The Frog Earl (13 page)

“It came this morning. She has invited all the children, is that not kind? I do hope the weather will improve.”

They both stared hopefully at the window, but the unrelenting drizzle continued to stream down the panes.

When Mimi took her leave an hour later, it was still raining. As she retrieved her umbrella, Harriet said, “You did not walk here alone, did you?”

“It seemed silly for Jacko or Asota to get wet as well as me. Papa took the carriage to Highbury to look at the manor, because he just received Lord Daumier's approval. I don't mind walking in the rain.” Seeing a protest forming on Harriet's lips, she added hastily, “You simply cannot wear pink to the assembly, you know. Sophia's gown will be pink.”

“I know, pale-pink crêpe lisse with rose ruching, over a white satin petticoat embroidered with rosettes of seed pearls. But...”

“Leave it to me,” Mimi commanded, and set off down the garden path.

A gusty breeze had come up, and by the time she reached home she was damp despite the umbrella. The Indian climate definitely had its advantages, she thought. At least it only rained during the monsoon season; at other times of year one could safely set a date for a picnic far in advance.

Weeks might pass before the English weather would permit Lady Thompson's picnic! Still, there was no harm in planning ahead. As Asota helped her take off her damp pelisse, Mimi decided to call on her ladyship on the morrow to see if she had any good ideas.

* * * *

After several days of rain, at last the sun shone again. Mimi was on tenterhooks when Lady Thompson insisted on allowing two days to pass for the ground to dry out somewhat, but the warm, still days persisted. At noon on the third, a varied collection of carriages, riders, and walkers converged on the mere.

On the bank near the old jetty, the Mere House servants had spread rugs and cushions, with small tables and chairs in the dappled shade of new-leafed trees for the older guests. A long trestle table bore cold chicken and ham, a huge wheel of crumbly orange Cheshire cheese, pies and cakes, wine, lemonade and cider, bowls of wrinkled russet apples.

As her father handed Mimi out of the barouche, however, her gaze was on the mere. There, tied to the jetty, floated a small, flat-bottomed skiff, just as Lady Thompson had promised. Since Sir Josiah's demise, it had lain unused in a boathouse hidden by bushes at the far side of the mere. The estate carpenter, Knowles, had rescued and refurbished it. Fresh varnish gleamed in the sun, the oars were neatly shipped, and plump blue cushions graced the benches.

No one else seemed to have noticed the little boat, not even young Jim and Peter Cooper who had found a dish of jam tarts and were quietly gobbling them.

Today was to be Harriet's day. If Simon Hurst persisted in paying more attention to Mimi than to her friend, she was going to go boating without him.

He was approaching now, with his aunt and cousin, to greet them. Lady Thompson bore off Mrs. Forbes to seat her at a table. Lord Litton stood chatting to the colonel.

“Miss Cooper is saving you a cushion and a patch of rug,” Simon said to Mimi. “She is afraid Miss Marbury will arrive and... er... impose her presence, I collect.”

“I expect sitting on the ground is too undignified for Sophia. And for Lord Litton, surely. Now I come to think of it, they would suit each other very well. I'm surprised she does not set her cap at him, for his is the only title in the neighborhood and Sophia is determined to catch a title.”

“Gerald told me he was vigorously pursued a couple of years past, when she first came out. I understand he was forced to make his feelings brutally plain.”

“No wonder she avoids him then. I expect he was perfectly odious to the poor girl. To be sure, why should he settle for a baronet's daughter when I'm sure any number of titled ladies would be glad to wed him.”

“Any number,” Simon agreed, grinning. “You won't repeat the tale, will you, Princess? I ought not to have told you.”

“No, you ought not, and your punishment is at hand. Here come the Marburys. Lady Thompson and Lord Litton are otherwise occupied, so you will have to play host.” She laughed at his groan. “I shall join Harriet,” she said, departing.

Harriet waved from a rug near the trestle table, where Judith was scolding her brothers, caught jam-handed. Mr. Lloyd was sitting beside Harriet, his uneasy look suggesting that either he or his dignity was suffering some discomfort. He attempted to stand as Mimi approached.

“Pray do not rise, sir,” she said, dropping gracefully to a cushion next to him. “Only those who are accustomed to sitting on the floor can manage it without clumsiness. In India, only Europeans use chairs. My grandfather, the Rajah, sits on a large cushion, and even the gods and the Buddha are generally depicted seated in the padmasana.”

The parson's face turned an interesting shade of purple.

“What is padmasana?” asked Harriet quickly.

“Padma is the lotus, and sana simply means position. It's a Yoga posture, sitting cross-legged with each foot resting on the opposite thigh. I could show you if I was wearing a sari.” Mimi tried not to giggle—Harriet was pink-faced now, obviously wishing she hadn't asked. “There's Albert Pell,” she said, to give them both time to recover. “I'll ask him to join us.”

The squire's son was staring longingly at the laden table, not quite ill-mannered enough to follow the Cooper boys' example in starting to eat before everyone was assembled.

“Veal and ham pie,” he greeted Mimi. “Our cook can't make pastry worth a damn.”

“I'll see that there is a pie next time you dine at the Hall,” Mimi promised.

“Rabbit pie's the best. I'll bring you round a brace next time I go shooting.”

“Fish pie is good too,” Mimi said.

Albert guffawed. “First catch your pike, damme. I've brought my rod and Litton says I can have a go at the old devil this afternoon.”

“I wish him luck. Will you come and sit with us, sir?”

But he refused to leave his post by the food, as if he were afraid the veal and ham pie would disappear the moment he turned his back. Mimi needed another gentleman for this phase of her plan, but Mr. Blake had not come and Sir Wilfred was monopolized by a visiting friend of Lady Marbury's. There were one or two other unmarried gentlemen present, sons of acquaintances of Lady Thompson, but she didn't know them well enough to invite them to join her. She returned to Harriet, who had soothed Mr. Lloyd back to his usual pink complexion.

Sitting down again, Mimi listened impatiently for some minutes to a discourse on the superiority of monotheism, addressed to Harriet but directed at her. She was about to ask a question about the Holy Trinity when Simon came up to them.

“Miss Cooper, Miss Lassiter, may I fetch you some luncheon?”

“Thank you, sir.” Harriet smiled up at him. She looked very pretty in a walking dress of blue-sprigged muslin, Mimi thought. “That would be kind in you, especially after Mimi has informed us that anyone not bred to it is bound to be clumsy rising from the ground.”

“I was bred to it,” said Mimi, jumping up. “I prefer to choose my own, thank you, Mr. Hurst.”

“I tried to persuade Aunt Georgina to provide a curry,” he said as they moved to the table, “but she said that her cook is overset if asked to make a French sauce and might drop dead if asked for Indian fare.”

“Oh dear, that would never do.” Mimi chuckled. “Papa decided that after a year of nothing but English food he wants a curry now and then, and our cook has been muttering dire warnings ever since. Sally, can I help you reach something?”

“Yes, please, Miss Mimi,” said the little girl. “I can't pour the lemonade.”

“Thank you, Miss Mimi.” Judith looked flustered. “I said I'd help her when Prue has hers but she won't wait.”

“You have your brothers to watch, too, do you not? I'll give you a hand.”

Everything was working out splendidly. Mr. Hurst, though his manners were less polished than Lord Litton's, was by far too polite to abandon Harriet after filling a plate for her. Mimi went to sit with Judith and the children, helping to cut up ham, spread bread with butter, wipe sticky fingers, and stop Jimmy and Peter throwing apple cores at each other.

When she glanced over at the group she had left, she saw that Harriet and Simon were talking companionably. Much to her surprise, Lord Litton had joined them. As she watched, he picked up Harriet's glass and rose with indubitable grace to go to the table to refill it. Though he had been sitting on the rug, his coat was unwrinkled, his hair smooth. It was unnatural, Mimi felt, knowing the back of her skirt was most certainly creased.

Simon looked round, caught her eye, and smiled. His sandy hair was ruffled and his neckcloth had nearly untied itself. He looked comfortable. She smiled back.

Everyone else finished eating, even Albert Pell. Baird and a couple of footmen, having discreetly left the gentry to enjoy their picnic, had returned to clear up the gentry's mess, but Prudence was still struggling with an apple. She was determined to eat it although she had a wobbly tooth which she was equally determined not to lose just yet. The boys raced off, and Sally was anxious to follow them.

“I'll go with her, Judith,” Mimi offered. “Slice the apple thin, and when Prue has eaten it come after us.”

She took Sally's hand and they set out through the trees. Jim and Peter had found a climbable silver birch and were half way up it.

“I want to climb too,” said Sally.

“You're too little,” shouted Peter.

“I'm only a year younger than you.”

“You're a girl,” Jimmy retorted.

That was enough to decide Mimi in favor of Sally, but she could not allow it without consulting Judith. She looked back the way they had come. Judith and little Prue were quite close already—and not far behind them strolled Harriet, Simon, and Lord Litton.

“Drat!” muttered Mimi. They were bound to ask her to walk with them. She would accept if she thought she could detach the viscount, but she didn't know enough about Indian music to interest him, and he scorned everything else she did. Better that Harriet should have both gentlemen than that Simon's attention should be distracted from her. “Go and ask Judith if you can climb,” she said to Sally.

As the child ran to meet her sister, Mimi slipped away through the trees and hurried down to the mere.

“Miss Lassiter can't have seen us coming,” said Simon. “She's probably gone to look for us—or for you, at least, Miss Cooper. We'd best go after her.”

His words went unheeded. Sally had noted Harriet's approach and wanted Judith overruled.

“She says I mustn't climb with Jimmy and Peter! Pray say I may, Harriet.”

“Oh dear, you had better not, love. If you got stuck, neither Judith nor I might be able to help you.”

“If that is your only concern, Miss Cooper,” Gerald said, “I shall pledge to go to the rescue.”

Harriet beamed at him. “How kind, my lord.”

“But what about Mim... Miss Lassiter?” said Simon to their retreating backs.

Giving up, he went after her himself. When he reached the picnic ground, he found that most members of the party had either gone for a stroll or were in a decidedly somnolent condition. Mimi was nowhere to be seen.

Simon remembered that Albert Pell had intended to fish for the giant pike. Perhaps she had joined him. There he was, on the bridge over the stream, but still no sign of...

What the devil did Miss Lakshmi Lassiter think she was doing all alone in a boat in the middle of the mere?

All alone in a boat in the middle of the mere and bailing desperately with her inadequate little hands.

“Devil take her,” he muttered, sprinting down to the jetty. By the time he reached it he had his coat off—and the boat was visibly sinking beneath her. Dropping his coat, he ran to the end of the jetty and pulled off his boots. When he glanced up again, Mimi was floundering in the water.

He dived in and swam toward her, his heart pounding furiously, threatening to choke him. Surely she couldn't drown in an ornamental lake on a summer's day, within a hundred yards of a picnic party!

Raising his head to check direction and distance, he found himself face-to-face with Mimi.

Intent on her dog paddle, she flashed him a small smile before once more concentrating fiercely on swimming. Amused, angry, admiring, above all relieved, he swam beside her to the jetty.

Reaching up, she started to pull herself out of the water. The thin muslin of her gown clung to her shoulders, her arms, her...

“Stop!” he ordered grimly. Startled, she obeyed. With one heave he hauled himself onto the jetty. On the bank a semicircle of spectators moved closer. In front of them, the colonel and Baird reached the landward end of the jetty. “She's fine, sir,” Simon called. “Baird, her ladyship's shawl.”

The colonel nodded, his thin face losing its anxiety, while the elderly butler hurried off. Simon turned. Mimi was once again attempting to pull herself out.

“Help me!” she demanded, indignant.

“Stay there.”

“But it's cold!”

“I said stay there.” He went to get his coat from the colonel, who had picked it up.

“Need a hand, my boy?”

“No, sir, I'll manage it. I'm wet already.”

“Then I'll see if I can disperse the audience.” They grinned at each other.

Simon went back to Mimi. “Can you hold on with one hand while you slip the other arm into my coat?” he asked.

“It will get wet. Why won't you help me out first?”

“Because everyone is watching, and they will be shocked if you expose yourself to their gaze in your present condition.”

“Oh. All right, I'll try, but I'm cold and I'm getting a bit tired.”

She raised one arm, revealing the curve of her breast clearly outlined by the wet fabric. Simon knelt down, trying to keep his eyes from the lovely sight while inserting her arm into the sleeve of his coat. Both proved difficult.

“My hand is slipping. I can't hold on much longer.”

“This isn't going to work.” He tossed the coat behind him and she gripped the edge of the jetty with her freed hand.

“Simon, I want to get out,” she wailed.