Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (10 page)

Wrong, she admitted. The Colonel seemed to like his victims to be from out of the country, not from a Cotswold village. He’d met the Harpers at Ascot, an event which drew American horse owners and players. Or more important, an event for people with money to burn. That was where she’d find the Colonel. Not at the church fetes and the pony gymkhanas for the local gentry. She might have recognized that from the beginning, had her mind and body not been concentrating on one outstanding local man.

“You look like you could match one of the
church gargoyles with that expression,” Rick said, having discharged his duties as host and rejoined her and Lettice.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Lettice said, staring at her in puzzlement.

Jill forced down a yowl of frustration at her stupidity. “Gee, thanks, folks. It’s nice to get a compliment once in a while. But that wasn’t one.”

Rick chuckled. “Sorry.”

Not as sorry as she was, Jill thought in disgust. She mustered another smile.

Later, she sat in front of the TV in the small back sitting room, staring mindlessly at the news channel while she berated herself for her lack of brains. Okay, so she’d been headed in the wrong direction. At least she knew the Colonel wasn’t there in Winchcombe. But where in the length and breadth of England was the man?

The answer came on the BBC in a news story about the upcoming Henley Regatta. Jill stared at the screen and blessed the miracle. Of course, she thought. She should have remembered the regatta at Oxford University, the biggest event on the summer schedule. Her father had sculled for the University of Pennsylvania. She’d grown up at the boathouses in Philadelphia. American Ivy League schools contributed nearly as many sculling teams to the Henley Regatta as the English ones did. Americans would be there in force. Americans with money to burn. And so would the Colonel, she bet. Now all she had to do was get Rick there too.

That was the real trick.

“Henley! What would Grandmother want with the Henley Regatta?”

Rick stared at Jill as if she’d lost her mind. How could she think he could just up and leave the manor for a week, let alone arrange accommodations for them to see the Oxford University rowing races on a moment’s notice? He glanced behind him at the first edges of the darkening sky. He and his two workers were frantically cutting the early cabbages to keep them from being destroyed by the sudden storm blowing up from Wales with near gale-force winds. He looked back at Jill. As much as he enjoyed her company, there was no time for a discussion when he had to get a crop in.

“Never mind about Grandmother,” he said. “And you’re not dressed for the fields! Your shoes are going to be ruined.”

He pointed to the very expensive leather flats she was wearing. Her feet were slowly sinking into the soft tilled earth.

Jill glanced down, shrugged, and flipped off her shoes. “No problem. And we have to talk about
the regatta now, because if we decide to go then we’ll have to start making arrangements today.”

It was a royal “we” if he ever heard one. “Dammit, Jill. I have less than an hour to get in these cabbages before the storm hits. This is an experimental strain for the government. Everything will be ruined if they’re destroyed!”

“No problem.” She sank to her knees and began tugging at a cabbage in front of her. It didn’t budge. “Geez! What are these? Food for the Incredible Hulk?”

“No. Whoever he is. You have to cut the stem with a knife.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated at the amount of time he was wasting with her. “And you’re ruining your skirt now.”

“Then give me a knife and stop fussing about my clothes. I have no intention of doing this naked.” She held out a hand.

“Jill—”

“Just give me the damned knife. You’re wasting time.”

Her makeup was perfect, her hair was perfect. Her skirt had to be of fine linen. And she was kneeling in the dirt, ready to cut cabbages. It was ludicrous, yet an odd streak of possessiveness and pride welled up in him. He couldn’t think of any other woman who would pitch in the way she was. She was also right. He was wasting time.

“You American women are very bossy,” he said, handing over his knife. She couldn’t do much harm, he told himself, and she’d probably give up in a few minutes.

“Thank you,” she said primly, taking the knife from him. She hacked at the stem of the cabbage. “Now cut. We’ve got a field to get in.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He knelt down in the next row and got his penknife out of his pocket. He began cutting cabbages with one expert swipe at the stem, then tossed them in the bushel basket. Bent over, he moved slowly up the straight row. To his surprise, Jill wasn’t too far behind him. She had tucked her dark hair behind her ears to keep it out of the way. He grinned at her expression of concentration. She looked up and caught him staring.

“Now about the regatta,” she said.

Rick groaned. On top of being bossy, she had a one-track mind. But as long as he was getting the cabbages in, it didn’t matter what the conversation was. “So why does Grandmother want to go?”

“To see her friends. A lot of people from the States come over for the races.” She pushed her windswept hair back out of her face. “Besides, where is your alumnus spirit? Or did you go to Cambridge?”

He glared at her for the sacrilegious thought. “I’ll have you know I acquired a blue for Oxford in my time, as we say for the team that races against our archrivals from Cambridge University.”

“You rowed?”

He nodded and swung at a cabbage stem. “We beat the pants off the Cambridge rowers that year.”

“Well, that does it. We
have
to go now.”

How he wished. The Henley Regatta wasn’t the Oxford—Cambridge race or even Eights Week, the intrauniversity races. It was unique. Schools came from all over the world to race at Henley.
His knife poised in midair, he allowed himself to think for a brief second about men in piped blazers and women in summer frocks wandering the towpaths, pennants fluttering in the river breeze, and the perfectly synchronized dip and pull of the oarsmen. It was civilization at its most elegant. He hadn’t been to the regatta in years. He had never taken his grandmother. He may never have another opportunity to do so. And to go with Jill …

“Rick.” Jill’s amused voice broke through. “You’re wasting time again.”

He grinned ruefully and returned to cutting cabbages. They worked in silence for a time.

“I feel like that Chinese woman in
The Good Earth
,” Jill finally commented, doing more swiping now than hacking. She was halfway up her row. He was on his second. She added, “You remember, she was determined to beat Mother Nature and get in the harvest before the storm.”

“She was also having labor pains at the time.”

“I didn’t say I felt
that
much like her. But this is kinda fun. Ouch! Dammit!”

Rick looked up. “What? Did you cut yourself?”

“No, broke a nail. Oh well.”

“Pretty hands are overrated,” he said helpfully. She wasn’t doing too badly for an amateur, he thought, pride swelling again. But the clouds were moving in rapidly now, and the wind was kicking up cold and dampish. His estimate of less than an hour was more like a half hour, but they stood a good chance of getting most of the one-acre field in before the skies opened.

She raised her eyebrows. “You give a backhanded compliment with the best, Rick.”

He dipped his head. “I thank you. And thank you for the help here.”

“I figure you owe me. You have no choice but to take your grandmother and me to the regatta. But we already settled that.”

He knew he couldn’t allow himself to be tempted. “Jill, I can’t take the time away from the farm.”

She smiled and all his good sense dissolved. “We could commute every day. You’re only an hour away from Oxford. We could go in the morning after you arrange the farm schedule or whatever. And we’ll be home that night. The farm would survive, and your grandmother would love it.”

It was tempting. He admitted that. It was even more tempting to see Jill in a picture hat and a soft dress. He sat back on his heels and sighed. “I’d love to, but I can’t. You and Grandmother can go without me.”

“No!” She looked at him stricken, then composed herself. “Rick, you have to go with us. After all, it won’t really mean anything without you. I mean, how many times have you ever taken your grandmother to the regatta?”

“None.” He was pleased that she didn’t want to go without him. Very pleased.

“See?” She pointed her knife at him. “This is your prime opportunity, Rick Kitteridge. Besides, I would love to be escorted by a man who acquired a blue. I’ll be the envy of all my friends.”

“Will your friends be there?” he asked, curious.

“One or two, I expect. In fact, my father comes over for it once in a while, when he has time. He rowed for the University of Pennsylvania.”

“He did? I’ll be damned.” Rick swiped two cab
bages in quick succession. He was beginning to feel the strain of his hunched-over position in his thighs and back. “Did he row out of one of the boathouses on the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia?”

“He’s a past president of the Crossed Oars.”

“My uncle Talmadge is a member!” Rick exclaimed, astonished. “I sculled out of the Crossed Oars Club years ago when I was over for a visit.”

Jill grinned. “I was the bratty kid, hanging around and getting into trouble. I loved it. Small world, isn’t it?”

He peered at her, wondering if he had seen her as a child. He was sure he would have remembered. No man could forget someone like Jill.

But the world wasn’t small enough, he thought. He wished she wasn’t going home in a few weeks. He had a feeling there would never be an English woman like Jill. He hadn’t found one yet to match her. He doubted he ever would.

He wanted to spend every minute he had with her, before she went home. He wanted to give her the elegance of Oxford, if even for a day. He wanted to show her his school, a place that had meant a lot to him then, and still did now. He wanted to show her off to his friends and watch them envy him his good fortune. And they would. He had no doubt of that. He would envy any one of them who had Jill. She was unique.

A fat raindrop splattered on the back of his hand, then another and another. He glanced up, just as the wind whipped through and the rains came pelting down.

“That’s it!” he shouted to her, scrambling to his
feet. He waved his men off. “Get your shoes, Jill, and let’s go.”

“But we can get some more in before the worst starts!” she shouted back, the rain and wind already plastering her blouse to her breasts.

Rick admired the view, then shook his head. He grabbed up the bushel baskets. “We did well enough. I’ll only lose about a quarter of the field.”

“But—”

“No buts. We go now.”

As if to emphasize his words, lightning cracked the sky. Jill leaped to her feet and raced for her shoes. Rick caught up with her. He set down the baskets, pulled off his jacket, and threw it around her shoulders. Picking up the baskets again, he yelled, “Come on!”

She ran with him for the truck, neither of them wasting breath. The men took a few more quick trips to get the rest of the baskets loaded. Recognizing that the filled baskets would be too heavy for her, Jill sensibly stayed in the cab. Rick was grateful for her help and for her knowing when she’d be in the way.

When he and the other two men squeezed onto the bench seat, Rick regretted that nobody had to sit on anybody’s lap. Still, Jill was nicely cramped up against him. Her arms were trapped between them, an effective barrier, but her hip and thigh were pressed to his. Unfortunately, with Rudy and Mike in the truck, he could only grin and bear it.

“Thanks for the help today,” he said. “We needed it. Do you hire out?”

She shuddered. “I think I’ll pass. Ten workouts would be a piece of cake next to picking cabbages.”

“Chicken,” he whispered in her ear.

“True, true. So when we get in, we’ll make arrangements to go to the regatta, right?” she asked blithely, grinning at him.

Rick chuckled, realizing there was only one answer he could give. “We’ll go. Do you have a hat? It’s tradition.”

Her gray eyes lit with excitement. “I know. I already planned to get one. In fact, I’ll get two, three, four—”

He laughed. “One is enough.”

“Now that was painless, wasn’t it?” She shifted and winced. “Not like my back.”

He would have loved to rub it, but he couldn’t get his arms loose. He grinned wryly, then sobered. It might not be time to “talk of many things,” as the poem went, but it was time to realize one thing.

He had fallen for Jill.

That night, Jill slowly, carefully, sat down on her bed.

It didn’t help.

She groaned as every muscle in her body screamed in protest at the movement. She had been proud of clearing two rows of cabbages, but she had obviously used muscles she hadn’t known she had. The office job at the zoo combined with one measly hour of aerobics every week just didn’t provide sufficient exercise.

She had gradually stiffened up during dinner, until finally she excused herself early. She hadn’t wanted Rick to know how much she was hurting. He might feel bad that she was suffering because
of the help she’d given him. She felt guilty enough after maneuvering him into agreeing to go to the regatta, although Lettice, when told, loved the idea. But this was her punishment, no doubt. The aspirins she had taken in the bathroom earlier had hardly had any effect. With only a soft bed and a cotton nightgown for comfort, she would be in terrible shape in the morning.