Marjorie Farrell (8 page)

The air and the road cleared as they approached the Dillons’, however, and Lavinia revived. She was not about to disgrace Jeremy, especially in front of this upstart female and her daughter. So there was a hint of battle in her eyes when they pulled up in front of the cottage.

Miranda and Nora were sitting in the parlor. Or rather, Nora was sitting calmly, reading, and Miranda was up and down at the slightest noise. “Jeremy is more than half an hour past the time he promised,” she said to her mother, “and he is never late. Do you suppose they are not coming after all?”

“Jeremy is with two other people, dear. Perhaps his mother is delayed,” replied her mother calmly.

When the chaise at last pulled up, Miranda was up and out before Nora could stop her. She stopped suddenly on the walk and smoothed her dress and hair unconsciously as she watched Jeremy hand his mother down.

Sam could see a resemblance to the child Romney had painted in her flushed cheeks and startlingly blue eyes. But she is no child, he thought as he watched her control her agitation. She is quite a beautiful young woman. Had she remained inside, in imitation of a polite society miss, or rushed up to Jeremy gushing in a possessive way, Sam would have felt more optimistic. But she walked quietly down the path to meet them, saying, “You must be Jeremy’s mama. I am Miranda Dillon. You are as elegant as he promised,” she continued easily, “but you look worn-out from your drive. We must get you into the house and settled with a glass of water or lemonade.”

Jeremy threw a grateful look at Miranda, and Sam felt a twinge of jealousy as their eyes met in what was obviously perfect understanding. They were not gazing soulfully at each other, like calf-lovers, all intent upon themselves, but were, instead, working like partners to handle an awkward situation. He dismounted, and watched Miranda murmuring sympathetically to the countess as they proceeded up the walk. He grinned to himself as he realized that Lavinia had lost the first round immediately. There had been no chance for her to come over the proud countess, and it would be hard to pull off now, with such an attentive young lady.

Nora met them at the door and let them past her as she turned to meet the viscount. She felt like a conspirator as he smiled and took her extended hand.

“My lord. Please come and join us in the parlor. You look like you had a dry and dusty journey.”

Sam brushed himself off. “There did seem to be an overabundance of livestock as we came into town,” he replied.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Nora said. “We are so used to market day that I never thought that Tuesday would not be ideal. Although the weather is perfect for our picnic,” she said as she looked up at the almost-clear blue sky. “This dry spell might have raised the dust, but it has also dried out the Heath, so our walk will not be muddy and our rugs will not get damp. Please come in.”

Lavinia had been settled and Miranda was in the kitchen getting lemonade and glasses. The color was returning to the countess’s face and she was trying to take in the room without looking vulgarly curious. She had to admit that while it was not a richly or fashionably furnished room, it was quite comfortable and not at all vulgar.

Jeremy got up immediately as Nora entered the room, and introduced her to his mother. She walked over to shake hands, and Lavinia looked up into calm gray eyes. Surely this could not be the encroaching Mrs. Dillon, this soft-spoken, attractive woman?

“We are honored to have you with us, Lady Whitford,” Nora said. “Jeremy has told us so much about you, we feel we know you already.”

Lavinia replied frostily: “I can’t say he has told us anything about you.”

Nora colored, and with a naturalness that bespoke an easy intimacy, placed a hand on Jeremy’s arm. “I know, and I have scolded him for it.”

Jeremy looked down and smiled ruefully. “I know this is a surprise for all of us,” Nora continued, “and I am sure not the match you might have chosen. But I feel it is important to respect the feelings of our children, do you not?”

Lavinia looked up into the studiously bland face of Mrs. Dillon and remembered what the “plan” was. “You are quite correct on both counts, Mrs. Dillon,” she answered coolly.

Miranda came in with the lemonade, and Nora turned to Jeremy again. “My dear, there is a crock of ale in the larder. Would you pour out a glass for the viscount and yourself, if you want something stronger.”

Nora, finally realizing that the viscount was waiting for her to sit down, sat and poured the lemonade for the three ladies.

“You must be quite eager to stretch your legs after your long ride,” she said to the countess.

Lavinia was taken aback, for the last thing she had been thinking about was exercise. What she was eager to do was stretch out on her own sofa and nap. But Sam had said they must be agreeable, so she murmured something about a stroll being welcome.

“We only planned a short walk for you for this first time,” said Miranda. “There is a path right up from the cottage, which will take us to the Heath for our picnic, and then it circles back. We need to walk only twenty minutes or so to get there.”

Bless the girl, Nora thought, as she looked at Lavinia’s face struggling not to frown at the thought of more exercise off horseback than she had had in years. They had originally planned an hour’s walk out, but Miranda had taken the countess’s measure in a glance and realized she would never make it. Indeed, should she walk half the distance in those slippers, it would be a miracle. Whatever was she thinking of, dressing like that?

Mrs. Dillon’s face was so open that Sam almost laughed out loud as he saw her look down with consternation at Lavinia’s shoes. She herself was comfortably dressed, as was Miranda, in a gown suitable for walking, as most “walking dresses” weren’t, thought Sam. And he guessed, quite correctly, that mother and daughter would exchange their slippers for some sort of footwear worn by hours of walking.

Conversation could not be said to be sprightly. After a few polite inquiries, Lavinia gave up. It would not have done to get personal, and no one was relaxed enough to utter more than stilted comments on the weather, and the inevitable remarks upon the ubiquitous black pigs. The only sincere words were Sam’s and Jeremy’s praises for the ale.

Miranda and Jeremy had not imagined it would be so difficult. They, after all, could talk for hours and had no more in common than their respective parents. But they had forgotten that in addition to the sweet inanities of young lovers, their conversations ranged over everything from literature to politics, Miranda being better read than most of Jeremy’s friends who had come down from Oxford. But Lady Lavinia had little conversation aside from the
ton
gossip. After a few aborted attempted to relate the latest
on-dit
,
she realized that the Dillons not only did not know the Duchess of Handley or the Earl of Staveley, but were only being polite when they expressed their interest. So Lavinia sipped her lemonade slowly, and the others watched her, as though it were the most original act in the world.

Nora realized the first meeting was going almost too well, from the parental point of view. She could not stand the increasing discomfort, and suggested they set off for their picnic. Even Lavinia seemed to welcome the suggestion.

“Would you like to borrow a pair of boots, Lady Whitford?” asked Nora. “We look of a size, and I promise you would be more comfortable.”

The countess looked with distaste at the brogues Nora was holding out to her.

“No, thank you. My slippers are sufficiently comfortable.”

“You are sure, Mother?”

Lavinia was not about to ruin her appearance for anything. So she refused again, and once they had distributed the rugs and picnic baskets, they set off.

The day was unusually warm for June, and it took only ten minutes for them to realize the countess was not going to make even the shorter walk. At first, she was bothered only by the fact that the bottom of her gown was getting dusty. But then she began to feel the pebbles and ruts in the path through her slippers. To give her credit, she did try to keep up, and made only one despairing cry when, after limping alone in the rear, she was slapped in the face by a rebounding twig. Miranda, who had moved back to give Lavinia her arm, hurried up to the front of their small procession to speak with her mother and Jeremy.

Nora walked back with her daughter and said, with genuine sympathy: “Lady Whitford, we had forgotten how used we are to walking. Perhaps we can picnic a little closer to the cottage. Do you think you can walk just five more minutes? There is a spot ahead, not as ideal as what we had planned, but adequately shaded.”

Lavinia was so grateful to be spared ten minutes of torture that she offered Nora a genuine smile and admitted that perhaps she was not properly dressed for this kind of exercise.

“Jeremy,” called Nora, “come and take your mother’s arm.”

Jeremy, who had wanted his mother and Miranda to become better acquainted, had been walking ahead with Sam and was quite oblivious to Lavinia’s discomfort. He came back immediately and took his mother’s arm. Miranda fell in front of them, and Nora strode quickly to catch up with the viscount.

“My lord, I think we will have to cut short our walk. The countess is quite obviously miserable, and even though it would suit our purpose well, I cannot torture the poor lady further. There is a spot up ahead, next to a small pond with a few trees to shade us. We could spread the rugs out there. The countess can rest, and if you and Jeremy and Miranda wish to go further, I will stay with her and keep her company.”

Sam looked back and could not help himself from smiling at the contrast between the limping countess and the woman beside him. She was clearly full of energy and could have continued for hours.

“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Dillon. Are you sure you want to sacrifice your own exercise? I could stay with Lavinia.”

“No, no. You go on with the young people. I get out almost every day, and in truth, this sort of day is not one of my favorites. I prefer a few clouds and a bit of wind in my face to this heat.”

Within a few minutes they had reached the small pond which bordered the upper end of the High Street.

“This is not as wild a place as we would find on a longer walk, for we are barely onto the Heath,” Nora said. “But it is a pleasant spot for a picnic.”

Jeremy and Sam spread out the rugs and settled Lavinia under the shade of a small willow. Nora waved the three of them off.

“I will arrange the picnic and keep the countess company. You three go on a bit further.”

Jeremy mouthed a thank-you to her, and the three moved off.

For a few moments, while Lavinia caught her breath and leaned against the tree with her eyes closed, all was silent. Nora watched the pond, a steel-blue mirror. The calm surface was disturbed only by the V drawn by a family of ducks, and the silence broken by the warbling of blackbirds hidden in the reeds. They were on the Heath side of the water, so the occasional wagon on the road opposite did not bother them.

When Lavinia opened her eyes, she saw Nora sitting on the edge of the rug, her legs drawn up, arms around them, and her chin resting on her knees. And as the sun glanced through the leaves, one could also see the gray and red highlights in her hair. She seemed so free and faraway, Lavinia thought. And so…different. No lady would ever sit like that, yet it was clear she must have originally been from a good family. She and her daughter, Lavinia had to admit, were refined and well-spoken. Perhaps she had married beneath her? thought Lavinia, and without thinking said: “Have you been widowed long, Mrs. Dillon?”

Nora started. “You are awake! I thought you might have wished to nap while we wait. What did you wish to know?”

“How long is it since your husband died?”

“Oh, Miranda and I have been on our own since she was two.”

“And have you always written to support the two of you? Or did your husband leave you something?” Lavinia was asking out of genuine interest, and not antagonism, but Nora did not quite trust her.

“No to both. I came to writing a bit later, when Miranda was older. And no, he did not leave me anything.”

To ask more would have been ill-bred, so Lavinia only commented she didn’t know how it was for Mrs. Dillon, but for herself, while the first grief had diminished, she missed her Charles more as the years went by.

Nora was touched by the real feeling in the countess’s voice and was surprised she would be so open with someone who was, in her eyes, some sort of opponent. She said she understood, but did not go any further about her own husband.

“Perhaps we should start laying out the picnic,” Nora said briskly, ending the intimacy of the moment, and she began busying herself with baskets, unwrapping brown bread and cheeses and delicate cress sandwiches. There were cold chicken, asparagus vinaigrette, and a “surprise” Nora said, leaving the last basket covered. The meal was simply, yet tastefully done, and required nothing but fingers and napkins.

“Just in time,” Nora laughed, as she heard the three wanderers returning. “Could you put these bottles in the pond to keep them cool, Jeremy?”

Lavinia was a bit jealous of the easy relationship between Mrs. Dillon and her son. She knew Jeremy loved her, but she also knew that a certain amount of tension had grown between them since his father had died. She was not sensitive or intelligent enough to see it for what it was: the way Jeremy was able to maintain a certain distance from her. She was by no means a devouring mother, but her helplessness could have pulled him in more effectively than any bullying, had he not distanced himself with his humorously critical stance. Nora, on the other hand, was independent, and, most important of all, not his mother, and so he could respond to her in a way he could not to Lavinia.

“Well, Sam,” Lavinia said with a rather forced cheerfulness, the edge returning to her voice, “how was it further on?”

“Delightful, my dear. We have all worked up quite an appetite.”

“I hope what I have brought will satisfy it,” Nora said. “I did not wish to carry too much, so there is only one knife for the cheese and chicken and bread.”