Page 28 of Second Chances
“Yes.”
“Have we now exhausted the weather as a topic?” he asked, his voice sounding faintly amused.
Constance looked up at him in some mortification. She could not even carry on a polite conversation with him. He would think her rustic indeed.
“But it is good for the crops,” she said. “The rain I mean. But then, of course, the warmth of the sun is needed now too, my lord, to make them grow.” Her voice sounded stilted to her own ears. Why was it that normally she did not have to think of what she was going to say, whereas now she could think of nothing that might be of interest to the Viscount Whitley?
“My lord," he said. “Miss Manning. We never used to be so formal. Can we go back to being Jonathan and Constance, do you suppose, without shocking sensibilities?”
The other two couples must be running a race, Constance thought. They were already well ahead, out of earshot.
“I suppose so,” she said. “It does not seem quite right, though, calling you—Jonathan.”
“But you did it,” he said, “without tying your tongue quite in knots. Tell me, have you been remembering yesterday and today what I have been remembering? Has the same memory been embarrassing both of us?”
Oh, dear. “Yes,” she said.
“I have been thinking about it this morning,” he said, “and it seemed to me that the best possible policy was to bring it out into the open. I did not apologize at the time. I apologize now, Constance. I was an impudent puppy although I was old enough to know better. And you were a child. Will you forgive me?”
“Yes,” she said. But she looked up at him in some surprise. “But I always thought the fault was mine.”
“Yours?” He looked down at her and frowned. “How on earth could it have been your fault? You have forgiven me. Shall we now forget it and be comfortable together?”
“Yes,” she said. But she could feel herself flush and was not at all sure she felt even one little bit more comfortable. She had been a child, he had just said. That was all she had been—someone to be teased. And now the whole thing had been dismissed just as if it had not caused worlds of pain.
“Well, then,” he said, “that is a relief.”
“Yes,” she said.
“And it is wonderful to be home again,” he said, looking at the trees, which had closed in about and above them. “I did not realize how much I had missed it.”
“There must be so many reasons to stay away,” she said wistfully. “It must be marvelously exciting to be in London, especially during the Season.”
“Yes and no,” he said. “It palls on one after a while, Constance, all the social activity. Sometimes one pauses to wonder if that is life—if it has nothing more meaningful to offer. But there is excitement in it, yes.”
“Balls,” she said, “and the theater and the opera. Sidney says there is never a dull moment.”
“I believe Sidney enjoys the whirl of the Season,” he said. “But then he is young. I enjoyed it all myself at his age. Not that I feel quite in my dotage.” He chuckled. “But there comes a time when one needs more of life.”
The idea of Jonathan’s being in his dotage was amusing. Constance smiled.
“You would like to experience it all?” he asked, looking down into her eyes. “Do you feel that you have missed something, Constance?”
She shook her head. “I am well content here,” she said. “I have far more to be thankful for than thousands of other poor souls. And Sidney tells me all about it in his letters. And Georgina in hers.”
He held her eyes for a long moment. “It is not quite the same as being there for yourself, though, is it?” he said. “Perhaps one day you will be able to dance at Almack’s.”
“Sidney is going to—” she began, but she stopped abruptly. It was a secret.
“Is he?” he asked. “Are you missing him, Constance?”
But she was saved from having to answer. They had reached the top of the hill and could look out over the tops of the trees to the lake below and the country beyond. The other two couples were standing there gazing about them and agreeing that it was all very magnificent.
“I can remember all the picnics down there,” Marjorie said, indicating the lake. “There was no more exciting event during the summers, was there? Of course, we were children in those days and not allowed to attend any assemblies or evening parties.”
“I remember your standing up in one of the boats, Rodney,” Georgina said, “and falling into the water. It was a blessing you could swim. As it was, all our mamas screamed.”
Rodney chuckled. “Trust you to remember such an ignominious incident, Georgie,” he said. “I was showing off for that little cousin of Hancock’s. The one with the blond ringlets. As it happens, I believe she was impressed by my swimming skills and the fact that I stood on the bank afterward with suitable nonchalance although I felt as if I had icicles hanging from me.”
