And he could not stop himself from glancing at her frequently and wondering at the very powerful attraction that he still felt toward her. He had thought himself immune to the charms of young ladies, though many had been pitted against him during the past several years in London and elsewhere. Perhaps it was the very fact that Constance’s charms seemed to be unconscious and were not in any way being directed at him. Or the fact that he knew her to be in love with Sidney. Forbidden fruit—and yet not forbidden. Sidney did not want her.
He did not stay long after dinner. He felt Constance’s discomfort when Sir Howard had her seat herself at the harpsichord in the drawing room and sing a song for him. And he remembered that country hours were considerably earlier than town hours. But there was something he had prepared for during the afternoon without consciously knowing that he was preparing for it at all.
“I have invited two gentlemen and two ladies to come walking at Esdale with me tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Weather permitting, of course. I thought a walk up over the hill to the lake would be pleasant, especially since I have not made it myself for four years. Would you care to come too, Miss Manning, and make up numbers? The others are Miss Parkinson, Rodney and Miss Churchill, and Dennis Pernforce.”
“Georgina and Marjorie?” she said. She hesitated for just a moment. “That would be pleasant, my lord. Thank you. Mama? Will you need me?”
“Gracious, no, my love,” Lady Manning said. “I shall be only too pleased for you to have an outing with some other young people. It has been lonely here all spring for Constance, my lord.”
The girl flushed, he saw as he got to his feet to take his leave. She had been quiet all evening and apparently not quite at her ease. Because he was a near stranger and her parents’ only guest? Because she was naturally shy? But he could recall her laughing and shrieking with Sidney at play and chattering away to him when she had not known herself overheard. Because she felt an aversion to him? Because she remembered?
It was impossible to say, he thought, making his bow to her, and allowing Sir Howard to accompany him to the door and watch him into his carriage. But tomorrow he would walk with her and see if he could find some answers. And he must see if there would be some way to break the news that he had not broken that evening.
Her face had been quite naked when she spoke of Sidney. Quite naked with love.
The next day was miraculously dry, though low clouds scudded across the sky and it was chilly for July.
“I am very happy for you, my love,” Lady Manning said, “having an outing to look forward to.”
But Constance was not at all sure that she looked forward to it. She liked Georgina and Marjorie and had always been comfortable with Rodney. Dennis Pernforce liked to prose on about new farming methods and about his livestock, though he was good at heart. But Lord Whitley himself? She was not particularly happy at the prospect of an afternoon spent in his presence. Her only hope was that he would choose to walk with Georgina or Marjorie.
She had not found the evening of his visit at all reassuring. He was every bit as darkly handsome as he had been four years before and quite as fashionable. The only difference—if there were a difference—was that he seemed more self-assured now, more distant from her world than he had ever been.
She had spent the evening thinking in embarrassment of the hero worship that had pained her not so many years before and of the utter cake she had made of herself at his picnic. And she had hoped and hoped that he did not remember. She had been quiet all evening—Papa had even remarked on the fact after the viscount had left—trying to impress upon him the fact that she was now quite adult, no longer that foolish girl.
If only Sidney had come, she thought with a sigh as she stood in the window of the front parlor, waiting for the Parkinson carriage to come for her, as had been arranged by note that morning. How she would be looking forward to going to Esdale if he were there! And she felt again the dreariness of knowing that she could not expect him for a few more endless weeks—when the summers seemed so very short anyway.
She tied the ribbons of her bonnet when she saw the carriage approach and hurried outside in order to save the coachman from having to get down from his perch to knock on the door. And she rode beside Georgina and agreed that yes, it was wonderful to have his lordship at home again. And yes, he was excessively handsome, or at least, she thought he was—she had not particularly noticed. The lie sounded so false that Georgina burst into merry laughter and Constance was forced to join in.
“Yes,” she said. “He is indeed handsome, Georgie. But I like Sidney better for all that.” Sidney was shorter than the viscount and had sandy hair and a round, good-natured face. He would probably be stocky by the time he reached middle years, while Jonathan would always be slim.
She spent the next several minutes lamenting to her friend the fact that thoughtless acquaintances had kept Sidney from home by insisting that he accompany them to Brighton.
“But he will be home for my birthday,” she said. “That is all that really matters.”
“I hope so, for your sake,” Georgina said. “And you have talked so much about your birthday, Connie, that I have wondered if you have any secret plan. Some plan concerning Sidney, perhaps?” She looked archly at her friend.
But Constance only blushed and changed the subject. And then the carriage was approaching the large house at Esdale and they could see that the others were there before them.
Please God, Constance thought as Rodney Churchill handed her down to the cobbled terrace before the main doors. But then he turned to perform the like task for Georgina and tucked her arm through his.
“You were going to tell me about that evening at Vauxhall, Georgie,” he said.
Marjorie was already smiling politely at some story Dennis Pernforce was telling her. Constance’s heart sank.
“We might as well set off without delay,” Lord Whitley said. “There will be tea at the house afterward.” He smiled at Constance and offered her his arm.
It was a pretty walk, up over a wooded hill past several follies and down the other side again beside a rushing cascade that emptied itself at the bottom into the lake, the bubbling water passing beneath an arched wooden bridge. It was a walk Constance had made a hundred times before, though more often than not she had passed along there at a pace less sedate than a walk. The hill and the woods had been a favorite play area for her and Sidney.
“The weather has cooperated,” the viscount said. He looked up at the heavy clouds. “Well, almost.”
“Yes,” Constance said.
“We will hope that this is the herald of good things to come,” he said. “Warm sunshine for the next two months at least.”
“Yes.”
“We have earned it,” he said. “We have scarce had a fine day since May.”
