Simply Magic

was happy and that even David was happy-when she had looked around and seen Viscount Whitleaf standing in the shadow of the doorway at the far side of the room, she had…

Ah, but it was impossible to put into words what had been a purely physical reaction. Her knees had turned weak, her heart had hammered at her throat and in her ears, her hands had become clammy, her breath had seemed suspended. It had taken her brain a second or so longer to catch up.

And then he had stridden confidently into the room, and he had been smiling, as if he did not have a care in the world-as doubtless he did not. He had approached with his cousin on his arm and turned his smiles on Anne and Mr. Butler. He had even paid attention to David, lest one person in the tearoom not become his adoring admirer. When he had come to speak to her and spend a few brief, polite moments standing by her table, he had turned on the full force of his charm, especially upon Claudia-and had then gone away to sit with his back to them all through tea.

A man without a care in the world, indeed. He probably scarcely remembered her.

Claudia had not been taken in by his charm.

“There is a gentleman who thinks a lot of himself,” she had said as he walked away from the table.

“Ah, but I believe he is genuinely amiable,” the Earl of Edgecombe had said.

“I have always found him unfailingly cheerful and courteous,” Miss Eleanor Thompson, the duchess’s sister, had added.

Susanna had said nothing-though she had been feeling inexplicably grateful to the earl and Miss Thompson.

Neither had Frances.

The whole tea, to which Susanna had looked forward so eagerly for a whole week, had been ruined for her. She had been quite unable to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of food or to relax into the pleasure of being in a room with her three closest friends again, Frances and Claudia at the same table with her, Anne not far away with her new husband, looking flushed and very happy. She had not been able to marvel in peace that she was in the same room and at the same entertainment as the Marchioness of Hallmere, whom she had recognized instantly as that long-ago prospective employer.

It was simply not fair.

And now-ah, now he had asked her to waltz with him and she had said yes.

She had come into the ballroom with Claudia and Miss Thompson, smiling brightly and knowing that she was going to have to stand and watch Anne waltz with Mr. Butler and Frances with the earl. She had been feeling more wretchedly bleak than she had felt since the end of August, especially knowing that he was in the ballroom too and would probably dance with one of the other ladies.

And now?

Now, as she turned to face Lord Whitleaf on the dance floor and fixed her eyes on a level with his chin, a smile on her lips, she felt nothing at all-except happy to know that her heart was not broken after all.

His hand came behind her waist, and she lifted her hand to his shoulder. His other hand clasped hers.

He still wore the same cologne, she noticed.

The waltz was already in progress. They moved into it without further delay.

The memory of that other waltz was still precious to her despite everything. She did not want it to be overlaid with this memory. But now it forever would be, she supposed.

It was not fair. He ought not to have come. And now she would remember him harshly because he had come, without any regard to her feelings-probably not even remembering that there was anything about which she might have feelings.

And yet, she thought, if that last afternoon at Barclay Court had proceeded differently-if Frances and the earl had come with them, if they had kept walking across the bridge and down to the waterfall instead of sitting on the hill, if she had said stop instead of don’t stop -if any of those things had happened, she would have been very happy to see him this afternoon. She would not have blamed him at all for coming. He would have been no more than her dear friend.

She lifted her eyes to his as he twirled her about one corner of the ballroom and found that he was looking back, a smile on his own face too. But how could they not smile? They were surrounded by wedding guests.

“Susanna,” he said softly, “you look as lovely as ever.”

“Is the day warmer and brighter for my presence in it?” she asked him, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He tipped his head slightly to one side as he gazed back into her eyes.

“You are not happy to see me,” he said.

“Ought I to be?” she asked him.

“I thought perhaps you would not be,” he admitted. “But it was a wedding celebration, you see, and involved a number of people whom I know and like. How could I have resisted coming?”

And that was the trouble with him, she thought. He could not resist being blown along by any wind that happened in his direction. She had once told him that he was a kind man. But was it kind of him to come here today only because there was to be a party and congenial company?

“You knew I would be here, then?” she asked him as they twirled about another corner.

“Yes,” he said. “It is why I came.”

And now he was contradicting himself. Was there any firmness of character in him at all?

“Susanna,” he asked even more softly than before, “are you with child?”

If she had been, the child would surely have turned over in her womb. Every other part of her insides seemed to somersault as she drew breath sharply and stumbled slightly. He drew her closer until she had regained her balance and fitted her steps to his again.

“No,” she said.

His eyes found hers and searched them. His smile had slipped, she noticed. So had hers. She donned it once more.

“I am glad,” he said.

“No doubt.”

She lowered her eyes and tried to recapture some of the magic she had felt the last time they waltzed. She deliberately let her attention move to their fellow dancers and could see Anne and Mr. Butler dancing with surprising grace despite the fact that his right arm was missing. Anne was looking a little less slender than usual, especially below the high waistline of her dress. The duchess was laughing up into the austere face of the duke, whom Claudia detested so fiercely. His pale silver eyes looked back at her with a total absorption that spoke of emotions burning just behind the autocratic facade. Frances twirled in the earl’s arms, and it was obvious that they had eyes for no one but each other.

The world was filled with happy couples, it seemed-and her very lone self.

Ridiculous, self-pitying thought!

“You are bitter,” Viscount Whitleaf said.

Was she? She had no reason to be, had she? He had not seduced her. He had given her the opportunity to stop him. He had asked her afterward to go away with him and had promised that he would look after her even when all was over between them. She had said no. They had parted as friends. Ah, that parting-that memory of him riding away across the terrace and down the lane until he was out of sight. It was a memory that had always gone deeper than pain because she had thought she would never see him again.