Simply Magic

gentleman, no less.

She would not be quite human, Susanna supposed as she changed into her Sunday-best wool dress after luncheon and brushed her hair, if she were not bubbling over with excitement and exhilaration at the prospect. The first blush of youth had passed her by with very little in the way of entertainments and nothing in the way of beaux.

Her exuberance was not even much diminished by the memory of the night before. Viscount Whitleaf had offered her marriage last evening and she had refused. In all probability she would never see him again after today. But it was by her own choice, was it not? She had refused to go away with him during the summer. Last evening she had refused to marry him. And she would say no again, to both offers, if they were repeated. And so she had no cause to complain or mope or weep-she had done altogether too much of all three. In fact, she had every reason to be proud of herself. She loved him, but she had refused to allow that fact to tempt her to cling, to hold on to him at all costs.

He did not love her, but that did not matter. He liked her. That was enough.

He had not mentioned a specific time for coming this afternoon. Susanna went downstairs when she was ready and into the art room, where Mr. Upton was working with some of the girls to design sets for the Christmas play and concert. Miss Thompson was in there with them, her dress protected by a large white apron as if she were about to paint the sets right there and then.

“I have been informed,” she told Susanna, detaching herself from the huddled group, “that teaching at Miss Martin’s school involves more than just imparting knowledge to a quiet, receptive class of girls. And so here I am, discovering whether I have the talent and the stamina to offer more. And to think that I could be at Lindsey Hall now, peacefully reading a book!”

She looked as if she were enjoying herself enormously. Her eyes were twinkling-a characteristic expression with her.

Susanna laughed.

“But the preparations for the Christmas concert are always a great deal of fun,” she said. “ And hard work.”

“How will this suit you, Miss Osbourne?” Mr. Upton called, beckoning her over to a table covered with sketches. He did not usually come in to school on a Saturday, but he probably would do so every week between now and the end of term.

But Susanna had time only to glance at the sketches for her play sets and comment upon what she liked and make a few suggestions for improvement before a chorus of girls’ voices called her attention to Mr. Keeble standing in the doorway, looking her way.

Viscount Whitleaf must have come.

Indeed he had. He was awaiting her in the hallway when she arrived there wearing her warm gray winter cloak and tying the ribbons of her green bonnet beneath her chin. He was wearing his caped greatcoat again and looking very solidly male.

“Miss Osbourne.” He bowed to her, but though all his usual jaunty charm was in the gesture and in his smile, it seemed to Susanna that there was a certain wariness in his eyes too.

“Lord Whitleaf.” She approached him along the hall with an answering wariness.

Last evening stretched between them like a long shadow.

The weather had not changed in the hour or so she had been indoors, Susanna discovered when they stepped out onto the pavement, unless perhaps the air had grown a little warmer. The sun shone down on them from a cloudless sky. There was no discernible wind. She could not have asked more of their last afternoon together.

“Shall we go into Sydney Gardens?” he asked her, offering his arm. “I daresay the park is not at its best in November, but it will be quiet and rural.”

And despite the loveliness of the day, they would probably have it almost to themselves, she thought.

“That would be pleasant,” she said as they headed toward Sydney Place and across the road to the Gardens.

They talked about the summer and their mutual friends and acquaintances in Somerset. They talked about the school and the busy preparations for the Christmas concert, which was always well attended by the parents and other relatives and friends of the girls and teachers and by various dignitaries of Bath. They talked about his sisters and their husbands and children. They talked about the park surrounding them, barren now in the late autumn but still picturesque and peaceful. And they did indeed have it almost to themselves. They passed one rather noisy party of eight, but it was close to the gates, and those people were on their way out.

This was the way a friendship should end, Susanna thought, if it must end at all. They were placid and cheerful and in perfect accord with each other. Gone were the inappropriate and unexpected passion of their last afternoon at Barclay Court and the embarrassment of his attempt at atonement last evening. Today they talked and laughed, enjoying each other’s company and the rare gift of a perfect November day.

And this was how she would remember their relationship, she resolved. There would be no more tears, only pleasant memories. For this was how they had been together during the summer with the exception of the first and last days.

“Ah, the maze,” he said as they climbed a steep path toward a straight, high hedge to one side of it. “I knew there was one in here somewhere. Shall we see if we can lose ourselves in it?”

“Perhaps forever?” she said. “What if we can find our way neither to the center nor back out, but are doomed to wander in aimless circles for the rest of our days?”

“It sounds rather like real life, does it not?” he said.

They both laughed.

“But at least,” he added, “we will be lost together.”

“A definite consolation,” she agreed, and they laughed again.

But it was, of course, impossible to remain determinedly cheerful for a whole afternoon. There was a pang of something in the thought that they would not in reality remain lost together within the maze forever. They would find their way in and their way out and complete their walk.

And then the end would come.

He took her hand in his when they entered the maze. Though they both wore gloves, she could feel the heat and the strength of his fingers and remembered how he had laced them with hers while they walked along the village street during the assembly.

They took numerous wrong turns and had to retrace their steps in order to try a different direction. But eventually, after a great deal of conflicting opinions and laughter, they found their way to the center of the maze, where a couple of wooden seats awaited them and offered repose.

“I suppose,” he said after she had seated herself and he took his place beside her, “we ought to have come armed with a mountain of handkerchiefs to drop at strategic intervals along the way. Do you know the way out?”

“No.” She laughed.

“We must be thankful, I suppose,” he said, taking her hand in his again, “that there is no seven-headed monster or its like awaiting us here.”

In the silence at the middle of the maze with Sydney Gardens stretching beyond it, it was very easy to forget the world outside, the inevitable passing of time, the ephemeral nature of the friendship between a man and a woman. It was very easy to believe in the perfection of the moment.

They must have sat for all of five minutes-perhaps ten-without speaking. But sometimes, as they had discovered during the summer, conversation was unnecessary. Communication was made at an altogether deeper level.

Her shoulder, Susanna realized after a while, was leaning against his. Their outer thighs were lightly touching. And somehow-she could not remember its happening-her right glove lay in her lap and