Chapter 17
Over the last days of the house party, Victor could not wait to get her alone at every possible opportunity.
Now that her friends had arrived, it was incredibly difficult to do so, but she had blossomed in a way that made every moment that he spent with her a joy.
She seemed assured, fine now, no longer separate from society. She came down to tea and to sandwiches.
She played cards. She even played parlor games. She listened to the piano when it was played, and she applauded. She and her friends sat in the corner of the long hall drawing, reading, and chatting.
Her aunt and her cousin seemed positively thrilled by the change in her.
So did the Duke of Rivers, which astonished him.
He still wasn’t entirely certain what had so thoroughly motivated Rivers to help her, but he loved the fact that Rivers was such a good man, that he wished to see Ernestine thriving so well, especially after what happened with Allworthy.
Allworthy had never turned up. He knew for a fact the man had been invited. The Duke of Rivers had warned him, but it seemed the son of a duke knew his limitations.
He was rather glad, though there were moments when he wished he could punch the fellow anew.
But he loved seeing Ernestine so at ease, so happy. It lifted his spirits, and all he wanted to do was pick her up and twirl her about the room.
Her cheeks were pink now. Her eyes danced, and when he pulled her into shadowy corridors and corners and closets and music rooms, she never protested. Their kisses lit the world on fire. Their touches were as fiery as the firmament.
Their bodies moved with greater beauty than any symphony.
It was as if she could not get enough of him, and he could not get enough of her, because both of them felt the delicious danger of it. The fact that she wasn’t going to stay somehow made it all so much headier.
Or at least, that was what she said.
A part of him, a deep part of him that was certain he could convince her to marry him, believed that he could make her stay.
But another part loved the fact that this felt so tremulous, so uncertain.
And as he led her down to the shore of the lake, her friends in tow, he couldn’t wait to take her out in the little boat and row across the still water.
There was a beautiful spot where the willow trees swept over the lake and there he was going to kiss her, seduce her, make her his.
And she, no doubt, would enjoy the romanticism of it.
When he looked back at her, he paused.
She stood at the edge of the lake, looking at the small boat, then looking out, hesitating.
“Come,” he urged, holding his hand out to her.
She bit her lower lip and looked back.
Her friends were giving her the strangest of looks.
“Miss Foxley?” he asked, suddenly startled. “Have I done something amiss?”
“No, not a bit of it,” she said with false cheer, clutching her bonnet to her head as a gentle breeze whipped at it.
And she thrust her hand into his as she sucked in a steadying breath.
“Ernestine,” Miss Juliet said. “Are you certain?”
“Of course I am,” she said. “One mustn’t be afraid of a silly little boat. Must one?”
“But Ernestine…” Miss Clementine began.
“Think nothing of it,” Ernestine declared, her lips parting in a smile.
He frowned. “Am I missing something?” he asked.
Her friends looked on the verge of blurting something out, but Ernestine lifted her hand.
“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “I’m glad you don’t even know what it is. Too many people do. And that is always absolutely the worst,” she said. “Promise me you will pry no further. It is time I did this. My dear maid, Nancy, would approve.”
He blinked. A strange sense of unease raced through him. Perhaps he should not take her, but now she seemed determined and gave him a bright smile.
If he suddenly refused, he had a strong feeling she would be most irked, and it would lead to more difficulty.
So, instead of arguing, he helped her into the boat and sat her down carefully.
“Have you got your parasol ready?” he teased. “I would hate to have you sunburned.”
She waved at her friends who stood quietly, whipped it open, and twirled it. “Of course I have. Now don’t make me use it upon you. Row us out posthaste.”
He gave a nod of his head to her friends who were standing together, trying to look supportive, waving and smiling.
He began rowing steadily. He had strong arms and he was quite used to this, so he quickly had them away from shore and nearly to the halfway point of the lake.
He’d kept his focus on her, enjoying the way she smiled, lifting her face to the sun.
He didn’t miss that she was gripping the parasol tightly or that she was sitting very straight. But whatever it was, he would do as she commanded.
Something caught his gaze and he glanced back to shore, only to spot the Duke of Rivers running down the green towards the edge of the lake.
The duke stopped amidst the gaggle of females there.
Victor couldn’t make out his expression, but he was going to take very good care of the duke’s guest. Nothing would harm her as long as she was in his keeping.
“You look perfect there,” he said. “I wish I was a painter. I would paint your likeness into a locket and carry it with me forever.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she teased. “You are an earl. You are not a painter.”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “It is true. Us poor earls are never allowed to be the things that others are.”
She shook her head. “I will not pity you, sir.”
“Good, because I hate pity too.” He rowed anew.
“And you do not get callouses?” she asked, noticing that he was wearing no gloves.
“I, callouses?” he asked with feigned indignation. “I have been rowing since I was a boy. I’ve been on many a team. I could row the length of the Thames.”
She waggled her brows. “That sounds like a boast.”
“It is a merely a statement of fact,” he said.
“Well, I do think that your shoulders are clearly meant for it,” she said.
“Do you?” he drawled, loving that she could see his strength.
He rowed farther and farther, enjoying the fact that they were at last alone, away from all the company. He knew he was taking a bit of a risk, rowing her out to the trees, but he didn’t care.
Everything with her felt like a risk, as if at any moment it might all be taken away. But that also made it somehow sweeter.
“Are you certain I can’t convince you to stay?” he asked softly.
She cocked her head to the side and adjusted her skirts. “Are you really going to talk about that right now?”
“Well, I just wanted to know if I was having an effect upon you,” he said.
“You mean if you were wearing my resolve down?” she asked.
“That makes it sound so very terrible.”
“It is terrible,” she said. “When gentlemen keep insisting, and ladies only give in to make them stop.”
He frowned. “Yes, that is rather terrible, and I won’t be found guilty of that. So I’ll stop asking. Forgive me.”
She winced.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The clouds,” she said, lifting her gaze. “They’re coming in rather fast.”
And she wasn’t wrong.
It had been quite hot yesterday. Which was why he’d thought a spot of time on the lake would be just the thing. But sometimes at this time of year, a sudden and rough storm could follow a hot day.
His gut tightened as he studied the black, low clouds rolling in over them.
“Damn it to hell,” he gritted. “It looks like it’s going to rain. A great deal. I’ve got quite a good nose for the weather,” he said.
“Have you?” she tried to tease, even as her eyes widened. “We should put you out and you can cry every afternoon if it’s going to rain or not.”
“This is England,” he said with forced cheer. “I’d be out there almost every moment of every day of the entire year.”
“But it had looked so promising,” she whispered softly as she grabbed the edge of the boat.
“Yes,” he said grimly, focusing now on rowing hard to the nearest shore. “It did.”
And that was when he noticed that her face had gone a shocking shade of white underneath her bonnet. And her hands were rigid as she gripped the boat and her parasol.
And he tensed, dread racing through him. “What didn’t you tell me, Ernestine?” he asked softly.
“Nothing,” she said tightly.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” he said, “but I can see that you’re in distress.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, it began to rain. Not a soft, gentle rain, but the kind of rain that the gods of old sent in the stories meant to punish mere mortals.
The clouds opened up and a sheet of cold hard water that had come in off the Irish Sea poured down upon them.
He ground his teeth together. He never would have brought her out here if the weather had seemed so terrible. This couldn’t have been predicted though.
This was the sort of storm that came every few years, out of nowhere, and brought devastation and floods.
When he looked at her through the falling rain, he expected to see resolve. She was no coward. She was a strong woman. But instead? Instead, oh dear God, he saw terror.
And Victor knew that he had made a significant mistake.