Mary Balogh - Simply Magic

“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.

“I would be interested to hear about your walking tours,” she said.

He did not answer for a while, and she was aware that his head was turned toward her. She kept looking ahead.

“We can do it this way if you wish,” he said softly at last. “We can find topics upon which one or both of us is able to converse eloquently and at some length. And when we have reached the end of the walk and arrived back at the house we can each congratulate ourselves on the fact that we allowed not a moment’s silence to descend between us after the first few awkward minutes. We can take a cheerful farewell of each other and that will be it. The end of the story.”

She did not know what she was supposed to say. He had asked no question.

“Yes,” she said.

“It is what you wish?” He bent his head closer to hers, and she risked turning her own to look into his eyes, darker than usual in the shade of the trees, only a few inches from her own.

It was her undoing.

“No,” she said, not knowing exactly what she meant but quite certain that she did not want to chatter politely with him about inconsequential matters when this was their last time alone together.

Ever.

“No,” she said again, more firmly, and she smiled fleetingly and turned her head to look ahead along the path once more. “But in what way are we to do it, then?”

“Let us simply enjoy the afternoon and each other’s company. Let us laugh a little,” he said. “But real enjoyment and real laughter. Let’s be friends. Shall we?”

It was foolish to feel tragic. This time next week, next year, she would look back and wonder why she had not taken full advantage of every moment instead of living with the emptiness of what the future would hold. How did she know the future would be empty? How did she know there would even be a future?

“What a good idea,” she said-and laughed.

“I think it quite brilliant.”

He laughed too, but though their laughter was about nothing at all-her comment and his retort could hardly be called witty-it felt very good. And suddenly she felt happy. She would not peer into the future.

“Have you noticed,” she asked him, “how we live much of our lives in the past and most of the rest of it in the future? Have you noticed how often the present moment slips by quite unnoticed?”

“Until it becomes the past?” he said. “ Then it gets our attention. Yes, you are perfectly right. How many present moments will there be before we arrive back at the house, do you suppose? How long is a present moment, anyway? One could argue, perhaps, that it is endless, eternal.”

“Or more fleeting than a fraction of a second,” she said.