Simply Magic

he thought to ask himself the question. At present he was caught up in an uncharacteristic moment of seriousness and sincerity.

“Oh, don’t say so,” she cried, and he could hear distress in her voice. “Please don’t say so. Don’t spoil what we have shared. Don’t flirt with me.”

Oh, good Lord!

“Flirtation is the farthest thing from my mind,” he assured her.

Yet if it was not flirtation, what was it exactly? He had the dizzying feeling that he had inadvertently steered his boat into uncharted waters.

And then, because he had tipped his head downward and she had not moved, their foreheads touched. He closed his eyes and did not move. Neither did she.

He felt a sudden, deep melancholy again, even worse than he had felt yesterday after their walk to the waterfall.

He opened his eyes, moved his head slightly, and brushed his lips over hers.

But only for a brief, mad moment before lifting his head and gazing off toward the church. Their hands were still clasped tightly, he realized.

He was aware of her ragged breathing for a few moments and had a ghastly thought. That was probably-no, undoubtedly-her first kiss. And yet it hardly qualified for the name. But he could not now make the occasion more memorable for her by returning his lips to hers and doing the deed more thoroughly and more expertly.

It would be the very worst thing he could do.

He ought not to have kissed her at all.

He just did not go about toying with the sensibilities of innocent young schoolteachers. Or with his own for that matter.

Good Lord, they were just friends. Just friends!

“I think,” she said softly, “we ought to go back to the inn, Lord Whitleaf. I see that people are coming out, and I cannot hear music any longer.”

He ought to apologize, dash it all. But that would draw attention to what had not really been a kiss at all.

He could still feel the shock of her warm, soft mouth against his.

Dash it all, why had he not listened to her when she told him over a week ago that a friendship was impossible between a man and a woman? He had used the example of Edgecombe and the countess to prove her wrong. But he had failed to consider the fact that they were lovers as well as friends.

A single man and a single woman could not be both.

Nor could they be just friends, it seemed. The devil of it was that he wanted her- sexually. And it simply would not do.

“I will escort you,” he said, vastly relieved that the assembly had ended in time to avert further indiscretions.

Edgecombe and the countess were waiting outside their carriage. Other people and carriages and horses milled about them in high-spirited disorder as everyone called good night to everyone else.

Peter smiled and looked cheerfully about him.

“Miss Osbourne and I have been wiser than all of you,” he called as they approached the crowd. “We have been strolling quietly out here and enjoying the cool air.”

She too, he saw when he glanced down at her, was smiling brightly.

“Frances,” she said, “this has been a lovely evening, has it not? Thank you so much for bringing me.”

Edgecombe smiled kindly down at her while offering his hand to help her into their carriage, the countess bade Peter a good night before climbing in after her, Edgecombe vaulted in behind, and within moments their coachman was maneuvering the carriage out of the crowd.

Peter heaved a silent sigh of relief as he lifted a hand in farewell and then gave his attention to Miss Raycroft, who had grasped his arm and was prattling excitedly to him about the delights of the evening.

But he was only half listening to her.

What you need is a dragon to slay,she had said while they were still inside the refreshment room.

What you need is a dragon to slay.

When Frances tapped on the door of Susanna’s bedchamber, Susanna mumbled something that was certainly not come in, but she must not have spoken clearly enough. Frances turned the knob, opened the door a crack, and peered around it.

“Oh, you are still up,” she said, opening it wider when she saw in the light of a single candle burning on the dressing table that Susanna was standing by the window. “I thought you might welcome someone with whom to mull over your first-ever ball. You were very quiet on the way home after saying it was a lovely evening. A lovely evening, Susanna? Is that all? Lucius said you were probably too shy with him to talk volumes. But now I have left him in our bedchamber, and it is just you and I.”

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Oh,” Susanna said brightly as she busied herself with closing the curtains and realized even as she did so that now she would have no excuse not to turn around, “it was all very pleasant, was it not?”

“Now it is only pleasant? And lovely too? Is that not damning the evening with faint praise?” Frances laughed softly. And then she fell silent as her friend fussed with the fall of the curtains. “Susanna? You are not crying, are you?”

“No, of course I am not,” Susanna protested. But her brief words ended on an ignominious squeak.

“You are. Oh, you poor dear!” Frances exclaimed, hurrying across the room toward her. “Whatever happened?”

Susanna laughed shakily and fumbled in the pocket of her night robe for her handkerchief as she turned. Frances too, she saw, had undressed, ready for bed. She was wearing a long, flowing dark blue dressing gown, and her dark hair lay loose down her back.

“I feel very foolish at getting caught being a watering pot,” Susanna said after blowing her nose, “especially on such an inappropriate occasion. They are not tears of grief, I do assure you. Quite the contrary. It really was a wonderful, wonderful evening, was it not? I’ll remember it all my life. I danced every set but two. It was all quite beyond my wildest dreams. And even one of those two I could have danced. Mr. Finn offered to lead me out, but Miss Honeydew was feeling a little faint and I took her to the refreshment room instead. And during the last set Viscount Whitleaf and I strolled outside where it was cool rather than dance.”

She went and sat on the bed and, when Frances took the chair beside the dressing table, she drew up her legs so that she could hug her knees, and tucked the folds of her robe about her feet.

“Ah, this feels just like old times,” Frances said with a smile. “I still miss you and the others, you know, and life at school and those times when two or more of us would sit up talking far too late into the night. Which is not to say I would give up my present life to return there, but…Well, even happy choices involve some sacrifice. And most of us, I suppose, would like to both have our cake and eat it if only it were possible.”

“Did you enjoy the evening?” Susanna asked.

“Of course I did,” Frances said. “I always enjoy a local assembly better than any grand ball. And this one was made special by the fact that you were there and that you had a number of agreeable