Simply Magic (14 page)

11

Susanna's bags were almost completely packed. She had done the
job herself after breakfast, though Frances had told her not to bother, that she would have a maid sent up later to do it for her. But she had come and watched anyway—and admitted while they chatted that she would still rather do many things for herself than rely upon servants to wait upon her hand and foot.

Susanna had been feeling almost cheerful. She was genuinely looking forward to returning home—and that was what the school was to her. It was home. And the ladies and girls waiting there for her were her family.

She had determinedly thrown off the depression that had weighed her down the night after the assembly. She had spent a wonderful two weeks of relaxation in lovely, luxurious surroundings and in company with one of her dearest friends and a whole host of other amiable acquaintances. And if that were not enough, she had had her first ride in a gentleman's curricle, she had engaged in—and won—a boat race, she had attended her very first ball—the assembly
did
qualify for that name, she had decided—and she had danced all but two sets there, each with a different partner. She had even waltzed, and she had been kissed for the first time—that brief meeting of lips
did
qualify. She had decided that too. Friends of opposite gender could occasionally kiss even if the sentiment behind the gesture was affection rather than romance.

She had decided—very sensibly—that she would remember everything about these two weeks down to the last little detail, and that she would enjoy the memories rather than allow them to oppress her.

It had helped that Viscount Whitleaf had not singled her out for any particular attention during the past two days. They had been able to smile amicably at each other and even speak with each other, but as part of a group of acquaintances.

It had helped too that he had not come this morning with Mr. Raycroft and his sister and the Calverts. All four of the young ladies had hugged her when they were leaving, and Miss Raycroft and Miss Mary Calvert had actually shed a few tears. Mr. Raycroft had taken her hand in both of his and patted it kindly as he wished her a safe journey and a pleasant autumn term at school.

Ah, yes, it had helped that
he
had not come too, that he had avoided actually saying good-bye to her.

And yet it had been very hard at luncheon to maintain a cheerful flow of conversation with Frances and the earl.

It had been hard to swallow her food past the lump in her throat.

It had been hard to avoid admitting to herself that she was hurt—both by his absence this morning and by the care with which he had avoided being alone with her yesterday and the day before. She knew it had been deliberate.

It was as if that kiss, which had perhaps not been a real kiss at all, had destroyed their friendship.

But now he had come after all.

Alone.

And he had found her alone. Yet when the earl had suggested that he and Frances join them on their walk outside, Viscount Whitleaf had conspicuously not grasped at the chance of having company. He had said nothing. And Frances seemed to have believed that Susanna
wanted
to spend a few minutes of this last afternoon alone with him.

Did
she?

She and Frances had intended spending the afternoon walking all about the lake. Just the two of them. The earl had said at luncheon that he would leave them to enjoy each other's company since they were soon going to be separated for a while again.

Viscount Whitleaf's arm, Susanna noticed, was not quite relaxed beneath her hand. There was a certain tension in the muscles there. He did not speak for a while as she directed them across the terrace and diagonally across the lawn toward the woods, where the wilderness walk began.

She could not help remembering the silence in which they had walked more than halfway from Hareford House to Barclay Court the day they met—not quite two weeks ago.

But there was a different quality to this silence.

It was almost impossible to believe that just two weeks ago she had not even met him—except once, briefly, when they were both children.

“There it is,” she said, breaking the silence at last as she pointed ahead to where a clearly defined path disappeared among the trees. “The wilderness walk. It winds its way through the woods and over the hill to a small bridge across the river, and then it follows the river past the waterfall to the lake and continues all around it to approach the house from the other side.”

“A long hike,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Are you up to it?” he asked her.

“I have always loved walking,” she told him.

“I have too,” he said. “I have been on walking tours of the Scottish Highlands and the Lake District. I intend to try North Wales one of these days.”

“Mount Snowdon is said to be quite breathtaking,” she said, “and the whole country rugged and beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said, “so I have heard.”

The path was well kept and allowed them to walk comfortably two abreast. There was an instant feeling of seclusion as tree branches offered shade overhead and tree trunks closed in around them like pillars in a cathedral. A number of birds were trilling out a summer song from their perches above.

“I would be interested to hear about your walking tours,” she said.

He did not answer for a while, and she was aware that his head was turned toward her. She kept looking ahead.

“We can do it this way if you wish,” he said softly at last. “We can find topics upon which one or both of us is able to converse eloquently and at some length. And when we have reached the end of the walk and arrived back at the house we can each congratulate ourselves on the fact that we allowed not a moment's silence to descend between us after the first few awkward minutes. We can take a cheerful farewell of each other and that will be it. The end of the story.”

She did not know what she was supposed to say. He had asked no question.

“Yes,” she said.

“It
is
what you wish?” He bent his head closer to hers, and she risked turning her own to look into his eyes, darker than usual in the shade of the trees, only a few inches from her own.

It was her undoing.

“No,” she said, not knowing exactly what she meant but quite certain that she did not want to chatter politely with him about inconsequential matters when this was their last time alone together.

Ever.

“No,” she said again, more firmly, and she smiled fleetingly and turned her head to look ahead along the path once more. “But in what way
are
we to do it, then?”

“Let us simply
enjoy
the afternoon and each other's company. Let us laugh a little,” he said. “But real enjoyment and real laughter. Let's be friends. Shall we?”

It
was
foolish to feel tragic. This time next week, next year, she would look back and wonder why she had not taken full advantage of every moment instead of living with the emptiness of what the future would hold. How did she
know
the future would be empty? How did she know there would even be a future?

“What a good idea,” she said—and laughed.

“I think it quite brilliant.”

He laughed too, but though their laughter was about nothing at all—her comment and his retort could hardly be called witty—it felt very good. And suddenly she felt happy. She would
not
peer into the future.

“Have you noticed,” she asked him, “how we live much of our lives in the past and most of the rest of it in the future? Have you noticed how often the present moment slips by quite unnoticed?”

“Until it becomes the past?” he said. “
Then
it gets our attention. Yes, you are perfectly right. How many present moments will there be before we arrive back at the house, do you suppose? How long
is
a present moment, anyway? One could argue, perhaps, that it is endless, eternal.”

“Or more fleeting than a fraction of a second,” she said.

“I believe,” he said, “we are dealing with the half-empty-glass attitude versus the half-full-glass attitude again. Are we by any chance talking
philosophy
? It is an alarming possibility. If we are not careful we will be trying to decide next how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.”

“None at all or an infinite number,” she said. “I have never been sure which. If there
is
a correct answer.”

“Well,” he said, chuckling, “shall we agree to live this particular endless moment strictly in the present tense? Or this myriad succession of present moments?”

“Yes, we will so agree,” she said, laughing with him again.

And as they strolled onward, Susanna lifted her face to the changing patterns of light and shade, warmth and coolness, and was aware of the sounds of birdsong and insect whirrings and the scurrying of unseen wildlife and the smells of earth and greenery and a masculine cologne. She felt every irregularity, every small stone on the path beneath her feet, the firm but relaxed muscles of his arm beneath her hand, warm through the sleeve of his coat.

She turned her head again to smile at him and found that he was smiling back—a lazy, genuine, happy smile.

“I see a seat up ahead,” he said. “It is my guess that it looks out on a pleasing prospect.”

“It does,” she said. “This path was
very
carefully constructed for the pleasure of the walker, as you observed yourself when we walked to the waterfall.”

They stood behind the seat for a while, looking through what appeared to be a natural opening between trees across wide lawns to the house and stables in the distance. An old oak tree in the middle of the lawn was perfectly framed in the view.

And she was
here now
looking at the view, Susanna thought, deliberately feeling the soft fabric of his coat sleeve without actually moving her hand.

“The path moves up into that hill,” she said, pointing ahead. “There are some lovely views from up there. The best, though, I think, is the one down onto the river and the little bridge.”

They stopped a number of times before they came there, gazing alternately out onto the cultivated beauty of the park and over the rural peace and plenty of the surrounding farmland.

“I wish you could see Sidley,” he said, squinting off into the distance when they were looking across a patchwork of fields, separated by low hedgerows. “You
did
say you had never been there, did you not? It always seems to me that there is nowhere to compare with it in beauty. I suppose I am partial.
Undoubtedly
I am partial, in fact. It smites me
here
.” He tapped his heart and then turned to her suddenly and smiled roguishly. “It smites this chest organ, this pump.”

“The heart, the center of our most tender sensibilities,” she conceded, “even if only because we feel they must be centered somewhere. It must indeed be wonderful to have a home of your very own. I can well imagine that you would come to see it more with the emotions than with the eye or the intellect.”

“I hope you will have a home of your own one day,” he said, tapping her hand as it rested on his arm.

They strolled onward, following the path down through the lower, wooded slopes of the hill until it climbed again into the open and they could see down to the river, narrower here than it was closer to the lake. And there was the little wooden footbridge that spanned it, so highly arched that the path across it formed actual steps up to the middle and down the other side. The water flowing beneath it was dark green from the reflections of trees growing thickly up the slopes from its banks.

“Ah, yes,” he said as they stopped walking, “you were quite right. This is the best view of all. Even better than the view from the waterfall. That is spectacular, but like most of the views here it encompasses both the wilderness and the outside world. This is nothing but wilderness.”

Susanna let go of his arm and turned all about. The hill rose behind them to meet the sky. On the other three sides there was nothing to see but trees. Below were more trees and undergrowth and ferns and the river and bridge.

“I had not really noticed that before,” she said. “But it is true. That must be why I love being just here so much. It offers total…”

“Escape?”

But she frowned and shook her head.

“Retreat,”
she said. “It is a better word, I think.”

“Shall we sit down for a while?” he suggested. “There is no seat just here, but I don't suppose the ground is damp. There has been no rain for several days, has there?”

He stooped down on his haunches and rubbed his hand hard across the grass. He held the hand up, palm out, to show her that it was dry.

She sat down, drawing her knees up before her and clasping her arms about them. He stretched out on his side beside her, lifting himself onto one elbow and propping his head on one hand while the other rubbed lightly over the grass.

The sun beamed down warm on their heads.

“Oh, listen,” she said after a few moments.

His hand fell still.

“The waterfall?”

“Yes.”

They both listened for a while before he lifted his hand from the grass and set it lightly over one of hers about her knees.

“Susanna,” he said, “I
am
going to miss you.”

“We are not supposed to be thinking about the future,” she said, but she had to draw a slow, steadying breath before she spoke.

“No,” he agreed. His hand slid from hers and he tossed his hat aside and lay back on the grass, one leg bent at the knee with his booted foot flat on the ground, the back of one hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

There was the rawness of threatened pain at the back of her throat. It was no easy thing to hold the future at bay. She concentrated her mind again upon the distant sound of the waterfall.