Page 9 of A Suitable Countess (To All the Earls I’ve Loved Before #3)

In which our Hero and Heroine go on a Picnic.

Viola was on tenterhooks waiting for George to arrive. Following that kiss, her dreams had been of him—dreams that were frustratingly vague about what came after such kisses.

Footsteps approached down the hall, hurried but precise, and turned into the parlour, heralding the arrival of the oldest of her sisters. Viola knew how each of her siblings walked and what the cadence of their footsteps revealed about their mood.

She turned from the window seat, where she had been peeking around the curtain, keeping an eye on the street as Marie entered.

“You look well, Vi. What are you doing today?” Marie dropped onto the sofa, ending Viola’s pleasant daydream about George.

How odd that the man she had first met only days ago was occupying so much of her thoughts.

“Lord George is taking me for a drive in the country. He mentioned taking a picnic.”

“At least you will eat well today.”

Despite her winnings and the news they could now buy sufficient food, Viola heard the hunger in her sister’s voice and realised with a start how very slim her sister had become. Her day dress was not sitting properly across her chest, and her face was thinner than it should be.

Marie had probably given up her meagre share of their meals to their younger siblings, just as Viola had done more than once.

“After my success last night, Mrs Macey has money for food. Once she has been to the market, you will eat well, but I shall slip whatever I can from the picnic into my reticule to bring home as well. This plan is working, Marie.”

“You were lucky last night, but Vi, it is dangerous, and I’m not just talking about your reputation if you are found out. Please, don’t disguise yourself again. Pursuing your earl is safer; speaking of which, is your pursuit going well?”

“Tolerably.”

If one counted the earl’s kisses as merely tolerable. “Quite—tolerably.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and Viola dipped her head, busying herself with the contents of her reticule.

Two handkerchiefs in which to wrap biscuits would have to do.

Her reticule was not particularly capacious, but then she was not like those governesses she had seen in the park whose reticules were the size of carpet bags.

“Will tolerably provide food on the table next month?”

Viola understood why Marie’s tone was grumpy. Too often in recent weeks, they had both scrimped on their meals to ensure the younger ones had enough.

“I believe it will. George—Lord George, that is—seems like a solid prospect.”

“If you’ve reached the stage of calling him by his name, then he’s more than solid. Your Lord George might yet prove to be our saving grace.”

Marie looked thoughtful as she caught Viola’s gaze, and then she grinned. “Any—other interesting developments you’d care to share?”

“Such as?”

“Judging by your pink cheeks, I’d say you’ve kissed him, haven’t you?”

“That would be most inappropriate.” Goodness, she sounded like their great-aunt Maud, all prudish and judgemental.

But Marie laughed, the first genuine laugh Viola had heard from her sister in far too long. Her sister clapped her hands and ran to Viola, dropped to her knees, and took hold of her hands.

“Tell me all about it. How was it? How was he? Did you like it?”

Viola closed her eyes, reliving George’s kiss in the carriage.

“It was—an awakening.” She opened her eyes and looked at her sister.

“I had no idea two mouths could connect and create such feelings in my body. They ran through me like lightning in a summer storm. I wanted to plaster myself to his chest and never let go.”

Her sister picked up the book Viola had made no pretence of reading, and fanned herself.

“Oh my. No wonder our mamas are so intent on chaperoning us so closely. Were that to become widely known amongst debutantes, Society would fall into chaos.”

“I wonder if such feelings happen no matter who the man is. Perhaps there is only one who will set my heart racing.”

“It seems you have found him.” Marie squeezed Viola’s hand. “I am happy for you, Vi. But bring home more than biscuits—please!”

“I’ll try.” Viola turned to the window at the sound of carriage wheels approaching. A smart phaeton drawn by a matched pair of dappled greys came into view and pulled up outside their home.

“That’s him.” Awareness and memory ran through her body, and she let the curtain fall.

The sisters rose, and Marie fussed over the skirt of Viola’s gown, patting and smoothing out wrinkles. “There, you look splendid. Who needs new gowns every season when you look so fine no matter what you wear?”

Impulsively, Viola hugged Marie. “I will make all well, I promise. And you shall have a sweet treat from the picnic.”

“Not as sweet as yours will be, I am certain.”

A discreet knock on the parlour door was followed by Simmons entering the room. “Lord George Amhurst for Lady Viola.”

George entered and bowed, first to Viola, then to Marie. “Ladies, delighted to see you both on this fine day.”

“My lord, this is my sister, Lady Marie. Marie, Lord George Amhurst.”

Marie bobbed another curtsey. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord, having heard so much about you.”

George’s gaze slipped to Viola, but he simply said, “Indeed. Believe only one-tenth of what you hear and discard the rest.” Turning to Viola, he asked, “Are you ready for our ride, Lady Viola?”

“I am looking forward to it.” She didn’t mean to, but she looked directly at his lips. One corner of his mouth tipped up, and Viola knew he knew where her thoughts had flown.

Marie slapped a hand over her mouth and turned what had surely been a snort into an indelicate cough.

As for Viola, she didn’t know where to look.

George offered a brief adieu to Marie before taking Viola’s arm. Once outside, he assisted her into his phaeton, personally arranging a blanket over her legs against any stray breeze before climbing in and taking the reins. The groom climbed up and sat on the perch behind.

“All set?”

“Yes, my—George, I am quite comfortable, thank you.”

Just before the horses moved off, Viola caught a glimpse of her sister watching them through the window. She smiled and waved before George set the horses to a slow walk.

The city roads were busy, but once they reached the open road, George encouraged the horses to a trot, which they maintained until he turned onto a narrow lane that led to a sweet meadow and an offshoot of the River Thames.

“This is beautiful. How did you find this place?”

George pulled on the reins, and the horses halted with a tossing of manes and a stamping of hooves. “I’m an explorer. I find interesting places.” He grinned, and once the groom had jumped down and was holding the horses’ heads, George climbed out and lifted her down.

His hands on her body sent a shaft of need through Viola. The physical ache between her thighs made her want to squirm. Since a lady could not squirm, at least not in polite company, she walked as quickly as she dared towards the river and hoped he would not be a complete gentleman all afternoon.

Meadow sweets and various wildflowers had begun to open, and their blooms sweetly perfumed the air.

It was so much nicer than the coal-choked air in the city and Viola stopped, drawing in a long breath.

It was a beautiful spot, and for the first time since the arrival of that devastating news from Egypt, some of the tension that held her in its grip eased.

“We’ll stay on this higher side of the meadow for our picnic, where the ground is firm. Would you like to eat first, or walk beside the water?”

She had half expected the ground to be soft underfoot, but it seemed George knew the lie of the land very well. Usually, a walk would precede eating, but Viola’s stomach chose that moment to gurgle. She prayed he hadn’t heard, but by the quirk of his lips, he had.

“Let’s eat first and walk afterwards.”

Grateful for his tact, she walked towards the back of the phaeton where a picnic hamper was strapped. “May I help set the food out?”

“We’ll do it together.”

He nodded to the groom, who unstrapped the hamper and a thick blanket and carried them a short distance from the phaeton. He spread the blanket where George directed him and set the hamper on one corner.

“Will that be all, my lord?”

“Move the horses to a patch of shade, Jenkins.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“I’ll help unhitch them. I won’t be long, Viola.”

And he wouldn’t, not if he tended to the horses as efficiently as he did everything else. She had only a couple of minutes to secrete something in her reticule before he returned. Quickly, Viola took out and unwrapped several covered plates and bowls, checking their contents.

Sandwiches, strawberries, a cold meat pie . . . all of those would squash or fall apart in her reticule. She opened another covered dish. Ah, three types of biscuit. The bounty seemed unending.

Casting an anxious glance over her shoulder, she emptied all of one type of biscuit into her handkerchief and shoved it into her bag, praying they weren’t George’s favourites as she pulled the drawstring closed just before George ambled up and knelt on the blanket.

“You were quick. Allow me to pour you a drink. There is ginger beer or wine. The ginger beer is made on my Yorkshire estate. I have them deliver a crate to me each month.”

“If it’s that good, then I should like to taste your ginger beer.” Now that George was seated on the blanket too, Viola looked at the amount of food spread before her. “This is a ridiculous amount of food for two people, George.”

“I expected a good walk would build up our appetites. Besides, I don’t know your preferences yet.”

“Oh, I hope I have not upset your plans by wanting to eat first?”

“Not at all. Walking off our meal will be just as good, if not better, for the digestion. Please help yourself.”

“For future reference, my favourite food is fruit in any form. Fresh is best, but I also like fruit pies . . .”