Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  Turning from her swift appraisal of the entrance hall, Amelia adjusted the strap of the satchel on her shoulder as the boys hefted the hamper between them and with the younger children skipping ahead, the picnic party set forth down the broad stone steps of the house. Cutting across the wide sweep of gravel in front of the classical entrance, the Earl strode off in the direction of a small iron gate beside the ha-ha, his arm aloft as though he carried his regiment’s colours. In his hand fluttered a fine linen handkerchief.

  “Follow the Jolly Roger, me hearties!” he called in a dreadful assimilation of a rogue’s accent and with the children laughing and chattering about him, they left Amelia to keep up as best she might.

  Fed by a small river, which on this warm June day was flowing sluggishly through the park, the lake lay in a natural hollow in the landscape, a sheet of sparkling silver amidst folds of blue-green velvet hills and diverse green swatches of tapestry trees. The backdrop was a glorious feast for the senses, but Amelia’s eye was immediately drawn – as she had no doubt had been the intention of the individual who had planned it – to the lake and the verdant holm at its heart. Like a medal pinned on a wide blue chest, with ribbons of willow and alder, it stood as proud as the soldier who was currently fifty yards ahead of her, striding towards a boat-house cunningly hidden behind a screen of box shrubbery.

  By the time she gained the narrow wooden jetty beside the boat-house, the doors were flung wide and the prow of a small blue rowing boat was emerging. As Alexander steered it carefully alongside the low pier, a second boat appeared with the Earl wielding the oars with an efficiency she had already come to expect. The vessel was larger than the first, was painted a vibrant shade of red and had a slender wooden pole set between the forward seat and the prow.

  “Indeed and that is speedy work, my lord, to have cast off two ships in so short a time!” she said, winking at Edmund, who giggled.

  “Ah, but I can claim no superior abilities, ma’am,” he replied, gesturing behind him. “My brother had a winch installed. It takes but a few moments to have a boat in the water, as you see.”

  “You seem to have mislaid your sail, sir,” she observed. “Allow me to furnish you with one.” Delving into the leather bag she had brought, she produced a much-darned and threadbare shirt. “I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Rathbone if she could find something suitable against such an eventuality.”

  “That is one of my shirts, I suppose,” he answered with a fatalistic air.

  “Given the state of it, I should doubt your lordship would care to wear it,” she quipped.

  “There have been many times in my life, Miss Burcott, when I should have been very glad of such a shirt.”

  “Indeed, sir? Then I believe you shall also be glad of it now, to aid your endeavours!” Stepping on to the jetty, she approached the red boat. “Be so kind as to hold her steady, sir.”

  Taking a firm grasp of the pole, she gathered her skirts in her other hand and climbed into the craft, where she made short work of tying the shirt to the ‘mast’ by its sleeves. It hung in limp disinterest of its task, there being little breeze to lift it, but Amelia was hardly concerned with that. In handling the fine linen, she had released aromas trapped in the fabric in spite of washing; a sensual mix of soap, sandalwood, wood smoke and man. All of a sudden, her mouth went dry and her heart jumped. Be still, oh foolish organ, she chided it. He is not for the likes of you; not any more.

  Forcing a smile, she dipped her head to the cause of her disquiet. “There, Captain. You may now sail to the ends of the earth and back in perfect accord with your vessel.”

  She turned back to the jetty, but his words forestalled her.

  “Be pleased to take a seat, Miss Burcott. Having provided the sheet, you should sail beneath its banner!”

  There was no way to refuse without seeming churlish, so she sat down on the bench beneath the mast and arranged the skirts of her simple, dull yellow gown in neat rolls. Harriet and Robert joined Alexander in the first boat, while Jenny and Edmund clambered into the red one. Jenny sidled close to Amelia and offered a wisp of a smile when her governess’ arm slipped around her.

  “I get theathick,” she confided with a gentle lisp.

  “Do you?” The silvery blonde head nodded. “Then we must be glad the seas are calm for our voyage.”

  “I’m not!” declared Edmund. “I’m a very good sailor and I am going to be a pirate when I grow up!”

  “In that case, you had better learn how to work the oars, shipmate!” answered the Earl. His eyes met Amelia’s and although she looked away at once, she could not but notice a roguish twinkle in their shadowed depths. Raising his voice, he called to Alexander, “Anchors away, me hearties! All hands to the main brace, we be bound for the Spanish Main!”

  “Have you had dealings with pirates, my lord? You would appear to be familiar with the language.”

  “Not personally, Miss Burcott, but I was once acquainted with a seaman who was given to telling sea shanties. You might say I acquired a working knowledge of the vulgar tongue!” His grin was wide, his expression open and candid, yet she had a feeling there was an undiscovered novel hidden beneath the light-hearted words. “Please accept my apologies for the informality I am about to inflict on you, but I believe I shall get a little warm over the course of the next few minutes.” As he spoke, he unbuttoned and removed his navy coat, folding it carefully before tucking it under the seat. Cupping his hand around his mouth, he once more directed a command to the other boat. “Heave-ho, you landlubbers, or swallow my wash!”

  With Edmund perched on the food hamper in the bottom of the boat, the Earl took up the oars and was soon propelling them through the still, greenish blue water with smooth, swift strokes. Amelia could not avoid noticing how his muscled arms flexed beneath his fine cambric shirt, or how his powerful thighs tensed against the bench when he strained on the oars. Swallowing deeply, she forced her gaze away from him and instead concentrated on the island. He must have noticed the direction of her perusal, for into the silence he said:

  “The island was the result of my grandfather’s dream. He took the Grand Tour as a young man and spent much time in Italy. He was most taken by a lake there, where there was such an island. Of course, it was far larger than this one; it was home to a monastery, as I recall, which was surrounded by forest. He never forgot it and determined, on his return, to create his own little haven.”

  “It is certainly most picturesque,” she commented. “How large is it?”

  “No more than two acres, if that. It was partly created by dredging the river and dumping the silt before then diverting water into the lake. You will see as we draw closer that none of the trees are ancient, but various species have colonized well. As I understand it, a few mature trees were planted, to give the island greater stability, since they would set their roots deeper, and also for aesthetic purposes.”

  “I think it is quite breathtaking.”

  “Land ahoy!” The boys shouted from the other boat as the miniature armada sailed nearer.

  Although Alexander did his utmost, he was no match for the honed strength of his uncle and thus it was the red boat which first ground to a halt on a stretch of shingle beach that had been barely visible from the boat-house. The blue boat joined it soon after and the boys all helped the Earl to drag both vessels further up the shore. A narrow, gravel path led from the beach into the cool shade of the verdant wood, becoming rockier as it climbed steadily up the hill which had been created. After about ten minutes, the trees opened out into a level clearing and Amelia gasped with surprise.

  Set with its rear wall against the screen of larch trees, a small pavilion boasting columns and a verandah stood facing the lake, its position carefully chosen to take full advantage of the pleasant vista across the parkland to the house.

  “Man the lookout, boys,” commanded his lordship.

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Alexander and Robert chorused, dropping the food hamper at his feet. Playfully p
ushing and shoving each other, they ran across the clearing and scaled a tree faster than a performing monkey Amelia had once seen escape up a maypole.

  “What can I do?” Jenny’s face had puckered as a prelude to possible tears.

  “She is going to cry!” Edmund stated in disgust. “Well, I am going to hunt for buried treasure!”

  “Do not go far, Edmund. You may get lost,” Amelia warned.

  “Pshaw! It is only a small island, you know!” he replied before running off.

  Amelia let him go; she had to distract Jenny. “You can help me make headdresses,” she said brightly. “We cannot be pirates without proper head coverings.”

  She reached into her leather satchel again and produced several lengths of coloured cloth.

  “This is an apron.” Harriet’s voice was heavy with disapproval.

  “Use your imagination, Harriet. If I fold it into a triangle, so, it can be tied at the back of the neck and transformed into a head-rail.”

  The girl pretended otherwise, but Amelia could see she was intrigued and discreetly half-turned to find the Earl standing watching them. His face was guarded and she could not tell what he was thinking. As she took a step forward, he lifted his hand, but whether to ward her off or salute her, she knew not.

  “I shall build a fire,” he announced. “Pirates always have a fire. It serves for warmth, cooking and a guide to their brethren.”

  Behind her, the two girls were squabbling happily over the oddments of fabric she had procured from Mrs. Rathbone, so she was able to turn her attention to unpacking the basket.

  Dappled sunlight bathed the clearing with gentle warmth, so she spread the two blankets they had brought with them on the fragrant grass and laid out the picnic. It was only then that she realized Edmund had not returned. Clambering to her feet, she shook out her dress and looked at her employer, who had gathered an armful of fallen branches. His back to her, he was busy building a fire within a circle of stones.

  “My lord—?” she began.

  “Cap’n! Enemy approaching on the port bow!”

  At the same moment, the shout from aloft drowned her quiet interjection. The Earl rose with the agile grace of one accustomed to physical exertion and took a spyglass from his pocket. Extending the instrument he put it to his eye and scanned the lake.

  “I see nothing!” he growled, in what Amelia assumed was a parody of a rough sea captain’s voice. “Do you play me for a fool, boy?”

  “Down among the trees, sir!” came the reply, followed by barely-suppressed giggles.

  The ‘Captain’ swung his glass and for several long moments studied the foliage beneath them.

  “Ah,” he murmured at last.

  “What is it, sir? I think I should tell you that Edmund has not returned. Do I have your leave to go—?”

  To her surprise, the Earl let out a mighty guffaw. “Fear not, Miss Burcott,” he muttered from the side of his mouth. “I believe our young adventurer will be with us very shortly – and, by the looks of him, he has discovered some buried treasure!” Louder, he remonstrated, “Ye blackguards, ’tis but the cabin boy ‒ bearing rum from the galley, if he knows what be good for him!”

  There was a cheer from the look-out post. Amelia trod across the clearing and looked up into the branches. At once she understood how the boys had scaled the tree so fast. Several branches had been sawn to create a ladder around the tree to a wooden platform twenty feet up. Rope railings gave the platform added security and the appearance of the crow’s nest aboard a ship.

  “Boys, come down, now,” she called. “The picnic is laid ready.” There was a chorus of huzzas and the two brothers came scrambling down faster than they had gone up. “Wash your hands and put on the head-rails the girls have made you,” she instructed them. “I will not have untidy pirates at my blanket!”

  Grinning widely, they ran off. Moments later, the ‘cabin boy’ erupted into the clearing at a trot.

  “Look what I’ve found!” he shouted. “I’ve got treasure. It is in a chest, too and what is more, it was buried!”

  Amelia gazed at Edmund in dismay. He was covered from head to foot in mud, there were leaves and twigs in his hair, plus scratches on his face and hands.

  “Edmund, what on earth have you been doing?” she gasped.

  She heard the Earl come up behind her, but when he made no comment, she glanced over her shoulder. He had paled beneath the healthy bronze his skin had acquired on the Continent and his gaze was locked on the rough wooden casket Edmund held in his grubby arms.

  Some instinct prompted her to take control. Scolding briskly, she took the chest and set it on one side, before taking up a spare cloth from her satchel and bathing the child’s face and hands with water someone had brought up from the lake.

  “Where on earth have you been, Edmund?” she questioned, whilst thoroughly checking his injuries, all of which were superficial.

  “I’ve been to the pirates’ cave!” he said, a mulish set to his mouth. “I went to look for treasure and I found it!”

  The Earl, composed once more, joined them. “There is no pirates’ cave, Edmund. Tell the truth, now.”

  For the moment forgetting she was merely the governess, Amelia frowned at him.

  “Then you are most fortunate, you foolish boy!” she addressed the child. “Supposing you had been trapped in the cave, or fallen in the lake?”

  Edmund looked thoughtful at this. “I can swim, you know,” he replied at last.

  “At this moment, Edmund, that is of little consolation to me. You shall go to bed without supper.”

  “But I found a map in the chest! It might lead to Spanish gold! Look.”

  He scampered across to the chest and ran back with it clutched to his midriff. The once pristine shirt was patterned with grass stains and reddish brown streaks. The casket was caked in mud of a similar hue, had a single iron band around its centre and a broken hasp. The hinges creaked as, thrusting it into Amelia’s lap, he lifted the lid.

  Inside the box were various items a small boy might consider treasure – a vividly-marked tail feather from a magpie; a large, spiny case from a horse chestnut tree, complete with its shiny brown nut; a bull’s eye; a painted wooden soldier with a broken arm and a roughly-made catapult. At the bottom of the chest, shoved haphazardly beneath the other items, lay a folded sheet of discoloured paper. Amelia withdrew it carefully. It was sealed with a blob of red wax and on the front was written, in an unformed hand, the words, Privilege does not equal happiness.

  She looked at the Earl of Raftesbury. His shoulders had gone taut and his eyes were riveted on the letter. Now more than pale, he had blenched and the skin showed grey around his lips. He lowered himself to a nearby stump as if he could not bear to stand. Oblivious of these undercurrents, Edmund snatched the letter and took it to his uncle.

  “Read it, Uncle Hugo!” he cried. “There is a map on the back, look. It might tell us where to find the real treasure!”

  The Earl looked at the back of the letter, where indeed there was a rough drawing of what Amelia had thought to be a representation of the Marchbanks estate and then turned it over. He closed his eyes, as if in pain, and appeared to brace himself against some attack she could not perceive. Lifting suddenly weary eyes to his nephew, he tucked the letter inside his coat.

  “Perhaps later,” he answered, summoning a tired smile. He got to his feet and with a fair assumption of his previous jollity, swung Edmund high in the air, adding, “First we have a pirate feast to eat and then, Master Beau-Nasty, it is the trough in the stable yard for you!”

  Chapter 3

  “Miss Burcott, I would be most obliged to you if you would do me the honour of dining with me this evening.”

  Why had he said that? He had not intended to say any such thing. She paused with one foot on the bottom stair, giving him the merest glimpse of a neatly turned ankle. Forcing his gaze back to her face, he could almost feel her alarm. Her eyes flickered to the stairs above her, over h
is face and seemed to stop in the region of his waistcoat. On their return from their expedition of pleasure, he had, as threatened, taken Edmund off to the stables while the governess had escorted the rest of the party to the nursery wing. He had not expected to meet her in the hall.

  “I… I fear I do not have a suitable gown, my lord,” she said quietly after a moment’s pause. Her gaze darted back to the stairs. She reminded him of a startled rabbit. She had not appeared thus that afternoon when they were on the island. Indeed, he had been the one whom had wished to be otherwhere. Even now, he was uncomfortably aware of the splashes of dirty water staining his breeches, his rumpled neckcloth and his muddied coat. How strange it was that none of those things had concerned him that afternoon.

  “There is no need to fret yourself over that, I assure you,” he answered, before the words had taken shape in his mind. “It will be quite informal. The children will have a light supper in the nursery and I wish to discuss with you your requirements for the schoolroom. I trust your accommodations meet with your approval?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord, perfectly!” She seemed a little breathless, her speech somewhat rushed. She lifted her hand and it was then he noticed the book she held, as she chattered on, “I do so hope you do not mind my making use of your library, sir? Mrs. Rathbone informed me that it would be in order for me to avail myself of its pleasures.”

  “By all means, ma’am,” he responded mechanically. It was not as if he would be needing them, after all.

  She prattled on again. Surely she could not be nervous of him? “I thought, following our piratical excursion today, that it would be appropriate for me to read Lord Byron’s The Corsair to the children. I shall, of course, only read those passages of a suitable nature to the younger ones. I was most gratified to find it on your shelves.”

  He bowed. “I am only too glad to have been of service. I have had dinner put back to six of the clock. I would appreciate it if you would be punctual.”

  Her eyes flashed with something he would have sworn was annoyance, but she sank into a curtsey.