They lapsed into silence, and he gazed along the poplar alley and off across the park to the west. From where he sat he could just see the back edge of the stable block, which formed the northern wing of the house, and a little farther along to the trees that climbed the back side of the hill upon which the temple folly stood.
How strange a thing life was. He could never have predicted this particular twist in his own. Clarissa had cut herself off from him more than thirty years ago in order to marry into a stratum of society far above his own even if he had chosen to live the life of a gentleman. And he had cut himself off from her, first by marrying Poppy, and then by choosing a different life entirely from the one with which he had struggled all through his boyhood. Now he and Clarissa were oceans and continents and planets apart as far associal position and way of life were concerned. They both had established lives with which they had long been comfortable and contented—until recently, on her part anyway.
And until recently on his part too.
He turned his head and kissed her, and she kissed him back, warmly and willingly—but without the urgent passion that had almost overcome them out at the lake. It was better thus, at least for now. Perhaps if they were able to indulge all the deep affection that had lain dormant within them for so long, it would prove to be enough. Perhaps people would grow accustomed to seeing them together from time to time and life would settle back to a new normal that was not so very different from the old.
Perhaps…
Perhaps pigs would fly.
She drew back her head then, and her eyes were shining again.
“Oh, Matthew,” she said. “Let me show you where I want the dower house to be. We have to walk back along the alley for you to fetch your things anyway, and the place is very close by. I want you to tell me what you think.”
They walked briskly back, hand in hand, and he realized that things were changing rapidly indeed for Clarissa. Her new life was taking shape in her mind, and she was making definite plans. An open friendship with him, regardless of the opinion of her friends and neighbors; no marriage unless or until her heart was able to tell her that the whole of her present and future happiness depended upon it; a greater independence, financial and otherwise, of the family who loved her—and whom she loved; and a home of her own, paid for from her own purse, with a front door she could shut against the whole world if she felt so inclined.
She had commented that her brother and her friend had lookedten years younger since their marriage. He wished he could show Clarissa her image now in a full-length glass, red nose and all. She looked almost like the girl he remembered from all those years ago.
He picked up his things from the end of the alley, and they walked to the main driveway and down it, past the meadows on either side with their wildflowers and grazing sheep. But before they reached the bridge, she turned to her left and led the way along the bank of the river after he had set down his things again. The bank widened after a short distance, and she turned to him, her arms spread wide before twirling once about.
“Here,” she said. “Just here. In the park, below the meadow, not far from the house and in sight of the village, by the river. What do you think, Matthew? Is it not perfect?”
He looked critically, mostly at the river. The banks were high on both sides. Although the level of the water fluctuated through the year, he had never known it to overflow its banks. There was no more danger of flooding here than anywhere else in the village on the other side. There was ample room in this particular spot for a cottage and a garden separate from the meadow and the parkland above it. It would even be possible to widen the path between here and the driveway itself to accommodate a carriage. It would be a peaceful spot, somewhat withdrawn from any other building but not totally isolated either.
He wondered how she would cope with a greater solitude than she had now or had ever had. But he thought she would probably enjoy it. She would, after all, still be close to her family and friends and all that was familiar to her.
Closer to him.
She was waiting for his opinion.
“I agree,” he said. “I think it is the perfect spot.”
She beamed at him. “It will be so good for Gwyneth,” she said. “She will be the undisputed mistress of Ravenswood. Not that the matter is disputed now, of course. But there is a tendency when someone saysLady Strattonfor us to turn our heads simultaneously and sayYes?We will both be happier when I am living here. Everyone will be happier. I will.”
“When you are living here,” he said, repeating her words. “Your mind is quite made up, then, Clarissa?”
“It is,” she said. “And suddenly I understand Miss Wexford’s excitement over her table.”
They both laughed.
They made their way back to the driveway and he stooped to pick up his things before they took their leave of each other. But they both became aware of the sound of horses’ hooves and light carriage wheels on the bridge and turned to see who was coming.
It was Owen Ware, driving a smart curricle.
“Owen!” Clarissa exclaimed at the same moment as the young man was hauling back on the ribbons and drawing his horses to a halt. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Despite her words, she sounded delighted to see him. He jumped down from his perch before tossing the ribbons to the groom riding up behind him, glanced at Matthew, and gathered his mother in his arms.
“Coming to beg you to put up with my company for the summer,” he said. “How are you, Mama?”
“Surprised,” she said. “Delighted. Let me have a good look at you.” And she cupped his face in her hands and gazed fondly at her youngest son.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride up to the house. Just leaving, are you, Taylor? I see you must have been working on yourarchery. Trying to stay one step ahead of the rest of us mere mortals for next year’s fete, I suppose. Though you would still be a few miles ahead of us if you did not practice at all, I daresay.”
His words were genial, but there was a look in his eyes—a bit steely, a bit haughty—that told Matthew that he knew, and that the knowing was what had brought him home.
“I can but try,” Matthew said. “And yes, I am on my way home.”
