Susan Johnson - Again and Again

Pushing his plate away, Simon leaned back in his chair and surveyed his hosts with a faint smile. “I forget what contentment is until I come to Netherton.” He half lifted his hand. “Thank you for reminding me there’s a better life somewhere.”

“You’re always welcome, Simon,” Jane pleasantly noted. “You needn’t wait for an invitation.”

“When the lure of the bright lights wane…” Ian intoned facetiously.

Simon shrugged. “I seem to be reaching that stage with greater frequency of late.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” Ian waggishly reminded him.

Simon’s dark brows rose. “Meaning?”

“Marriage, of course. You might find you like it.”

Simon smiled. “Jane’s already taken.”

“You’ll always have an excuse, won’t you?” Her expression was sportive.

“Probably.” Simon’s gaze turned introspective for a moment, then he grimaced. “In any event, the young ladies on the marriage mart are all insipid. I’d be bored in a week.”

“That long?” Ian drawled.

“I was being polite. I can scarce stand to talk to them.”

Jane cast him an assessing glance. “What you need is a woman with backbone who can stand up to you.”

“Maybe I do…” But she’d run away.

“You need a challenge.”

He was hard-pressed to beat back the lust that spiked through his senses at the thought of Caroline’s irrepressible ardor; that was challenge… just keeping up. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he said half to himself.

“Simon has recently misplaced a woman who appealed to him,” Ian explained, correctly interpreting Simon’s murmur.

Jane’s eyes widened. “Misplaced?”

“She ran away.”

Astonished, Jane was hard-pressed to restrain a gasp. “She ran away from you?”

Simon smiled faintly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Long-delayed justice, perhaps.”

“Don’t tease, darling. Simon’s heart and/or ego has been bruised.”

Jane tipped her head, her gaze searching. “Which is it, Simon?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said, softly. “She’s gone.”

“Who’s for another drink?” Ian interposed, recognizing his friend’s discomfort, turning a warning glance on his wife. “I for one, am.”

And the conversation turned to less emotion-wrought topics.

Despite overcast skies, Simon and the Carlisles left early the next morning for the hunting field. A great deal of the snow from the recent storm had melted with the rising temperatures and now a hint of rain was in the air. They tramped the countryside with the dogs and gamekeepers all morning, bagging a brace of grouse and one small roebuck for their efforts. At noon, servants met them in the field with baskets of food for lunch and as the sun conveniently came out from behind the clouds, they dined al fresco on a rise overlooking the valley.

The morning hunt had been invigorating, the brisk air and physical activity uplifting to mind and spirit. Simon felt refreshed and restored and he said as much to his hosts as they drank a fine claret and decided on the direction of their afternoon hunt.

“You should think about buying a hunting lodge in the neighborhood,” Jane suggested. ‘Then you could escape the city whenever you wished.“

Simon’s estates were close to London, occasionally much too close when unwanted guests appeared on his doorstep. “The distance from London is a distinct asset,” he murmured.

Ian offered him a look of understanding. “You wouldn’t be bothered so often by Give and Bertie.”

That in itself would be reason to buy. Did I tell you they came with a carriage full of-er… shall we say actresses when my sister was visiting last summer?“

“At least Adele is understanding about your bachelor ways.” Simon’s sister and Jane were friends.

“She wasn’t, however, overly pleased. It was two in the morning and they woke her children.”

“You might like to look at Kettleston Hall.” Jane waved her hand westward. The viscount is rumored to be selling now that his father is dead. It’s his one property not entailed and he has gambling debts.“

“Perhaps some other time.” Simon leaned back on his hands. “I’m in the mood to do absolutely nothing at the moment.”

“Would you prefer we go back to the house?”

“I didn’t mean hunting. I just meant in terms of my life.”

Jane shot him a critical glance. “You’ve been doing nothing in terms of your life for a very long time.”

“Don’t begin, Jane,” her husband warned. He smiled at Simon. “Every woman feels the need to match make and interfere.”

Simon winked at his hostess. “Match make all you want, Jane. I’m immune.”

At dusk they returned to the castle, pleasantly weary after a day of tramping over hill and dale.

“I’d say a whiskey’s in order,” Ian declared. “My study is outside Jane’s housekeeping purview,” he added, “so we may track in mud to our heart’s content.”

Turning back from ordering tea from Thornton, Jane smiled. “I allow him some small freedoms.”

“Including a good supply of whiskey from the local stills,” Ian declared. “You’ll enjoy McDougal’s, Simon. He swears by the springs up near Doon.”

Very soon, the men and Jane were enjoying McDougal’s whiskey, the warm glow of the fire, and a well-earned rest after a long day out on the moors. Simon was sprawled in a large wingback chair, his long legs stretched out before him, his whiskey glass resting on his chest. Ian and Jane were seated side by side on a settee, Ian’s arms around his wife’s shoulder, both their booted feet resting on a worn leather hassock.

“I hope the children are coming down,” Simon said, thinking Ian a very lucky fellow to have found someone as restful and genial as Jane. “I haven’t seen them since spring.”

“They should be here soon.” Jane looked up at her husband from under the curve of his arm. “Tell Simon how much Hugh has grown this summer. Was it four or five inches?”

“Five,” Ian said. “And Joanna still wants to marry you, Simon, when she grows up,” he added with a grin. “She much admires the consequence of dukes.”

Raising his glass to his mouth, Simon smiled. ‘There’s reason to wait then.“

“As if you need added reason to wait,” Jane murmured, “when you’ve already waited… Ah, the children are here. Darlings, come in and make your bows.”

Simon’s whiskey sloshed over the rim of his glass as he turned to the door and Caroline gasped as a slender, young boy with tousled, strawberry blond hair, shouted, “Simon!” and ran forward.

The earl and countess exchanged glances.

“You know each other?” Jane inquired, surveying her red-faced governess, then Simon who looked pale beneath his tan.

“I met Lord Blair years ago,” Caroline quickly replied, terrified Simon might say something outrageous. “We-ah… lived in the same parish.”

Brushing the wetness from his wool shirt, Simon sat up and set his glass aside. “I knew Lady Caroline’s father, the Earl of Doulton.”

“An earl?” Jane’s feet dropped to the floor, her eyes wide.

“If you’ll please excuse me,” Caroline whispered, her face bright pink. “I’ll return for the children when you call.”

“No, stay!” Joanna tugged on Caroline’s hand. “Come have cakes with me!”

“Some other time, darling.” Caroline tried frantically to disengage herself from the little girl’s grasp.

Joanna’s grip tightened, her mouth turned down in a pout. “But I want you to make those fairy towers with the cakes and tell me the story about the princess who looks just like me!”

“She thinks she’s a princess,” her brother scoffed, glancing at his mother who was still looking stunned.