Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

  “Oh, Hugo!”

  At his heels was Pirate, revealed as a woefully thin and undersized lurcher with a black patch around one eye and a white nose. He held one hind limb aloft and stared anxiously about the hall, his body wrapped around Hugo’s booted calf.

  Hugo gave a long-suffering sigh and tapped his leg. “He has been bathed, as you can see, and doused in a concoction of fleabane. His injured leg has been dealt with, but it is taking time to mend. It was badly festered. He was supposed to live in the stables with the other dogs, but when he was introduced to the pack, they set about him and would have killed him, so says my head groom, had he not intervened. Further, the ridiculous cur appears to have conceived a liking for my boots and will not leave my side.” He grimaced at the dog. “So, he shall have a place in the kitchen until he is properly healed and can defend himself.”

  Amelia smothered a chuckle at his tone of disgust. “Edmund will be pleased,” she said tactfully.

  “Hmm. That young gentleman had better make sure his disreputable friend does not give Cook any trouble. If it comes to a choice between Cook and you…” He fixed Pirate with a stare and left the rest of his sentence hanging. The lurcher looked up at him with adoring eyes and wagged his pathetic tail. “That is as maybe, sir. You are clearly a toad-eater.” Amelia could no longer contain her laughter. Hugo turned his gaze back to her and tried to look severe. “Do not encourage him, I beg. Were you on your way out? Would you care for some company? It is the most delightful evening for a stroll.”

  “You are most kind, sir, but I assure you I will do very well on my own.”

  His eyes clouded. “Did I say something wrong again?”

  “Oh, no, sir.” She was quick to correct his misapprehension. The crestfallen look on his face stung her beneath her ribs.

  “I should very much like to walk with you, you know.” His smile would charm stone, she thought with a pang. How could she possibly guard against it?

  “Then if you are sure you have no matters of greater import requiring your attention, sir, I should be honoured to have your company.”

  He offered her his arm and they went out into the amber evening light. Pirate, not to be outdone, hugged his new master’s heels as they turned in the direction of the shrubbery. The old stone of the house took on a honeyed, mellow hue in the fading sunlight, with an abundance of purple wisteria clinging tenaciously around the door and windows. Its sweet scent filled the air and Amelia inhaled with appreciation.

  “I admit I have had few dealings with governesses, but it seems to me that you are not just in the common style,” he said in a careful tone. “I mean no disrespect.”

  “Oh, no, sir.” She contemplated the path ahead. They were walking slowly down an avenue of horse chestnut trees. The flowering season was over for the towering sentinels, but she loved to see the glorious cones of white flowers, for they reminded her of candles in a tiered chandelier. Spring had been late this year, the flowers lingering longer than usual, so it seemed no sooner had they faded than June had burst forth with its blaze of colour. Beside her, Hugo kept pace with her, his free hand behind his back and his long stride adjusted to match hers. How much should she tell him? Her heart wanted to tell him everything, but an innate sense of caution made her fear the consequences.

  As if he had read her thoughts, he then took the breeze from beneath her fluttering indecision.

  “You need not fear my judgement,” he said gently. “Short of having murdered a previous employer and made off with the family silver – and I can see that is not the case by your wardrobe – there is little you can say that will shock me. I am a soldier and have travelled around the globe. Some of the things I have witnessed would make those pretty locks of yours turn white!” His hand half lifted as he spoke, his fingers curling as if he were imagining trailing them through her hair.

  Tentatively, she turned her face towards him. The tender light in his eyes stole her capacity for coherent thought. Perhaps if she told him part of the story; it would not be lying, as such, except by omission. Mayhap one day she might be able to furnish him with the whole tawdry tale… yet her heart shrank from the idea of that softened look being withdrawn.

  “I married to disoblige my family,” she said at length, grateful for his quiet patience. They left the avenue and entered the shrubbery through an archway cut in a yew hedge. Pirate shuffled ahead with his rolling, three-legged gait before stopping to investigate an interesting smell at the side of the path. “I was young and silly; he was very handsome and dashing. I fancied myself in love. My parents disowned me. They were, of course, quite right and he proved to be just as feckless and unreliable as they had said him to be. I left him and returned home, but they closed the door to me. My father refused to even acknowledge me and all my mother would say was I had made my choice and must make the best of it.”

  Hugo covered her hand, where it lay lightly on his arm, with his and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. Would he be so sympathetic, were he to know the whole? A tiny piece of her soul died at the thought. The truth was, Roderick had never married her. They had travelled all day, as she thought, to Scotland and had arrived at an inn late at night. When she had refused to share a bed with him until they were legally married, he had sought his amusement elsewhere, returning in a drunken stupor and falling asleep. The following morning they had continued their journey, but it was only when they came to Barnet that she realized they had come south and he had never had any intention of marrying her. She had understood then what her father had meant about Roderick being ‘half flash and half foolish’, for he had flounced out of the mean room he had brought her to in a boyish sulk. He had spent their last few pennies on a drunken spree, been taken up by the Watch and had somehow become involved in a brawl where a constable had been stabbed. With no money and no-one of standing to give him a character, the magistrate had deemed him culpable and he had been thrown into Newgate pending trial.

  Amelia had found a job as a seamstress and somehow survived the next, miserable ten months. Roderick was sentenced to transportation, since the constable had not died, but she had received a letter less than a year later informing her Roddy had perished from a wasting disease. A lump rose in her throat. She had won through those times, had achieved a measure of respectability through hard work, but the loss of her true position in life and her parents’ affection had been bitter medicine to swallow.

  Hugo’s hand patted hers. “Tell me,” he urged.

  “I-I cannot.” She looked away. The heady perfume of mock orange filled her nostrils from several large Philadelphus bushes, which were a riot of creamy white flowers, almost overpowering the more delicate jasmine, also covered in a profusion of white blooms.

  “Then I shall be forced to conjecture, so you must not be offended if I am fair and far off!” He paused in dramatic fashion. “Let me see, now. You were found, as a baby, on a barge which had run aground on a sandbank in the River Thames, brought up by gypsies until you were fifteen, whereupon you ran away to join a travelling circus. You learned to juggle, ride backwards on a horse, train dogs to do tricks and brave wild beasts from the jungle. However, this life did not contain sufficient excitement, so you dressed in male clothes and joined a merchant ship. This was sunk by pirates in the Spanish Main and you were captured by the pirate captain, who discovered your gender and took you for his own. How am I doing so far?”

  She giggled in spite of her doubts and insecurities. “I believe you could rival Sir Walter Scott with your romantic ideas, sir!”

  “Ah, you flatter me, my dear.” Amelia’s stomach lurched at the endearment. Did he – could he possibly – have tender feelings for her? “I have much to learn, I fear, about such matters. Indeed, ’tis a little like reading… I am wary of making an irretrievable mistake.”

  What was he trying to tell her? She slowed her steps and came to a halt beside a small stone fountain in a circular junction of two pathways. Running her fingers over the pitted bowl, she pretended t
o be fascinated by the green water.

  “I am sure,” she said carefully, “that with the right lady, you would have no difficulty.”

  Hugo turned as he stopped, so he was now facing her. Pirate sat down at his feet and gazed expectantly from one to the other.

  “I fear the lady is concerned that her past might affect her future. I wish I had the words to tell her there is nothing – nothing – she may have done that could outweigh or diminish the high regard in which I hold her.”

  A sob threatened in the back of her throat. With difficulty, she managed to speak.

  “Oh, my dear sir, I think you just have.”

  “Amelia! My dear, sweet girl!” he cried. Grasping her hands, he brought them to his lips. Since she had expected to be alone, she had left off her gloves following the warmth of the day and the sensation of his lips on her skin set her heart a pitter-patter. “Come with me.”

  Pirate uttered a sharp bark and wagged his stringy tail. “I was not addressing you, sir,” Hugo chided him. “You may accompany us on this occasion, but do not presume by this concession that it is your right.” Pirate dropped on all fours and with a mournful yap, hid his face between his front paws. “Kindly do not fawn in that disagreeably mawkish manner. I have said you might come, have I not?” The dog leaped to his feet and capered haphazardly about them, his teeth bared and his tongue lolling in a wide grin. “There is not the least necessity for this unseemly behaviour, either. Come down from your high ropes at once!” Pirate instantly wheeled behind Hugo and sat down in such close proximity he was almost on his self-appointed master’s boot heel. “That is more like it, thank you. Any further insubordination and you will be swabbing the deck!”

  Amelia, already struggling to control her mirth, gave in at this last stricture and laughed. Although she was convinced she perceived a twinkle in his hooded green eyes, Hugo maintained a haughty demeanour and led her onwards. Tucked in a quiet corner beneath a canopy of yellow roses and alongside a tall laurel hedge, awaited an iron seat. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he laid it on the bench and handed her to it before sitting down beside her.

  “I care nothing for anything else,” he said with deliberation, “but one thing I must know. Your husband, where is he now?”

  That she could at least answer truthfully. “I have no husband,” she said steadily. “He is dead.”

  A trace of a smile greeted her. “I am sorry for it, but I was never more glad of anything in my whole life!” He leaned back in the seat, knocking her reticule to the ground. Retrieving it, he remarked, “What do you carry in here, o’ sweet teacher, a brick with which to defend thyself?”

  “No, sir.” She slid the book from the lace-trimmed bag. “I thought perhaps to read a little poetry.”

  “So I have imposed upon you at an inappropriate time. Please accept my apologies once again.” He leaned forward as if to rise.

  “Not at all…” She opened the book and removed the length of ribbon which marked the page. “We have not been to the island today. Mayhap now would be a good time for a reading lesson?”

  “Poetry?” he queried, looking nervous. “I—”

  “There is a section here I think you might enjoy. Remember, reading is pleasure. Do not fear it.” She held out the open book and gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

  After a slight pause, Hugo took it from her hand, their fingers brushing in the process. Her nerve endings tingled and her blood quickened. With a slightly shaking hand, she pointed to the appropriate place on the page.

  Hugo cleared his throat and bent over the book. Their heads were close together as they both perused the printed lines. His hair smelled of bergamot and it was ruffled behind his ear as if he had been scratching his neck. One dark lock had left its fellows to twist in the opposite direction, as though determined on a different path. Amelia inhaled and closed her eyes for a moment. Of what use was it to even hope? Their lives were on different roads too.

  “When… you… Europe crouched to France… France’s…”

  “Think of an egg,” she whispered when he stopped.

  “Ha! To France’s yoke, And Aus…tria bent, and P-Prussia broke, And the firm Russ… Russian’s purpose brave, Was bar… bartered?” At her nod, he continued, “by a tim… tim…”

  “Timorous.”

  “By a timorous slave, Even then dis… dishonour’s peace he spurn-ed, The sullied olive-branch returned, Stood for his country’s glory fast, And nailed her colours to the mast!” He turned his head and smiled at her. Oh, had not life dealt her enough blows? To lead her to this kind, damaged man, whom she could not have, was the cruellest of all. “This is famous stuff, is it not? I thought poetry was dull!”

  “It is set around the Battle of Flodden Field,” she said, “and there is a deal of political comment in it as well. I suspect you will find much to enjoy in Sir Walter Scott’s work.”

  He turned his gaze back to the page. “Heaven, to re…ward his firm-ness, gave a port…”

  “A spoonful, perhaps; an amount,” she hinted.

  “A por-shun ­– portion! – in this hon… honoured grave, And ne’er held marble in its trust of two such won… wondrous men the dust.”

  “Well done, my lord. It is just a matter of confidence. I am sure, given time, you will have little trouble reading whatever you desire.”

  “You call me ‘my lord’ again? What happened to ‘Hugo’?” His smiling eyes caused her heart to stutter. “If that is so, then it is all because of you, my dearest Amelia!”

  Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her with such gentleness, such reverence, she thought she might expire from the simple joy of his embrace. She melted into it, welcoming the feel of his mouth on hers and the touch of his hands at her waist. Roderick had not made her feel this way; dare she believe this was the treasure of a true and real love, no matter that they had known each other so short a time?

  On the thought, common sense reasserted itself. No matter what he said, Hugo could not marry her. He must marry to continue his name, to a lady of impeccable birth and character. Her lineage was respectable; her father was a second son and a man of letters, her mother the daughter of an impoverished but ancient barony. Nevertheless, it would not pass muster for a future countess, irrespective of her questionable past. Placing both hands flat against Hugo’s muscled chest, she gave him a push. He released her on the instant.

  “What is it, my dear one?”

  “Hugo, this cannot be! You do not know the whole.” She shivered.

  At once, he removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders. “The evening is turning chill. I should not have kept you out here. Come, if we follow this path, it will take us back to the house.”

  He rose as he spoke, but she detained him with a hand on his arm. There was a hard strength beneath the fine linen of his shirt.

  “No, ’tis not that…” Suddenly she found herself telling him everything. He sat very still, giving her no clue to his thoughts, as the words tumbled from her tongue. It was a relief to be able to unburden her mind. She wanted no such barriers betwixt them and then he would understand why this feeling between them must not be allowed to grow. She could not bear to hurt him by holding him at arm’s length after the intimacy of learning they had shared.

  “So you see, while I have done nothing immoral, I am ruined in the eyes of my parents and the polite world. Therefore what has just occurred must never be allowed to happen again.”

  “Well,” he said as she concluded, “that is a remarkable history to be sure. One, no doubt, that Sir Walter would be glad to make use of!”

  He sat staring straight ahead and Amelia felt set at a distance. He seemed to have withdrawn from her and into himself. Embarrassment welled up to choke her. What a fool she was, to be sure. She should not have allowed him into her heart. For all his brave and noble words, he was shocked by her disclosures and being an honourable man, would find it impossible to come to terms with her underhandedness. Now she wo
uld have to take the consequences.

  She allowed herself a few seconds to drink in every detail of his handsome profile, then stood up and removed his forest green coat. The aroma of sandalwood, a fragrance she would forever more associate with him, drifted up from the fine fabric. With difficulty she resisted the urge to bury her face in it and handed it back.

  “Thank you, sir, for the loan of your coat. I trust you have taken no harm from the evening air.” She bobbed a quick curtsey and as she straightened, attempted to drag about her the last remnants of her dignity. “I will bid you a very good night. I quite understand you will not wish someone of such poor character to have charge of your brother’s children, therefore rest assured I will leave first thing in the morning.”

  Backing two steps, she dipped her head, spun around and ran. With her heart drumming in her ears and tears blurring her vision, she hurtled blindly down the path towards the house, little caring that with every step the gravel spiked her soles through her worn kid half-boots, or that Pirate was barking hysterically.

  Chapter 7

  With her travelling boots and skirts in one hand, her portmanteau in the other, Amelia tiptoed down the main stairs. The servants were up and quietly going about their early tasks, so she had eschewed the backstairs. The fewer people she encountered, the better on this cool, grey morning. It was barely half past five and the children were still asleep; she expected Hugo was as well. She hoped he was, for that was the reason for this early departure.

  She hated that she was leaving the house with all the furtiveness of a sneak thief in the night, but could not bear to say goodbye, knowing how desperately she had let him down. She had no wish to witness the inevitable disappointment in his eyes – far better to remember them alight with warmth and amusement. Those images must now last her a lifetime, for she could not conceive she would ever wish to accept another man.

  As she reached the short flight, one arm of the ‘T’, she heard someone come through the door to the servants’ quarters below where she stood. She froze and listened intently. Crisp, measured footsteps sounded on the stone flags and by peering around the column which supported the balcony both above and below, she saw the butler tap on the library door and go in. Almost immediately, he came out again and stood on the threshold. Hugo was out of her line of vision, but he must have been coming out, for she heard his voice with devastating clarity.