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Richard, she realized, was laughing out loud.
So was she.
She could hear the feet of the dancers and the spectators thumping on the ground, hands clapping, children shrieking at play, hawkers calling out their wares.
And this, she thought as colors whirled about her, was happiness.
Just this glorious, fleeting moment of springtime.
This maypole about which she and Richard danced together.
They twirled about each other, twining their ribbons, laughing into each other’s eyes, sharing body heat for the merest instant. And then they danced on to other partners before meeting again and twirling in the opposite direction to free the bonds that bound them-until the next time.
By the time the music stopped again, Nora was breathless. She had to stoop forward, one hand pressed to her side, while she laughed and caught her breath. The leader was striding about the green again, coercing more villagers into taking the ribbons for the next dance.
When she straightened up, Richard was standing before her, her bo
“Oh,” she said, taking her bo
“No,” he said-and something in the one brief word caused her fingers to pause as she tied a bow beneath her chin again.
They could not seem to stop gazing at each other. And suddenly all her carefree happiness was gone, to be replaced by a sadness just as intense.
This was Richard, who had not rescued her or come after her. Who had ultimately pitied her or seen a chance for a type of revenge against her father-but had not persisted past his one brief, chill offer and her refusal. He was Baron Bourne, and she was an unemployed lady’s companion. He was in his thirties, she in her late twenties.
Her vision blurred, and she turned her head sharply away and busied herself with tying the bow.
“Nora.” His voice was soft and perhaps as full of misery as her heart-or perhaps not.
He had no chance to say more, and she had no chance to turn her head and look back into his eyes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kemp?” a pleasant, cultured man’s voice asked from close by.
They both turned.
“Yes,” Richard said.
“We have just heard about your unfortunate mishap,” the gentleman said-he obviously was a gentleman. “Have we not, Adeline? You were fortunate indeed to have walked away from it without serious injury. I trust neither of you was injured?”
“No,” Richard said, while the dark-haired lady with him smiled at them both. “Thank you. We escaped unharmed as did everyone in the stagecoach, it seems.”
“Winston Bancroft, baronet,” the gentleman said, offering his hand to Richard, “and my wife. We live at Ashdown Manor.” He gestured vaguely behind him.
He bowed to Nora, and his wife offered her hand.
“If we had known about the accident sooner,” she said, addressing Nora, “we would have offered the hospitality of our own home. You may still move to Ashdown if you wish and stay for as many days as prove necessary. We would be delighted to have you. We understand that it was the stagecoach driver who was to blame.”
“It was an accident,” Nora said.
“Thank you,” Richard said. “But the Crook and Staff is a decent hostelry. We expect to be able to resume our journey tomorrow morning.”
“Are you by any chance one of the Devonshire Kemps?” Sir Winston asked Richard.
“I am,” he said.
“You are not Bourne himself, are you?” the gentleman asked.
“Actually I am,” Richard admitted.
And sooner or later, Nora thought, they were going to discover that Lord Bourne did not possess a wife. That was going to be a fine scandal to fuel village gossip.
“Lady Bourne.” Lady Bancroft smiled at her again. “We are delighted to discover you enjoying the village festivities, are we not, Winston? Wimbury always has the best May Day celebrations I have come across anywhere. And they will continue this evening. Did you know? We always invite everyone to join us on the terrace and lawns of Ashdown for refreshments and dancing and fireworks. Do say you will come, too. We would be so very pleased.”
Richard and Nora exchanged glances.
“We would be delighted,” Richard said.
“Splendid!” Sir Winston rubbed his hands together and beamed at each of them in turn. “We will send the carriage for you. You must come and dine with us first. No, please do not protest. I believe we can offer a more appetizing meal than you would get at the Crook and Staff, and we certainly will not permit you to walk all of two miles before you sit down to it. We will send the carriage.”
“Thank you,” Nora said. “That is kind of you.”
“We are on our way to the lace stall so that Adeline can lighten my purse,” Sir Winston said. “It is all in a jolly good cause, of course. Would you care to join us?”
“We went there earlier,” Nora told him. “The work is exquisite.”
“We are on our way back to the i
“After watching you dance, I am ready to excuse you,” Sir Winston said before touching the brim of his hat to Nora and strolling off, his wife on his arm.
“How terribly awkward,” Nora said. “We ca
“You would spurn their hospitality?” Richard said. “We will certainly go.”
“Richard.” She turned to him, frowning. “They believe we are married. And they know who you are.”
“I am not sure which would be more of a lie,” he said. “To say we are married or to say we are not. But for today at least we are man and wife, Nora.”
He offered his arm.
“For today,” she said, taking it.
“I have already assured you,” he said, his voice suddenly cold, “that you are safe from me tonight, Nora, if that is what you meant by your emphasis upon today.”
The ribbons of the maypole formed moving patterns of bright color against the blue sky as they made their way back to the i
But some light seemed to have gone from the day.
His arm was warm and sturdy beneath her hand.
Two qualities in him she had once trusted-warmth and sturdiness.
Qualities he had turned out not to possess after all.
Chapter Six
Richard spent the next few hours sitting first inside the taproom, nursing a glass of ale rather than draining it off and feeling obliged to order another, and then outside at one of the tables set in such a position that one could enjoy the sunshine and watch the festivities on the green. He did not want for companionship in either place. There was always someone-and usually a whole group-with whom to chat. Most men seemed happy to while away the hours with a glass of ale while their womenfolk and children amused themselves at the fair.
Nora had retired to their room, presumably to rest. He left her alone there until it was time to get ready for the evening. He found her seated at the dressing table, sweeping her hair up into a knot high on her head. She had changed into a different dress, a blue-gray silk that was clearly meant for evening wear. It was short-sleeved and high-waisted, he saw at a glance, and modestly cut at the bosom. It was neither un-fashionable nor in the first stare of fashion. It was the sort of garment one might expect a woman to wear when she was someone’s companion and needed to look respectable without in any way drawing attention to herself.
For some reason the dress and all it said about her irritated him.
Her hands-and her hair-remained suspended above her head as her eyes met his in the mirror.
They were slim arms, and it was a delicate, swanlike neck that was revealed to his gaze. Her hair was still thick and shining and wavy. If the soberness of the dress was intended to disguise her beauty, it was having just the opposite effect.