Chapter 21
They returned for a late nuncheon with a great deal to tell.
The china was unpacked and admired, declared to be exactly the thing, and the arrival of the new furniture looked forward to with eager anticipation.
Nobody but Miss Macintyre and Cecilia had seen the wonderful green sofas, and so her sisters did not mourn their loss, only wondered at the exaggerated price they’d gone for.
The news of the proposed picnic was greeted with general approval, despite their duenna’s warning about Lord Pallant’s insinuating ways; Bianca spoke for all of them when she said with solid common sense that agreeing to go out for an afternoon in mixed company did not approach anywhere close to compromising oneself, nor did it constitute a commitment to anything save eating a few sandwiches and drinking warm lemonade while fanning away wasps.
It was perfectly true that Miss Macintyre had quite noticeably been excluded from the invitation, and indeed the proposed site of the expedition, at the top of the only hill for miles around, might well have been chosen deliberately as one unlikely to appeal to an elderly lady of sedentary habits.
But even she agreed that there could be no actual danger in accepting, always supposing that they stayed together and thwarted any ingenious efforts by their hosts to separate them.
When Cecilia mentioned that Miss Pallant might call soon to arrange a date that suited everyone, Beatrice revealed quite casually that she had encountered her this morning on the sands, but had only spoken to her very briefly.
Bianca said that she had strolled on the beach and in the wood and done a little sketching there, for her part, but had met nobody at all.
They did not expect any visitors that afternoon, since Mrs Bartrum and Mrs Drinkwater had called only a day or two ago, and Lady Synett, whom they had not yet met but heard a good deal about, much of it alarming, was known still to be in Town.
Cecilia and Bianca said they’d go out walking again, perhaps into the village, and Bea volunteered to stay near the house in case Miss Pallant did appear, though she agreed that it was probably too soon to expect her.
Miss Macintyre disagreed, opining cynically that she wouldn’t have been terribly surprised to find that young lady on the doorstep when they’d arrived home, so very eager were her brothers to see their newest neighbours again, but she headed off for her nap without any further comment.
The afternoon was warm, and Bea took a book outside, seating herself in the dappled shade of the mighty oak tree at the edge of the lawn, on a large, faded cushion she’d found in one of the cupboards.
It was a spring day that could almost have been summer, and it was quite natural, she told herself, to enjoy the fine weather like this while it lasted.
There was no need to take notice of the undeniable fact that if Miss Pallant came across the beach, ahead of the incoming tide, she would be bound to climb the steps and pass this way, encountering her hostess without ever having to enter the house or be announced by one of the maids.
Bea had only been reading for half an hour or so, with no very great attention to the pages she was turning, when some instinct made her look up.
Vivienne was standing at the top of the steps, looking across at her, flushed and lovely in white muslin and a blue spencer; she’d changed her clothes since the morning.
Miss Constantine did not rise, and her visitor took this as invitation to cross to her side.
‘How comfortable you look,’ she said. ‘I fear I will stain my dress if I sit on the grass, though, and it is my best and newest muslin. Is there room on your cushion, do you think?’
There really wasn’t. ‘Of course,’ Bea said, shifting aside a little. A very little.
Vivienne joined her, sinking down with exquisite grace.
Their legs were pressed together from knee to hip, and they were shoulder to shoulder.
Miss Pallant rather daringly slipped her arm about Bea’s waist, so that they sat breast to breast, and they both leaned back against the tree trunk.
‘This is delightfully comfortable,’ she breathed languidly. She smelled of roses and warm skin.
‘In some respects, it is,’ responded Beatrice. Her voice had a touch of growl in it, she noticed. An edge. Good.
‘You’ve heard about the picnic that my brother Oliver has suggested?
’ Vivienne’s hand was lying quite lightly on Bea’s thigh, and no doubt to an observer, they would have presented a charming picture of two friends in innocent conversation, perhaps sharing girlish confidences, as men thought young women did.
One would have had to be quite close and quite observant to see that her fingers had begun moving, delicately but with purpose, lifting the grey muslin of Bea’s gown and sliding it over the heavier petticoat fabric beneath, teasing at the sensitive skin that lay below.
Bea pushed off her slipper and adjusted her position a little so that her toes could reach the hem of Vivienne’s gown and raise it a fraction, and slip underneath to caress her ankle and calf.
But neither of them referred to what they were doing, by word or glance.
‘A picnic will be delightful, if the weather permits it,’ Bea said. ‘Tell me when you think it best to go; I am sure we cannot possibly have any other engagements, and no doubt Mrs Pritty will provide a feast enough for a dozen people.’
‘That’s excellent news, for my brother Sebastian always eats like a boy who hasn’t seen food in weeks, and I too have a very healthy appetite.’ Vivienne’s hand had crept up, across her belly, and was lightly stroking the underside of Bea’s breast now. ‘Oliver proposes next Monday.’
‘Very well. I can see no objection at all. Thank you.’
They sat together for a while in charged silence.
Beatrice turned sideways slightly to face her companion, and in such a position, it was quite natural for her hand to rest, equally lightly, on the white muslin of Vivienne’s thigh.
‘Would you like to be shown around the house?’ she asked.
Her voice sounded a trifle odd in her own ears, but Miss Pallant seemed to notice nothing amiss.
Bea was quite aware, for she’d been told so only a day or two ago and she had an excellent memory, that her guest had been to Albery Hall several times before, when Aunt Augusta was alive.
But neither of them mentioned that fact now.
‘Though I should warn you, we should be quiet, out of consideration for Miss Macintyre, who is resting in her chamber.’
‘I can be quiet as a mouse, if necessary,’ Vivienne said, her cheek dimpling charmingly. ‘Let us go.’