expect?…

But he would not torture his mind further or waste another moment of this suddenly precious chance to be alone one more time with Susanna Osbourne-his friend.

He offered her his arm without a word, and without looking up into his face she took it.

There was suddenly a strange-and potentially disturbing-sense of completion.

Susanna’s bags were almost completely packed. She had done the job herself after breakfast, though Frances had told her not to bother, that she would have a maid sent up later to do it for her. But she had come and watched anyway-and admitted while they chatted that she would still rather do many things for herself than rely upon servants to wait upon her hand and foot.

Susanna had been feeling almost cheerful. She was genuinely looking forward to returning home-and that was what the school was to her. It was home. And the ladies and girls waiting there for her were her family.

She had determinedly thrown off the depression that had weighed her down the night after the assembly. She had spent a wonderful two weeks of relaxation in lovely, luxurious surroundings and in company with one of her dearest friends and a whole host of other amiable acquaintances. And if that were not enough, she had had her first ride in a gentleman’s curricle, she had engaged in-and won-a boat race, she had attended her very first ball-the assembly did qualify for that name, she had decided-and she had danced all but two sets there, each with a different partner. She had even waltzed, and she had been kissed for the first time-that brief meeting of lips did qualify. She had decided that too. Friends of opposite gender could occasionally kiss even if the sentiment behind the gesture was affection rather than romance.

She had decided-very sensibly-that she would remember everything about these two weeks down to the last little detail, and that she would enjoy the memories rather than allow them to oppress her.

It had helped that Viscount Whitleaf had not singled her out for any particular attention during the past two days. They had been able to smile amicably at each other and even speak with each other, but as part of a group of acquaintances.

It had helped too that he had not come this morning with Mr. Raycroft and his sister and the Calverts. All four of the young ladies had hugged her when they were leaving, and Miss Raycroft and Miss Mary Calvert had actually shed a few tears. Mr. Raycroft had taken her hand in both of his and patted it kindly as he wished her a safe journey and a pleasant autumn term at school.

Ah, yes, it had helped that he had not come too, that he had avoided actually saying good-bye to her.

And yet it had been very hard at luncheon to maintain a cheerful flow of conversation with Frances and the earl.

It had been hard to swallow her food past the lump in her throat.

It had been hard to avoid admitting to herself that she was hurt-both by his absence this morning and by the care with which he had avoided being alone with her yesterday and the day before. She knew it had been deliberate.

It was as if that kiss, which had perhaps not been a real kiss at all, had destroyed their friendship.

But now he had come after all.

Alone.

And he had found her alone. Yet when the earl had suggested that he and Frances join them on their walk outside, Viscount Whitleaf had conspicuously not grasped at the chance of having company. He had said nothing. And Frances seemed to have believed that Susanna wanted to spend a few minutes of this last afternoon alone with him.

Did she?

She and Frances had intended spending the afternoon walking all about the lake. Just the two of them. The earl had said at luncheon that he would leave them to enjoy each other’s company since they were soon going to be separated for a while again.

Viscount Whitleaf’s arm, Susanna noticed, was not quite relaxed beneath her hand. There was a certain tension in the muscles there. He did not speak for a while as she directed them across the terrace and diagonally across the lawn toward the woods, where the wilderness walk began.

She could not help remembering the silence in which they had walked more than halfway from Hareford House to Barclay Court the day they met-not quite two weeks ago.

But there was a different quality to this silence.

It was almost impossible to believe that just two weeks ago she had not even met him-except once, briefly, when they were both children.

“There it is,” she said, breaking the silence at last as she pointed ahead to where a clearly defined path disappeared among the trees. “The wilderness walk. It winds its way through the woods and over the hill to a small bridge across the river, and then it follows the river past the waterfall to the lake and continues all around it to approach the house from the other side.”

“A long hike,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Are you up to it?” he asked her.

“I have always loved walking,” she told him.

“I have too,” he said. “I have been on walking tours of the Scottish Highlands and the Lake District. I intend to try North Wales one of these days.”

“Mount Snowdon is said to be quite breathtaking,” she said, “and the whole country rugged and beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said, “so I have heard.”

The path was well kept and allowed them to walk comfortably two abreast. There was an instant feeling of seclusion as tree branches offered shade overhead and tree trunks closed in around them like pillars in a cathedral. A number of birds were trilling out a summer song from their perches above.