Amanda Quick - Scandal

She started to slide down off the mare and Simon reached up to assist her. This time she did not lose her balance and tumble into his arms. He realized he was a little disappointed. A part of him wanted to feel that soft, lithe, feminine body against his own hard one again.

"I am sorry for catching you unawares this afternoon," he said as he led the horses into the trees. "I had hoped to surprise you. I know how you like surprises."

"That was very thoughtful of you," she assured him. "I do like surprises." She paused. "Most of the time."

He smiled wryly. "But not always."

"It is just that I would have liked very much to have been looking my best when we met," she admitted. "You cannot imagine how I have been agonizing over this event since I got your letter this morning. I assumed I would have weeks to prepare. Not that it would have made all that much difference, I suppose."

He looked down at her and realized she only came to his shoulder. She was small but there was an entrancing, airy grace about her movements. "You must allow me to tell you that you are in excellent looks, Miss Faringdon. Indeed, I was charmed the moment I saw you."

"You were?" She wrinkled her nose, clearly amazed by this pronouncement.

"Absolutely."

Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. "Thank you, my lord. I assure you I was equally charmed. By you, I mean."

This, thought Simon, was going to be almost too easy.

"But I would not have willingly upset you or the ladies of the literary society. You must forgive me."

"Yes, well, you see, we had not actually planned to discuss poetry or the latest reviews today," Emily explained as she stepped lightly along beside him.

"What were you intending to discuss?"

"Investments." She gave a vague little wave of dismissal.

He glanced shrewdly at her. "Investments?"

"Yes. I realize that must strike you as terribly dull." She looked up at him anxiously. "I assure you that today was rather unusual. I had some excellent news to report in regard to the investments I have made on my friends' behalf. They are all most concerned with their pensions, you see. One can hardly blame them."

"You are seeing to their future pensions?"

"I have some ability in financial matters, so I do what I can. The ladies you met today have all been very kind to me. This is the least I can do to repay them." She gave him a reassuring smile. "But I promise you that normally we devote ourselves to a lively discussion of the latest books and poetry. Why, just last week we were involved in the most intense analysis of Miss Austen's book, Pride and Prejudice. I was going to write you a letter on the subject."

"What did you think of the novel?"

"Well, it is all very pleasant in its way, I suppose. That is to say, Miss Austen is certainly a very fine writer. Wonderful gift for illuminating certain types of character, but…"

"But?" He was curious in spite of himself.

"The thing is, her subject matter is so very commonplace, don't you agree? She writes of such ordinary people and events."

"Miss Austen is not Byron, I'll grant you that."

"That is certainly true," Emily agreed in a rush of enthusiasm. "Her books are quite entertaining, but they lack the exciting, exotic qualities of Lord Byron's works, not to mention the spirit of adventure and the excess of passion. The literary society just finished The Giaour."

"And enjoyed it, I take it?"

"Oh, yes. Such marvelous atmosphere, such remarkable adventures, such a thrilling sense of the darker passions. I adored it fully as much as Childe Harold. I cannot wait for Byron's next work."

"You and most of London."

"Tell me, sir, have you heard precisely how the G in Giaour is to be sounded? Hard or soft? We spent a great deal of time discussing the matter last Thursday and none of us could be certain, although Miss Bracegirdle, who has an excellent command of ancient history, believes it should be soft."

"It is a topic which has not yet been resolved, to my knowledge," Simon hedged. He had not yet had a chance to read the poem and had no plans to do so. He had only dipped into romantic literature and poetry long enough to bait his trap. Now that the trap was about to close, he did not care if he ever read another epic poem of passion and adventure. He had far better things to do with his time.

"Not that it matters greatly, I suppose," Emily assured him tactfully. "About the G, I mean."

Simon shrugged. "I imagine it does to Byron." They had reached the stream and were now safely out of sight of the lane. He turned automatically and began to head to the right, moving upstream.

Emily lifted the skirts of her faded riding habit with an artless grace that somehow imbued the aging costume with more style than it actually had. She glanced around curiously at the landscape. "Excuse me, my lord, but you appear to know where you are going. Do you remember this path from when you lived in the neighborhood as a child?"

Simon slid her a sidelong glance. Of course, she had been bound to learn that bit of information fairly quickly. "How did you know my family had a home here?"

"Lavinia Inglebright mentioned it."

"It has been a long time since I lived in this neighborhood," Simon said cautiously.

"Still, it is the most amazing coincidence, is it not? Just imagine, my lord, you began corresponding with me initially because you discovered quite by accident that I shared your great interest in romantic literature. And then we learn that you used to live near Little Dippington as a child. And now we have met. Most incredible."

"Life is full of strange coincidences."

"I prefer to think of it as fate. Do you know, I can just see you as a small boy running down here near this stream, perhaps with a dog. Did you have a dog, sir?"

"I believe I did."

Emily nodded. "I thought so. I myself come here frequently. Do you recall my poem entitled Verses on a Summer Day Beside a Pond?

"Quite clearly."

"I wrote them as I sat beside that little pond up ahead," she told him proudly. "Perhaps you recall a line or two?"

Simon took one look at the hopeful expression in her green eyes and found himself desperately wracking his brain to recall a few words of the sweet but otherwise forgettable poem she had carefully set down in one of her recent letters. He was vastly relieved when his excellent memory came to his aid. He made a stab at the first two lines.

"You remembered." Emily looked as thrilled as if he had just given her a fortune in gems. Then she blushed and added in a confiding tone, "I realize I ought to rework parts of it. I do not precisely care for the way 'dream here' rhymes with 'glitter.' Twitter or flitter would be better, don't you think?"

"Well," Simon began carefully, "it is hard to say."

"Not that it signifies at the moment," she told him cheerfully. "I am working on a major project and it will be some time before I get back to Verses on a Summer Day Beside a Pond."

"A major project?" Somehow the conversation was beginning to get away from him, Simon realized.

"Yes, I am calling it The Mysterious Lady. It is to be a long epic poem of adventure and the darker passions in the manner of Byron." She glanced up at him shyly. "You are the only one besides the members of the literary society whom I have told about it thus far, my lord."

"I am honored," Simon drawled. "Adventure and dark passions, eh?"

"Oh, yes. It is all about a young woman with hair the color of a wild sunset who goes in search of her lover who has disappeared. They were to be married, you see. But her family disapproved of him and forbade them to see each other. He was obliged to take his leave. But before he left he gave her a ring and assured her he would be back to carry her off and marry her in spite of her family."

"But something went wrong with the plan?"

"Yes. He has not returned and the heroine knows he is in trouble and needs her desperately."

"How does she know that?" Simon inquired.

"She and the hero are so close, so united by their pure and noble passion for each other that they are capable of communicating on a higher plane. She just knows he is in trouble. She leaves home and hearth to search for him."

"A rather risky business. Perhaps he simply used her parents' disapproval as an excuse to abandon her. Perhaps he had gotten tired of her and being kicked out by her family was a neat way to extricate himself from the embarrassment of an entanglement he did not want." As soon as he had said the words, Simon wanted to kick himself. The appalled expression on Emily's face was enough to touch what small bit of conscience he had left.

"Oh, no," Emily breathed. "It was not like that at all."

"Of course it wasn't," Simon said, forcing a grim smile. "I was merely teasing you. You must forgive me. How could I know the story behind your poem? You are the one writing it."

"Precisely. And I promise you it will have a happy ending. I prefer happy endings, you see."

"Tell me something, Miss Faringdon. If someone gave you ten thousand pounds today, what would you do with it?"

The otherworldly excitement vanished as if by magic. Behind the lenses of her spectacles, Emily's dreamy gaze turned abruptly shrewd at his sudden question. Razor sharp intelligence glittered like green fire in those elfin eyes. "I would buy several shares of stock in a new canal venture I have recently learned about, perhaps buy some bank stock, and then put some money into the four percents. I would be careful with the latter, however. The tiresome war against Napoleon will soon be over and the values of the funds might well drop. One must be ready to move swiftly when one is dealing with government money."