Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  Anne smiled as she rose. “Nevertheless. I made him a promise. But we’ll see each other again.”

  “Oh, la, yes.” Katherine rose, too. “We’ll be going to the ball at the Old Ship tomorrow night, will you?”

  “I believe so. We usually do.”

  “How very nice.” Katherine took Anne’s arm as they walked to the door of the drawing room, and Anne could almost believe there was closeness between them. “Do call again, darling, it was delightful to see you again.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Anne pressed her cheek against hers again, and then turned to leave, filled with a mixture of relief and sorrow. It was her own fault, of course, for thinking that her parents would have changed, simply because she had been away for so long. She really should have known better. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have been so disappointed.

  Giles was just coming out of the book-room when Anne walked into the house. A surge of gladness at seeing him went through her, and she quickly suppressed it. No expectations, Anne, she told herself, sternly. Nothing has changed here, either. “Giles.” She made herself smile. “What is the time?”

  Giles looked at her, long, before reaching for his watch. “Half-past three. Good afternoon to you, too.”

  “Oh! Good afternoon, Giles. Thank heavens, I’ve time. I promised Jamie I’d be back by four to take tea with him.”

  “How are your parents?” he asked, and she stopped on the stairs, turning to him.

  “My mother is well. Quite the same, actually. I imagine my father is, too. He was at Raggetts’s.”

  Giles held out his hand. “Anne—”

  “Excuse me, I really would like to change before I go to the nursery,” she said, and hurried away up the stairs.

  Giles watched her go, and then went back into the book-room. There he stood behind the library table he used as a desk, his fingers resting lightly upon its polished mahogany surface. Papers having to do with his various estates and duties lay in neatly sorted piles on the table, but, though he frowned down at them, Giles didn’t see them. Once his responsibilities had mattered most to him. Now something else had taken their place.

  He sank down in the chair, his legs outstretched and his hands drumming on the arm. He didn’t understand women, not even the ones in his family. Beth seemed more skittish than ever, walking about the house with vague eyes and jumping when anyone spoke to her. His mother, who had always been demanding but caring, now seemed merely fractious. And Anne—Anne was the most confusing of them all.

  For perhaps the thousandth time he reviewed what had happened between them at Battle Abbey. He didn’t think he’d read her reactions wrong. That she’d been reluctant to discuss the past perhaps was natural; though he still felt it lay between them, he no longer resented it as once he had. They had both been young, and had made mistakes. It didn’t seem to matter so much now, with what had occurred between them the other day, the companionship, the closeness, the awareness. Ah, yes, the awareness, of her so close to him, her soft warmth, her gentle scent. And it hadn’t been just him, damn it! He pounded the table with his fist. She’d felt it, too. He’d known it from the way she trembled in his arms, from the look in her eyes. For a few moments it had been just as it had seven years ago, that unspoken communication between them, but better, richer, deeper. Would he have kissed her had she been unwilling? Of course not. He was not in the habit of forcing women against their will. No, she had wanted the embrace, the kiss, the closeness, as much as he had. Why she had pulled away was something he still didn’t understand.

  Giles rubbed at his temples, as if to erase his tiredness and confusion. If he didn’t understand Anne, his own actions baffled him. He surely knew better than to allow himself to become involved with her. She’d proven herself flighty and unfaithful already, and he had no desire to open himself to that kind of hurt again. Certainly there was an attraction between them; perhaps it was inevitable. It had no future, though. Although Anne appeared to be enjoying herself, he sensed that sometimes she felt as exasperated and imprisoned by society life as he did. He doubted it was a life she would want either for herself or her son, and so she would leave. And he, tied by his responsibilities and his duties, wanting to travel but knowing he’d never willingly set foot on a ship, would stay behind. What was between them was a summer folly. It would end when the summer did.

  Giles looked at the papers on his desk and then, with a little snarl, pushed them away. To hell with duty. If being with Anne were folly, then so be it. So long as he was forewarned about the future, he would not be hurt by it.

  “I don’t think I’ll buy this bonnet after all,” Susan Whitehead said, rising from the stool in the milliner’s shop. “What do you think, Beth?”

  Beth stepped back, looking consideringly at her friend. It was a novelty for someone to actually seek her opinion. She liked it. “The brim is too big,” she said.

  “I thought so. Oh, well, I don’t really need another bonnet.” Smiling at the milliner, whose returning smile was somewhat less cordial, they left the shop. “Oh, look.” Susan caught at Beth’s arm. “Look who is coming down the street.”

  “Who?”

  “Lieutenant Bancroft and Mr. Seward.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “What?” Susan looked at her critically. “Now, don’t tell me you’re shy, because I won’t have it,” she said, in a fair imitation of her mother’s manner. “You look pretty in that frock, Beth. I particularly like the spencer. Blue suits you.” Her eyes sparkled. “I dare you.”

  Beth, who had stepped back against the milliner’s bow window in an automatic attempt to hide, looked up. “Dare me to do what?”

  “I dare you to speak to Lieutenant Bancroft.”

  “Of course I’ll speak to him,” Beth said, falling into step beside her friend as the two men approached. “‘Tis only polite.”

  “Polite!” Susan’s eyes shone with suppressed laughter. “Don’t hoax me. You don’t wish to be merely polite.”

  “Susan.”

  “Hush! Here they come. Mr. Seward, Lieutenant Bancroft. How very nice to see you again!”

  And so it was that Beth found herself walking on Thomas Bancroft’s arm, behind the others, with Susan’s maid trailing behind. For the first few moments neither said anything, though Beth was very aware of him, as she had been at Battle. In fact, she could feel his gaze on her almost as a gentle touch, making her at last look at him. His blue, blue eyes had an intent look to them that she had never seen before, but that she somehow recognized. “What?” she said, putting her hand to her cheek, which felt warm. “Have I something on my face?”

  “I was thinking how beautiful you are,” he said in a husky voice.

  Instantly the color in her face deepened, and she twisted around to be certain the maid wasn’t following too closely. “You mustn’t say such things, sir.”

  “And why not, when it’s true? I told myself it couldn’t be, that no one could be such an angel, but now, seeing you again.” He paused. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Tuesday.”

  Beth glanced away. “Nor I, you.” She took a deep breath. “But ‘tis much too soon.”

  “Sometimes it happens that way. It did for my parents.”

  “My mother doesn’t like you,” she said abruptly, and hurried on. “Not because of you, yourself, you understand, but she wishes me to choose someone with a title.”

  “Would she let you go even for a royal duke?”

  Beth giggled, though he seemed perfectly serious. “Oh, dear! The thought of one of the Prince’s brothers, and me!”

  Thomas’s eyes gleamed with reluctant amusement. “Well, perhaps not Sailor Billy or the Duke of Cumberland. But you know what I mean, Beth. Would she let you go?”

  “Lady Beth.”

  “That’s nonsense. You’re Beth. I’m Tom. Would she let you go? Would you let it stop you if she held onto you?”

  Beth stopped, looking up at him. “I don’t know. Does it matter so?”

  That
intent look was back in his eyes. “Yes. It very well might.”

  “Oh.” She continued walking again. “I’ve never defied her, or my brother, either. They’re both good to me.”

  “Beth, you cannot continue to live your life for other people.”

  “Except for a husband, you mean.”

  He looked slightly taken aback. “Yes. No! No, Beth, I don’t want you to live your life for anyone, even me. With someone, though. Share your life with someone.”

  “Who?” she said, softly, and his eyes flickered.

  “I cannot say. Not here. Beth.” His face was serious and tender. No one had ever looked at her like that before. “Would you take a younger son, even if your mother didn’t approve?”

  “It would depend on the man.” She met his gaze directly. “If he were the right man it wouldn’t matter to me if he were a younger son or a royal duke or a—a peasant! Yes.” Her voice was firm. “Yes, I would do what I had to do, if I thought it was right.”

  Thomas didn’t answer right away. “You are a rare and courageous woman, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, finally, and, his eyes never leaving hers, raised her hand to his lips. “It is an honor knowing you.”

  “Th-thank you.” The old shyness was back, brought on by the extraordinary compliment, but somehow it didn’t matter. She was safe with him. Safe, and at the same time more excited than she ever had been. She felt as if she were on the brink of some marvelous adventure.

  Giles was just coming out of the book-room as Beth walked into the house. “You look uncommonly well, Beth,” he said, smiling down at her. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

  Beth’s eyes lowered. “Oh, very much, Giles, thank you.” Oh, dear. She couldn’t tell Giles about this afternoon. Not yet; perhaps not ever. He wouldn’t understand. He would only point out her duty. Beth had always been dutiful and obedient. It was only recently that she had discovered there was something more important in life than being a good daughter. Thomas had shown it to her.

  “Come. We’ll have tea and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Oh, I must change first, Giles, or Mama will scold me. Please excuse me,” she said, and scurried up the stairs, leaving Giles, for the second time that afternoon, staring after someone in consternation. What was the matter with the women of his family? For the life of him, he would never understand them.

  Benson knocked on the door of the book-room the next morning. “Your Grace.”

  Giles looked up from the letter he had been writing. “Yes, Benson, what is it?”

  “There is, ah, a problem in the drawing room, sir.”

  “Can you not attend to it, Benson?”

  “No, Your Grace. I am sorry. It is something you should see for yourself, sir.”

  “Very well.” With a sigh of resignation Giles rose and walked past his butler. What had happened to his neat, orderly life? At Tremont, no one would have dared to disturb him at his work. Life in Brighton was vastly different.

  The drawing room looked normal when he walked into it. He didn’t know what he had expected to find, his mother ill, perhaps, or some piece of vandalism. But—nothing. “Well, Benson?” He turned to the butler, looking at him from under his brow. “What is so important that I must leave my work?”

  “My apologies, Your Grace, but I thought you might want to see—that.”

  Giles followed Benson’s pointing finger and barely suppressed a laugh. There, in the middle of the floor, were the toy soldiers that had once been his, set up in a most extraordinary way. The green or blue-painted figures, the enemy, were mostly still standing, some in lines, some hiding behind table legs that in a young boy’s mind might symbolize trees. The redcoats, on the other hand, had all been knocked down, still in their neat, precise lines of battle. Giles’s lips twitched. “Looks rather as if we’ve been routed, Benson.”

  Benson sighed. “Your Grace, I was hoping—”

  “Yes, Benson. I’ll speak to Jamie and his mother. If you will please tell them I wish to see them.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I will summon them now.”

  A few moments later Anne, a little breathless, came into the drawing room, Jamie in tow. “Yes, Giles, what is it?” she said, brushing a wayward strand of hair away from her face.

  “Something I’d like you to see.” Giles’s lips twitched. “It appears someone has been doing battle in here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Giles looked at Jamie. “Jamie? Are these not yours?”

  “My soldiers!” Jamie broke free of Anne’s grasp and ran across the room, falling to his knees. “Mommy, here they are!”

  “So this is where they disappeared to. We were wondering,” Anne said, smiling.

  “Yes.” Giles nodded. “And how did they get there?”

  Both turned to look at Jamie, now righting the fallen soldiers. “James? How did they get there?” Giles asked.

  Jamie looked up. “I don’t know.”

  “Jamie, did you put them there?”

  “No, Mommy.”

  “James—”

  “I didn’t, Uncle Giles!” Jamie turned to Anne, his smile dissolving. “Mommy, tell Uncle Giles not to be mad.”

  A slight frown wrinkled Anne’s brow as she perched on a footstool near him. “I don’t think he is, pet. But, remember what I’ve always told you about telling me the truth.”

  “Yes, Mommy, I am. Word of a Templeton.”

  Anne looked up at Giles. “I believe him, Giles. Jamie does not lie.”

  “Commendable. Tell me, then, how the soldiers got there?”

  “Maybe Terence did it,” Jamie said.

  The adults turned to look at him. “Who is Terence, lad?” Giles said.

  Jamie gave them both that look of impatience that only a child can produce toward adults who seem to live in their own world. “You know, Uncle Giles. Terence. The ghost.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anne and Giles stared at each other. “The ghost?” Anne said.

  “Terence?” Giles said at the same time.

  “What ghost, lovey?” Anne leaned forward. “Jamie, look at me. What ghost?”

  Jamie looked up from setting the toy soldiers to rights. “You know, Mommy. He said you heard him singing one night and you ran around looking for him. He said it was funny.”

  A chill skittered down Anne’s spine. “Where did he say this, Jamie?”

  “In my room.”

  Anne looked quickly up at Giles, and reached out to gather Jamie against her, though he wriggled away. “Giles—”

  “What do you and Terence talk about, Jamie?” Giles asked, sitting down.

  “Things.”

  “James.” Giles’s voice was stern. “Leave the soldiers for a moment and answer my questions.”

  Jamie stood up, his back very straight, his shoulders squared. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. What does Terence talk to you about, Jamie?”

  “Things. He tells me all about going on a ship, but I already know about that,” Jamie said, with the careless scorn of the young. “He said he’d been to Jamaica, Mommy! And America, too. He told me about a cat with nine tails. I’ve never seen a cat with nine tails, have you, Uncle Giles?”

  “No, Jamie.” Commendably, Giles kept his face straight. “What else does he talk about?”

  “Well—I told him about Hampshire Hall and Diah and you, Mommy. And you, too, Uncle Giles. He likes you.”

  “I am honored.”

  “Mm-hm. He says you’re not bad for a bloody aristocrat.”

  “Jamie!” Anne exclaimed.

  “That’s what he said, Mommy. And sometimes he sings.”

  “Dear lord.”

  Giles sent her a look that held a mixture of intrigue and amusement. “What does Terence look like, Jamie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come now, Jamie. You said he comes into your room.”

  “He doesn’t. He just talks to me.”

  Giles and Anne exchanged another look. “Very well, lad
. The next time you talk to Terence, please tell him we would like to meet him.”

  “Yes, Uncle Giles.”

  “Run along now, lad. Your mother and I need to discuss something.”

  Anne rose, her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I should go with him—”

  “He’ll be fine, Anne. Sit down.”

  “Uncle Giles, may I take my soldiers?”

  “I’ll bring them up to you later. Go along now, lad.”

  Jamie bowed and, after one last wistful glance at his toys, went out. Anne jumped to her feet, crossing the room to the door. Only when she saw Jamie reach the top of the stairs did she turn. “A ghost talking to my son, Giles. Dear God. I cannot have this. I would like to go back to Tremont—”

  “Sit down, Anne.” Giles was staring at the toy soldiers. “A ghost who apparently doesn’t like the British Army.”

  “Giles.”

  “Someone who was in the army, by the sound of it. I wonder if any of the staff meets that description.”

  Anne fell into her seat. “You don’t think it’s a ghost?”

  “Of course not.” He looked at her and grinned. “Annie, don’t tell me you do?”

  Anne blushed. “I don’t know what to believe! How does he do it, Giles? How does he talk to Jamie in his room?”

  “Yes, that is a puzzle, isn’t it? And when he sang, we all heard him. I expect, though, there’s some explanation for it. I refuse to believe in ghosts.”

  “But, Giles, don’t you see? This Terence, whoever he is, is bothering my son. I can’t let Jamie be hurt.”

  “Annie.” Giles’s face was tender. “Do you think I would do anything to put you or your son in danger?”

  Anne blushed again. “I’m too old to be called Annie.”

  “Oh, no. Never too old. Annie, I swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”

  Anne searched his face, finding there strength and reassurance. She couldn’t imagine how Freddie would have reacted in the same situation. He had not been a coward, but always his first priority had been himself. Giles was different. She could trust him. “I know you will,” she said, feeling as if a weight had fallen from her. At last, she could rely on someone. “And I don’t really believe it’s a ghost, but—”