“Go away,” she said ungraciously when she saw him coming.
The Bedwyns rarely did as they were bidden. He moved closer and sat beside her.
“Well?” he asked.
“Bloody hell and a thousand damnations,” she said, quiet venom in her voice. “No, make it a million.”
He clucked his tongue but attempted no other admonition. Years ago none of a long string of governesses had ever been able to impress upon their headstrong pupil the reality of the fact that she was a lady and must learn to conduct herself accordingly. Her brothers had never made much effort to reinforce what the governesses had tried to teach.
“I want to go home,” she said. “I want to raid Wulf’s wine cellar. I want to get foxed. Blind drunk. With you. You can drink with me.”
“That is very generous of you, Free,” he said. “It is very tempting too after what you have just put me through—I like the woman, damn it. But Wulf and Alleyne would not appreciate being stranded here without the carriage. And it would offend my sensibilities to haul up the best liquor with the sole purpose of drinking ourselves three sheets to the wind with it. Inferior liquor would serve the same purpose but Wulf does not keep any.”
“Wulf be damned,” she said.
Her brother raised his eyebrows. “Drinking like a fish is no cure for what ails you, you know,” he said. “All you will get out of it is a crashing headache and a fervent wish that you were dead.”
“When I need your advice,” she said with woeful lack of originality, “I will ask for it.”
“Quite so.” He shrugged. “It was foolish to fall in love three years ago and never fall out again, you know.”
He saw it coming despite the darkness. But he thought it might do her more good than drinking herself under the nearest table. She clenched her right hand into a tight fist, drew back her arm, and punched him hard on the chin. His head snapped back, but he was not swayed from his comfortable posture on the seat.
“Ouch!” he said quietly after a few moments. “If you really insist upon getting foxed, Free, we will steal two horses from the stables here and be on our way. Or we could go back inside and dance. You could show everyone what you are made of. Show that you don’t care a fig for Kit or any other mortal so far beneath the notice of Lady Freyja Bedwyn.”
“I don’t care for him,” she said, getting to her feet. “I hate him if you want to know the truth, Ralf. And as for that mealymouthed lady he has brought home with him, well—I would have to say he richly deserves her. And that is all I have to say. Are you coming or are you not?”
“I’m coming.” He got to his feet and grinned down at her. “That’s the girl, Free. Up with the chin. The Bedwyn nose can be a priceless asset on occasions like this, can it not?”
Freyja looked at him along the length of hers as if he were a worm beneath her dancing slipper.
Country balls, even when they were of the elaborate nature of the one at Alvesley, did not continue until dawn as the most memorable of London balls did. Supper was served at eleven and was followed by the first and only waltz of the evening for the relatively few couples bold and skilled enough to dance it. After that the dancing continued, but the guests began gradually to drift away. And the Dowager Countess of Redfield retired to bed.
Kit and Lauren took her up to her room. They had just waltzed together, and Kit had been powerfully reminded of their first waltz, when he had been struck by her beauty, daunted by her apparently cold dignity, and challenged to try to shock her out of her complacency.
His grandmother was tired. There was none of her fierce independence tonight. Instead of clutching her cane with her good hand, she had one arm linked through Lauren’s and the other through his, and she was leaning heavily. But Kit knew it had been an extraordinarily happy day for her.
“Good . . . night.” She relinquished Lauren’s arm when Kit had opened her dressing room door and her dresser had come hurrying to assist her. “P . . . recious boy.”
“Good night, Grandmama.” He hugged her gently as she kissed his cheek.
“Good night.” She turned to kiss Lauren, who leaned down to hug her too. “Sweet . . . child.”
“Good night, ma’am. Happy birthday.” There were tears in Lauren’s eyes when she took Kit’s arm again.
“We have just danced together,” he said as they made their way back downstairs. “If we return to the ballroom, we will have to take other partners.”
“So we will,” she said. “It is the polite thing to do.”
“Would it be impolite to walk outside together?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “Everyone has a partner for this set anyway.”
There were still a few other people outside, mostly the young cousins, who were chattering and laughing together in a group. Kit led Lauren past them, exchanging cheerful greetings as they went. They strolled without talking through the parterres and across the lawn below until they came to the little wooden bridge across the stream. They stopped there by unspoken assent and rested their arms along the wooden rail. There was the sound of water bubbling below, though it was invisible in the darkness cast by the trees. In contrast, the lawn and flower beds and house were bathed in moonlight.
Kit sighed. “A long day almost over.”
“But a wonderful day,” she said. “It has been perfect, has it not? Perfect for your grandmother and perfect for everyone else too.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
He could hear distant laughter from the direction of the house. And the faint sound of music. It was good to be alone with Lauren. She was a restful companion. He had not realized until recently how important a component of friendship the ability to be quiet together was. And to feel as comfortable as one felt when alone. No, more comfortable.
“Kit,” she said softly, “we did the right thing, did we not?”
He understood the question immediately.
“If you had come here alone,” she said, “you would be feeling now that you had been forced into a betrothal without any freedom of choice. You might always have resented it, and your family would have sensed it even if you had not put it into words. There would be awkwardness and friction and hostility whereas now there are peace and love and harmony. It was not wrong, was it?”
“It was not wrong,” he said, finding her hand with his own on the rail and covering it.
“After it is all over,” she said, “the harmony will remain here, and you will be free to choose your own future.”
“From tomorrow on,” he said, “I am going to be free to woo you more aggressively. I am going to do it. Be warned. I am going to convince you that the best ending for what had been started here is going to be our wedding. Happily ever after and all that.”
“Kit,” she said after a short pause, “I am going to be leaving with Aunt Clara and Gwen tomorrow.”
“No!” His fingers closed tightly about hers. Panic gripped his insides.
“It will be the best possible solution. You will surely agree when you think about it,” she said. “They are from my own home. They accompanied me here as my chaperones. They are eager to return home because Elizabeth is coming with the new baby. It will be the most natural thing in the world for me to leave with them. And your mother and Aunt Clara between them have assumed that our wedding will take place at Newbury. It will seem, then, that I am going in order to start the preparations. No awkward explanations will need to be made. By the time I write to put an end to our betrothal, your family guests will all have returned home and you will be able to break the news quietly to the earl and countess. And to your grandmother and Sydnam.”
Her voice was quiet and sensible. There was no trace of regret there, of pain, of any emotion whatsoever.