Simply Magic

Now she was waltzing with him once more in the Upper Assembly Rooms in Bath. The reality of it, she felt, had still not quite hit her.

“Silence is my answer,” he said. “And I cannot blame you. It would be trite of me to say I am sorry. But I do not know what else to say.”

“You need not say anything.” She looked back into his eyes. “And you need not feel sorry-any more than I do. It happened. Our friendship had to end anyway. Why not that way?”

“ Did it end?” he asked her.

She gazed back at him and then nodded. Of course it had ended. How could they even pretend to be friends now?

“Then I really am sorry,” he said. “I liked you, Susanna-I like you. And I thought you had come to like me.”

She swallowed.

“I did.”

“Past tense?” he said, and after a short silence between them, “Ah, yes, past tense.”

They stopped dancing for a few moments while the orchestra ended one waltz tune and prepared to play the next one in the set.

Did she not even like him now, then? Because he had come here today to disturb her peace again? He had come because she was to be here. He had come to ask her if she was with child.

What would he have done if the answer had been yes? Would he have gone away again faster than he had come? She knew he would not have.

She looked up at him again as they resumed their dance.

“I do not dislike you,” she said.

“Do you not?”

He was smiling-no doubt for the benefit of those around them. She smiled too. And then, because they were still looking at each other, both their smiles became more rueful-and then more genuine.

“I have told myself,” he said, “that it would have been far better for me-and considerably better for you-if I had left Hareford House two days after your arrival at Barclay Court, as I had originally planned. I would have remembered you, if at all, as a rather straitlaced, disapproving, humorless schoolteacher.”

“Is that how I appeared to you?” she asked him.

“And as someone who made an already glorious summer day seem warmer and brighter.” He whirled her twice about a corner, startling a laugh out of her. “But then another part of myself answers with the assertion that I would hate never to have got to know you better.”

She looked about with leftover laughter on her face. Mr. Huckerby, she could see, was watching her feet-to see if she remembered the steps correctly, no doubt. She caught Claudia’s eye as she danced past and smiled at her.

“Do you wish,” Lord Whitleaf asked her, “that I had left when I intended to do so?”

Did she? She would have been saved from a great deal of heartache-and from a great deal of vividly happy living.

“No,” she said.

“Why not?” He bent his head a little closer.

“You once told me,” she said, “that in your childhood you were surrounded by women. It is what has happened to me since I was twelve. I have had almost no social contact with men. I have been shy with men, unsure how to talk or behave with them. I was terrified when I first met you because you were handsome and self-assured and titled. And then I learned that you were amiable and kind and really rather easy to talk with. And then I came to genuinely like you and look forward to seeing you each day and spending a short while in conversation with you. Knowing you brightened my life for a time and provided me with memories that will give me pleasure in future years-riding in a curricle with you, racing a boat against you, climbing to the waterfall with you, waltzing with you.”

Kissing you.

Making love with you.

“I am not sorry you stayed,” she said.

“Are we friends again, then?” he asked her.

She smiled back at him and then laughed softly.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” she said, “for what remains of this afternoon, anyway.”

Though it struck her that the celebration would probably not go on much longer and that then she would go back to school and he would go away somewhere with the Ravensbergs and that that would be the end of it-the real end this time.

And there would be pain all over again.

But pain was something that life inevitably brought with it. If there was no pain, there was no real living and therefore no possibility of happiness. She had been happy-truly, exhilaratingly happy-on a few occasions in her life, almost all of them with Viscount Whitleaf. She must remember that. She must. There were two particularly perfect incidents that had drawn her so completely into happiness that no un happiness had been able to intrude. One had occurred at the assembly rooms when she had waltzed with him. The other had occurred on the hill above the river and the little bridge when they had made love.

It was so easy to remember that lovemaking as the worst thing that had ever happened to her-because it had brought her a far deeper unhappiness than she would have felt otherwise in saying good-bye to him. But actually it was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened too.

It was. That had been easily the happiest half hour or so of her life.

Now she was waltzing again-with the man who had waltzed with her then, and with the man who had been her lover on that hill. And if she was not perfectly happy now, the reason was that she was allowing past pain and future unhappiness to encroach upon the magic of the moment.

It was magical.

“Let’s just waltz,” she said to him.

The smile deepened in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”

And for what remained of the set they did not speak at all but just danced and smiled into each other’s eyes.

She was glad he had come, Susanna thought. Ah, she was glad. There was surely something healing in his being here-he had not just carelessly dismissed both her and their lovemaking from his mind. She thought she would be less unhappy after today. Or perhaps she was just fooling herself. Tomorrow her life would be without him again.

But she would not think of tomorrow.

She danced, aware of their splendid surroundings and of the company and the music, all her senses sharpened. And she was aware too that the man in whose arms she danced was the man who had kissed her and caressed her and been deep inside her body.

She could never ever regret that she had had that experience once in her life.

Once was enough.

It would have to be.

He laughed aloud as he took her into a swooping turn before the orchestra dais, and she laughed back at him.