Page 60 of An Enchanting Dare

“Oh, yes, it’s a terrible ordeal when you’re the daughter of a duke,” Kathleen said, though there was no malice in her tone, and it was a reasonable observation. “You don’t have to endure all the eligible men looking at you like you’ve got lice.”

“Oh, surely, that’s not true,” Rosamund said in horror.

Kathleen snorted and put on a deep, drawling voice, intoning, “‘Can you imagine marrying a girl like that, when you don’t know her bloodline? Good heavens, her parents might have been criminals!’” She rolled her eyes, making light of it, but Aisling knew overhearing such a thing must have hurt her deeply.

“If anyone is rude to you, I-I shall stamp on their foot, or… throw a glass of punch over them,” Rosamund said, her face flushing with fury.

Kathleen grinned and threw her arm about Rosamund, hugging her. “That I would pay to see. I tell you what, Ozzie. If you protect me from the loathsome toads that populate these events, I shall get Pip to dance with you.”

Rosamund flushed scarlet. “Oh, n-no, Kathy, don’t you dare ask him!”

“I shall,” Kathleen said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “For we all know you’re pining for him.”

“I am not!” Rosamund insisted, and then subsided with a huff when everyone gave her a pitying glance.

Kathleen leaned her head on Rosamund’s shoulder and sighed. “It’s so depressing, though, Ozzie. I don’t care a jot about getting married and finding a husband, but I was so looking forward to dancing. But if the few events I’ve been to so far are any indication, I shan’t dance at all.”

“Jules will dance with you,” Rosamund said, giving her a squeeze. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“And Pip would too,” Aisling piped up, for Pip Barrington had a soft spot for Kathleen, regarding her in much the same light as his annoying little sister, Cat. “Well, if he ever shows up, I suppose,” she added with a shrug.

“Monsieur Le Comte will too, I’m sure,” Evie offered.

Kathleen blushed, shaking her head. “Oh, no. Evie, I don’t think I’d dare dance with him. He’s too… too much. Goodness me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Evie said briskly, though her cheeks looked a little pink. “He’s a man like any other, just prettier.”

Kathleen and Rosamund snorted with laughter at that.

Evie clapped her hands, calling everyone to order. “Right, everyone had better pretend to get ready for bed. Remember, we’ll meet by the fountain in the rose garden at midnight. Don’t be late!”

Aisling pulled a face and didn’t budge, so the girls came for her, tugging her by the arms until she got to her feet.

“Oh, I hate you all,” she whined, while they all sniggered at her obvious reluctance, like the adoring friends they were.

25th August 1841, The Swan, Swanborough, East Sussex.

“They’re a fine pair, Mr Cootes. Reckon you did right to come out and get them, even it causes a bit of aggravation getting them back.”

Sylvester nodded at Davies, the head groom from Marcross, as they shut the stable door upon the two enormous beasts. The rhythmic sound of contented munching followed them, now they’d settled Sampson and Delilah for the night. The aggravation Davies spoke of had begun at once, for after some intense negotiating, Mr Lambert’s wife had insisted they stay for lunch, which had been long and indulgent. Then they’d had the very devil of a time travelling the short distance to the inn, with Sampson throwing a shoe and an incident with an overexcited dog that could have ended badly. Thankfully, Delilah had behaved impeccably, though poor Davies had suffered a nasty nip on the ankle from the blasted dog. He’d been trying to get the idiotic creature out from under Delilah’s massive hooves before she kicked it in the head, but the dog didn’t seem to appreciate that. Getting the wound cleaned and bandaged had lost them more time and so they’d not arrived at The Swan until gone eleven. If they kept this sluggish pace up, it would take them three weeks to get home.

The landlord had muttered about inconveniences and folk arriving at a reasonable hour, but promised to rustle them up a decent dinner and some ale. Once they too had been fed and watered, Sylvester bade Davies a good night and was about to make his way up to his room when he glanced out of the window. It was a gorgeous night, warm and still, with an enormous moon that lit the countryside, glowing in the sky like a pearl.

Though it had been a long and trying day, Sylvester did not feel settled enough to sleep, so he let himself back outside and stood staring up at the moon. Was Aisling staring at that same moon? Likely there were letters waiting for him at Marcross, telling him what she was up to. An ache of longing bloomed in his chest and melancholy settled over him like a smothering blanket, dragging his spirits down. He could wish he were rich every day for the rest of his life, and it wouldn’t change a thing. No matter how hard he worked, he’d never be good enough for an earl’s daughter. Not when the very act of working set him apart and proved he was not a gentleman of leisure. He could never afford to keep her, not as she deserved to be kept. For the first time in his life, he felt just a tiny amount of jealousy for his older brother’s title, but then the earl would consider a mere baron a comedown for Lady Aisling too. There was no other option but to return to Trevick on his way home and tell her the truth. He could never offer for her. It would break his heart, and he could not bear the idea of hurting Aisling, but he could not leave her to wait and hope for something that would never happen. That would be cruel, and he could never be cruel to his darling girl. Though he’d brought this all upon them himself. If he’d not wanted her so badly, he might have forced himself to stay away, knowing she was out of his league. He ought to regret that, but he was too selfish to do so. And he had helped her, at least. She was happier now in no small part because of him. Yet if he truly cared for her, he should hope she forgot about him and fell in love with someone else. He found he was not feeling quite that altruistic.

Thoroughly wretched, Sylvester walked aimlessly, following where his feet led him until the path opened up upon a lake. Moonlight sparkled upon the water as the glittering black surface reflected the huge silver orb above him. Not even a ripple broke the still surface and Sylvester turned as feminine laughter filled the night. There was a shriek and then a splash and Sylvester didn’t stop to think. He tugged off his boots, stripped off his jacket and dived in.

25th August 1841, The Lake at Swanborough, East Sussex.

Aisling screamed, wishing she’d never heeded Evie, who thought it would be best to jump in off the little jetty and get it over with, rather than walking in slowly. Aisling had agreed, as it meant her nakedness would be covered quicker, but the water had been far colder than she’d expected. She gasped, treading water as her lungs drew in air, gasping to deal with the icy chill. Once the initial shock wore off, however, she discovered it was rather invigorating.

She was just wondering if she could persuade the others to come in with her when there was a large splash nearby. Before she had time to fret about what kind of creatures might lurk under the inky black water, powerful arms wrapped around her. A dark head emerged from beneath the surface, and Aisling’s panicked brain remembered stories of kelpies and water gods. She screamed and struggled as the arms only held her tighter.

“It’s all right, madam. I’ll get you back to land, only don’t squirm so, you’ll drown us both!”

The irritated tone struck her as being terribly familiar, and Aisling stopped thrashing for long enough to stare at the mystical creature come to drag her down to the murky depths.

“Sylvester!” she shrieked, stunned.