Newport Summer (3 page)

A speck of white caught his attention farther down
the beach, stark against the navy hue of the waves.
Someone-a female someone, it looked like-was enjoying a walk in the surf. Inexplicably intrigued, Gannon followed the path to the stairs and went down to the
beach.

He would never be quite sure what compelled him to
set down his Champagne glass and behave so recklessly as to leave the party and wander off on his own. Goodness knew, it was bad form to simply leave, especially
when one was fast becoming the most interesting curiosity on display. Then again, perhaps that was precisely
why Gannon found himself on the beach, shucking off
his shoes and rolling up his linen trousers before he could
second-guess himself.

He was starting to appreciate the adage, “There is
safety in numbers.” Among the ton, he hardly stood out
as a rarity. Here, he was a rarefied specimen. The economics of supply and demand could not be illustrated
in starker relief.

Gannon bent down to scoop up a handful of pebbles.
He tossed one across the waves with a flick of his wrist,
gratified to see the little rock skip three times. He threw
another, trying hard not to think of the stream on Camberly’s western border where he had lazed away the
long summer afternoons of his youth, skipping pebbles
with Garrett.

“Is three skips the best you can do?” A feminine voice
took him unaware as he studied the remaining pebbles in
his hand, searching for a likely candidate.

Gannon looked up from his survey, unwilling to be
embarrassed over being caught at his simple pleasure.
“Do you think you can do better?” He fronted a charming smile, recognizing the girl in white before him as
the one he’d seen from the bluffs earlier.

Up close, she was stunningly beautiful. London society would have labeled her an “original” instantly simply for possessing flawless cream skin, hair the color of
smooth milk chocolate, and eyes reflecting the English
preference for blue the shade of robins’ eggs.

Those striking blue eyes of hers danced at the prospect
of a challenge, her rose lips tilting up in a smile. “Yes, I
think I can do better.” She gave an entrancing laugh and
peered into Gannon’s open palm, poking around the remaining pebbles, unaffected by the reality that she was
touching bare male skin.

It did not escape Gannon’s notice that no selfrespecting London debutante would have been caught
in such an indelicate position or without her gloves on.
But Lionel and Stella had warned him plenty of times
that American girls did not follow London’s dictates
when it came to decorum. Everything he’d seen today,
this lovely beauty included, proved the Carringtons to
be quite right.

“Aha!” The girl held a pebble aloft in triumph. “Perfect. It’s smooth and round,” she declared, giving Gannon an impish grin. “Now, stand back and watch.”

She flicked the small stone expertly out over the waves
and crowed with unabashed delight when it skipped four
times. “There, that’s how it’s done. It’s all in the wrist,”
she exclaimed in high spirits.

“Perhaps it’s all in the pebble,” Gannon countered
teasingly. “It could be that that pebble would have gone
just as far for me” He pretended to scrutinize the remaining stones in his hand. “I don’t think there’s an other one its equal in this bunch. Alas.” Gannon dropped
the stones onto the beach and dusted off his hands.

“You’re English?” she asked suddenly.

Gannon gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to make
light of it. He’d been having fun for a moment, not being anything. “The accent is a dead giveaway, is it not?”

The girl laughed again. “I didn’t notice it at first”

“Well, that’s understandable. I hear stone skipping can
be quite thought-consuming,” Gannon parried. “But I am
English, and, from the sounds of it, you’re not,” he said,
returning to the topic of conversation.

The girl cocked her head to look up at him, shielding
her eyes with a hand against the glare of the sun.
“You’re quite funny. I had been led to believe Englishmen weren’t all that droll on the whole.”

Gannon put a hand to his heart. “I am fair wounded!
I assure you that Englishmen are indeed possessed of
some modicum of wit.” He gave her a teasing glance,
then studied her in mock consideration. “It makes me
wonder what else you’ve been misinformed about in regard to England.”

“My girlfriends who’ve been abroad tell me that the
standard English gentleman is a sallow fellow given to
slenderness and a slouch” She answered frankly. “But
I can already see that they are much mistaken in that
assumption.”

It was Gannon’s turn to laugh heartily. He drew himself up, purposefully exaggerating his already excellent posture. “Is that so? I suppose the American male is a
preferred specimen, then? Amazing, we were able to defeat Napoleon years ago with all the characteristics
you’ve imbued us with.”

“Pax!” she cried just as a large breaker roared toward
shore, crashing worrisomely close to their bare feet.

In a swift movement, Gannon had his hands at her
waist, sweeping her out of harm’s way, avoiding most
of the wave’s residual foam. His own feet and ankles
weren’t so lucky. Gannon stifled a yelp at the cold Atlantic soaking. “Is it always this cold?”

“Yes, we consider it quite bracing,” the girl laughed.
“Are you all right? Your clothes aren’t wet, are they?”

“I’ll manage” Gannon shook out his damp impromptu cuffs, silently hoping the salt water wouldn’t damage the
fabric permanently.

“There’s a boulder a short way down the beach that’s
in the sun. Come on, I’ll show you, and you can dry out
a bit,” she offered, holding up her skirts in one hand
and making her way barefoot over the pebbly beach,
much to Gannon’s astonishment.

She looked back over her shoulder. “Since we are to
be sharing the beach, we should probably introduce
ourselves. I’m Audrey”

Gannon smiled, taken in by her easy manner. “I’m
Gannon” He could not recall the last time he’d introduced himself by his given name. Everyone had called
him Camberly for ages, even his greataunts. A select few called him Maddox. But aside from Moira and Andrew and Garrett, no one called him Gannon, likely because Gannon meant nothing to anyone, and Camberly
meant everything. He’d long ago come to the realization
that his sole importance to society was that he was the
living embodiment of a title, of a place. His own consequence was of little merit outside of that.

They reached the rock and clambered onto its broad
back, Audrey making the scramble without any of his
offered assistance. The rock was warm, and he could
still see the wooden stairs leading to the cliff in the distance. They hadn’t come too far, but far enough to evade
prying eyes.

“So, what brings you here?” Audrey asked as they sat
side by side on the big rock, enjoying the sun.

“I was invited by some friends,” Gannon replied
vaguely. The day was suddenly too pleasant to spoil with
his realities. He wasn’t ready to confess that he was an
earl. Audrey was probably the only person in Newport
who didn’t know he was the Earl of Camberly.

His answer seemed to please her. “That’s good. So
many Englishmen come here to hunt heiresses.”

Gannon was immensely glad he’d avoided mentioning that. Still, he had to marvel at the slight bitterness in
her tone. “Jealous, are you?”

“Heavens, no!” Audrey exclaimed. “There are plenty
of girls who want Englishmen’s titles, and they’re welcome to them. It’s not a life for me, though. I don’t want to be tucked away in a drafty house in the country,
pouring my efforts into a pile of crumbling stones and an
impractical lifestyle.” She tossed him a sidelong glance.
“Does that offend you?”

There it was again, that American bluntness. Gannon
tossed an errant pebble into the waves. “What part would
I find offensive? The part where you deride dear Britannia, or the part where you speak your own mind?” He
held his stoic pose long enough for her to really worry.
Then he grinned. “I’ve been warned about you American
girls. And forewarned is forearmed. I was prepared for
such an outburst”

Audrey laughed up at him. “You’re very clever for an
Englishman.”

“I like to think so”

“Modest too”

They sat in affable silence after that, appreciating the
late afternoon and the cooling breeze that came up off
the waves. It was deuced odd to enjoy a woman’s company so easily, Gannon thought, covertly studying his
companion. He barely knew her name, knew hardly
anything about her that he could put down on paper, yet
he felt he knew this Audrey.

Too bad she wasn’t an heiress. Too bad she was so
poorly disposed toward Englishmen. It would be nice
to be married to someone with whom one could trade
easy banter, sit with and not have to talk, someone who
would be pleased to share a quiet afternoon of stone skipping. When he had concocted this scheme, he’d not taken time to think of what he’d be sacrificing by putting himself at the mercy of the highest bidder. This afternoon,
he’d had a chance to see firsthand what he’d be giving up.

“The tide’s coming in,” Audrey said at last, nimbly
sliding down from the boulder. “I should head back before my parents discover I haven’t simply slipped home
ahead of them”

She was so nonchalant that Gannon had the impression the intrepid girl might have done this before-this
heading down to the beach unchaperoned-on several
occasions.

Audrey shook out her skirts to minimize any undue
wrinkles in the white cotton. She flashed Gannon a brilliant smile that lit up her face. “Perhaps I will see you
around. Newport’s not so large, really”

Gannon inclined his head. “Perhaps we’ll meet again,”
he affirmed, but inwardly he doubted the words. As she
moved down the beach, he thought that unless she moved
in the lofty circles of the Carringtons and the Astors, he
would not encounter the intriguing miss with chocolate
hair again.

And he was skeptical that she did move in such exalted groups. He rather questioned that parents of a
lovely heiress would let her roam the beach at will without so much as a maid or governess in attendance, even
if they were Americans. Of course, her gown had been
fine. He had noted the excellent quality cotton and exquisite lace trim, but many middle-and upper-class people were beginning to spend money on nice clothes in the hopes of aping their millionaire betters. In all likelihood, Audrey was the daughter of a well-to-do merchant.
He wouldn’t see her again.

It was for the best, Gannon thought, recognizing only
after she’d gone how compromising their situation
could potentially have been. Based on what the lovely
Audrey had shared, she wouldn’t welcome finding out
he was an earl, nor would she welcome being legshackled to him and his “drafty” country house. Yes, he
was certain she wouldn’t relish the prospect any more
than he did, knowing that a moment’s foolishness could
have cost him Camberly Hall forever. At least that’s
what he told himself as he tried with only marginal success to push aside thoughts of Audrey and focus on the
task at hand.

Audrey brought the Beethoven piece to a close with
a resounding chord that sent the conservatory of her
parents’ grand summer “cottage” reverberating with the
force of it. Her music instructor, a slender German fellow of indeterminate years named Heinrich Woerner,
applauded enthusiastically from the edge of his Louis
XV chair. But Audrey could feel her mother’s abject
disapproval without turning around.

She took a moment to bask in her instructor’s appraisal. She deserved the praise, and she knew it. She had
dedicated herself to the task of mastering the Beethoven
piece for months. She needed a perfect Beethoven piece
in her portfolio as part of the admission process to a
highly acclaimed Viennese conservatory where she’d
secretly applied for entrance.

Not even Heinrich Woerner knew what she had done.
So precious was her secret, she couldn’t risk telling a
single soul. Mastering this final piece put her one step
closer to her dream of studying and playing piano professionally. Now all she had to do was wait for the acceptance letter and survive the summer without becoming
engaged.

The last was easier said than done. Evading her parents’ matchmaking efforts was no easy task. Their persistence and social connections, combined with her father’s
obscene amount of wealth acquired in textiles, made her
a very eligible candidate for marriage.

“Well done! Well done, Fraulein.” Woerner stood up
and walked toward the piano while her mother gave an
audible sigh.

Her parents tolerated her passion for the piano, going
so far as to bring Herr. Woerner out to Newport once a
week in the summer for instruction. But Audrey knew
they wouldn’t have tolerated it if music had been unacceptable as an activity for a cultured, well-bred daughter. Still, there were limits to what they would tolerate.
They would definitely not countenance their daughter’s
going off to Vienna alone and taking up a career of performing the piano publicly.