Page 14 of The Viscount's Pearl
Lord Barrington sighed. “And do you have such a woman in mind? One who is suitable, who will afford you mutual respect and possibly affection?”
“Perhaps.”
“May I inquire as to her name?”
“Lady Honora Fortescue.”
The viscount thought. “Daughter of the Marquis of Halesworth?”
“Yes, Sir.”
A small smile twitched at the corner of Lord Barrington’s mouth. “An excellent woman,” he pronounced. “Practical. Well bred. Good-natured but not weak-willed with it.”
“Yes, Sir. We have known each other a long time.”
Lord Barrington stopped his chair and Laurence stopped with him. “Will you do your uncle a favour?”
“If it lies within my power, Sir, of course.”
“Do not marry this season. Next year, perhaps.”
“Why?”
“Only a whim of mine, to keep you young and free of duty, as you said, a little longer. Will you do that? Oh, by all means court whomever you like this coming season, but without obligation, without any understandings being entered into. Will you do that for me?”
“If you wish it, Sir. Although I do not understand why you would be reluctant for me to marry.”
“I am not reluctant for you to marry, far from it. But I would like you to marry for love, Laurence, and therefore I beg your indulgence; one more year for your heart to bloom. If it does not, then you have my blessing to marry whomsoever you choose, with or without love.”
Laurence shrugged. “As you wish, Sir, though I do not think I will change my mind on this subject.”
“Then it will not matter if you wait only one more year.” Lord Barrington gave his nephew a warm smile. “Now, perhaps you would be so kind as to push my chair for me. My arms grow tired and Miss Lilley, as you can see, is rapidly outstripping us, for all that she is walking on the sand, and we have a firm path beneath our feet. Let us make haste and follow her.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As he pushed the chair along the promenade, Laurence turned over Miss Lilley’s determination to remain a spinster in his mind. It was very odd, certainly, but there was something about the certainty of her vision that appealed. She had depicted the life she wanted with great clarity and seemed determined to achieve it. He half wished he had such certainty about his future – his images of married life were half-formed, with no true shape to the woman who might be his wife, only the knowledge that he should of course have a bride, one who would take her place one day as Viscountess Barrington. But that was all he could imagine for now: that she would be fit to take such a position. Nothing more. Miss Lilley was an odd fish, but at least she knew her own mind.
“Today I will go to the baths,” announced Lord Barrington at breakfast the next day. “There is a place on the seafront where they have heated baths with seawater, it is most convenient and brings the benefits of the salt water to those of us no longer able to enter the sea itself.” He smiled. “Shall you both join me?”
“Yes, but I will go into the sea,” said Frances.
“A brave woman indeed,” said Lord Barrington. “Laurence?”
Laurence could hardly settle for the warm baths provided for invalids if Miss Lilley was going to brave the cold of the sea. “The sea, of course,” he agreed.
“Excellent,” declared Lord Barrington. “Then we shall return home cured of all our ills this afternoon.”
The carriage deposited Lord Barrington at the warm baths close to the promenade, then took Laurence to the gentlemen’s part of the beach, before driving away to the next section of the beach, reserved for ladies, although the two were quite close.
The summer sun had lost its powers, showing only its pale autumn face. The sky was mostly grey, there was a chill in theair and the sea was downright cold, there was no two ways about it. Still, Laurence climbed the steps into the bathing machine standing waiting for him and undressed while it rocked along the beach to its destination.
“Ready for you, Sir!” called the attendant.
“Ready!” Laurence replied and the door was opened, revealing the steps down into the sea, the grey water sloshing against them, a few cold drops catching his bare legs. He braced himself for the impact, but still gasped as he dived in and the cold struck him. Spluttering, panting, he swam vigorously to and fro for some minutes, the activity bringing him enough warmth to bear the water at least a while longer. Now better able to withstand the cold, he struck out for a longer swim, heading away from the shore, inspired by the exhilaration which the sea had always brought him, the sensation of being very small and insignificant whilst also being at one with a vast untameable element. When he had swum some way out he turned, treading water, and looked back towards the beach, where he could see the tiny figures of the attendants and their bathing machines. He had come out further than he had thought, the bottom was quite untouchable, despite most of Margate’s shoreline being shallow. He would head back.
But something caught his eye to the left and a sudden shock took hold of him. A corpse! Then a secondary shock as he realised that no, it was a woman, floating on her back, eyes fully open to the grey sky above. Miss Lilley, clad only in her bathing dress, a heavy navy-blue costume which had drifted up her legs, now gathered at her knees. He had veered to one side as he swam out and now was too close to the female bathing section. He averted his eyes and made to swim away, but something made him want to look at her again. She had swum out as far as he had, which made her a strong swimmer. She was not gasping and spluttering or shivering, merely lying on her back gazing atthe sky, as though on a comfortable bed, unworried by the cold, unconcerned by what must be the heavy weight of her thick blue dress, pulling her downwards. She looked peaceful, content. Laurence trod water a few moments longer, unable to take his eyes off her, then struck out for the shore, his mind entirely on Miss Lilley. He looked back from time to time, fearful lest she suddenly cry for help when he was already too close to the shore, but she did not move from her position, staring up at the sky.
The sky. Grey it might seem to the casual onlooker, but it was not such a flat colour. There were clouds layered upon clouds, with some patches darker, others lighter. Occasionally the sun would send hesitant, searching rays through the clouds, before they were lost again.
