Mary Balogh - A Summer to Remember

Sounds were muted. Time was suspended. There was body heat and there was mouth heat and for the timeless moments while they were submerged there were triumph and exuberance and pride and even joy all mingled together with raw lust.

And then they broke above the surface and were drawing apart and she was herself again—and he was himself once more.

“Your first adventure, ma’am,” he said, deliberately careless laughter in his voice, “safely accomplished and duly rewarded.”

“ Scandalously rewarded,” she said, eyeing him warily. “But what could I expect from the infamous Viscount Ravensberg? It must be getting late.”

“Lord, yes,” he said. “And any or all of our relatives might be given the impression that you have been out enjoying the morning air with your betrothed. That would be shocking indeed.”

“I came to Alvesley to lend you countenance,” she reminded him, “not to embroil you in further scandal.”

He chuckled and pulled himself up onto the bank. He ran the few steps to the temple and came back with one towel wrapped about himself and the other in his hand. It was devilish cold out of the water.

“Take my hand.” He bent to haul her out.

She might as well have been wearing nothing at all. He was uncomfortably reminded of the nymphs on the frieze inside the folly—and of his reaction to them as a boy. Clothed, she was a beautiful lady. Wearing only a soaking wet shift, which clung to every slender curve, she was woman and wanton and siren—and eminently beddable. He tossed her the dry towel, stalked off to fetch his clothes from inside, and without a backward glance took them around into the trees in order to dress and leave her some privacy to do the same.

They were on their way back to the house ten minutes later, her horse ahead of his. Apart from the fact that her hair was damp and curlier than usual, she looked like the elegant ice maiden to whom he had grown accustomed. Her towel was rolled up in front of her sidesaddle. She had refused to give it to him, probably, he thought, trying not to dwell on the images that came to mind, because her wet shift was wrapped inside it. Which meant, of course, that she was wearing nothing beneath that very fetching riding habit.

It was all very well, he thought, to have agreed to give her a memorable summer and even a taste of passion. It was quite another thing to find himself with lascivious designs on a woman whose avowed ambition was to live an independent existence as a spinster. His mind needed some distraction.

“Did Lady Muir hurt herself recently?” he asked her. “Or is the limp habitual?”

“She was thrown from her horse,” she told him, “while she was married. Her leg was broken and apparently not set properly. She also suffered a miscarriage.”

“And widowhood not long after?” he asked. “She cannot be any older than you.”

“One year older,” she said. “Lord Muir died as the result of a horrible accident in their home. He fell over a balustrade into the hall below. She was with him at the time. As you may imagine, it took her a long, long while to recover—if she has fully recovered even now. It was a love match, you see.”

Kit did not comment. What was there to say about a young woman whose life had been so dogged by tragedy? Apart from the limp, one would not know she had suffered at all. She smiled a great deal and was charming and personable.

How impossible it was, he thought just as if he were making a startling new discovery, to know people from their outer demeanor. How myriad were the masks people wore.

Lauren Edgeworth’s back was rigid with ladylike dignity. Yet less than half an hour ago she had smiled with sunny exuberance and flung herself into his arms. Simply because for the first time in her life she had floated on her back.

He smiled with silent amusement and at the same time felt a curious ache in his throat, almost as if he were on the verge of tears.

Lauren was not late for breakfast, as she had feared she would be. There was even time for her maid to do something to disguise the dampness of her hair after she had changed her clothes. She went down with Gwen and her aunt, both of whom called at her room first to tell her how favorably impressed they were with their welcome to Alvesley, and how well they liked Lord Ravensberg. And how happy they were for her, of course.

The whole family was assembled for breakfast, with the exception of the dowager, who always remained quietly in her own apartments for most of the morning before going out for her daily walk, the countess explained. The earl himself seated the ladies, placing Lauren to his right, Aunt Clara to his left.

“You went riding with Ravensberg this morning,” he observed to Lauren. “I saw you leave the stables.”

“Yes, my lord.” She smiled. “The early morning air was fresh and invigorating. We rode through the woods to the temple folly on the far bank of the lake. The view from there is quite splendid.”

“Yes, indeed,” he said.

“You have been on an outing already this morning?” Aunt Clara asked, all astonishment. “ You, Lauren? Riding?”

And swimming too, Lauren thought. How terribly mortified she would be if the earl had witnessed that too. But she had floated. Alone. And then she had lost her head—something a lady never did—and launched herself at Kit in her excitement. And he had kissed her. Or had she kissed him? But that possibility did not bear thinking of.

Gwen was laughing. “Lauren has never been an early riser,” she said. “And riding has never been her favorite form of exercise. I believe you are having a positive influence on her, Lord Ravensberg.”

“I do hope so. But perhaps, ma’am,” he replied, mischief in his eyes, “it was merely the effect of coercion. I threatened to haul her out of bed in person if she did not appear in the stables of her own volition.”

Lauren felt her cheeks flame.

“Kit!” his mother said reproachfully.

Aunt Clara laughed.

“That would do it,” Gwen said gleefully.

“The exercise has whipped a healthy glow into your complexion, Miss Edgeworth,” the earl told her. “Sydnam, will you be ready after breakfast to help me inspect the new roofs on the laborers’ cottages?”

“Certainly, sir,” his son replied.

Kit, Lauren noticed, was not invited to join them. Neither did he suggest it himself. Of course, Mr. Butler was his father’s steward. But even so . . .

The countess planned to call on her neighbors during the morning to deliver personal invitations to the festivities for her mother-in-law’s birthday.

“Kit will attend you this morning,” she said to her guests.

“But may I not be of some assistance to you, ma’am?” Lauren asked.

“That is extremely kind of you.” The countess looked approvingly at her. “Yes, thank you, Miss Edgeworth. It would certainly be appropriate for me to introduce Kit’s betrothed to the neighborhood. Lady Kilbourne, Lady Muir, would you care to accompany us too?”

It was decided that all four of the ladies would go visiting.

It was Sydnam Butler who introduced an awkward note into the discussion of the various morning plans. “Will you be calling at Lindsey Hall, Mother?” he asked. “Will you be taking an invitation there?”

“It is rather far,” she said. “I believe I will have a servant take over a card.”

“When all the other invitations are to be delivered in person?” Kit said. “It might be construed as something of a slight, might it not, Mother?”

“I daresay,” she said briskly, “they will not be able to attend anyway. Though of course an invitation must be sent. Now, I believe we ought—”

“I will ride over there and be your messenger,” Kit said. “It will give me something to do this morning.”

There was an awkward little silence.

“But I would like to come with you, Kit,” Lauren told him. “Can you wait until after we return? It would appear strange that I have been introduced everywhere else except Lindsey Hall.”

The earl cleared his throat but then, when everyone looked his way, appeared to have nothing to say.

“I do understand all the awkwardness of the present relations between Alvesley and Lindsey Hall,” Lauren assured the earl and countess. “I know what has happened, and I have explained it to Aunt Clara and Gwen. I really do believe that Kit and I should do our best to prevent any permanent estrangement. We should go together this afternoon. How the Duke of Bewcastle receives us and whether he and his family attend the birthday celebrations will be their decision.”

“Oh, my dear.” The countess sighed. “There is really no need for you to do this. The duke and his family can be very . . . Well, they do not take kindly to having their will crossed. This is entirely a problem for us to handle.”

“But I am to be one of your family, ma’am,” Lauren reminded her.

“It is certainly the right thing to do. I applaud your courage, Miss Edgeworth.” The earl was looking at her with considerable respect. “Ravensberg will wait for you.”

Kit, Lauren saw when she looked across the table at him, was regarding her with steady, unsmiling eyes.

The rest of the morning was busy, but it offered nothing beyond the range of Lauren’s experience. They called upon six families, three in the village, three in the country beyond it. Partly in fulfillment of her bargain with Kit, partly because it was second nature to her anyway, she made herself agreeable and charming. She was, of course, the focus of everyone’s curious attention as the affianced bride of Lord Ravensberg. She had her main reward when for a few moments as Mrs. Heath showed off her flower garden to Aunt Clara and Gwen before they returned to the barouche, she walked at the countess’s side.