Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  ~*~

  “Have you been introduced to Miss Foster? I have not seen you dance with her yet,” the Dowager Countess Rutherford enquired nosily from the side of the ballroom.

  “Mother, you already know the answer to that.”

  “The Duke of Waverly has his sights set on her.”

  As if that would tempt him. His mother indicated a beauty in the arms of the Duke looking frigid and smiling insipidly. She was ethereal, but he found himself unmoved by beauty any longer. Unless it were a work of art, natural or otherwise.

  “Then let him have her. I want nothing to do with anyone of beauty—this time.”

  “Geoffrey, that is unfair, to judge someone by looks alone,” she chastised.

  “No, Mother. Find me someone from there.” He indicated the row of chairs along the wall where the spinsters sat trying to fade into the wallpaper.

  She ignored him. “I already promised Miss Foster's mother that I would introduce you, and that you would take her into supper.”

  “Mother!” his voice warned.

  She was unperturbed. “I also hinted that you would like to take her for a drive in the park tomorrow.”

  “That is enough! I want nothing to do with any of your diamonds again. You promised you would not interfere this time.”

  “Please, Geoffrey. Her mother is desperate. She said Miss Foster has no interest in any of her suitors, and she only has a few weeks remaining to find someone. Her mother is one of my dearest friends, or I would not have suggested such. You are not going to find a match hiding behind screens.”

  “You saw that?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you happen to see the girl that also took refuge with me?” he asked eagerly.

  She looked at him in astonishment. Obviously she hadn't seen, or she would have brought it to the attention of the entire ballroom in order to force his hand. She was that desperate.

  “Find me that girl and I will ask her father permission to court her tomorrow,” he challenged, astonished he had said such a thing.

  “You don't mean it, Geoffrey?” his mother said suspiciously.

  “I do.” And he did. There was something about that girl that was different. She did not act like a debutante, even though she clearly was one. Conversing with her had been easy. She might not be beautiful in broad daylight, but she intrigued him.

  “Did you happen to catch her name? What was she wearing and what did she look like?” she asked as fast as the words could pour from her mouth.

  “Slow down, Mother. It was quite dim behind the screen. I believe her dress was white. I could not tell the colour of her eyes and her hair was neither dark nor light.”

  “Well, that narrows it down,” the Dowager Countess replied, scanning the room. He had just described two thirds of those in attendance. “I cannot say her propensity for hiding behind screens does much to recommend her, but I will set someone to watch. Meanwhile, try to give Miss Foster a chance.”

  There were two more sets before the supper dance. He spent one with a girl who looked to be twelve years old and was so shy she could not look him in the eye. Her visible skin was broken out in hives, poor child. He was perhaps reticent, but at least he could make eye contact and hold a civil conversation.

  The second dance was less awkward because the girl chatted nonstop, leaving him nothing to do but nod, smile and perform his steps. Also leaving him more time to regret coming to London, and feeling older than Methuselah knowing he could have fathered any one of these babes.

  Finally, the supper dance. He was nearer to escaping the noose he felt tightening around his neck. One more dance with the girl his mother would choose for him.

  ~*~

  “Lady Foster, it is a pleasure to see you again,” a distinguished looking man in elegantly simple evening dress said as he bowed over Helena’s mother’s hand. Where had he been hiding? She would have noticed him.

  “Dear Geoffrey. It has been an age. Your dear father was still alive,” her mother said, while simpering and batting her eyelashes!

  “Yes, I believe I was in short coats when you visited our house last.”

  “Yes, and Helena here was in the nursery.” Her mother turned toward her. “My Lord Rutherford, may I present my eldest daughter, Miss Helena Foster.”

  He turned to bow and she dropped a curtsy. Then their eyes locked. This was the Elusive Earl? He didn’t look old and decrepit, certainly not as boyish as her other swains were. In fact…he was downright handsome. She had to fight the blush that threatened when he took her hand. Her pulse raced with a feeling she did not recognise, and for once she felt like a tongue-tied debutante.

  “Miss Foster, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Lord Rutherford. Forgive me for not remembering our first encounter.”

  He laughed, in a beautiful deep baritone voice. “I believe that is forgivable. I confess all infants looked the same to me at that age. The music is beginning. Shall we?” he held out his arm gallantly. He gave a parting nod to her mother.

  “Yes, thank you.” She took his arm and felt her hand trembling.

  ~*~

  He pulled Miss Foster into his arms and he felt his pulse quicken. He was acting like the same green youth as he’d been his first Season. He must ignore her beauty and his physical attraction to her. He had made that mistake with his first wife, and while their marriage had not been precisely miserable, it had lacked the substance he had hoped for. He had been blinded by youthful infatuation. When the honeymoon had ended, he had seen her for the self-absorbed spoiled child that she was. He was sorry for her loss, but more for Lucy's sake than his. He was ashamed that he felt that way.

  Miss Foster truly was a diamond. But did she have brains beneath her beauty? She had dark blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, the opposite of his wife, Christine, whose dark beauty had trapped him from the first moment. There was something familiar about Miss Foster, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He must pull himself out of his comfort zone or he might never discover who the lady behind the screen was. He was fairly confident that Miss Foster did not fit that description. His antiquarian was not a diamond. He was sure of it.

  “Are you enjoying your first Season, Miss Foster?” he decided to make an effort. For all his usual introversion, he did not feel so with her.

  She looked away before she brought her eyes up to meet his. “I suppose.” She smiled, and his heart jumped. “I have had my curiosity sated about London. I confess I would rather be tending my garden, or reading my books at home at Amberley.”

  “What about your adoring swains? The Duke of Waverly has singled you out, I hear.”

  She made an unladylike snort. Then she blushed becomingly as if she realised she was not speaking to her siblings.

  “I have not formed any lasting connections, if that is what you ask.”

  “Forgive me, my question was impertinent. I suppose my familiarity with your family has loosened my tongue.”

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  “That, and I tend to hide myself away in the country,” he conceded.

  “Hence your nickname,” she laughed. “I do not mind the familiarity. In fact, it is refreshing to speak about something other than the weather.”

  The weather. That was familiar.

  “Or the lovely garden?” he proffered.

  “Indeed.” She smiled. “I see you have had the same mundane conversations as I.”

  Could it be her? No, the girl had said all debutantes were taught to speak on the same topics.

  “Miss Foster, what type of books do you enjoy?”

  She pursed her lips in indecision. Then her face lit up.

  “Mother said I might speak more freely with you. I confess, I am a bookish, boring, a bluestocking. I read anything and everything I can get my hands on.” She breathed a sigh of relief as if confessing such had unburdened her soul, but she hadn’t answered his question.

  “Why can you not speak of such openly?” He was c
onfused. That last sentence had been music to his ears.

  She looked at him with dismay as if he were daft. “To admit such is social suicide.”

  “Beg pardon. I reveal my lack of social graces. Your secret shall be safe with me.”

  Again she looked as if there were a hint of recognition, but she shook her head slightly and put a smile back on her face. The dance ended and he escorted her to supper as arranged by their mothers.

  “Has your mother been as relentless as mine? I apologise that this was arranged, instead of asking myself.”

  “No need to apologise. Our mothers are becoming desperate since neither of us appears to have taken to anyone of our own volition. They are taking matters into their own hands.”

  “Heaven help us both.” They laughed and locked eyes again.

  The Duke of Waverly walked over looking like he was about to boil.

  “Rutherford.” He performed a curt bow for the Earl.

  “Waverly.” The Earl replied with a brief bow.

  “Miss Foster. I thought we had an understanding that I would escort you into supper.”

  “I am afraid not, sir. You go too far with your assumptions. If you will excuse us?” She tugged on Rutherford's arm and he followed in astonishment. He could feel the daggers being shot at him from behind.

  What was that about? He felt as if he were an intruder in a lover’s tiff. Whatever set off her temper, he had no desire to see it in full—or come between her and Waverly.

  ~*~

  She had never felt so harassed in her life. She had at last found someone who did not drool and spew meaningless drivel all over her, and she had as good as shoved her slippered foot into her mouth. She felt like the immature ninny that he must think her. How could she have been so rude in front of the Earl and then used him to escape Nero? Nero was refusing to take a hint, and she found herself losing her temper. She froze and took a deep breath, hoping she was in the middle of the recurring nightmare where she was unclothed in the middle of the ball room.

  She sat and contemplated how to handle herself as Lord Rutherford filled a plate for her. She watched him, trying not to be too obvious. He did seem reserved, but not shy—at least not with her. He was certainly not like any other man she had met before.

  Who would she compare him to? She would have to think about that one. Helena suspected he was most like Fabius: conservative in action, quiet yet strong. She would describe him as thoughtful and careful with his word selection—even if he had made the minor faux pas about Waverly. Certainly a handsome man, but she would never put him in the category of Adonis or Paris. He was more than mere beauty she suspected, though he certainly was that. He was like a new book and she looked forward to each chapter. She wondered, what does he like to read? He had asked her, but she had not really answered either. She would have to find out. It somehow mattered. She watched him returning to their table with her plate.

  “I hope I have selected foods to your liking,” he said as he placed an overflowing array of delicacies before her.

  “It looks wonderful.”

  “I chose foods I like. I shall be happy to return for anything else you desire,” he politely offered and sat across from her.

  “You are very kind.” She took a few mouthfuls and pondered explaining her actions with Nero, but decided to leave it for now. She would do best to control her emotions in the future and try to behave for the remainder of the evening.

  “Lord Rutherford?”

  He looked at her over his glass with slightly raised eyebrows.

  “You never told me what books you enjoy reading.”

  “And I believe you only mentioned that you like to read everything.” He smiled. “What were the last five books you read?”

  “You would have to ask that,” she laughed. “I have been reading every novel I can get my hands on in town. At Amberley, I am limited to my father’s library.”

  “I enjoy novels myself.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “I only finished Clermont last evening.” He smiled and his whole face lit up.

  She raised her eyebrows appreciatively. “I never would have guessed you a Minerva Press fan.”

  He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Now your turn.”

  “Very well.” She looked down and tossed a bit of food about her plate with her fork, then boldly looked up. “I’ve only just finished Byron’s Childe Harold, and before that I devoured Pride and Prejudice, Udolpho, The Midnight Bell, and The Iliad.” She ticked each one off on her fingers and looked at him with a devilish grin of defiance.

  Suddenly, he was quiet and focused on his plate. Had she disgusted him? That would be irony at its finest. Someone she wished to speak with, and he now had nothing to say. She shoved a morsel of lobster patty in her mouth. She was feeling petty. She was not used to the silent type. Yes, she reminded herself, she could have Nero fawning all over her right now and that would be no better. She looked up to find him watching her. Oh, to know what he was thinking!

  “You need not feel obliged to ride in the park with me, Miss Foster,” he said quietly.

  Was that his way of saying he did not wish to?

  “I would be delighted to ride with you, my lord. If you desire.”

  This was uncomfortable, but he intrigued her for some reason, and she would not let him off so easily.

  “Shall I come for you at five, then?”

  “That would be lovely.”

  They finished their meal, and he stood and held out his arm for her and escorted her back to her mother. She ignored the curious stares as they passed by. He said his goodbyes with the promise of the ride on the morrow as he left her with their mothers. Why did she suddenly feel bereft?

  “Oh, Geoffrey.” She shook her head. “I hope he spoke to you,” the Dowager Countess said apologetically.

  Helena watched his elegant form until he passed through the doors. “Yes, yes.” She turned to face his mother and the Dowager Countess. “He was everything polite, I assure you.” She smiled more confidently than she felt.

  The Dowager Countess sighed. “That is what I was afraid of. If only people could see him at Reston Park. He is an entirely different creature in his own habitat.”

  Helena understood that. She did not care for being a specimen on display for examination herself. But he had certainly retreated into his shell during supper. And even if he did open up again, it did not mean he desired her for a wife, or she him as a husband. And could she bear starting off a marriage with another's child? Unlikely. She needed to remain firm with her plan of remaining a maid. Though somehow, that looked a little less enticing after tonight.

  ~*~

  Blast it all. Could he not have remained in the dim alcove the entire evening? He had done well on the dance floor conversing with Miss Foster. But then he felt acutely uncomfortable after the scene with Waverly, and she kept reminding him of Christine. She had not made eye contact with him during the supper again, though he had enjoyed their conversation until he had seen the defiant look in her eye, and he did not know how to proceed when reminded of his wife. Christine had had that flash in her eye before one of her tantrums. His experience with Christine had been to say little and agree with her, less her temper show. Courting a diamond was a mistake. He would take Miss Foster on the obligatory ride in the park and then go back to his search.

  He missed his little Lucy more than he would have thought possible. He did not know if he could bear another week of this. Perhaps he could become more involved in local Society and find a gently-bred woman there. Then he would never have to leave Lucy again. She was too far away for his comfort.

  The next day, he spent his breakfast with a reprimand from his mother.

  “You must be yourself with her, Geoffrey.”

  “I was hardly pretending to be someone else, Mother. I do not enjoy Society.”

  “Yes, but you are different in town than at Reston.”

  “That much is rather obvious. I d
o not wish to be here.”

  “Can you not pretend so that you may find someone more suited to you?”

  “And have them believe that I adore London?”

  “Not at all. However, you do not have to be miserable here.”

  “I know that, Mother, I just miss Lucy terribly and she is so far away.”

  “Perhaps it was a mistake to not have brought her with you, I concede. I cannot change what is done.” Her eyes widened and she smiled as if a brilliant that had just occurred to her. “Why do you not take Miss Foster to do things you would both like?”

  “Such as?”

  “The museum? An art exhibit?”

  He pondered that. It did seem intriguing to him. There were things he would be happier doing in London. But would Miss Foster agree? She had confessed herself to be a bluestocking.

  “I think that might be your best idea yet, Mother. I would certainly be more comfortable in a museum than a ballroom. I shall see what offerings there are and present her with the option if the ride today goes well.”

  “Excellent.”

  “I would like you to think on anyone else that might be suitable. Think in an unconventional way. I’m not opposed to spinsters or poor relations. I prefer someone with a pleasant disposition and a bit of education. ‘Tis all I need.”

  He rose from the table and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. He left the breakfast parlour with a new spring in his step. Perhaps Miss Foster had been as out of place as he at the ball. He would give her another chance. It was a test of sorts, but if Miss Foster were truly a bluestocking, she should be more delighted to spend time with him amongst relics than with fawning infants.

  Chapter 3

  Would he ever arrive? He was not late, but she could only take so much more of Nero, Caligula and Hercules trying to best each other. Soon there would be an epic battle and she wanted to be away before swords were drawn. None of them had taken the hint when she’d proclaimed she was engaged for the afternoon. Whether they wanted to remain in order to prolong their time with her, or to see who had secured her for the afternoon, she could not say. Her mother could have dispensed with them at any moment, but she chose to act as if she were oblivious and knit in the corner.