Mary Balogh: Simply Magic

Lord help him.

But she was more gloriously lovely than almost any other woman he had set eyes upon-and the word almost might even be withdrawn from that thought without any great exaggeration resulting. He had often thought fate was something of a joker, and now he was convinced of it. But the apparently huge contrast between her looks and her character and circumstances had him more fascinated than he could remember being with any other woman for a long time-perhaps ever.

“The implication being that idleness suits me very well indeed?” He laughed. “Miss Osbourne, you speak softly but with a barbed tongue. I daresay your pupils fear it.”

She was not entirely wrong, though, was she? His life was idle-or had been for all of five years anyway. It was true that he intended to reform his ways and put idleness behind him in the very near future, but he had not really done so yet, had he? Thinking and planning were one thing; doing was another.

Yes, as he was now, today, Miss Osbourne was quite right about him. He had no defense to offer.

He wondered what it must be like to have to work for a living.

“I spoke of myself, sir-my lord,” she said, “in answer to your question. I made no implication about you.”

She had small, dainty feet, he could see-which was just as well considering her small stature. He had noticed during tea that her hands were small and delicate.

Miss Susanna Osbourne disapproved of him-probably disliked him too. In her world people worked. What had it been like, he wondered, to be a charity girl at the school where she now taught?

“Do you like teaching?” he asked.

“Very much,” she said. “It is what I would choose to do with my life even if I had myriad choices.”

“Indeed?” He wondered if she spoke the truth or only said what she had convinced herself was the truth. “You would choose teaching even above marriage and motherhood?”

There was a rather lengthy silence before she replied, and he regretted the question. It was unmannerly and might have touched her on the raw. But there was no recalling it.

“I suppose that even if I could imagine myriad choices,” she said, “they would still have to be within the realm of the realistic.”

Good Lord!

“And marriage would not fit within such a realm?” he asked, surprised.

He did not realize until he found himself gazing at the tender flesh at the arch of her neck that she had dipped her head so far downward that she must have been able to see nothing more than her own feet. He had embarrassed her, dash it all. He was not usually so insensitive.

“No,” she said. “It would not.”

And of course he might have known it if he had stopped to consider. How often did one hear of a governess marrying? Yet a schoolteacher must have even fewer opportunities to meet eligible men. He wondered suddenly how the countess had met Edgecombe. He had not even known before today that she had been a schoolteacher at the time. There must be an interesting story behind that courtship.

In his world women had nothing to hope for or think about but marriage. His sisters had not considered their lives complete until they had all followed one another to the altar with eligible mates in order from the eldest to the youngest, at gratifyingly young ages-gratifying to them and even more so to his mother.

“Well,” he said, “one never knows what the future holds, does one? But you must tell me sometime what it is about teaching that you enjoy so much. Not today, though-I see we are approaching Barclay Court. We will talk more when we meet again during the next two weeks.”

She stole another quick glance at him and he laughed.

“I can see the wheels of your mind turning upon the hope that such a fate can be avoided,” he said. “I assure you it cannot. Neighbors in the country invariably live in one another’s pockets. How else are they to avoid expiring of boredom? And I am to be at Hareford House for the next two weeks just as you are to be at Barclay Court. I am glad now that I decided not to return to my own home tomorrow as I had originally planned.”

He spoke the truth and was surprised by it. Why on earth would he wish to extend an acquaintance with a woman from an alien world who disliked and disapproved of him? Just because she was dazzlingly beautiful? Or because he could not resist the unusual challenge of coaxing a smile and a kind word from her? Or because with her there might be a chance of actually conversing sensibly-about her life as a teacher? His conversation-and his life-had been far too trivial for far too long.

“I daresay,” she said, “you will be busy with Miss Raycroft and the Misses Calvert.”

“But of course.” He chuckled. “They are delightful young ladies, and who can resist cultivating delight?”

“I do not believe,” she said, “you expect me to answer that.”

“Indeed not,” he agreed. “It was a rhetorical question. But I will not be busy with them all the time, Miss Osbourne. Someone might misconstrue my interest in them if I were. Besides, with them I have felt no moment of magic.”

He smiled down at her bonnet.

“I would ask you,” she said as their feet crunched over the gravel of the terrace before the house, her voice as cold as the Arctic ice, “not to speak to me with such levity, my lord. I do not know how to respond. And moreover I do not wish to respond. I do not wish to have you single me out on any future occasion. I wish you would not.”

Dash it all. Had he offended her more than he realized?

“Am I to look your way whenever we are in company together during the coming weeks, then, and pretend that I see only empty air?” he asked her. “I fear Edgecombe and his lady would consider me unpardonably ill-mannered. I shall bow to you each time instead and remark upon the fineness or inclemency of the weather-without drawing any comparisons with your person. Shall I? Will you tolerate that much attention from me?”

She hesitated.

“Yes,” she said, ending their conversation as monosyllabically as she had begun it.

Edgecombe must have observed their approach and was coming out through the front doors and down the horseshoe steps to greet them, a smile of welcome on his face.

“You did persuade him to come, then, Frances,” he said, setting one hand at the small of the countess’s back and smiling briefly and warmly down at her. “Raycroft-good to see you again. And Whitleaf is staying with you? This is a pleasure. Do come inside. Did you enjoy the walk, Susanna? And did you find Mrs. and Miss Raycroft at home?”

He smiled kindly at the schoolteacher and offered her his arm, which she took without hesitation.

“We met Miss Raycroft at the fork in the road,” she said. “She was out walking with her brother and the Calvert sisters. We walked back to the village together and then on to Hareford House, where we took tea with Mrs. Raycroft. It was indeed a pleasant outing. There can be nowhere lovelier than the Somerset countryside.”

Her voice was light and happy. Peter smiled ruefully to himself as he followed them up the steps and into the house, the countess between him and Raycroft.

By the time he stepped over the threshold, Miss Osbourne was already moving off in the direction of the staircase without a backward glance.

“You will wish to entertain Mr. Raycroft and Lord Whitleaf in the library, Lucius,” the countess said. “We will not disturb you.”

“Thank you,” he said, setting a hand at her back again. “The vicar called. I daresay by now you know all about the village assembly the week after next?”

“Of course,” she said.

“I said we would attend,” he told her, “on condition that there be at least one waltz. The vicar has promised to see to it.”