Simply Magic

And then he offered to escort them both back to Barclay Court, insisting when Frances protested that he could never deny himself the pleasure of having a lady for each arm as he walked-and that he hoped she would not deny him that pleasure.

“Far be it from me to cause you any such misery,” Frances said with a laugh, taking one of his arms while Susa

He talked about music with Frances, skillfully drawing Susa

If Susa

Or perhaps friends did not feel the need to dance with each other.

No one had yet reserved any sets with her. She was almost sure, of course, that the earl would dance with her, and probably Mr. Raycroft too. Perhaps even Mr. Da

But she would not dwell upon that slight disappointment. Already this was turning into a holiday that would buoy her spirits all through the autumn term at school. She must not be greedy.

Perhaps he would ask her when the evening came.

Or perhaps, if he had no free sets, he would at least find some time to come and talk with her so that she would feel less of a wallflower.

It did not matter. She had a gentleman friend. What startling stories she would have to share with Claudia and A

In the meantime, the holiday was still not at an end.

6

The whole neighborhood had been invited to an afternoon picnic at Barclay Court, and fortunately the good weather had returned for the occasion after a few days of clouds and winds and chill.

Peter was greatly enjoying himself despite memories of an affectionate, subtly reproachful letter that morning from his mother, whose house party was proceeding without him. If he were there at Sidley Park now, he thought, he would very possibly be attending just exactly the same type of event as he was here. Except that there he would know that one in particular of the young ladies present had been selected as a potential bride for him-Miss Rose Larchwell. And he would know that his mother’s fond, anxious eyes were following him wherever he went. There he would feel all the burden of being loved dearly by someone he had forgiven, though he had not forgotten.

Perhaps it would have been better not to have forgiven, or at least to have forgiven conditionally. Perhaps he ought to have made it crystal clear to her that he would not accept any further interference in his life, especially as a matchmaker. Perhaps he ought to have told her that Sidley could no longer be her home. But she had been so brokenhearted-for him as well as for herself. And he had been only twenty-one. Besides all of which, he had loved her and still did. She was his mother.

And so she seemed to feel it was her mission in life to atone, to find him a bride in place of the one she had lost for him.

He shook off the thought of what might be proceeding at Sidley and concentrated on what was happening at Barclay Court. Here he could relax and enjoy himself with whomever he chose-or with whoever chose him.

The picnic site was a wide, grassy bank close to the narrower end of a large lake, at some remove from the house. There was a picturesque three-arched stone bridge spa

Partway along the bank on the far side of the lake there was a pretty octagonal wooden pavilion. He walked there a little later with Fi

Most of the conversation there too concerned the assembly, to which they were all looking forward with eager anticipation. It was the first, apparently, since last Christmas.

After they had returned to the picnic site, Peter sat for a while on one of the blankets that had been spread for the convenience of the guests, conversing with the Countess of Edgecombe and a few of her older neighbors. In answer to their questions she told them something of her recent singing tour of Europe.

The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun warm without being oppressively hot. There was a very light breeze. It was a perfect summer day.

The boats were proving popular. There were four of them, each designed for no more than two persons, one rower and one passenger, though Peter found himself with two ladies squeezed onto the seat facing him every time he was at the oars. He made no complaint. Why should he when there was a pair of ladies to admire each time instead of one? In their flimsy summer finery and bo

“The last time we were invited to a picnic,” Miss Mary Calvert said, trailing one hand in the water, “it rained cats and dogs all day and all night. Do you remember, Rosamond? It was for the retirement of the old vicar and we all had to be crammed into the vicarage and pretend that we were not hugely disappointed.”

Peter did not speak with Susa

Earlier in the afternoon he had bowed to her on the terrace when he arrived, made some deliberately bland observation about the weather just to see the light of amusement in her eyes, and turned his attention elsewhere. And then he had proceeded to enjoy himself-as had she.

The Reverend Birney, the fair-haired, fresh-faced young vicar, took her for a row on the lake and engaged her in earnest conversation the whole time-Peter watched them.

Da

Crossley, a widower in his forties, fetched her a glass of lemonade on her return and sat with her for a while, pointing out features of the view with wide arm gestures. Peter knew because he watched.