It would be wrong and selfish to continue, she decided at last, gazing through her window at the sheep in the meadow without really seeing them. A continued friendship might destroy his peace of mind, a peace that had been hard-won during the year or years he had spent at that monastery north of India. It had served him well since then. One could see it in his eyes and in the quiet, modest life he enjoyed, earning his living with the labor and skill of his hands.
She could not in all conscience threaten that peace.
She would explain to him this afternoon. In the meanwhile she was going to enjoy every moment of their picnic. Memories could be very precious, and she knew she would remember these few encounters with him with great fondness in the years ahead.
But…would the memories be enough?
—
When Matthew arrived at Ravenswood, he saw an open barouche standing outside the main doors rather than the gig he had expected. A groom stood at the horses’ heads while a coachman used a soft cloth to rub off what must have been a smudge ofdust from one gleaming door of the conveyance. Both men nodded politely when Matthew greeted them.
Clarissa must have seen him walking up from the village. She was stepping out onto the flight of steps to the front doors, wearing a summer dress of light figured muslin and a floppy-brimmed straw bonnet. She was carrying the brightly colored parasol her granddaughter had given her for Christmas. She was smiling brightly and looking for all the world like a woman half her age.
“Could the day be any more perfect?” she asked as he went to meet her at the bottom of the steps.
She was referring, of course, to the weather. He was very aware, however, of the two silent men behind him. He had sat with them a number of times in the taproom of the village inn, where he went occasionally in the evening for a pint of ale and a bit of male company, and where they went for a similar purpose. These very men, as well as other servants from Ravenswood, always treated Matthew as one of their own there and included him in their conversation. He was just the local carpenter to them, as well as the man they admired for his superior skill with a bow and arrow.
“I was pleasantly surprised half an hour or so ago when I stepped out of Colonel Wexford’s barn to discover that spring had passed into summer while I was hard at work,” he said, handing her into the barouche and following her in. “There are no windows in the barn and only lamps for light. It might have been raining or snowing outside for all I knew.”
“You were working on Miss Wexford’s dining table?” she asked.
“I was,” he said. “She seems pleased with what she has seen so far. She keeps assuring me on the one hand that she will not disturb me so I can get on, and finding frequent excuses on the other hand to come into the barn for a look.”
“It must be quite disconcerting for you,” she said, laughing as she raised her parasol over her head and the groom moved back from the horses’ heads and the carriage wheels crunched over the stones of the terrace on the way to the lake.
A large picnic basket was standing on the seat across from them. Matthew looked from it to her and raised his eyebrows.
“When our cook is asked to prepare a picnic tea for two,” she said, “I believe that in her mind she sees two companies of soldiers, all with voracious appetites that must be satisfied so that not even one of them will go away just a little bit hungry.”
“I would guess it will be somewhat more elaborate than Saturday’s picnic tea,” he said ruefully.
“Somewhat more,” she agreed, looking amused. “But I do not believe I will ever taste cheese sandwiches or seed cake more delicious than the ones you brought then, or water more refreshing.”
He laughed. Though the thing was, she seemed to mean what she said. He tried to relax. It was all very well to tell himself that class distinctions no longer meant anything to him, that he was done with all that nonsense. For years he had successfully mingled with all classes and had been comfortable with all. But a few days ago he had felt anything but comfortable when those two gardeners had seen him walking hand in hand with the Dowager Countess of Stratton. They were men he spent time with at the village pub as well. And today he was very conscious of the broad back of the coachman up on the box before them, a mere few feet away, a functioning ear on either side of his head.
“I decided after all not to bring the gig this afternoon,” Clarissa said. “It occurred to me that the poor horse would be stranded down at the lake for at least a couple of hours, waiting for us toreturn. This way the horses can be taken back to the stables and we can walk back from the lake whenever we are ready to leave.”
“A good idea,” he said. “And we will carry the hamper of leftovers back between us?”
“No.” She laughed. “Someone will fetch it later. But I wanted to tell you I wrote to Ben and Jennifer last evening to tell them about the crib. Not that you will be making it, but that it will be my gift for the new baby. I would hate to give it as a surprise when the time comes only to discover that they already have another set up in the nursery. But all the wonderful carvings with which you are going to cover this one will remain a surprise. It is going to be a unique piece of furniture. I can hardly wait to see it finished.”
“I thought,” he said, “I might include a chest of drawers to match it.”
“That would be wonderful.” Her face lit up with pleasure as she twirled her parasol.
He understood what she was doing. She was keeping the conversation focused upon the work project that had brought them together. It probably came as second nature to her to say in the hearing of servants only what she wanted them to hear. She might even be doing it now quite unconsciously.
It was not far to the lake. Matthew felt a bit helpless as the coachman lifted out the hamper and carried it into the shade cast by the boathouse a short distance away. The man then hauled a large blanket out of the boathouse and spread it on the bank a little farther along where they would have sunshine and an unobstructed view of the water and the landscape around it. Then he climbed back to his box and drove off without a word.
“Awkward,” Matthew said.
“Was it?” She looked after the retreating carriage and then at him. “I am sorry. Have I made life more complicated and less comfortable for you? I have not thought much about our friendship for years past. It was something that needed to end at the time, and it was ended. But recently I have looked back with a great deal of nostalgia and have come to the realization that there is no further need for us to keep an almost total distance from each other. We live close—even closer than we did during our childhood. You have no wife or other attachment as far as I know, and I have been a widow for six years. It seemed such a good idea for us to renew our friendship this year while I am here alone, without the distraction of family and house guests. And I have indeed enjoyed your company and conversation. I have felt honored by your confidences, which I know you have not shared with anyone else but me. But it seems I have been selfish.”
Here was his opportunity to end it. He could even walk away right now and leave her to solitude and the lake for however long she wished to stay before she walked back to the house.
Alone.
It would be most ungentlemanly of him.
