“Henrietta, stop this at once,” Lady Petunia said, her voice a sharp rebuke. “Clara is not required to confide anything to us, and why should she, given your relentless teasing? If you keep on this way, she’ll never agree to come to our house party.”
“House party?” The other woman frowned a little, turning to look at her great-aunt.
“My dear girl, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten our Friday-to-Monday six days hence?”
There was a moment of silence, then Hetty gave an exclamation. “Right, of course! You mean the weekend party.”
“It’s a Friday-to-Monday,” Petunia said with a sniff, “and that’s a house party, regardless of what you young people call such things nowadays.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” Hetty said. “I just hadn’t realized it was so close. My, how time flies in the season.”
“That’s just why a Friday-to-Monday is so perfect for July.” Petunia turned to Clara. “I am chaperone to Henrietta, as you know, as well as to her younger sister, May, and because May is just out this year, it’s been an especially busy time. But I’m getting on in years, you know, and the season is becoming so frantic, I will soon need a rest, or I fear I won’t be able to continue. So, after May has been presented at court, we shall be having a little Friday-to-Monday at Lisle. That’s the home of my nephew, Sir Albert—Henrietta’s father, you know. We should dearly love to have you join us, my dear. And the duke’s family, of course.”
“Lisle’s a lovely place,” Hetty put in, “even if I do say it myself. Do say you’ll come, for I should very much like to show it to you.”
“I’d like to come,” Clara assured her. “But as I said, things are very busy here. I’m not sure I can afford to be away.”
“It’s in Kent, down toward Dover,” Hetty said. “And that’s a very short journey, with trains running multiple times a day. If anything untoward were to arise, you could be home within a few hours. And if you’ve been working as hard as you say, you’ll surely need a good rest by then. Not that we’ll rest much if the weather’s fine, for there will be croquet and tennis and perhaps some punting on the stream. We may even go to Dover and picnic on the cliffs overlooking the sea.”
“That would be lovely, for I’ve never been to Dover. But—”
“There, then, it’s decided,” Hetty cried. “I don’t want to hear any buts, Clara. It’ll be great fun, I promise, and though there will be plenty of new people for you to meet, you needn’t fear you won’t know anyone. Rex is there already, along with my brother, Paul, who you met at the picnic.”
As she remembered, Hetty’s brother Paul was very nice, and the idea of meeting new people didn’t intimidate her nearly as much now as it would have done just a couple of months ago, but it was the mention of Rex that caused Clara to capitulate. “Very well, then,” she said, and the moment those words were out of her mouth, all her earlier euphoria came rushing back. “If the duke’s sisters are free to accompany me, I should be delighted to come to Lisle.”
There was nothing like the country if a man wanted to regain his sanity. A long, hard ride across the downs on horseback every morning, followed by a hike through the woods or along the cliffs after luncheon, and a few vigorous sets of tennis with his cousin Paul in the late afternoon all helped Rex put himself to rights. The tennis, he found, was especially effective, for not only was his cousin as fiercely competitive as he and almost as skilled a player, Paul was also a full decade younger, which meant that although sometimes Rex won and sometimes he lost, he never failed to be thoroughly done in afterward. And if thoughts of Clara still prevented him from sleeping, a few dozen laps in the pond were sufficient to cool his blood.
After half a dozen days of vigorous exercise, and nights of tumbling into bed exhausted, Clara Deverill at last stopped bedeviling his mind and body. The feel of her, so warm and sweet, became a memory rather than a torture. The sound of her soft cries of release stopped invading his dreams, meaning that he no longer woke up hard and aching in the middle of the night. By the afternoon of the house party, he felt he was at last himself again.
He and Paul were on the court when Hetty, May, and Auntie Pet, the only members of the family not already at Lisle, arrived from the station. Tea had been laid out on the south lawn near the tennis court, and some of the guests were already partaking as Uncle Albert’s carriage pulled into the drive, but it wasn’t until the vehicle stopped nearby and Hetty called a greeting to them that Rex noticed another vehicle coming around the south lawn. More guests, he supposed.
“Everyone seems to be here at last,” Paul called to him, returning Rex’s attention to the game. “Do you want to stop for tea?”
“Tea?” Rex shook his head, laughing. “Now, when I’m a hairsbreadth from winning this match? Not a chance.”
“Hairsbreadth?” Paul echoed, making a sound of derision as he prepared to serve. “That’s rich.”
The ball rose high in the air, then Paul’s serve sent it flying across the court to a tricky corner. Rex’s backhand, as deadly a weapon as his cousin’s wicked serve, sent the ball flying back across the net, but then, Rex thought he heard Hetty call Clara’s name.
Startled, he glanced sideways and found all his worst fears confirmed by the sight of Clara’s slim figure crossing to Hetty’s side, and his concentration shattered to bits. He heard the thwack of Paul’s racquet against the tennis ball, but still looking at Clara, it took him a millisecond too long to respond, and by the time he dove for the ball, he was already too late. He missed it entirely, his body went stumbling forward, carried by sheer momentum.
He landed hard, his shoulder and hip slamming down on the turf of the tennis court less than ten feet from the very woman he’d been trying for nearly a week to forget, his gaze riveted to a view of Clara’s dainty, leather-clad toes and lace petticoats peeking out from beneath the pleated hem of a blue traveling skirt.
Christ, almighty.
He turned away from that delectable vision at once, grimacing in pain and aggravation as he rolled onto his back, Paul’s merry laughter ringing in his ears.
What the hell, he wondered, staring up at the sky, had he done to deserve this?
“Are you all right?” Paul asked, still laughing.
“Shipshape and Bristol fashion,” he called back. “Why do you ask?”
He stood up before Paul or anyone else could question that lie. Giving his shoulder an experimental shrug, he was glad to find he’d suffered no serious injury, and he glanced around for his racquet. It had landed nearly on the chalk line, a fact that forced him even closer to where Clara stood at the side of the court with Hetty.
“Rough game?” his cousin asked as he bent to pick up his racquet.
“Apparently so, Hetty. Miss Deverill,” he greeted with a bow, but he didn’t look at her, and before she could reply, he turned away, returning to the court. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his wrist, and readied himself for Paul’s next serve, but suddenly the idea of playing any more tennis, knowing Clara was here, that she’d be watching, was just too much to bear, and he waved Paul to stop before the other man could serve.
