Page 51 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

Damian sprawled himself indolently on the blanket, his wet hair dripping, perfectly unconcerned by his own nakedness as he let the sun dry him. “Why are you taking such a pet? They looked delighted, if you ask me, and I didn’t wish to be rude by running away like a scalded cat. Manners are everything, Deon. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Not when you’re stark, bloody naked, you pillock,” Gideon exclaimed. “Christ, if I lose my job thanks to that little display, I shall murder you.”

“Oh, relax. The dowager is pluck to the backbone. She’s a woman of the last century and has no patience for today’s namby-pamby manners. If only I’d been born back then, I’d be in a deal less trouble. People were far less concerned with propriety and what other people thought of them. Today it’s all a great bore.”

“I wish you had been too,” Gideon groused, but he felt a little less anxious all the same. Damian was right. The dowager had been laughing fit to bust, and the young ladies had hardly looked mortified. No one had swooned. So long as they did not go around telling everyone about it, no one else need know. That was less of a certainty, he feared, but after all, they had not done it on purpose. Well, Damian’s bow had definitely been purposeful, but that was hardly his fault.

“If you are concerned, we shall simply have to call upon the ladies at the hall and offer our apologies,” Damian said carelessly as he laid his head on the blanket and closed his eyes.

Gideon stared at him in horror. “Call upon them? Are you mad? I’m hoping I never have to face them again in my life.”

This was a lie of quite startling proportions, but there was no reason Damian need know that. Yes, the idea of facing the dowager and Lady Cecilia was appalling. Hetty, however… that was different. Damian had implied she would dream of him before now and the notion had stirred his blood. What would her dreams look like after today, he wondered and felt a surge of heat sweep from his toes to the top of his head.

Stop it.

She’s not for you.

Not ever.

“Don’t be such a white feather. I never thought you spineless before now.”

Gideon glared at his brother, which was pointless as Damian had closed his eyes. “I’m nothing of the sort. I just have enough amour-propre not to wish to humiliate myself any further.”

“Humiliate?” Damian’s eyes flicked open, devilry glinting there. “Brother dear, the water was very cold. I’m sure Hetty will understand if—”

Gideon threw his sodden towel at Damian’s face. “That is not the problem, you unspeakable arse. Are you getting dressed, or shall I leave you here?”

Damian tugged the wet towel off his head and sighed heavily. “And just when I was hoping I had taught you a thing or two about living your life. Carpe Diem, eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die,” he intoned, and then gave it up with a shrug. “Fine, fine. Give me a moment.”

Gideon waited as Damian dried himself off, watching the light play over the waves as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon. He thought about Damian’s words and wondered if that was really what his brother was doing?

“Are you happy, then, Damian? Has all your seizing the day brought you that rare commodity?”

Damian, who had reached for his shirt, hesitated, slanting a look at Gideon, who waited, expecting a glib comment. But for once, Damian looked utterly sincere. “Happy? I don’t think I would recognise happiness if I had it, but to my knowledge I never have. I have fleeting moments when I am not unhappy, though, pictures I keep in my mind, of people and places, the sound of laughter, of music, and it's better than the emptiness that fills me if I don’t keep those moments coming. That’s what I have. It’s not much, perhaps, but I fear it’s more than you have, Deon.”

With that, Damian pulled the shirt over his head and hastily tucked it into his breeches.

Silently, they gathered the last of their things and made their way back to the town as the sun painted the sky in garish sweeps of orange and pink, and Gideon wondered if his brother was right.

Was there such a thing as happiness for them? Or were there only fleeting moments of pleasure that one must grab at, as Damian did?

Hetty’s beautiful face filled his mind again, and an ache of regret for something that might have been close to happiness tightened his chest.

An illusion, he assured himself. But for the first time in his life, he wondered if that was true.

Chapter 12

Lines Not to Cross

The Grand Hotel Building Site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816

“My lady,” Jenkins said, though there was resignation in her voice this time.

“Don’t say it,” Hetty warned her, holding up one finger.

Jenkins sighed. “No, my lady.”

Hetty stood at the entrance to the building site. She did not need Jenkins to tell her she ought not be here. If she saw Mr Bramwell, she had little doubt he would tell her so in no uncertain terms. Yet, she felt certain he would avoid her, especially after yesterday’s little… er, accident, if she did not force an encounter.