Amanda Quick: Scandal

"We are?"

"Correct me if I am mistaken, Miss Faringdon, but I had the impression we have been corresponding for several months."

She was instantly flustered. "Oh, yes, my lord. We most certainly have. Definitely." Emily's red curls bounced beneath her bonnet as she nodded her head in swift agreement. "I feel I have known you for ages."

"The feeling is mutual."

"The thing is, I never expected to actually meet you in person."

"I see. What do you say to a stroll down by the stream?" Simon dismounted and strode determinedly toward her, leading Lap Seng.

She looked down at him with unconcealed longing. "I should like that very much, my lord, but I fear it would not be quite proper."

"Nonsense. Who will see us? And even if someone did notice us together, he can hardly complain too loudly. After all, we have just been quite properly introduced at a local meeting of the literary society."

Her momentary hesitation vanished immediately. She gave him a glowing smile. "You are quite right, my lord. I must tell you, I can hardly believe we have finally met. It is the culmination of all my hopes."

She started to slide down off the mare and Simon reached up to assist her. This time she did not lose her balance and tumble into his arms. He realized he was a little disappointed. A part of him wanted to feel that soft, lithe, feminine body against his own hard one again.

"I am sorry for catching you unawares this afternoon," he said as he led the horses into the trees. "I had hoped to surprise you. I know how you like surprises."

"That was very thoughtful of you," she assured him. "I do like surprises." She paused. "Most of the time."

He smiled wryly. "But not always."

"It is just that I would have liked very much to have been looking my best when we met," she admitted. "You cannot imagine how I have been agonizing over this event since I got your letter this morning. I assumed I would have weeks to prepare. Not that it would have made all that much difference, I suppose."

He looked down at her and realized she only came to his shoulder. She was small but there was an entrancing, airy grace about her movements. "You must allow me to tell you that you are in excellent looks, Miss Faringdon. Indeed, I was charmed the moment I saw you."

"You were?" She wrinkled her nose, clearly amazed by this pronouncement.

"Absolutely."

Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. "Thank you, my lord. I assure you I was equally charmed. By you, I mean."

This, thought Simon, was going to be almost too easy.

"But I would not have willingly upset you or the ladies of the literary society. You must forgive me."

"Yes, well, you see, we had not actually planned to discuss poetry or the latest reviews today," Emily explained as she stepped lightly along beside him.

"What were you intending to discuss?"

"Investments." She gave a vague little wave of dismissal.

He glanced shrewdly at her. "Investments?"

"Yes. I realize that must strike you as terribly dull." She looked up at him anxiously. "I assure you that today was rather unusual. I had some excellent news to report in regard to the investments I have made on my friends' behalf. They are all most concerned with their pensions, you see. One can hardly blame them."

"You are seeing to their future pensions?"

"I have some ability in financial matters, so I do what I can. The ladies you met today have all been very kind to me. This is the least I can do to repay them." She gave him a reassuring smile. "But I promise you that normally we devote ourselves to a lively discussion of the latest books and poetry. Why, just last week we were involved in the most intense analysis of Miss Austen's book, Pride and Prejudice . I was going to write you a letter on the subject."

"What did you think of the novel?"

"Well, it is all very pleasant in its way, I suppose. That is to say, Miss Austen is certainly a very fine writer. Wonderful gift for illuminating certain types of character, but…"

"But?" He was curious in spite of himself.

"The thing is, her subject matter is so very commonplace, don't you agree? She writes of such ordinary people and events."

"Miss Austen is not Byron, I'll grant you that."

"That is certainly true," Emily agreed in a rush of enthusiasm. "Her books are quite entertaining, but they lack the exciting, exotic qualities of Lord Byron's works, not to mention the spirit of adventure and the excess of passion. The literary society just finished The Giaour ."

"And enjoyed it, I take it?"

"Oh, yes. Such marvelous atmosphere, such remarkable adventures, such a thrilling sense of the darker passions. I adored it fully as much as Childe Harold. I cannot wait for Byron's next work."

"You and most of London."

"Tell me, sir, have you heard precisely how the G in Giaour is to be sounded? Hard or soft? We spent a great deal of time discussing the matter last Thursday and none of us could be certain, although Miss Bracegirdle, who has an excellent command of ancient history, believes it should be soft."

"It is a topic which has not yet been resolved, to my knowledge," Simon hedged. He had not yet had a chance to read the poem and had no plans to do so. He had only dipped into romantic literature and poetry long enough to bait his trap. Now that the trap was about to close, he did not care if he ever read another epic poem of passion and adventure. He had far better things to do with his time.

"Not that it matters greatly, I suppose," Emily assured him tactfully. "About the G , I mean."

Simon shrugged. "I imagine it does to Byron." They had reached the stream and were now safely out of sight of the lane. He turned automatically and began to head to the right, moving upstream.

Emily lifted the skirts of her faded riding habit with an artless grace that somehow imbued the aging costume with more style than it actually had. She glanced around curiously at the landscape. "Excuse me, my lord, but you appear to know where you are going. Do you remember this path from when you lived in the neighborhood as a child?"

Simon slid her a sidelong glance. Of course, she had been bound to learn that bit of information fairly quickly. "How did you know my family had a home here?"

"Lavinia Inglebright mentioned it."

"It has been a long time since I lived in this neighborhood," Simon said cautiously.

"Still, it is the most amazing coincidence, is it not? Just imagine, my lord, you began corresponding with me initially because you discovered quite by accident that I shared your great interest in romantic literature. And then we learn that you used to live near Little Dippington as a child. And now we have met. Most incredible."

"Life is full of strange coincidences."

"I prefer to think of it as fate. Do you know, I can just see you as a small boy running down here near this stream, perhaps with a dog. Did you have a dog, sir?"

"I believe I did."

Emily nodded. "I thought so. I myself come here frequently. Do you recall my poem entitled Verses on a Summer Day Beside a Pond ?

"Quite clearly."

"I wrote them as I sat beside that little pond up ahead," she told him proudly. "Perhaps you recall a line or two?"

Simon took one look at the hopeful expression in her green eyes and found himself desperately wracking his brain to recall a few words of the sweet but otherwise forgettable poem she had carefully set down in one of her recent letters. He was vastly relieved when his excellent memory came to his aid. He made a stab at the first two lines.

"You remembered." Emily looked as thrilled as if he had just given her a fortune in gems. Then she blushed and added in a confiding tone, "I realize I ought to rework parts of it. I do not precisely care for the way 'dream here' rhymes with 'glitter.' Twitter or flitter would be better, don't you think?"