A Suitable Arrangement, page 13
“Or . . . you could try again.” Would she need my assistance? Part of me hoped so.
The reluctant smile she wore was charming. “Very well, then. One more cast.”
I reeled in the line, not even caring that we were not leaving it cast long enough to catch anything. I glanced to the shore, which Iain and Blair had just reached. They climbed out of the boat and turned to wave at us before making their way inside.
Juliana stood carefully, and I handed her the rod, waiting for a look or any indication she wished for my help again. But she drew the pole back slowly, her eyes watching the hook.
“A long arc,” she said to herself.
I nodded, my eyes fixed on her as she bit her lip in concentration.
She thrust the rod forward, releasing the line. I watched in vain for the bait to plop into the water.
“Oh dear,” she said, her eyes searching the surface of the loch. “What have I done wrong this time?”
Frowning, I traced the line with my gaze, but it was too difficult to follow. Rising to my feet, I let the line slip through my fingers, tugging the slack toward me until it became clear where the hook had ended: in the straw of her bonnet.
I smiled slightly. “It is not my waistcoat but your bonnet which has succumbed to the dreaded hook.”
She turned, as though she might be able to see where it landed.
“Careful,” I said, adopting a wider stance and holding her arm as the boat rocked from her movements. “Allow me.” I took the pole from her hands.
She reached a hand to her bonnet to steady it. “Forgive me.”
“Gently now. The hook is quite sharp. Will you permit me to extract it?”
She nodded, and I tweaked it slowly from side to side until the straw released it.
“There,” I said. “I think the bonnet can be salvaged.”
“Thank heaven,” she said with a laugh as she turned toward her seat. She lifted a foot to step over it.
“Careful. You are becoming tangled in the line.”
But it was too late. She pitched forward, and I grabbed her about the waist. The boat swayed wildly, and I lost my balance, releasing her as I fell into the water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JULIANA
Sandy’s hands released me as he tipped to the side and over the edge of the boat. With the line wrapped about my legs, I had nothing to counter the sudden shifts in weight, and I tumbled in after him with a splash.
Bone-chilling cold enveloped me from head to toe. I kicked my feet against my heavy skirts, swimming for the surface. I broke through, gasping for air and wiping the water from my eyes. My bonnet pulled on my hair and obstructed my view, and I pulled it off unceremoniously, looking around. My gaze found Sandy, his head bobbing above the water, his breath coming in gasps.
A few feet from us, the boat floated placidly along the silvery water. The oars and fishing pole were strewn about on the water’s surface.
Thanking the heavens I had learned to swim as a grubby child, I kicked my legs to keep myself afloat in the frigid water, pushing down on my skirts, which insisted on rising to the top.
“Are you hurt?” Sandy asked, swimming toward me.
I shook my head, clamping my teeth shut to keep them from shattering as I kicked my feet to stay afloat. “Are you?”
“No,” he replied. “Merely drowning from the weight of this blasted coat. Let us get you back in the boat.”
“We should collect the oars first.” I swam toward the nearest one and pulled back to the boat. Lifting it inside, I grasped the boat’s edge to permit myself a respite from treading water. Sandy followed shortly after, both the oar and the fishing pole in hand.
“The bucket of bait is at the bottom of the loch by now,” he said, hefting the pole and oar over. “I wish joy of it to whatever fish supposedly inhabit this place. Come, I shall assist you back in.”
I had never attempted to climb into a boat from the water, and the exercise proved . . . difficult. Even without my water-saturated skirts pulling me down, it was nearly impossible to hoist myself in without letting a deluge of water into the boat. Sandy attempted to lift me in twice, but with nowhere to put his feet, the result was him nearly drowning each time.
“Perhaps we should swim back to shore and leave the boat,” I said through chattering teeth. The thought of forcing my limbs to carry me anywhere wasn’t enticing, however, when all they wanted to do was nestle tightly into my body to preserve whatever heat might be left in this cold and dreary world.
Sandy looked back toward the shore, his lips pressing together. “I judge it to be about fifty yards. It will feel more like fifty miles in this water, though.” He met my gaze, his eyes asking whether I was equal to the task.
A countess would undoubtedly have demanded something be done, though what, I hadn’t any notion, for I was not a countess. Not yet, at least, and I was anxious to show Sandy I was capable of more than shrieking and having a fit of the vapors. I doubted I would have been able to shriek even if I had wanted to, for my lungs seemed to have shrunk to a fraction of their normal capacity.
“Whoever reaches shore first wins the bet?” I said with a smile full of chattering teeth.
The concern melted from his brow, and he searched my face for a moment, then nodded. Was I mistaken, or was that a hint of admiration in his eyes?
He swam so that he was even with me, and, treading water and breathing in uneven huffs, we met one another’s gaze. Suddenly, he nodded, and both of us dove forward, keeping our heads above water as we swam toward the shore.
Fifty yards had not seemed so far a distance when he had said it, while fifty miles had seemed a gross exaggeration. But I had underestimated the weight of my skirts combined with the difficulty of breathing in icy water.
Sandy quickly pulled ahead, and I fought to meet his pace.
“Once again,” I heaved out between breaths, “you are at an advantage due to your lack of skirts.”
“If you were wearing this coat,” he said over his shoulder, “you would think differently. I can barely move my arms.”
“The price of vanity!” I retorted.
He laughed. “Whereas your dress is the picture of frugality?”
“You would prefer your countess wear rags, no doubt?” The delivery of my comment was somewhat ruined by the chattering of my teeth and my uneven breathing. After so many short, shallow gasps, I craved a normal breath, and I sucked in as large a one as I could manage.
Water filled my mouth and throat, and I started coughing uncontrollably, something made more difficult by the fact that I was obliged to tread water while doing so. I sputtered and floundered, trying to clear my lungs of the glacial water I had inhaled.
Sandy was at my side in a moment, his arm around me as he ensured I could hold my head above the surface, his legs and free arm beating the water to keep us both afloat.
It was enough, and my coughing subsided sufficiently for me to take stock of my situation: Sandy’s arm around my waist, his face, full of concern, so close that I might bump into it if I was not measured in my attempts to stay afloat.
We bobbed up and down together, our bodies pressed against each other, and all my effort to clear my lungs was for naught. Again, I found myself without enough air to sustain me, though for different reasons this time.
“I suppose that is my reward for taunting you,” I said with effort.
His concern transformed into a smile that sapped the last of the air in my lungs. “I see you are fully recovered.” And yet he held me still, his eyes fixed on mine while my gaze traced the trail of a drop of water from his dark, wet hair, down his temple and then cheek.
And still he held me. Why? Was he concerned I would swallow another breath of water if he let go? Or was there another reason?
He glanced toward the shore, which was much nearer than when we had at first begun. “I shall swim with you.”
“What, and deprive me of my prize?” I said in as rallying a tone as I could manage in my present state. I could only imagine how I must appear, my hair wet and disordered, my face red from coughing.
He laughed and shook his head. “Very well, then. Let us finish what we started.” He released me, and the full weight of my clothing and body nearly took my mouth back under. Instantly, he had his arm about me again.
How was I to tell him that his efforts to help me were beginning to be counterproductive, making it more rather than less difficult to breathe? I did not wish to be this helpless creature I appeared to him to be.
Thrusting his arm from around me, I used his body to propel me forward, looking over my shoulder with a mischievous smile.
The splashing that followed told me he was scrambling after me.
In a matter of seconds, he began to pull past me. We were nearing the shore, but I knew only drastic measures would get me there first. I reached over to the dim outline of his tailcoat floating behind him. Grasping the hem, I pulled back hard, using it to push myself forward.
His indignant laughter stretched my lips in a smile just as my knees and feet grazed the bottom of the loch. Letting my hands drop below the water, I crawled forward, then picked up my skirts and pushed myself to my feet, with Sandy just behind me.
I raised my arms in victory, though I had no breath to utter the victorious cry I had hoped for. Once he had pushed himself to his feet, Sandy bowed over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“Never did I take you for a cheat, Juliana Godfrey,” he said between breaths and airy laughter.
“Cheating?” I protested, my cheeks hurting from smiling. The cold might freeze my face into this expression if it lasted much longer. “I merely used the means available.”
He laughed, rising to a full stand and looking toward the castle, attempting to peel the coat from his arms. “Humiliation awaits me, Juliana. I am loath to admit to your father—and to Iain and Blair—that you went overboard under my care.”
“They needn’t know,” I said, my body beginning to tremble and shake. While the day was fairly warm, the breeze against my wet clothing felt like an arctic wind. I had no wish for Augusta to know of this latest escapade, either. She had been in her bedchamber all day, laid low with more coughing and sneezing and misery. “We might go through the servant entrance and warm up there. Dolly would help us.”
Sandy’s eyes lit with amusement while his teeth chattered audibly. He pulled his arm out of the sleeve of his coat, then peeled the other one out. His white shirt clung to his arms and body in a way that drew my eyes. “The servant entrance it is. You need a fire and dry clothing as soon as can be managed.”
With quick, shaking steps, we made our way to the servant door. My skirts had transformed from pristine white to murky brown, but I cared little.
Dolly was in the corridor with an armful of pressed clothing when we entered. She stopped short, staring in confusion.
“A fire in Mrs. Boyle’s parlor, Dolly,” Sandy said. “As soon as you can manage it.”
“Of course, my lord.” She dipped a quick curtsy, then turned back the way she had come.
“Mrs. Boyle’s parlor is the closest,” Sandy explained. “Best get you warmed up as soon as we can.”
We followed her toward the housekeeper’s quarters, where she had put down her burden and was already kneeling in front of the fire in the small sitting area. Sandy led me to the sofa, pulling the nearest blanket and setting it on the cushion for me to sit on.
As soon as the fire was lit, Dolly rushed to the corner, where another blanket was folded in a basket. She brought it, draping it over us. “I shall have Cook warm last night’s soup.”
“Thank you, Dolly,” I said, trying to control my shivering and pay no heed to how near Sandy and I were. “If you could have fresh clothes brought down for both of us, it would be much appreciated.”
“Preferably bringing as little attention to our predicament as possible,” Sandy added, stretching his hands out and rubbing them in the growing warmth of the fire.
“Of course, my lord,” she replied, curtsying again, then hurrying from the room.
The fire crackled and grew, and Sandy reached to place an extra log on the fire from the ones Dolly had put on the hearth. His dripping tailcoat hung over a chair by the hearth, while his waterlogged shirtsleeves clung to his arms and chest for dear life.
I looked away, but the room felt suddenly small and intimate. We had been alone on the loch, of course, but then, we had been surrounded by miles of open water and land, in full view of anyone in the castle wishing to watch.
I pulled the blanket toward my chin. If his clothing was nearly transparent, mine was too.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I can move the sofa closer if you would like.”
“This room is a veritable oven compared to the loch.”
He chuckled. “Indeed.” His gaze traveled over my face. “I am impressed with your swimming, even if your methods of winning were questionable.”
“I would rather say resourceful,” I said with a smile.
“Was your fit of coughing genuine or calculated to allow you to pull ahead?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “It was mere clumsiness on my part. Then, I simply took advantage of the circumstances.”
“And the tails of my coat.”
Dolly entered with clothing draped over one arm and a brush in the other. I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, realizing how bedraggled I must look. Following just behind Dolly was Sandy’s valet, clothing hanging over his arm in a similar manner.
His gaze took in his master, then me.
My cheeks warmed again, while Dolly smiled. “Cook says the soup will be ready by the time I’ve helped ye inta yer clothin’.”
I nodded, and a silence fell as I waited for Sandy to leave us in privacy.
Dolly finally spoke. “Gillies thought yer lordship could change in Kemp’s quarters while I . . . assist Miss Godfrey in here.”
Gillies cleared his throat meaningfully, and Sandy shot up from his seat. “Of course.” He turned to me briefly. “I shall return presently for that soup.” Wiping his hands down his wet pantaloons, he led his valet from the room, leaving me to avoid the small smile Dolly was wearing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SANDY
I strode quickly toward the butler’s quarters, eager to avoid Gillies’s penetrating gaze. I hadn’t meant to linger next to Juliana once Dolly and Gillies had come, but my mind had been elsewhere. On the small drop of water trailing down her neck, specifically.
The way Gillies looked at me the moment I turned to face him told me that nothing had escaped him.
“Enough of that, Gillies,” I said, unbuttoning my waistcoat.
“I said nothin’, my lord.”
“Your face said it for you.” I shrugged out of the wet garment and handed it to him with a grim look.
“I might’ve said the same thing of you, my lord.” There was the veriest quiver at one edge of his mouth, immediately controlled.
“And what does my face say to you now?” I glared at him.
He paused in the act of slipping my waistcoat onto a hanger to take stock of my expression. “That ye resent me for interruptin’ ye, my lord.”
“You are incorrigible, Gillies.”
My pretended irritation with him aside, the clothes he had brought for me—dry as summer dust—were a gift from heaven.
“That blasted cold water has penetrated to the marrow of my bones,” I complained.
“Sittin’ by the fire with a cup of soup and Miss Godfrey’s warmth ought ta see ta that, my lord,” Gillies said without even looking at me.
“And ten lashes ought to see to your unruly tongue,” I said without venom as I straightened my cravat. Yanking my tailcoat from his hands, I strode from the room, sending him a quick, amused glance before disappearing through the door.
Juliana was not in the parlor when I arrived, and I stopped on the threshold, wondering if she had thought better of eating the soup here. Perhaps she had noticed my thoughts wandering to forbidden paths and decided to take her food in her room. Watching the progress of a droplet of water down her neck was not part of the marriage contracts I had been discussing with Rutherford and Mr. Godfrey. Had I put her off?
A wave of disappointment washed through me just as the door to Mrs. Boyle’s bedchamber opened and Juliana stepped out. Her hair had been brushed out and given free rein, spilling over her shoulders and back in damp, brown waves.
“Forgive my state,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “If I have any hope of looking decent at dinner, I must allow my hair to dry first.”
I swallowed and nodded. “You needn’t apologize on my account.” Was Dolly smiling at me? She was no better than Gillies or Iain.
“I’ll fetch the soup,” she said, leaving us alone again with another brief glance at me. I kept my eyes on the doorway for a moment after she had left.
“Feeling warmer?” I put out a hand to Juliana, inviting her to take her prior seat.
She shot me a smile of gratitude as she sat. “I doubt I shall ever be truly warm again.”
“Nor I. We shall spend the rest of our days in front of this fire, trying to regain sensation in our fingers and toes.”
She stretched out her fingers toward the warmth, then glanced up at me for the briefest of moments. “There are worse fates.”
“Warm soup,” Dolly said, entering with a tray in hand. She brought it over and rested it upon our laps so that it spanned between us. “I’m afraid the other trays are bein’ washed at the moment, so there’s just the one. Ye dinna mind, do ye, my lordship?”
I fixed my eyes upon Dolly, but she seemed disinclined to return the favor. “Not at all.”
“Is there anythin’ else I can get for ye?” she asked as she stoked the fire.
I looked at Juliana, who shook her head.
“That will be all,” I said.
Dolly curtsied and left the room, closing the door three-quarters of the way rather than leaving it open as it had been. So that was the way of things, was it? She was attempting to play the matchmaker between her mistress and me. Ironic, that. That the match was already made. Or very near to it.
