Her clothing would probably adhere to her body.
If she wore any.
Shewouldwear clothing, would she not? A shift or some such? He wasn’t familiar, except theoretically, with what ladies wore beneath their gowns. Stockings. There would be stockings, he thought. Or perhaps—
“God’s teeth, don’t fall!” Archie called, and Effie saved himself from toppling off the sill. When he didn’t say anything, Archie asked, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, no. You stay. I merely . . . need some air.”
Also not a lie. Thinking of Julianna in various states of undress had made his head hot. He had a sudden memory of sitting by the fire in the kitchen after swimming at Highworth, angling his head close to the flames so his hair would dry. Father hadn’t approved of swimming, so Effie would sneak down to the kitchen after an illicit outing, and Cook would set him by the fire and give him biscuits.
He hadn’t thought about swimming at Highworth for years, not since he’d mentioned it to Julianna.
“Again,” Archie said, “might I suggest the door, in your case?”
“Eh, I’m already here. You go back to sleep. And take the sheet off Leander’s cage when you get up for the day, will you?”
He didn’t wait for further interrogation, just hopped to the ground . . . whereupon he realized that although he’d gotten dressed, he had neglected to don any shoes.
Drat again.
“Archie?” he whispered, and when there was no answer, he dared to raise his voice a tad. “Archie?”
Nothing.
Archie always slept like the dead, dropping off the moment his head hit the pillow, almost as if he could will himself to slumber. As if to punctuate that thought, Archie let loose a single snore that Effie could hear all the way outside.
And then he heard another snore, one that sounded not altogether human. He smiled. If Leander had developed the ability to imitate snoring, perhaps there was hope for him after all.
Effie pondered his feet. Ah, well. Who needed shoes? He set off. He was unlikely to encounter anyone on the walk down to the water, and he certainly wouldn’t wear shoes to swim.
Whatwouldhe wear to swim, though? He’d been so consumed, moments ago, with imagining Julianna’s bathing costume or lack thereof, that he hadn’t spared a thought for his own attire. He was wearing a shirt over which he had thrown a waistcoat he hadn’t yet buttoned. He wore no cravat and no stockings, the latter omission perhaps explaining why he had forgotten shoes.
Even though he was missing half of what passed for respectable attire, he could hardly go into the water wearing all this clothing, could he?
The sky was just beginning to lighten as he approached the shore.
She was already there. He’d thought to arrive first, and indeed, he was early, but she was earlier.
She hadn’t seen him yet. She was standing with her back to him, staring out at the dark water. The way she was standing was familiar. He had the sudden realization that he’d seen her a day before they’d met at the Pavilion. A figure on the beach had drawn his attention that first afternoon. His initial fanciful notion that it might have been Julianna had been quashed by his—seemingly—better judgment. Unlike when they met at the Pavilion, her back had been turned, and she’d been quite far away. It made sense that he hadn’t recognized her, but ithadbeen her.
He huffed a quiet, delighted laugh. It couldn’t have been her, he’d thought that day, extinguishing what he thought was a silly conceit with a silly answer, because the sky had been the wrong color. It had been a brilliant blue afternoon. And now it was morning, and the sky was pinky orange. Still the wrong color.
Yet there she was, once again silhouetted against the wrong color sky.
“Ha!” He’d been louder that time, and she turned. He regretted the outburst. He would have liked to study her undetected for a while.
He thought she would ask what he was laughing about, or greet him, but she merely let her gaze rake him and said, “I see you have left your ridiculous shoes at home.”
He wanted to kiss her again—he had thought of little else during his self-inflicted bout of insomnia last night. Instead, he kicked one leg out in front of him, toes pointed, and examined his bare foot. “One doesn’t need shoes for swimming.”
“I am imagining you as a child, barefoot, happily running wild on your family’s estate.”
“That . . .” He lowered his leg. “Would be an incorrect image.”
He walked so he was even with her. They stood side by side and stared out at the water, and a good minute passed before she said, “The barefoot part or the happy part?”
He waded into the shallows, so he didn’t have to look at her as he answered. “Both.”
