“It is going to be at Alex’s feet, actually,” Annabelle laughed. “The women there wouldn’t leave him alone. Ouch!” She squeaked as the hairbrush jerked painfully in a snarl.
“Forgive me, Miss Annabelle,” Christa murmured, her lips a trifle stiff. She resumed the smooth, gentle brush strokes, then said carefully, “It is only to be expected that your brother would be popular. He is handsome, a hero, wealthy, and available. An answer to a maiden’s prayer, in fact.”
“It wasn’t just maidens who were after him. Twice I had to rescue him from a particular predatory matron who acted as if Alex were catnip and she the cat.”
“Me-o-o-w,” Christa said with a twinkle.
“That may sound unkind, but it’s true. It was surprising, actually. My big strong brother seemed to become paralyzed when that woman was around. Alex was comfortable enough with the men, but he seemed to avoid most of the ladies.”
“Perhaps he has some of the same shyness you had,” Christa suggested.
Annabelle frowned thoughtfully. “You may be right, though it’s a difficult idea to accept. Well, Alex and I must learn to conquer London together.” She yawned. “That tea doesn’t have much flavor but it’s effective! What’s in it?”
“Oh, valerian, anise seed, hops.”
“It certainly made me ready for bed. Good night, Christa.”
“Dream of your triumphs,” Christa said as she quietly closed the door to her own little room. It looked as if Annabelle was making excellent progress. And Christa had no right to find the news of Alex’s success so depressing.
* * *
The pattern established in the first week lasted all summer. East Anglia has drier summers and colder winters than most of Great Britain, and this summer of 1795 was particularly fine, each long golden day succeeded by another. While conditions were hard on crops, for the Kingsleys it was the stuff memories are made of.
Alex took his crew sailing two or three times a week. Soon both Jonathan and Annabelle were adept at handling sails and rigging, though neither had the intuitive affinity for wind and sea that Alex and Christa shared. The three blond Kingsleys found their hair bleaching to white gold, and even Annabelle’s alabaster skin acquired a light tan in spite of Christa’s best efforts with bonnets and cucumber lotion.
Christa herself was brown as a nut, her gray eyes startlingly light against her tanned skin and black curls. Alex found his eyes following her when no one was watching. He admired how she blended in, seldom volunteering comments but always ready with a merry quip when someone addressed her. She seemed almost a part of the family, yet never crossed the line of what was proper for a servant.
Alex was unquestionably the captain at sea, but the dance lessons were another story. There Christa was firmly in charge. A local music teacher played the pianoforte while Christa drilled her fumble-footed charges. By the third week, Alex and Jonathan had mastered several dances so Christa added a new dimension to the lessons by requiring that they converse. There is an art to speaking with a partner while whirling in opposite directions, and by the end of the summer the Kingsley menfolk had mastered it. In fact, after an initial relapse into cross-purposes and collisions, they found that talking made dancing easier because it kept them from thinking about the movements.
The twice-weekly sessions were filled with laughter as the participants chatted about what they knew best. Alex regaled them with tales of the navy and foreign lands, convulsing his partners with anecdotes that always seemed to make him the hapless victim. A listener could have been forgiven for assuming that he was an outrageous incompetent rather than a highly regarded naval officer who had distinguished himself from the Battle of St. Vincent, when he had been a scant fifteen years old, through the Glorious First of June and beyond.
Annabelle’s shyness had made her a keen observer of her neighbors, and her increasingly forthright comments were shrewd and amusing without ever being unkind. The biggest surprise was Jonathan, who turned out to have a passion for poetry in addition to his undoubted expertise about horses and the army.
If any of the Kingsleys had stopped to think of it, they might have been surprised at how fluently the lady’s maid could converse on every topic offered. Had they but known, their teacher had been acclaimed as one of the best dancers and conversationalists in Paris in the days when frivolity reigned in that capital. Instead, the dancers merely enjoyed the discussions, and they all learned a great deal.
By the time they packed to return to London, the two younger Kingsleys no longer kept the head of the family on quite so high a pedestal, and the three siblings had developed deep bonds of affection that would last the rest of their lives. Jonathan had grown two inches and his voice made a permanent transition to the lower registers. As his gangling frame filled out, his resemblance to his older brother became even more pronounced.
Annabelle became the belle of the neighborhood. It was the fashion among the young men that summer to languish after her, and she developed a latent talent for flirting to elegant perfection. Soon she could accept compliments gracefully, put a bashful swain at his ease, and make an older man feel young again. Her natural sweetness prevented any hearts from being seriously damaged and made her popular with her own sex as well. The prospect of the Season no longer held terrors for her.
Alex was satisfied with how the summer had passed, and deeply grateful to discover that his younger brother and sister had not been irrevocably damaged by their mother. Their growing confidence was a source of pride to him, and much of his guilt over neglecting them had been assuaged.
Yet when Alex thought back over the months in the country, it was Christa that occupied his thoughts, Christa scampering around theAnnabellein her all-too-revealing breeches, Christa’s warm shoulders beneath his hands as she walked him through new dance steps, Christa glancing up through those glorious black lashes to make some devastatingly acute comment as they chatted their way through reels and country dances.
Alex’s resolution not to lead her astray was coming under increasing pressure. He had never known a female who attracted him more, and on nights when sleep eluded him, he lay and wondered if she would accept a carte blanche. He was more than willing to make a settlement that would give her security for life, and he found himself wrestling with the ethical question of whether her situation would be better or worse as his mistress.
Many girls of her station would be delighted at such an offer, but Alex had an uneasy suspicion that she would not be one of that number. Besides, if he did start keeping Christa, Annabelle would be deprived of a superlative abigail.
* * *
Christa felt restless the last night before leaving for London. All of Annabelle’s packing was done, as well as the extremely modest amount required for Christa’s own possessions. The reading class had done so well over the summer that the more advanced students now taught the others, and her services were no longer needed. Annabelle was fixed for the evening at the home of a female friend and would not need her until late, so Christa decided to stroll down to the shore.
She hadn’t walked here at night since the first evening when she had met Alex and shared that kiss. The memory was sweet, but her practical French nature led her to avoid temptation for the rest of the summer. On this particular evening she felt a little reckless. When the household was settled in London, she would see almost nothing of her master, and she was already missing the playful companionship they had shared.
The moon was full, and Christa easily picked out his dark figure silhouetted against the shining waves as he sat on the end of the pier that thrust its way into the cove. The moonlight reflected off his hair, turning its gold to silver. She had known he would be here, would almost have sworn he had been calling her.
Alex looked up at the sound of her soft steps on the oak planking and smiled a greeting. “I thought you would come here tonight to say your farewells to the sea.”
She smiled a reply and seated herself next to him, close, but not too close, her legs swinging over the water. “Yes. It makes me sad to leave here, my lord. There will never be another summer like it.”
