The Aim of a Lady (15 page)

“I should be used to it,” she reiterated emphatically,

“Did you faint after you operated on me?” he asked curiously.

“No, I was sick,” she replied softly.

Alma gave a burst of laughter. “I think, then, that I may consider forgiving you. Does George know that you do not feel well after your surgical feats?”

“No, and you are not to tell him, Alma,” she pleaded. “He might not allow me to help Mr. Thatcher any longer, and sometimes I am truly needed, as I was today.”

“Very well, I will not speak of it.” He urged the horses forward again as she smiled with relief. “Did you tell Mrs. Green the truth when you said you thought nothing important had been damaged?”

“Yes, but I don’t know enough to be sure. Mr. Thatcher will be able to tell her more, I hope.”

They rode in silence for some time, Alma shifting uncomfortably on his seat. “It is awful when someone dies,” she whispered.

He looked at her searchingly. “You have seen people die?”

“Yes. A child once, and an old woman. The woman I did not mind so much for she looked forward to her death as a release from pain, but the child..."

“Perhaps you should not work with Mr. Thatcher, Diana.”

She sighed. “I don’t, so very often. I could not refuse to help when I was needed, could I?”

“I suppose not,” Alma replied gruffly, as he thought that although he could think of many people who would, Diana he could not picture doing so.

After a moment Diana brightened. “But there are the confinements, too. There is something very special about them, you know. Everyone is so pleased and excited when a baby is born. Alonna saw her sister’s twins delivered.”

Alma shook his head in mock bewilderment. “Whatever happened to the shy young maidens I used to meet who knew nothing of all these matters?”

“You will find them when you return to London, no doubt,” she suggested helpfully, her eyes twinkling.

“I dare say,” he retorted grudgingly. “Back to the normal world.” For just a moment the idea was disappointing, but he shrugged off the thought. He had plans for his stay in the metropolis.

Since Diana’s morning had been somewhat upsetting for her Alma suggested that they go fishing after luncheon. The spring sun was warm and Alma fell asleep, his head cradled on his crossed arms. Diana removed the pole from his hand and set it beside him. She watched the water ripple over rocks and around outcroppings of the bank, and occasionally felt a tug on her rod, but there was not much activity. Rogue had followed them to the river and lay curled up against Alma. Diana smiled at the picture they made, Alma with his dark hair curling on his forehead and the dog thumping a bushy tail in his sleep.

When Alma awoke he lazily shifted over onto his back, carefully, and watched the clouds scudding past the trees far overhead. His gaze then fell on Diana and he asked, “Did you think of a new project?”

"No>

“Were you thinking about this morning?”

"No."

“Making plans for George’s wedding?”

"No."

“Surely you have not sat there just...feeling good?” he mocked, his eyes dancing.

“You need not scoff, Alma,” she returned. “I do not fall asleep at the blink of an eye the way you do.”

“Too bad,” he replied as he stretched his legs leisurely. “It is a knack.”

“You share your talent with Rogue,” she pointed out.

Alma watched the dog gravely. “But I don’t wag my tail when I sleep.”

“How do you know?” she asked impishly.

He regarded her sternly. “Even if I did, which I doubt, it would not be proper for you to mention it.”

“Well, I am glad you told me. I should not wish to say anything improper to you.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, but he could contain his laughter no longer, and his merriment woke the dog, who began barking.

Diana shook her head with exasperation at the two of them. “You cannot expect me to take my lessons in decorum seriously, Alma, if you carry on like that. Hush, Rogue.”

The dog trotted over to her where she sat with her arms clasped about her knees, her skirts swirling around her. Rogue waved the plume of his tail gaily and she hugged him briefly before allowing Alma to pull her to her feet. The scarcity of their catch did not daunt them, and they returned to the house in perfect charity.

When George mentioned to Alma later that afternoon that they would be celebrating Diana’s birthday at dinner, Alma felt annoyed that he had not learned earlier of the event and slipped off to the village to see what he could find. The items he considered—parasols, hair combs, purses and fans as well as shawls and gloves— merely reminded him that such items would probably be used when she was dressed as she had for the Dodges’ party, and he dismissed them. He remembered that she had a love of old books, and if he had been at Stillings he might have found her something of special interest, but here in Linton there was little hope of securing an interesting volume. Diana herself had said that she went to Cambridge for such items. Nevertheless, he began to make queries in the shops and eventually unearthed a volume on medicinal herbs which the proprietor of the linen drapers found artfully resting with several other volumes in a window draped with sample materials. Alma considered its age and condition so carefully that the proprietor quickly doubled the price he had originally considered charging, but Alma cheerfully paid him what the volume was worth, a gesture which made the man’s eyes widen. When Alma had strolled out of the shop, the proprietor eagerly surveyed the remaining volumes, only to find them totally uninteresting editions of not-so-current gothic novels.

George had urged his sister to dress for dinner in a style befitting the occasion, and she reluctantly agreed. Alma received the transformation stoically, and Alonna realized for the first time that since the day she had met Diana her friend had dressed rather plainly. The small golden circlet and arrow set with stones which Alonna had chosen for her future sister-in-law was laughingly accepted as the perfect gift for an archer. George presented Diana with a beautifully tooled, leather jewelry case and then rose to propose a toast to her.

“No, wait,” Alma protested. “I have a present for her, too.” He reached under his chair where he had hidden the small volume and handed it to her with an embarrassed smile. “Happy birthday, Diana.”

She took the book carefully from him and her eyes opened in surprise. “Why, it’s beautiful, Alma. How kind of you!”

“It seemed appropriate.” He smiled as she fingered the volume with loving hands.

Puzzled as to how his friend had come up with such a present on so short notice, George was nonetheless pleased that he had made the effort. Diana’s real delight in the gift was evident, and Alma seemed willing to accept her this time in her modish silver and lace gown, so George proceeded, with an easy mind, with the toast he had intended.

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning Alma surprised Diana by saying, “I think I shall be ready to leave tomorrow. It will take the better part of the day to reach London with all the stops I will have to make, but I think I can manage it now.”

“Truly? There is no need for you to leave if you are not yet ready.”

“I am eager to get to London. I’ve been here almost two weeks now.”

“I hope you will see Allison and Walter in town. I shall miss them for the next few months.”

“No one to play with, Diana?” he teased her.

“Too true,” she retorted. “George does not let anyone else have a moment with Alonna, and now you are leaving, too,” she said sadly.

“There are the books on the Middle Ages to read.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You will not mind if I keep them a while?”

“Keep them as long as you wish. They merely gather dust at Stillings.”

They were companionably silent for a while and then Alma remembered something. “You have never reminded me that I promised to fence with you if you taught me archery. Shall we have a bout this morning?”

Diana’s face lit. “You would not mind? I am not very good at it, Alma, and will not provide you with much sport.”

“I promised, as I recall,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Half an hour, in the Long Gallery?”

Having given up hope of fencing with Alma, Diana in her enthusiasm did not pause to consider the wisdom of wearing her fencing outfit. She always wore it with George, and he was the only one she fenced with. It did not occur to her that in itself it was very flattering to her, if perhaps improper. She arrived at the Long Gallery in a frilled shirt and blue knitted breeches which extended to just below her knees. Her stockings, as the rest of her outfit, were items which George had discarded as a youth and she had found in the attics. The white stockings had clocks and she wore them with her own blue slippers, which she removed for her lessons. In preparation for wearing a mask she had tumbled her hair on top of her head and pinned it there securely.

Alma was in the Long Gallery before her and watched her approach down the room. A flush came to his cheeks as he remembered George’s remarks about his sister’s fencing outfit. The frilled shirt was a trifle small over her breasts but fit snugly otherwise. The knee breeches and stockings were molded to her elegant legs and behind. Really, it was hardly decent for her to appear before him in such an outfit. Without a word, but managing a hasty smile, he handed her a mask and a padded jacket to don. She cheerfully did so, unaware of his turmoil, and picked up a buttoned foil.

After the salute he sternly schooled himself to concentrate on teaching her what he could. She was better than her brother had indicated, but then George was a better fencer than he. Her lithe little body moved with the grace of a ballet dancer and sweat broke out on his forehead every time he made a touch. He began to correct her movements in a dry, detached voice, and she attempted to disengage more neatly. His longer arm length was counteracted by her lightning speed.

“Try a cutover, Diana,” he instructed tersely. “Backward first, then forward.” And again, “Use a lateral there,” or “Don’t slide your toes back.” His foil, deflected, touched where her breast was beneath the padded jacket and ridiculous frilled shirt. She gasped and stepped back.

“Have I hurt you?” he demanded when she did not come forward.

“No. A moment, please.” She turned her back to him.

He pulled his mask off, leaving his hair rumpled and damp on his forehead. The tension in his body created by trying to prevent the obvious sign of physical arousal kept him frozen.

“Has the button come off your foil?” she asked, her back still to him but her mask off now.

Dazed, he regarded the foil held limply in his hand and groaned. “Yes. It must just have happened or I would have noticed it.” Or maybe I wouldn’t have, he thought furiously. I cannot think. “I did hurt you, didn’t I?” he exclaimed angrily as he strode over to her and, catching her by the shoulders, turned her around to face him.

There were tears in her eyes and a spot of blood on the jacket. “Oh my God,” he moaned.

“It is nothing. I was surprised.”

Alma pulled the jacket from her tiny frame and threw it on the floor. The frilled shirt had a slightly larger stain but it was not spreading. He whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and, handing it to her, turned his back. She turned away also and unbuttoned the shirt and lifted her chemise to inspect the injury. It was a small cut, no longer bleeding, high on her left breast. She used his handkerchief first to angrily wipe away her tears and then to rub away the blood. When she had pulled down the chemise and buttoned the shirt she spoke. “It is only a scratch, Alma, nothing to concern you.” When he did not turn she went to him and placed her fingers on his arm.

He turned then and she saw the anguish on his face. “Truly, it is nothing.”

“Oh, Diana, forgive me. I didn’t notice the button had come off.”

“I know that. I have made a fuss about nothing,” she said sheepishly, and hung her head.

Alma put his arms around her and hugged her to him, the desire to do so now so strong that he could not resist it. She did not struggle and he attempted to make the gesture seem natural by saying gruffly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Diana.”

When she lifted her face to look at him, the hazel eyes soft and luminous, he automatically leaned down to kiss the parted lips. His kiss was returned with a degree of passion that startled him and made him lose the remnants of caution remaining to him. He pressed her body against his and felt her hands encircle his waist. All the while he kissed her, his head bent to meet the face so far below him, his hands wandered gently over her body, down her back and over her firm little buttocks in the tight breeches. He lifted her in his arms and seated the two of them on the floor. When he touched her breasts she opened her eyes, but he could not read the expression in them. He began to unbutton the frilled shirt, but with a determined though not angry movement she stayed his hands, rose to her feet, and walked the length of the gallery without a backward glance.

The realization of what he had done descended on him the moment she was out of sight. Dear God, he was losing his mind! To try to seduce a young woman of quality, a virgin, in an extremely accessible room of her own home! Anyone might have walked in. And what the hell did it matter where he had tried to do it anyway, he berated himself. He should not have tried to do it anywhere! Damnit, from the moment he had ridden up to the Park he had acted as though he were totally uncivilized—churlish, rude, complaining, and now lecherous. There was no excuse for his behavior. What had come over him? Just two weeks ago he had been a normal member of polite society, living by its rules and enjoying its opportunities. He finished putting away the fencing equipment, bemused by the stain on the padded jacket.

There was nothing for it, he must speak with George. In the event this proved easier than he had thought, for he found his host alone in his library. George glanced up with a lazy smile. “Sorry to have neglected you, Ellis. I trust you have kept amused.”

Alma blanched at his words. “I...I don’t know exactly where to begin, George.” He drew a breath and attempted to still his turbulent thoughts. “I just tried to seduce your sister.”