The Merry Month of May (11 page)

“Too cruel,” Idle pouted, and finally left.

Before long, Miss Harvey, who had by then implored the whole company to call her Betsy, picked up her parcel and told Haldiman she was ready to go. “If we hurry, we can still get in a canter before dinner,” she informed him. “Thank you ever so for the wine, Mrs. Wood. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mary. Good-bye, Sara.” She left, hanging on Haldiman’s arm and chattering away.

“I had a wonderful time,” Mary sighed happily.

“What did she mean, she’d see you tomorrow?” Sara demanded.

“She is going to teach me to drive, if Rufus will lend her his curricle.”

“Rufus! Now that is too forward, Mary,” her mother exclaimed. “Even I do not call Haldiman Rufus.”

“Betsy does. In Canada people are much friendlier. We discussed it at luncheon, and after Betsy teased him a little, Rufus agreed it was too formal for us to use his title.”

Mrs. Woods eyes flashed. “She is a brazen hussy! You will not follow her example, Missy. We are not in Canada now. And that was a nasty thing to say to Reverend Kane, too. Talking broad to a minister of the church. What next, I ask you!”

Mary gave a sly smile. “Next you will have to address her as Lady Haldiman I expect. Ruf—Haldiman is very sweet on her.”

Mrs. Wood swallowed her ire and seethed in silence. If the hussy was, indeed, to become the next Lady Haldiman, it would not do to offend her. Indeed, her friendship could do Mary worlds of good. With Mary’s fortune from Aunt Cloe, even a noble match was not impossible. When all this was mentally reviewed, she spoke in a calmer voice. “I daresay no harm will come from a little driving on the back roads, but you must be sure to take a groom or footman with you.”

“Lady Haldiman will provide one. She treats Betsy like a daughter,” Mary replied happily.

Mrs. Wood darted a look at her elder daughter.

“It is beginning to sound serious. Imagine Haldiman having a ball for her. He would not do that if he were not seriously smitten.”

“The ball was to mark Peter’s return,” Sara said. “Haldiman didn’t mention Miss Harvey when the idea first arose.”

“Killing two birds with one stone,” her mother said. Mrs. Wood was astonished, but by no means against the marriage. As well as giving Mary a leg up the social ladder, it left Peter free to marry Sara.

Sara hardly knew what to make of the new friendship. How could Haldiman be courting Betsy when he found her too farouche for Peter? Yet he rode with her every day and went strolling through the shops with her, selecting her wares. That certainly sounded like the behavior of a smitten gentleman. Was it even remotely possible he had urged her to have Peter so that he might have Betsy Harvey to himself? Sara began to feel she had been duped, and her anger simmered.

Betsy and Mary were soon fast friends. They met every day, if not for a driving lesson in Haldiman’s curricle, then definitely for a tour of the village. Haldiman did not join them, though they knew from Betsy that he often rode with her. Sara found herself abandoned, except for Swithin’s painting visits. There was not room for her in the curricle during the driving lessons, and she refused to spend hours poking around the village gossiping and giggling.

At the Hall, Lord Haldiman observed that while he was having excellent luck in keeping Betsy from Peter, his brother was not forwarding his suit with Sara. Peter spent much of his time at the Poplars, of course. Haldiman got him aside one evening to warn him that Sir Swithin was running tame at Whitehern.

“We’ll have a little tea party here, and invite the Woods,” he suggested. “I’ll handle Betsy, and you can take Sara for a stroll around the garden. You’ll have to look lively if you hope to win her, Peter.”

Peter agreed, but with some diffidence. He had definitely decided to offer for Sara, yet there was no denying it angered him to see Rufus jauntering off with Betsy.

There was great excitement at Whitehern when the card inviting them all to tea arrived. Sara pondered the pros and cons of accepting and decided to remain at home. If Lord Haldiman wanted to attach Miss Harvey, he would do it without her connivance. Mrs. Wood ranted and railed, but Sara was adamant.

She was also extremely curious to learn how the tea party went, and Mary was happy to oblige her. “Lord Peter asked for you a dozen times,” she said. “We told him you had a megrim, and he was very worried. He asked if you had had the sawbones down to give you some headache powders.

“And Miss Harvey—did she enjoy the party?” Sara inquired.

“Betsy always enjoys herself. Who would not, with the two most handsome and eligible gentlemen in the neighborhood fighting over her?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was better than a play to watch Haldiman hovering at her shoulder. As sure as Peter said a word to her, he would jump in to break up the conversation.”

“It sounds like a match forming there,” Sara said in a thin voice.

“It is only a matter of time,” Mary agreed blandly.

At length even the distraction of Swithin’s visits was over. The painting was finished and declared a stunning success by its creator. Mrs. Wood, playing propriety with a book to keep her from dozing off, had heaped on it all the praise she could lay tongue to and had reverted again to her novel.

Swithin strolled beyond the chaperon’s hearing with Sara, still admiring his own genius and regretting that it was now ineligible to portray Peter’s face in the ocean’s waves. He said in a low tone, “Over the course of the sittings, you have unconsciously assumed precisely the expression I desired. Only see how sadness inhabits your eyes as you gaze soulfully out to sea, like Patience on her monument, smiling at grief. I feared Peter’s return would destroy that melancholy. ‘Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale?’ ”

“I have a little headache, probably from the sun,” Sara replied.

“Whom are you trying to deceive? I know the difference between heartache and headache, my dear. I fear you have deceived yourself. Pride demanded that you show Peter an icy shoulder, feeling that he would breathe fires of passion on it and warm you up. It has not happened, and you are in a decline.”

“I don’t care for Peter. I’m happy he hasn’t been pestering me,” Sara shot back angrily.

He touched her chin, tilting it up. “This is not the face of happiness, child. I ought to be horsewhipped. I should have known you would go tumbling into love with me. I admire you, Sara. I would love you if I could, but I never could fall in love with anyone as unexceptionable as your sweet self. My perverse nature requires something more, either of good or bad. It is always the extremes that appeal to my wanton nature.”

Sara gave a gasp of surprised amusement. “No, no, Swithin! You must not blame yourself. Truly, that is not the cause of my—paleness,” she said, ending in confusion.

He touched a dainty finger to his chin. “Ah, I see. I believe the cause of that damask cheek loiters in the meadow even now. I often see him as I return from my painting. He takes the boys out for a frolic around the stream. A lady could venture that far alone, I think.”

“Is Miss Harvey not with him?” she asked.

“No, just the lads.”

He watched as Sara’s lips curved in a
hopeful little smile. Her dove-gray, gentle eyes gleamed. “I am the most contradictory being alive!” he said softly. “Now, when I know you don’t care for me, I feel the beast of passion stirring within my breast. How ghastly for my reputation if I should go falling in love with anyone so proper as you. Go quickly, before I clasp you to my bosom and make a declaration I would regret before I was home.”

A tinkle of silver laughter hung on the air, enchanting as Oriental wind chimes. “You are a noodle, Swithin.” Sara went to her mother. “I’m going to pick a few flowers in the meadow, Mama. I shall be home soon.”

Mrs. Wood looked up and nodded, satisfied when Idle took the other route. He wore a guarded, indecisive expression. So he had been right all along. She did love Peter. He was disappointed. He had hoped for some new manifestation of love, but it was only tired old jealousy and pique, demanding restitution before the declaration of mutual love. Before he had gone twelve paces, his mind turned to Haldiman’s ball and what he could wear to astonish the guests.

Sara’s heart throbbed heavily as she hastened toward the meadow. The sun had begun to lower, but it was still warm on her shoulders. Underfoot, the rank grass was uncomfortably long. It grabbed at her skirts while water trapped in the earth moistened her slippers. She was unaware of the beauty of the meadow, with swallows swooping and soaring in the azure arch of sky, hung with puffy white clouds. Tall rows of willows dropped their branches over the stream. The grass was spangled with daisies and foxglove and flax flowers, nodding in the breeze. The air was full of vernal scents of grass and flowers and damp earth, also unnoticed.

Sara had never run after a man before in her life, but the situation was becoming desperate. Miss Harvey had daily access to Haldiman, and the report of the tea party had been alarming. This was her opportunity to sound Haldiman out for herself. As she neared the stream, she espied a tall form in a blue jacket and slackened her pace, suddenly shy to approach him. It would be better if Haldiman should discover her. She turned off to the left and began gathering a bouquet.

Behind her she heard the raucous sounds of small boys at play, accompanied by a noisy dog. She waited for them to notice her and call Haldiman’s attention to her. As her nerves stretched tight, she almost wished she hadn’t come. It would look so odd, picking these few wildflowers when they had a whole cutting garden at Whitehern. But he couldn’t know Swithin had told her he was here. Half the meadow was theirs. In fact, it was Haldiman who was trespassing. Emboldened by this, she continued. The dog, a tan spaniel, picked up her scent and plunged forward, yapping a welcome.

“Look, Papa! A lady!” little Rufus shouted.

Sara heard it loud and clear, for Rufus had a carrying voice. Papa! Good God, it was Peter with him! She straightened up and looked across the meadow, gauging her chance of escape. Peter and Beau had wandered closer. There was no possibility of error. Peter had seen her as clearly as she had seen him and was already pouncing forward. Sara wanted to take to her heels and run, but as in a nightmare, she seemed rooted to the ground. Suddenly he was there beside her, smiling, with the sun shining on him, lending him a golden glow.

“Sara! What a delightful surprise!”

Sara swallowed convulsively and said in a choked voice, “I thought you were at the Poplars.”

“I usually go early in the morning and get home by mid-afternoon, to spend some time with the boys.”

“Oh. I have to go.” She turned to flee. The dog barked. Peter’s hand fell on her elbow, restraining her.

“Stay a moment,” he said softly.

She felt like a rabbit, trapped by the hunter, and knew she was behaving foolishly. Peter wasn’t an ogre. In fact, he looked as dashing and handsome as ever. His old air of recklessness was tempered now by the presence of his sons.

“Well, just a moment,” she said, and immediately turned her attention to the children. “How do the boys like England?” she asked.

“They are too young to make much notice of the change. They like playing with the knights’ armor and sliding down the banisters. Ours weren’t so long at Retford. Beau has adopted Sandy, and as soon as I get a pony for Rufus, he will be as merry as a grig.”

“My pony is coming tomorrow,” Rufus announced. “His name is Piper, but I will call him Samson.”

“He must be very strong,” Sara said.

“He’s strong as a lion. Beau is too small to ride.”

“Run along and play, lads, and don’t fall in the water,” Peter said, and the boys tore off, followed by the dog. “Poor little beggars,” Peter said, looking wistfully after them. “They miss their mama.”

An entirely new thought occurred to Sara as she watched him. “I expect you miss Fiona, too, Peter.”

“She’s been gone a year now. The pain is beginning to dull, you know, though it was a crushing blow at the time. So young and never so much as an ache or sniffle all the time we were married. Still, life goes on.” He looked toward the stream, to his sons.

Sara had never foreseen that she would ever have to feel sorry for Peter, but she realized he had suffered, too. Whatever ills he had brought on her, he hadn’t entirely escaped himself. His troubles had softened him. There was a new maturity in Peter. “Yes,” she said gently. “You must carry on, for their sake as well as your own.”

Peter sensed her warmer mood and unwisely rushed on to strengthen his position. “Sara, I have changed, I promise you. I’m not the wretched, selfish fellow who shabbed off on you six years ago. You can never know how often and how deeply I regretted it. Not that I didn’t love Fiona, but to know I had served you so ill— It was unforgivable of me. I don’t blame you for still resenting it.”

“That’s past, Peter,” she said. “In fact, if it will lessen your guilt, I confess I was not entirely sorry. I, too, felt our marriage would have been a mistake.”

“It was because of Polly?” She nodded. “That was the work of an ill-advised moment, regretted as soon as it was over.”

“It wasn’t just that. I wanted out earlier, I just lacked your daring, and the man’s privilege of striking out alone. Does that help?” she asked.

He looked at her doubtfully. “It would, if I thought you meant it.”

“I do, truly,” she said, with such earnestness that he believed her.

“There’s no hope you might—change your mind?”

She put her hand on his, voluntarily. “Don’t speak of it again. We never loved, but we can be friends.”

He nodded, accepting it. “That’s better than being enemies, at least. It was like walking on eggs, being with you, not knowing your feelings, but knowing I was to blame. Actually it was Rufus who insisted I do the right thing, though I would not have you think I was completely averse. You have changed, too—improved.” He smiled. “Now we shall be quite comfortable as friends together. How does it come you never married, Sara?”

“No one asked me,” she said simply. “I was the village ‘Queen of Tragedy,’ you must know. I felt such a hypocrite, but didn’t quite see how to get out of it.”