Page 30 of Second Chances
“Constance?” he said. “If by some chance Sidney is delayed, will you allow me to help you set up the treasure hunt? And to dance the opening set with you?”
“But he will be here,” she said. And yet the look in his eyes gave her the first twinge of uncertainty she had felt. “Of course he will. We are to be—”
“Yes, I know,” he said, pushing himself away from the rail and offering her his arm again. “We had better catch up to the others before they disappear entirely over the horizon.”
She had not noticed how almost alone they were. She had been alone so many times with Sidney that she never gave much thought to chaperones. But there was a great difference between Sidney and Jonathan. She had never been particularly aware of Sidney’s physical presence, which was perhaps a strange admission when he had kissed her several times the summer before and they were planning to marry. But it was true. She was just enormously comfortable with him. She was very aware of Jonathan, of his tall, slim body—with muscles in all the right places—of his dark hair beneath his hat and of his handsome features. Of the musky smell of his cologne.
She felt very much alone with him. As alone as she had felt among the trees during the evening of the last Esdale picnic. And almost as panic-stricken. Almost. But she was a lady now, not a frightened girl.
“Yes,” she said, and she slipped an arm through his and hoped fervently that he would not notice that it was trembling. She must think of Sidney, she told herself firmly. “Sidney is not going to be here for the village assembly either,” she said. “It is most provoking. I would like to have a word with those friends of his and tell them just how inconsiderate they have been.”
She set her mind to making conversation.
Summer came the day of the picnic. There had been almost no rain for the week before, but the weather had been generally dull with only tantalizing moments of sunshine before the clouds moved over again. On the day of the picnic it would have been difficult to find one cloud in the sky. It was sunny and hot.
It had been the custom of his parents—and Lord Whitley had kept it after them—to invite the whole neighborhood to the Esdale picnic, children and all. Hence its popularity, he had always thought. It was no quiet, sedate affair. And no short affair, either. Although the meal provided was always called tea, it was in reality a veritable feast, and no one ever felt inclined to go home in search of dinner when evening came. Usually it was only dusk and the prospect of a totally dark walk back to the house that finally persuaded people to leave.
The picnickers were always spread over a wide area about the lake. There were cricketers on one large open space and croquet players on a smoother stretch of lawn. There were children beside the bank of the lake, engaged in organized races. Later there would be children everywhere. Their mothers and the elderly sat on the bank and basked in the sunshine and admired the scenery. The three boats were always much in demand on the lake.
Constance was helping Mrs. Sherman with the races, but the viscount strolled over to her.
“As soon as I can wrestle one of the boats free,” he said, “I will take it out for a row—if you will come with me.”
Constance had a child hanging from each arm and two or three more calling to her. She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said. “That would be heavenly.”
But he would not set too much store by the enthusiasm of her answer, he thought as he strolled away to see to it that Lady Manning’s chair was in full sunshine—though Sir Howard could always be relied upon to see to his wife’s comfort. Constance would clearly be thankful to anyone who would take her away from the children for a few quiet minutes.
He had put anger behind him in order to enjoy the picnic. But all week he had been angry—against both Sid and himself. Constance clearly trusted implicitly that Sid would come, and she was just as clearly deeply in love with him. And yet, he had not had the courage or the decency to come in person to explain to her. He had thought it good enough to send a messenger instead. And the viscount was angry with himself. He should have dragged Sid home by the shirt collar if necessary, instead of taking on such a distasteful and impossible task.
How was he to tell her? Or was he not going to tell her? Was he just going to allow her to be crushed on her birthday, waiting for the arrival of a faithless lover, and realizing by gradual degrees that he was not coming?
Damn Sid, he thought for surely the thousandth time, feeling anger well up in him again and putting it determinedly aside while he squatted in the midst of a group of elderly women and proceeded to charm them into laughter.
A whole hour passed before he finally managed to secure an empty boat. By that time, the formal races had ended and the informal ones had begun to the accompaniment of a great deal of shrieking. He handed Constance into the boat and rowed out onto the lake, into peace and tranquility.
“The children did not tear you limb from limb?” he asked.
“No.” She laughed. “I often help at the school, you know. I like children, even though they can be dreadfully noisy little fiends.”
“I did not know that,” he said. “About your helping, I mean.”
She should have been dancing all winter and spring, he thought, looking into her bright and pretty face and at her auburn hair, which was catching the sunlight beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. And shopping on Bond Street. And gazing about her from a box at Covent Garden. Instead of which, she had been teaching other people’s children.
“I do not sit at home all day long embroidering,” she said with a laugh. “Everyone is having such a marvelous time, Jonathan. I am so glad you decided to resurrect the Esdale picnic.”
“Are you?” he asked. He had thought of it long before Marjorie Churchill had mentioned it, but had not been sure that he wanted to revive the memory of what had happened at the last one. “And are you having a marvelous time?”
“Sidney has brought me out on the lake several times,” she said. “But he does not row as well as you. He tends to go in circles.” She laughed. “He claims that his right arm is stronger than his left.”
Sidney again. He should tell her now, he thought.
“I wonder what he is doing at this moment,” he said. “Bathing in the ocean? Out strolling? Getting ready to attend some party at the Pavilion this evening? I suppose he will wangle an invitation there sooner or later. Everyone does. He will find it difficult to drag himself away.”
“Well,” she said, “if he must be there, he might as well enjoy himself. Though if he were given the choice, I am sure he would a million times rather be here. I hope he comes a few days before my birthday instead of just the day before. I have some clues I wish to discuss with him.” She smiled. “You must think it strange that I am so absorbed with plans for a mere birthday party. But it is the first I have had in years. And it is to be a very special one—as you know.”
Lord Whitley turned craven and changed the subject. And knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would throttle his brother if only fate would set them within arm’s reach of each other at that very moment.
He was in love with her again, he realized before he took her back to shore, when their conversation had come to an end and she had turned her face up to the sun and closed her eyes. She was utterly beautiful and enchanting and—sweet. It was a weak word and if anyone had asked him a few weeks before if he would look for sweetness in a woman, he would have laughed. But Constance was sweet and innocent and adorable. And he knew why he had stayed away for four years and why he should have stayed away for four more.
