Simply Perfect

am not simply McLeith, that is. Say it again.” He touched her hand on his arm and squeezed it. But Claudia was not to be distracted. Everyone about them seemed to be in high spirits, and she too smiled. And then they came to a horseshoe-shaped area that was paved and surrounded by columns and open boxes in tiers, all lit by lanterns on the outside, lamps within. Almost all were already occupied, the central one by an orchestra. Lady Ravensberg was waving to them from one of the lower boxes. “Peter, Susanna, Miss Martin,” she called as they drew closer. “Oh, and the Duke of McLeith is with you. Do come and join us. You are the last to arrive. Now our party is complete.” The party consisted of the viscount and viscountess, the Duke and Duchess of Portfrey, the Earl and Countess of Sutton, the Marquess of Attingsborough and Miss Hunt, the Earl and Countess of Kilbourne, and the four new arrivals. Claudia felt amusement again at finding herself in such illustrious company. But she was determined to enjoy the evening to the full. Soon she would be back at school, and it was unlikely that she would experience such an evening ever again. And what an experience it was! The company was mostly congenial. Though the Suttons virtually ignored Claudia, and Miss Hunt sat at the opposite side of the box and rarely looked her way, everyone else was more than polite. The very sweet and pretty Countess of Kilbourne and the elegant, dignified Duchess of Portfrey engaged her in conversation for some time as did Viscount Ravensberg and his wife. And of course there were Susanna and Peter and Charlie. But all did not depend upon conversation. There was supper to be eaten, most notably the thin slices of ham and the strawberries for which Vauxhall Gardens were famous. And there was wine to be drunk. There were other people to watch as they moved by along the main avenue and strolled around by the boxes, stopping to engage some of their occupants in conversation. There was the music to listen to. And there was the dancing. Although she had not danced in a long while, Claudia participated anyway. How could one possibly resist dancing in the open air with waving lanterns and the moon and stars above to light the ground on which they moved? She was partnered by Charlie, the Earl of Kilbourne, and the Duke of Portfrey. Eleanor would tease her quite mercilessly about all this when she heard of it. And if the music and dancing were not enough to fill her cup of pleasure to overflowing, there were the fireworks to look forward to later. While they waited for that display to begin, Lady Ravensberg suggested a walk, and everyone agreed that it would be just the thing. They all paired off to walk together—the Earl of Kilbourne with his cousin, Lady Sutton, on his arm, Viscount Ravensberg with the Countess of Kilbourne, Peter with the Duchess of Portfrey, the duke with Susanna, the Earl of Sutton with Lady Ravensberg. “Ah,” Charlie said, “I see that everyone is taking a different partner. Miss Hunt, may I have the pleasure?” She smiled and took his arm. The Marquess of Attingsborough was finishing a conversation with a couple of acquaintances who had stopped outside the box. “Go on ahead,” he said, waving everyone on their way. “Miss Martin and I will follow in a moment.” Claudia felt a little embarrassed. He really had no choice but to accompany her, did he? But really, if there had been one secret disappointment about the evening so far, it was that there had been no chance to converse or to dance with him. The afternoon picnic seemed as if it must have happened days ago. I do believe, Miss Martin, you must be the loveliest woman it has ever been my privilege to meet. He had spoken those very words to her a mere few hours ago. And of course, the more she tried to forget, the more she remembered. And then he was smiling at her and offering his arm. “I do apologize for the delay,” he said. “Shall we chase after the others? Or shall we stroll in more leisurely fashion while you tell me truthfully what you think of Vauxhall?” They made their way across the main avenue and down a shorter one until they reached another long, wide path, parallel to the first, that was breathtaking in its loveliness. Not only were there lamps hanging among the trees, but the series of stone arches across the path ahead was hung with them too. “Perhaps,” she said, “you expect me to look about with great good sense, Lord Attingsborough, and pronounce my disdain for such frivolous artificiality.” “But you are not going to do it?” He looked down at her with laughing eyes. “You cannot know how delighted I would be to know that you are not always ruled by good sense. This evening I have been chilled by good sense.” “Sometimes,” she said, “I prefer to forget I even have such encumbrances as critical faculties. Sometimes I prefer just to enjoy.” “And you are enjoying yourself this evening?” he asked her, guiding her around a largish group of merry revelers who were not looking where they were going. Their own group was some distance ahead, Claudia could see. “I am,” she said. “Oh, I really am. I only hope I can remember all this just as it is so that I can draw out the memories when I am alone in my quiet sitting room in Bath some winter evening.” He chuckled. “But first you must enjoy it to the last moment,” he said. “And then remember it.” “Oh, I will,” she assured him. “All is well with McLeith?” he asked her. “He came to dinner and made himself very agreeable,” she told him. “He recounted exploits and episodes of mischief in which we were embroiled as children, and I was reminded of how very much I liked him then.” “You were lovers later?” he asked quietly. She felt the heat in her cheeks as she remembered almost admitting as much to him in Hyde Park. How could she possibly have said what she had aloud to him—or to anyone? “Very briefly,” she said, “before he left home never to return. We were inconsolable at the knowledge that he had to go to Scotland, that it would be some time before we would see each other again and could be together for the rest of our lives. And so—” “Such things happen,” he said. “And all in all I believe passion—even misguided passion—is preferable to cold indifference. I believe you yourself said something similar to me once.” “Yes,” she said just before he drew her firmly to one side of the path to avoid a collision with another careless and noisy group. “This is undoubtedly a picturesque avenue,” he said, “and of course we must remain on it if we are to catch up with the others. But do you wish to catch up, Miss Martin, or shall we take one of the quieter paths? They are not as well lit, of course, but it is not a dark night.” “One of the quieter paths, please,” she said, and they turned onto one almost immediately and were soon swallowed up by darkness and the illusion of quiet. “Ah, this is better,” he said. “Yes.” They strolled onward, quiet themselves now that they had moved away from the crowds. Claudia breathed in the smell of greenery. And even above the distant strains of music and the muted sounds of voices and laughter, she could hear— “Oh, listen,” she said, drawing her hand free of his arm and grasping his sleeve. “A nightingale.” He listened too for several moments as they stood quite still. “And so it is,” he said. “It is not just my daughter who hears the birds, then.” “It is the darkness,” she said. “It makes one more aware of sound and smell and touch.” “Touch.” He laughed softly. “If you loved, Miss Martin, as you once did, or if at least you intended to marry a certain man, would you object to his touch? To his kiss? Would you call them unnecessary or foolish?” Claudia was very glad of the darkness then. Her cheeks, she was sure, were aflame. “Unnecessary?” she said. “Foolish? Surely neither. I would both want and expect touches—and kisses. Especially if I loved.” He looked about him, and Claudia, realizing that her hand was still on his sleeve, drew it free. “This very evening,” he said, “on the way here, I tried to kiss Miss Hunt—the only time I have ever taken such a liberty. She told me not to be foolish.” “Perhaps,” she said, smiling despite herself, “she felt embarrassed or frightened.” “She explained herself at greater length when I questioned her,” he told her. “She said that kisses are unnecessary and foolish between two people who are perfect for each other.” A slight breeze was causing the branches overhead to sway and admit faint bars of moonlight to play over his face. Claudia stared at him. Whatever had Miss Hunt meant? How could they be perfect for each other when she did not want his kisses? “Why are you going to marry her?” she asked. His eyes moved to hers and stayed there. But he did not answer. “Do you love her?” she asked. He smiled. “I think I had better say no more,” he said. “I have already said too much when the lady ought to be able to expect some discretion from me. What is it about you that invites confidences?” It was her turn not to answer. His eyes were still on hers. Even when the moonlight was not filtering through the trees, the darkness was really not very dark at all. “Would you be embarrassed or afraid,” he asked her, “if I tried to kiss you?” She would be both. She was quite sure she would. But it was a hypothetical question. “No,” she said so softly that she was not even sure sound came from her lips. She cleared her throat. “No.” It was a hypothetical question. But as he lifted one hand and touched his fingertips to her cheek while his palm came beneath her chin, sighing as he did so, Claudia realized that perhaps it was not. She closed her eyes and his lips touched hers. It was a terrible shock. His lips were warm and slightly parted. She could taste the wine he had drunk and smell his cologne. She could feel the warmth of his hand and of his breath. She could hear the nightingale singing and someone far away shriek with laughter. And all her insides reacted in such a way that afterward she marveled that she had remained on her feet. Her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. It lasted for maybe twenty seconds—maybe not even as long. But her world was rocked to its very foundations. As he lifted his head and lowered his hand and took a step back, Claudia firmly repossessed herself of her equilibrium. “There, you see?” she said, her voice sounding unfortunately brisk and overcheerful. “I was neither embarrassed nor afraid. So there is nothing inherently embarrassing or fearful about you.” “I ought not to have done that,” he said. “I am so sor—” But Claudia’s hand shot up, seemingly of its own volition, and she watched herself place two fingers firmly across his lips—those lovely warm lips that had just kissed her own. “Don’t be,” she said, and her voice was a little less forceful now. It even shook slightly. “If you are sorry, then I will feel that I ought to be too, and I am not sorry at all. It is the first time I have been kissed in eighteen years and will probably be the last time for the rest of my life. I do not want to be sorry, and I do not want you to be sorry. Please.” He set his hand over hers and kissed her palm before lowering it to hold against the folds of his neckcloth. Even in the darkness she could see that his eyes