Simply Magic (21 page)

Really, of course, he had no pressing reason for going anywhere in the world, except home. But there was still a while before Christmas, and he had decided not to go before then.

His mother was going to transform his dining room into a lavender monstrosity—she had mentioned the color in her last letter—as a complement to the drawing room. But she was going to leave it until after Christmas since they were expecting guests—she had used the plural pronoun. Christmas would be soon enough, then, to stop such a disaster from happening. A lavender dining room, for God's sake!

Would she start on the library next?

She had invited the Flynn-Posys for Christmas, Lady Flynn-Posy being one of her dearest friends from their come-out year. Peter might recall the name, she had written. He did not. They were going to bring with them their son, a delightful young man who was up at Oxford, and—inevitably—their daughter, an accomplished young lady of considerable beauty, who was to make her official come-out in the spring.

Miss Flynn-Posy and her arsenal would have to be faced, he had decided. He would hide from his mother's loving interference in his life no longer.

He would not go home yet, though.

But what was he to do with himself in the meanwhile? He waved Lauren and Kit and the children on their way from the Royal York Hotel and then, ten minutes later, the Earl and Countess of Redfield and returned aimlessly to his room to stare gloomily at his bags, all neatly packed by his valet.

An hour after that he wandered downstairs and was in time to wave the Duke and Duchess of Bewcastle and Mrs. Thompson, the duchess's mother, on
their
way home. Miss Thompson was to remain in Bath for a few days, but not at the hotel, it seemed.

“My mother thought it really not quite the thing even though I bade farewell to my twenties a few years ago,” she explained to Peter as they both looked toward the corner around which the carriage had just disappeared. “And Christine agreed with her. So did the duke, though he did not say a word. He did not have to. I have never known anyone whose silence is so eloquent. He is a formidable brother-in-law, Lord Whitleaf.” Her eyes twinkled with merriment.

“And so you are to stay with Lady Potford?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I must still be hedged about by chaperones, it seems. It is most provoking.”

“May I convey you and your baggage to her house?” Peter asked.

“Oh, that is remarkably good of you,” she said, “but my bags have already gone. The duke arranged to have them sent over. He would have sent me with them, I daresay, if I had not told Christine quite firmly that I intend to walk.”

“She lives not far away?” he asked.

“On Great Pulteney Street,” she said. “It is a fair distance, but I shall enjoy stretching my legs, especially in this lovely sunshine. The house is quite close to Miss Martin's school on Daniel Street. I promised to call there today or tomorrow. Miss Martin needs a new teacher, and I am thinking of applying for the position.”

“Indeed?” Peter said. “May I escort you to Great Pulteney Street, ma'am?”

“And delay your own departure?” she said. “You are too kind, Lord Whitleaf. I really do not need an escort or a chaperone on the streets of Bath.”

“But perhaps,” he said, bowing to her and grinning, “I would be delighted to postpone my departure until tomorrow, ma'am, rather than forgo the pleasure of your company and Lady Potford's. And I would like to see the school where Miss Osbourne teaches—we struck up an acquaintance during the summer when we were staying with friends in the same neighborhood.”

“Ah, Miss Osbourne, yes,” she said, laughing. “I did not fail to notice how remarkably lovely she is. Very well, then, Lord Whitleaf. Since you feel such a burning desire for my company, I shall not deprive you of it. Shall we meet downstairs here in half an hour's time?”

“We shall,” he said, bowing to her.

And so, instead of setting out for London within the hour, as he had intended, Peter found himself walking through Bath with Miss Thompson on his arm. They walked past the Pump Room and Bath Abbey and along by the river in the direction of the Pulteney Bridge. They crossed the bridge and made their way past Laura Place and along Great Pulteney Street until they came to Lady Potford's. They conversed every step of the way, and Peter found himself genuinely enjoying her company and laughing with her over several absurdities she pointed out.

At the same time he wondered about the wisdom of what he was doing—or rather, the wisdom of what he planned to do after calling at Lady Potford's. Was he really going to accompany Miss Thompson to the school? For what purpose, pray? He had learned what he needed to know from Susanna yesterday. He had enjoyed a pleasant half hour dancing and talking with her, and they had said good-bye.

There was really nothing whatsoever left to say, was there?

But dash it all, he still
liked
her. He still wanted a friendship with her. And, if the bald truth were told, he probably felt a little more than just liking for her. Which uncomfortable—and only barely admitted—fact was all the more reason for bowing to Miss Thompson at the doorway of the house on Great Pulteney Street, returning to his hotel with alacrity, and putting as much distance between himself and Miss Martin's School for Girls in Bath as daylight and the speed of his traveling carriage would allow.

But when Lady Potford's butler opened the door to their knock, he found himself stepping over the threshold.

And a little more than half an hour later, after taking coffee in the drawing room and making himself agreeable to Lady Potford, who was feeling rather down after having waved her houseguests on their way earlier, he found himself escorting Miss Thompson again on the short walk to the end of the street and around the corner onto Sydney Place and almost immediately around onto Sutton Street. The turn onto Daniel Street was not far away.

And so here he was, he thought as he stepped up to the school and rapped the knocker against the door, unable even to change his mind at the last moment and hurry away. Miss Thompson was standing solidly just behind him and would think it odd in the extreme if he suddenly bolted.

What the devil was she going to
think
?
She
being Susanna Osbourne, of course.

An elderly, pinch-faced porter opened the door and glared at Peter with unconcealed suspicion. His black coat, shiny with age, looked almost as elderly as he.

The dragon guarding the maidens, perhaps?

“Miss Thompson and Viscount Whitleaf to call upon Miss Martin,” he said.

The man looked beyond Peter's shoulder, and his demeanor grew marginally less hostile.

“Miss Martin is expecting you, ma'am,” he said, ignoring Peter, “though she is in the middle of a class at the moment.”

“Do not disturb her, then,” Miss Thompson said. “I shall wait until she is free.”

Ah, reprieve! Peter thought. He had the perfect excuse for bowing her over the threshold and going on his way—
I shall wait,
she had said. Not
we
.

Instead, he stood back to allow her to precede him inside and then stepped in after her.

If ever he came fully to understand himself, he thought ruefully, the world would surely stop spinning on its axis and then they would
all
be in trouble.

He was standing in a dark, narrow hallway. Instantly he could hear the distant hum of girls' voices chanting something in unison. He had stepped into the world of Susanna Osbourne, he realized, breathing in the mingled odors of furniture polish and ink and cabbage and an indefinable something that would have told him he was in a school even if he had not already known it.

16

Susanna was in the dining hall eating luncheon. The seat beside
her at the head table—the teachers' table—was empty. Claudia was probably eating in her office with Miss Thompson, who had apparently arrived to look over the school with a view to teaching here.

It would be good to have another resident teacher, Susanna thought, and one whom Claudia had instinctively liked at their first meeting.

Where was he now, she wondered, as she had wondered at frequent intervals all morning while she was teaching. How many miles from Bath? How many miles from wherever he was going?

She made an attempt to bring her attention back to the conversation of the other teachers.

But Mr. Keeble, whose boots were squeaking as they always seemed to have done ever since Susanna had known him as if he must have them specially made with just that quality, had entered the room and was making his way toward the head table. Susanna looked inquiringly at him.

“Miss Martin wishes to see you in her office as soon as you have finished eating, Miss Osbourne,” he said.

The dessert had not yet been served. But she did not need dessert. She did not seem to have much appetite today. She excused herself, got to her feet, and made her way to the office. Was Miss Thompson still here? she wondered.

Miss Thompson was. So—inexplicably—was Viscount Whitleaf. He was getting to his feet as Susanna opened the door, and he bowed to her as she stepped inside.

She felt suddenly robbed of breath—just as she had been yesterday when the sight of him in the Upper Assembly Rooms had been equally unexpected. But at least then she had had a few minutes in which to recover herself without having to feel that everyone's eyes were upon her. Today all three occupants of the room were looking at her.

“Miss Thompson?” She smiled. “Viscount Whitleaf?”

What on
earth
was he doing here? He was supposed to be miles away.

“Miss Osbourne,” Miss Thompson said, her eyes twinkling. “I might have guessed that a plain gray work dress would only make your hair appear even more vibrantly auburn. If I were ten years younger I would be mortally jealous of you.”

“Miss Thompson will be staying for the afternoon,” Claudia said. “Viscount Whitleaf is about to take his leave, but he wishes to call in on Lady Potford with a message. She has sent an invitation for me to join her and Miss Thompson at a concert in Bath Abbey tomorrow evening. I will be unable to attend, having promised to give three of the senior girls extra coaching for their history examination next week. However, Miss Thompson has suggested that perhaps you would like to go instead of me, Susanna.”

“I should be delighted if you will agree, Miss Osbourne,” Miss Thompson assured her. “And I am sure Lady Potford will be too.”

It was hard for Susanna to think straight with Viscount Whitleaf standing silently not six feet away. But the chance to attend an evening concert was certainly enticing. She very rarely attended any entertainment that was not directly related to the school. And the Abbey was such a beautiful church.

“Your drama practice is tonight,” Claudia said, “and there is no study hall tomorrow, it being Friday. I see nothing to stop you from going, Susanna, except inclination.”

“Oh, inclination would certainly take me there,” Susanna assured her.

“Splendid!” Miss Thompson exclaimed. “Then it is settled.”

“I shall inform Lady Potford of the slight change in plans,” Viscount Whitleaf said. “And I shall take my leave, ma'am.” He bowed to Claudia. “Perhaps Miss Osbourne would see me on my way?”

On his way?
He should be well on his way beyond Bath by now, shouldn't he?

“Why are you still in Bath?” she asked him after they had stepped out into the hallway and he had closed the study door behind him. For once there was no sign of Mr. Keeble. “I thought all the wedding guests were leaving early this morning.”

“I waved everyone else on the way,” he said, “and then discovered two things. First that Miss Thompson had no escort to Lady Potford's on Great Pulteney Street or here to the school, and second that really I had nowhere of pressing importance to go myself.”

“Have you been home to Sidley Park yet?” she asked.

It felt somehow surreal to see him here inside the school, which was such a very feminine domain. He was wearing a long, multi-caped greatcoat, which somehow made him seem larger and more broad-shouldered and more
masculine
than ever. Susanna felt half suffocated by his presence.

“Since August?” he said. “Oh, yes, indeed. I went after my mother's houseguests had left. But the drawing room had turned pink and lacy in my absence—it is horribly hideous. And the dining room is to turn lavender after Christmas, which I am expected to spend at Sidley in company with a certain Miss Flynn-Posy and her mama and papa among other people. I shall have to go if only to save my dining room from such a ghastly fate.”

He looked so comically forlorn that she could not stop her lips from twitching with amusement.

“I daresay you are too kind to speak your objections openly to your mother,” she said.

“Not at all,” he said.

“You were actually
playing
with all the children in the ballroom yesterday when I arrived, were you not?” she said. “I overheard Miss Thompson telling Claudia so after our waltz.”

“I was early, you see,” he said, “and playing with them seemed as good a way as any of passing the time, especially when they had more or less kidnapped me.”

“But no other adult thought to play with them,” she said, “and apparently it did not occur to them to kidnap any other adult—only you, because you wished to amuse them and they recognized in you someone who would pay attention to them and make the afternoon fun for them. But you are not at all kind, of course.”

He grinned a little sheepishly and she knew that now, within moments he was going to open the door and step outside and she was going to close it after him and be alone again.

“I will bring my carriage to fetch you tomorrow evening,” he said. “Will half past six suit you?”

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

“I am staying for a couple of days longer,” he explained. “I have offered to escort Lady Potford and Miss Thompson to the concert.”

“And maneuvered matters so that
I
would be invited too?” she asked, her eyes widening.

“Not at all,” he said. “That was sheer good fortune. I was trying to devise a way of doing it, but it was done for me when Miss Martin said she could not go and Miss Thompson suggested you in her stead.”

She stared at him, speechless.

“Tell me you are glad.” His smile looked a little crooked to her, even perhaps a little wistful—which was surely nonsense.

“I will be
very
glad to attend the concert,” she said. “Bath Abbey is often used for organ recitals. I love nothing more than to listen to the great pipe organ being played though I have not heard it often. Perhaps there will be some organ pieces tomorrow.”

“You will be glad to attend the
concert,
” he said softly. “Well, I must be content with that. I shall come at half past six?”

“Thank you,” she said.

And then he did indeed open the door and step outside, and she did indeed close the door after him and find herself alone again. She closed her eyes briefly and drew a few steadying breaths. Not only was she to attend a concert at the Abbey tomorrow evening as a guest of Lady Potford, but she was also to have Viscount Whitleaf as an escort. It was almost too much to bear. The excitement of anticipation might well kill her.

And she had classes to teach this afternoon—in penmanship and writing. The first class was to begin within the next five or ten minutes, in fact.

Susanna turned away from the door and tried to pretend that this was no different from any other afternoon at school.

         

This was the damnedest thing, Peter thought as he rapped on the door of Miss Martin's school again the following evening. He liked music. He often attended concerts and even the opera in London, depending upon which artists were to sing. But a concert in Bath Abbey? He had actually postponed his departure from Bath just because of it—when he had still thought the ladies he was to escort there were to be Lady Potford, Miss Thompson, and Miss Martin?

It really was just good fortune that had replaced the last-named lady with Susanna Osbourne. His mind had been working furiously over various schemes for including her in the party, but he had known perfectly well that it was unlikely that both resident teachers would leave the school together for a whole evening—especially so soon after the wedding breakfast.

It really was the damnedest thing, then, but here he was anyway. And there she was—he saw her as soon as the school porter, looking more sour-faced than ever, opened the door to admit him. She was wearing a plain gray cloak—but Miss Thompson had been quite right yesterday about the effect of such a drab color on her hair. Miss Martin, who was with her, was handing her a paisley shawl, which she would doubtless need inside the Abbey. Churches were notoriously chilly places.

There she was
—the phrase repeated itself inside his mind as if there were an echo in there.

“Good evening, Miss Martin, Miss Osbourne.” He bowed to them.

She looked wide-eyed and slightly flushed in the light of a table lamp—Susanna, that was—and he realized with a pang of tenderness that this must be a grand occasion for her, just as the assembly in Somerset had been.

“I am ready,” she said, her voice slightly breathless.

“I trust,” Miss Martin said, “that Lady Potford and Miss Thompson are awaiting you in your carriage, Lord Whitleaf?”

“They are awaiting me at Lady Potford's house, ma'am,” he assured her. “A mere five-minute drive from here.”

She inclined her head and turned her attention to her fellow teacher.

“Do have a lovely time, Susanna,” she said, her voice softening, “and give my regards to the other ladies.”

“I will,” Susanna said and stepped forward so that he could cup her elbow in his palm and escort her out onto the pavement.

He took her hand in his to help her up the steps into his carriage. She sat with her back to the horses, he noticed, in order to leave the better seat for the other ladies. He vaulted in after her and sat beside her.

It was only after his coachman had shut the door, climbed up to the box, and set the carriage in motion that the door of the school closed.

“Miss Martin cares about you,” he said. “So does the male dragon.”

“Mr. Keeble?” She laughed. “He cares about us all, girls and teachers alike. He would guard us all from the wicked world beyond the school doors if he could.”

“And I am the big, bad wolf?” he asked as the carriage turned onto Sutton Street.

“You are a
man,
” she said, and laughed, “which in his eyes is probably far worse. I may be only a schoolteacher, Lord Whitleaf, but to Claudia and to Mr. Keeble I am also a lady and must be protected from any possibility of harm.”

“You are first and foremost a lady,” he said as the carriage made its big turn onto Great Pulteney Street, “who happens also to be a schoolteacher.”

She turned her head and their eyes met in the dim light cast by the carriage lamps that burned outside.

And we both know what sort of harm can come to a lady who is not properly protected.

He did not say the words aloud. He did not need to.

He was not in the habit of recalling sexual experiences from the past. They were something for present enjoyment and future anticipation. He rarely even thought of former mistresses. Yet he had a sudden, vivid memory of lying with Susanna Osbourne on the hill above the river at Barclay Court. He could remember the feel of her warm woman's body beneath his, of…

Well.

Why did one always remember the very things one would prefer to forget?

“Has Miss Thompson decided to take a teaching position at the school?” he asked.

“She spent all of yesterday afternoon with us,” she said, “and seemed to enjoy herself. I believe she very well may decide to stay. I hope so. We all like her exceedingly well. Claudia believes it is simply her misfortune to be a sister-in-law of the Duke of Bewcastle and does not hold it against her. Claudia is
not
kindly disposed to any of the Bedwyns, particularly Lady Hallmere and the duke.”

They both laughed. But there was no time for further conversation. The carriage stopped outside Lady Potford's house and he descended in order to rap on the door and then hand in the ladies for the drive to the Abbey at the other side of the river.

Bath Abbey was an impressive building, as most great Gothic churches were. This one was more lovely than most, with its pointed arched windows so large that one wondered how there could be enough solid wall left to support the great height and weight of the building. Tall pillars along the nave stretched upward until they spread into a fan-vaulted ceiling far overhead, drawing the eyes and the mind and the spirit heavenward. It was a magnificent setting for a concert, Peter thought as he escorted the ladies inside. As soon as they stepped through the door, Lady Potford moved ahead with Miss Thompson while Peter took Susanna on his arm and followed them.

“Oh,” she said, “I have brought classes here on sightseeing walks. I have even attended church here a few times. I have always been in awe of its splendor. But I have never before seen it lit up at night. It is absolutely…magical.”

“Magical.” He smiled down at her. “You had better not let any clergyman hear you describe it with that word.”

She laughed softly.

“Mystical, then,” she said. “Oh, look, there must be a thousand candles burning, and the light is shivering in the drafts of air. Have you ever seen anything more…”