The Merry Month of May Page 9

  Sara hardly knew what to make of the new friendship. How could Haldiman be courting Betsy when he found her too farouche for Peter? Yet he rode with her every day and went strolling through the shops with her, selecting her wares. That certainly sounded like the behavior of a smitten gentleman. Was it even remotely possible he had urged her to have Peter so that he might have Betsy Harvey to himself? Sara began to feel she had been duped, and her anger simmered.

  Betsy and Mary were soon fast friends. They met every day, if not for a driving lesson in Haldiman’s curricle, then definitely for a tour of the village. Haldiman did not join them, though they knew from Betsy that he often rode with her. Sara found herself abandoned, except for Swithin’s painting visits. There was not room for her in the curricle during the driving lessons, and she refused to spend hours poking around the village gossiping and giggling.

  At the Hall, Lord Haldiman observed that while he was having excellent luck in keeping Betsy from Peter, his brother was not forwarding his suit with Sara. Peter spent much of his time at the Poplars, of course. Haldiman got him aside one evening to warn him that Sir Swithin was running tame at Whitehern.

  “We’ll have a little tea party here, and invite the Woods,” he suggested. “I’ll handle Betsy, and you can take Sara for a stroll around the garden. You’ll have to look lively if you hope to win her, Peter.”

  Peter agreed, but with some diffidence. He had definitely decided to offer for Sara, yet there was no denying it angered him to see Rufus jauntering off with Betsy.

  There was great excitement at Whitehern when the card inviting them all to tea arrived. Sara pondered the pros and cons of accepting and decided to remain at home. If Lord Haldiman wanted to attach Miss Harvey, he would do it without her connivance. Mrs. Wood ranted and railed, but Sara was adamant.

  She was also extremely curious to learn how the tea party went, and Mary was happy to oblige her. “Lord Peter asked for you a dozen times,” she said. “We told him you had a megrim, and he was very worried. He asked if you had had the sawbones down to give you some headache powders.

  “And Miss Harvey—did she enjoy the party?” Sara inquired.

  “Betsy always enjoys herself. Who would not, with the two most handsome and eligible gentlemen in the neighborhood fighting over her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was better than a play to watch Haldiman hovering at her shoulder. As sure as Peter said a word to her, he would jump in to break up the conversation.”

  “It sounds like a match forming there,” Sara said in a thin voice.

  “It is only a matter of time,” Mary agreed blandly.

  At length even the distraction of Swithin’s visits was over. The painting was finished and declared a stunning success by its creator. Mrs. Wood, playing propriety with a book to keep her from dozing off, had heaped on it all the praise she could lay tongue to and had reverted again to her novel.

  Swithin strolled beyond the chaperon’s hearing with Sara, still admiring his own genius and regretting that it was now ineligible to portray Peter’s face in the ocean’s waves. He said in a low tone, “Over the course of the sittings, you have unconsciously assumed precisely the expression I desired. Only see how sadness inhabits your eyes as you gaze soulfully out to sea, like Patience on her monument, smiling at grief. I feared Peter’s return would destroy that melancholy. ‘Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale?’ ”

  “I have a little headache, probably from the sun,” Sara replied.

  “Whom are you trying to deceive? I know the difference between heartache and headache, my dear. I fear you have deceived yourself. Pride demanded that you show Peter an icy shoulder, feeling that he would breathe fires of passion on it and warm you up. It has not happened, and you are in a decline.”

  “I don’t care for Peter. I’m happy he hasn’t been pestering me,” Sara shot back angrily.

  He touched her chin, tilting it up. “This is not the face of happiness, child. I ought to be horsewhipped. I should have known you would go tumbling into love with me. I admire you, Sara. I would love you if I could, but I never could fall in love with anyone as unexceptionable as your sweet self. My perverse nature requires something more, either of good or bad. It is always the extremes that appeal to my wanton nature.”

  Sara gave a gasp of surprised amusement. “No, no, Swithin! You must not blame yourself. Truly, that is not the cause of my—paleness,” she said, ending in confusion.

  He touched a dainty finger to his chin. “Ah, I see. I believe the cause of that damask cheek loiters in the meadow even now. I often see him as I return from my painting. He takes the boys out for a frolic around the stream. A lady could venture that far alone, I think.”

  “Is Miss Harvey not with him?” she asked.

  “No, just the lads.”

  He watched as Sara’s lips curved in a hopeful little smile. Her dove-gray, gentle eyes gleamed. “I am the most contradictory being alive!” he said softly. “Now, when I know you don’t care for me, I feel the beast of passion stirring within my breast. How ghastly for my reputation if I should go falling in love with anyone so proper as you. Go quickly, before I clasp you to my bosom and make a declaration I would regret before I was home.”

  A tinkle of silver laughter hung on the air, enchanting as Oriental wind chimes. “You are a noodle, Swithin.” Sara went to her mother. “I’m going to pick a few flowers in the meadow, Mama. I shall be home soon.”

  Mrs. Wood looked up and nodded, satisfied when Idle took the other route. He wore a guarded, indecisive expression. So he had been right all along. She did love Peter. He was disappointed. He had hoped for some new manifestation of love, but it was only tired old jealousy and pique, demanding restitution before the declaration of mutual love. Before he had gone twelve paces, his mind turned to Haldiman’s ball and what he could wear to astonish the guests.

  Chapter Nine

  Sara’s heart throbbed heavily as she hastened toward the meadow. The sun had begun to lower, but it was still warm on her shoulders. Underfoot, the rank grass was uncomfortably long. It grabbed at her skirts while water trapped in the earth moistened her slippers. She was unaware of the beauty of the meadow, with swallows swooping and soaring in the azure arch of sky, hung with puffy white clouds. Tall rows of willows dropped their branches over the stream. The grass was spangled with daisies and foxglove and flax flowers, nodding in the breeze. The air was full of vernal scents of grass and flowers and damp earth, also unnoticed.

  Sara had never run after a man before in her life, but the situation was becoming desperate. Miss Harvey had daily access to Haldiman, and the report of the tea party had been alarming. This was her opportunity to sound Haldiman out for herself. As she neared the stream, she espied a tall form in a blue jacket and slackened her pace, suddenly shy to approach him. It would be better if Haldiman should discover her. She turned off to the left and began gathering a bouquet.

  Behind her she heard the raucous sounds of small boys at play, accompanied by a noisy dog. She waited for them to notice her and call Haldiman’s attention to her. As her nerves stretched tight, she almost wished she hadn’t come. It would look so odd, picking these few wildflowers when they had a whole cutting garden at Whitehern. But he couldn’t know Swithin had told her he was here. Half the meadow was theirs. In fact, it was Haldiman who was trespassing. Emboldened by this, she continued. The dog, a tan spaniel, picked up her scent and plunged forward, yapping a welcome.

  “Look, Papa! A lady!” little Rufus shouted.

  Sara heard it loud and clear, for Rufus had a carrying voice. Papa! Good God, it was Peter with him! She straightened up and looked across the meadow, gauging her chance of escape. Peter and Beau had wandered closer. There was no possibility of error. Peter had seen her as clearly as she had seen him and was already pouncing forward. Sara wanted to take to her heels and run, but as in a nightmare, she seemed rooted to the ground. Suddenly he was there beside her, smiling, with the s
un shining on him, lending him a golden glow.

  “Sara! What a delightful surprise!”

  Sara swallowed convulsively and said in a choked voice, “I thought you were at the Poplars.”

  “I usually go early in the morning and get home by mid-afternoon, to spend some time with the boys.”

  “Oh. I have to go.” She turned to flee. The dog barked. Peter’s hand fell on her elbow, restraining her.

  “Stay a moment,” he said softly.

  She felt like a rabbit, trapped by the hunter, and knew she was behaving foolishly. Peter wasn’t an ogre. In fact, he looked as dashing and handsome as ever. His old air of recklessness was tempered now by the presence of his sons.

  “Well, just a moment,” she said, and immediately turned her attention to the children. “How do the boys like England?” she asked.

  “They are too young to make much notice of the change. They like playing with the knights’ armor and sliding down the banisters. Ours weren’t so long at Retford. Beau has adopted Sandy, and as soon as I get a pony for Rufus, he will be as merry as a grig.”

  “My pony is coming tomorrow,” Rufus announced. “His name is Piper, but I will call him Samson.”

  “He must be very strong,” Sara said.

  “He’s strong as a lion. Beau is too small to ride.”

  “Run along and play, lads, and don’t fall in the water,” Peter said, and the boys tore off, followed by the dog. “Poor little beggars,” Peter said, looking wistfully after them. “They miss their mama.”

  An entirely new thought occurred to Sara as she watched him. “I expect you miss Fiona, too, Peter.”

  “She’s been gone a year now. The pain is beginning to dull, you know, though it was a crushing blow at the time. So young and never so much as an ache or sniffle all the time we were married. Still, life goes on.” He looked toward the stream, to his sons.

  Sara had never foreseen that she would ever have to feel sorry for Peter, but she realized he had suffered, too. Whatever ills he had brought on her, he hadn’t entirely escaped himself. His troubles had softened him. There was a new maturity in Peter. “Yes,” she said gently. “You must carry on, for their sake as well as your own.”

  Peter sensed her warmer mood and unwisely rushed on to strengthen his position. “Sara, I have changed, I promise you. I’m not the wretched, selfish fellow who shabbed off on you six years ago. You can never know how often and how deeply I regretted it. Not that I didn’t love Fiona, but to know I had served you so ill— It was unforgivable of me. I don’t blame you for still resenting it.”

  “That’s past, Peter,” she said. “In fact, if it will lessen your guilt, I confess I was not entirely sorry. I, too, felt our marriage would have been a mistake.”

  “It was because of Polly?” She nodded. “That was the work of an ill-advised moment, regretted as soon as it was over.”

  “It wasn’t just that. I wanted out earlier, I just lacked your daring, and the man’s privilege of striking out alone. Does that help?” she asked.

  He looked at her doubtfully. “It would, if I thought you meant it.”

  “I do, truly,” she said, with such earnestness that he believed her.

  “There’s no hope you might—change your mind?”

  She put her hand on his, voluntarily. “Don’t speak of it again. We never loved, but we can be friends.”

  He nodded, accepting it. “That’s better than being enemies, at least. It was like walking on eggs, being with you, not knowing your feelings, but knowing I was to blame. Actually it was Rufus who insisted I do the right thing, though I would not have you think I was completely averse. You have changed, too—improved.” He smiled. “Now we shall be quite comfortable as friends together. How does it come you never married, Sara?”

  “No one asked me,” she said simply. “I was the village ‘Queen of Tragedy,’ you must know. I felt such a hypocrite, but didn’t quite see how to get out of it.”

  “And wore the willow for six years, for a man you never loved? I think I would have been more forthcoming,” he said, shaking his head.

  “It was foolish of me. I don’t know where the time went. I always felt that eventually it would be forgotten.”

  “Then I came bounding back. You must have felt like crowning me.”

  “I did,” she admitted, and laughed.

  “How do matters stand between you and Idle? I hear he is dancing attendance.”

  “Oh, Swithin dances alone. He prefers to be the undisputed center of attention.”

  “No man is contented with that in the long run,” he said, studying her. His interest now was simply that of neighbor for neighbor. He could tell nothing by her manner. How could he expect to? She had hidden her true feelings for six years.

  They began strolling after the boys. “You will eventually marry someone, I expect, for the boys’ sake,” she mentioned.

  “And for my own. I know myself too well. If I don’t have a wife, I shall soon have something else.”

  “Are you quite sure you’ve changed?” she teased.

  “Oh yes. Now I should prefer the wife.”

  “What of Miss Harvey?” she suggested, with an air of innocence.

  “She seems less—desirable here than she did in Canada,” he said, frowning. “I shall take a sharp look about me at my ball.”

  “Miss Harvey’s ball, you mean,” Sara said, and looked closely for his reaction.

  “Betsy has a way of usurping things, but she’s not a bad sort really. It is just the cultural differences that make her seem a little rough around the edges. A bit of an unpolished diamond. Mind you, she shan’t be unpolished for long. Up to all the rigs, is Betsy.”

  His approval didn’t sound like love, but it struck Sara that Miss Harvey would make a much better wife for Peter than for Haldiman. “I take it she is quite a hit at the Hall?” she asked.

  He laughed uneasily. “Not a universal hit. The servants don’t care for her manner. Has Rufus been complaining?”

  The question surprised Sara. “No indeed! I understand he is a staunch admirer.”

  Peter looked interested. “Good. He hasn’t said much lately. I have noticed he has been trying to entertain her. Really, he has surprised me by his attentions to Betsy. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s developed a tendre for her himself.” He gave a little laugh, but there was an edge to it.

  Beau wandered too close to the water and wet his feet. Rufus let out a yelp and Peter went running. “Gudgeon,” he scolded. “I’d best get this whelp home.”

  “He can’t walk. His shoes are squishing. We’ll have to carry him, Papa,” Rufus announced.

  “We? Yes, we shall have to carry him on my shoulders,” Peter grouched and put Beau on his shoulders. “There goes my jacket! I look forward to seeing you at the ball, Sara. You’ll give me a dance, I hope?”

  “Of course. I look forward to it.”

  “We’re having a ball,” Rufus told her, with a proudly proprietorial air. “I can’t go, but I’m going to peek over the banister at all the pretty ladies.”

  “Like father, like son,” Sara laughed.

  Rufus looked across the meadow and suddenly exclaimed, “Uncle Rufus and Aunt Betsy. I will ride home with him!” He went pelting forward, arms making windmills in the air. Sandy barked an apology at Beau and went running after Rufus, ears flapping.

  Peter turned suddenly, and Beau jiggled precariously on his shoulders. Sara reached out to steady him. “Be careful, Peter!” she exclaimed. Her hand on Beau’s foot was suddenly covered by Peter’s, in a simultaneous move to save his son.

  Haldiman saw the group, silhouetted against the willows, and felt a jolt at his heart. They looked like a happy family. Sara seemed very comfortable and at home. It almost looked as if they were embracing. When had Peter managed to convince her? Had it occurred during these daily frolics in the meadow? Odd, Peter hadn’t mentioned he met Sara here. Haldiman had been telling himself since Peter’s return that t
his was what he wanted. Now that he had achieved it, he felt a burning like gall in his chest.

  Betsy watched, too, and said, “I see Sara has taken my advice. They make a charming couple, do they not?”

  She cantered forward to greet them, with Haldiman following a few paces behind.

  “Beau fell in the creek!” Rufus announced importantly. “Can I have a ride home, Uncle Rufus?”

  “Peter! You should be more careful,” Betsy chided. “I wonder what distracted you? Not a word shall I say of dalliance, Sara, you sly thing.”

  Peter and Sara exchanged a conspiratorial smile. “You’re far off the mark, Betsy,” Peter laughed. “A clear case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

  Betsy chuckled. “There, he has caught us dead to rights, Rufus.”

  Sara’s eyes flew to Haldiman. She observed nothing but a muscle quivering at the back of his jaw. His gaze turned to her, and she saw a flicker of annoyance. Was it due to Peter’s disclaiming romance with her? Both looked away quickly.

  Betsy began chattering again. “Tell Mary I have arranged for the coiffeur to come to the Hall the day after tomorrow, Sara. We are going to try a new do for the ball.” She turned to Haldiman. “Now before you scold me, sir, I must warn you, you shall ride alone that day. An entire day is necessary for a lady to make herself presentable in society. Isn’t that so, Sara?” Without waiting for an answer, she rattled on to Haldiman. “Perhaps if you want to get up very early, we might take our exercise before nine. By nine I must be home, to dose my poor raddled complexion with lemon water. Don’t you adore balls, Sara?”

  “Yes, indeed. I look forward to it.”

  “You won’t forget our dance?” Peter reminded her.

  “La, Peter, you can put off your flirting till you get this poor sodden child home,” Betsy scolded. “Just look at how the mud from his shoes is destroying your jacket. Let it dry and have your valet brush it out. Don’t tackle it while it is still wet.”