Page 2 of A Summer Romance (The Starlings of Starling Hall #2)

Breana Starling’s mare trotted along the lane that led to the Norris’s home.

Barton Manor was a great deal bigger and more imposing than Starling Hall, and Breana considered it far superior—no matter what her brother Will said.

He called it ramshackle, and she supposed it was a little uncared for, but this was only the country home of the Norris family. Their real home was in London.

Will wouldn’t be happy if he knew where she was going today.

Much to her relief, he had been too busy to notice her set off, otherwise he would have quizzed her as to her destination.

That was irritating, because at nineteen years of age, Breana considered herself fully grown up, and therefore it was no one’s business but hers as to where she went and why.

The where was the Norris house, and the why was because Francis Norris was expecting her. Ever since the spring ball at Barton Manor, she had been longing for another assignation with him.

They had met only once since that memorable night, at a garden party arranged by Mrs. Norris. Breana had had high hopes for another of those earth-shattering kisses in private, but the event had turned out to be a disappointment.

At the garden party, Francis had sought her out.

They had conversed, perhaps even more flirtatiously than usual.

Breana had giggled at his jokes, ignoring Abby’s disapproving looks, before Francis had suggested she see his mother’s roses.

They were particularly beautiful at the moment, and he was sure she would appreciate them.

“For you are a beautiful rose yourself, Miss Starling,” he had said quietly.

Once they were alone, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, just as she had hoped.

Only, it wasn’t quite what she had imagined.

At first they had fumbled awkwardly, bumping noses before his lips found hers.

He hadn’t been nearly as masterful as she remembered either.

She supposed no two kisses were ever the same, but this was not at all like the magical moment in the cupboard that she had played in her mind so many times.

It was possible the matter would have improved, but then they had been interrupted by Francis’s hateful brother Theo, forcing them to pretend they really were looking at the roses. The next day, Francis had returned to London, and she hadn’t seen him since.

The last two months had seemed like a lifetime to Breana. Then, this morning, she received a note from Francis informing her that he had returned and asking her to meet in the orchard at two o’clock in the afternoon.

It was serendipitous because Breana had had an invitation from her old school friend Chloe Bennett, inviting her to visit her in London. Breana was leaving that very evening, catching the mail coach that stopped at the road junction between Barton Lacey and Starling Hall.

She had thought she might be able to visit the Norris house in the capital, and see Francis there, but now she could tell him of her plans in person.

Breana had been up early to help her younger brothers and sisters dress, and two o’clock seemed like such an awfully long time to wait.

She had considered arriving at the orchard before two, but that would mean kicking her heels among the pear trees until Francis finally turned up.

He was not known for his punctuality, and it was doubtful he had changed in the past two months.

Living in the fashionable part of London, he may have become even more removed from the country hours of Barton Lacey.

The Norrises spent most of the year in the capital, and it seemed to Breana that they were far more sophisticated than the Starlings. She longed to be part of that life.

Mrs Norris could almost be said to be lackadaisical, as if village life bored her because she was so used to the excitement of London.

She had yawned once when speaking to Breana’s mother, Lady Meg Starling.

Abby considered her to be very ill-mannered, but Breana rather admired her indifference.

She had often wanted to yawn during one of her mother’s lectures but knew she would be given a stern talking to about manners.

Starling Hall was so tedious , and she was hoping to have some fun with Chloe in London. Anything was better than the mundane predictability of Starling Hall.

Will was marrying in two months to Molly Lacey, and as much as Breana loved them and wished them happy, she felt a little left out.

Now, just as she was leaving to stay with Chloe, the Norrises had returned to Barton Manor for the summer. Such a pity. But at least she had this meeting in the orchard to look forward to, and perhaps some cherished memories to sustain her until she returned.

Would Francis kiss her again? Would he say he could not live without her by his side?

Would he ask her to marry him? Perhaps he’d declare his desperate love for her and ask her to run away to Gretna Green with him!

They would set up house together in one of the fashionable parts of London and she would arrive at balls dripping with jewels and wearing the latest ensemble.

And Francis would gaze at her admiringly and tell everyone how lucky he was to have her as his wife.

Sometimes Breana’s imagination ran away with itself, a habit of which she was fully aware, but what was the harm? Fantasizing about her future gave her something to look forward to, and was so much more exciting than real life.

By now she had reached the back gate into the Barton Manor gardens. She tied her mare to one of the gateposts and set off on foot to the old orchard.

The trees were heavy with their crop of fruit, and Breana wondered idly why they had not yet been picked.

Lady Meg had her own orchard and liked to make preserves from the fruit, so there was always jam for their breakfast toast. Over the years, Abby had taken on some of their mother’s household tasks.

Breana had a recent memory of her sister stirring the fruit over the range in the kitchen, her face red and sweaty.

When Abby had asked if Breana wanted to learn, Breana had wrinkled her nose at the idea.

She was not going to be that sort of wife.

She would be a lady of leisure, lying upon a settee with a novel while her servants brought her coffee and chocolates.

And then in the evenings her husband—it was always someone who looked at least a bit like Francis in her daydreams—would join her for supper and then sweep her up in his arms.

And he would kiss her. It was always that kiss from the library, perfect in every detail.

The dreams always stopped there, but she told herself that whatever he did to her was sure to be very nice.

There would be no farmer’s son in Breana’s future, not if she could help it, nor the curate who made eyes at her in church on Sunday. She was going to marry a wealthy man—someone like Francis—and live the sort of life she felt she deserved.

And sometimes, if she wondered whether she might become very fat eating all of those chocolates, and whether she might become bored lying on a settee all day, then she refused to listen to the contrary whispers in her head.

She wasn’t actually sure how wealthy Francis was, but she knew he must be quite rich.

He was the second brother of four. Breana barely knew the two young brothers, but Theodore, the oldest, had always made her feel uncomfortable.

He frowned at her in a way that made her think he disapproved of her.

Or, worse, that he could see right through her to her silliest imaginings.

She was sure that he would be even more disapproving if he knew she was here, trysting with Francis and longing for another kiss.

Surely Francis hadn’t told his brother about the kiss in the cupboard? The thought of him knowing made her even more jumpy, and she glanced behind her several times as she made her way through the orchard, as if expecting Theo to be lurking by one of the trees, frowning.

The old pear tree mentioned in Francis’s note was easily found, the perfect place for their rendezvous.

She wondered why he had chosen this particular spot.

It occurred to her that he may have met other girls here before, but Breana pushed the idea aside.

She had never heard his name linked with anyone else in Barton Lacey, and gossip was currency in their village.

Her pretty blue skirts brushed over the damp grass, and she held them up above her ankles.

It was the new dress she had begged her mother for, and she would hate to get it soiled just before she went to London.

A fetching straw bonnet with matching blue ribbons shaded her face and kept her skin from freckling.

That was the awful thing about having red hair; one did tend to freckle.

But Francis had said he loved her hair. He said it was like a bonfire.

Breana wasn’t sure that was entirely complimentary, though he was smiling when he said it.

Last time they met, by the roses in the garden, he had tried to persuade her to take out her pins and let the thick, curly strands fall around her shoulders.

He said he wanted to run his fingers through her hair as he kissed her.

She’d been tempted to comply, but it was just as well she hadn’t because that was when Theodore had interrupted them.

He had sent Francis inside, saying their father wanted to speak to him.

To Breana’s surprise, Francis had obeyed immediately, without even a protest. Breana had been about to follow when Theodore had offered her his arm.

She had pretended not to see it.

Had Theodore seen them kissing? She’d blushed at the idea that he might have, and didn’t want to take his arm and be forced to walk with him. What if he lectured her? How mortifying. It would not fit in with her fantasy at all. In fact, it would feel very much like real life!