“I have enjoyed your company too, Clarissa,” he said. “Since we are here now, shall we enjoy this afternoon too? Shall we feast our appetites on the contents of that hamper and our senses on the beauty all around us?”
For this one afternoon. This last afternoon. That was what he was really saying, and he could see that she understood and very probably agreed.
She was looking youthfully pretty this afternoon, he thought again, standing in sunshine in her light muslin dress and floppy-brimmed straw, the incongruously bright parasol over her head. She was smiling.
“I do not want to sit sedately on a picnic blanket admiring the view until it is time to eat and then walk home when we are finished,” she said. “I want to do something. Can you row a boat, Matthew? Not that I am helpless. I used to bring the children here all the time when they were small, and I would take the oars when the boys tired of trying and would row them a couple at a time around the lake. Sometimes I would pile them all in and row them across to the island to explore or to swim from what we called the beach at the far end of it. Those were lovely days.”
He wondered where Stratton had been when all this had happened. Still in London performing his parliamentary duties? Busy about estate business? Matthew had never had much use for the man. He could understand his popularity, for he had been endlessly and apparently genuinely charming and genial to everyone. He had been a perfect host at the many social events that had happened through the summers and winters. But Matthew had always suspected that he was essentially a lazy man and shallow of character. It was his countess who had appeared to do most of the work of organizing the elaborate entertainments and seeing that they ran with seamless perfection. Matthew had never had proof until that disastrous summer fete ten years ago that Stratton did not remain faithful to his wife during the months he spent in London, but it would have been surprising to hear that he did.
“I believe I can row without taking us in endless circles,” he said. “And without tipping us into the water and capsizing the boat.”
“Then take me rowing,” she said. “I will sit in the boat looking decorative.” She laughed.
Ah, Clarissa, he thought as he dragged out one of the boats and made sure there were no leaks and no sign of splits or wood rot in the oars while she carried out a small pile of towels and put them in. How happy could her life have been? She would have made the best of it, of course. She had lived a life of luxury here, she had fulfilled all her duties with meticulous care and grace, she clearly adored her children, even the one who was Stratton’s by-blow, and she had friends and friendly neighbors all around her. No doubt she now had financial security for life, and she had sons and daughters who would always love her and care for her. She had had a good life following her decision to marry a virtual stranger when she was very young.
But happy? How happy had she been all this time? How happy was she now? Her decision to come home early and alone from London had been a pretty drastic one. Her children must have offered her alternatives so she would have company through the summer. Her brother and his new wife, her friend, must have tried too. But she had come home, she had told him, for the express purpose of being alone with time to think and assess. And one of her early decisions had been to renew her friendship with him.
“Allow me,” he said, holding the boat steady against the bank with one hand while he offered her the other.
She stepped carefully in and sat down and watched him release the boat from its moorings before taking his place across from her. He used one oar to push them off from the bank.
“Let the adventure begin,” she said, and laughed again. “All the children used to chant that whenever I pushed off, and they would cheer as I rowed away.”
Matthew felt an ache of something in his chest. He had missed so much of her life. And how different his own life would have beenif his daughter had survived her birth. She had been so perfect. He rarely thought of her—or of poor Poppy. They were from a former life.
“I do not hear a cheer,” he said.
She cheered and pumped her parasol in the air a few times while she laughed yet again.
He rowed around the south side of the island, mostly under the shade of the trees on the bank. Then he rowed into the more open water west of the island and saw the sloping bank that must be the beach from which she had swum with her children. There were very few trees close to the western and northern banks of the lake. A footpath had been constructed all around. It had been made for the viewing pleasure of those who walked there as well as those who rowed on the water. It was bordered on the landward side with flower beds just now coming into their own and ornamental bushes that must have bloomed earlier in the spring. And there was a rustic-looking shelter on the bend between the western and northern paths, looking very picturesque with its thatched roof and open, pillared front and hanging baskets of flowers that would bloom from now until the autumn.
It was an idyllic place, the lake at Ravenswood. Somewhere to relax. Somewhere to make one forget the world beyond.
“I loved the evening picnics we used to have here for the whole neighborhood,” she said. “I would always find an orchestra to play from the pavilion on the island, and everyone would feast on the east bank and converse and listen and be happy. Did you ever come to any of those?”
“To one,” he said. “I came with the Hollands. It was magical with all the colored lanterns strung from the trees, their light reflected in the water. And the music.”
“I used to think of it as our own private little Vauxhall,” she said. “Have you ever been to Vauxhall Gardens?”
“In London?” he said. “No.”
“Our entertainments were better,” she said. “Not that I am boasting or anything obnoxious like that. Of course, we never had fireworks, as they do at Vauxhall.” She sighed. “I am not ready to return to the real world yet, Matthew. Shall we go to the island and explore?”
“Will we need a ball of string to find our way out?” he asked.
“Make fun if you wish,” she said. “I know it is a very tiny island, but it is ours. Come and explore it with me.”
Instead of pulling the boat back in to the bank after rowing all about the lake, Matthew turned it in the direction of the island, where he could see the mooring place. Reaching it, he jumped out, secured the boat, and offered a hand to help her out.
“So,” he said, “let us explore.”
And he felt a strange welling of happiness.
Chapter Nine
She was going to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of this afternoon, Clarissa had decided anew as soon as the barouche disappeared back along the narrow road toward the house. If it was to be the last of their friendship, then so be it, but let it at least be an afternoon to remember.
The weather was perfect, a sumptuous banquet awaited them in the picnic hamper, and they were all alone in what must surely be one of the outstanding beauty spots of all England. Memories abounded of those lovely years when her children were young and she had been a lot younger than she was now. But today she wanted to create a new memory.
