Page 75 of A Mismatch Made in London

He smiled. “It doesn’t take anything away from Ivinghoe Beacon, I daresay. I should still like to see it, and I hope, someday, to show you the various sights around Bedfordshire.”

“I would like that.” I thought about what I’d just said. Was it true? I believed it was.

We had brought a picnic, and we sat on the grass in the middle of the circle of stones and ate and talked. The company was so pleasant, though I did think of my brothers and sisters, imagining them running around the stones, playing games on the broad green expanse, shouting and laughing. Still, I gazed up at the sky, which thankfully was neither rainy nor too hot, and took in a deep breath. I would not soon forget how content I felt at thismoment, with like-minded, pleasant companions, though they were not related to me by blood.

Strange that I should think such a thought with Jeremy Beaumont sitting beside me.

Our stay in the Lake District was full of adventurous outings, carriage rides, and walks over green hills, impressive rocks, and along lake shores, including the magnificent Lake Windermere, the largest lake in England. I could not have imagined so much water existing away from the ocean, and we did not have time to drive all the way around it, it was so vast.

The night before we were supposed to return to London, I was a bit low in spirits. I would miss this idyllic place and the wonderful conversations we’d had. With all of our outings, with us occasionally finding ourselves alone together, but with our companions very near and likely to see us, Jeremy and I never kissed or even came close to kissing.

Directly after dinner, Mr. Shelley said, “Let us have a dance to cheer us all.”

“Is that quite proper?” asked Mrs. Wilson, whose cold was finally healed enough that she had joined us downstairs.

“It shall be all right,” Mrs. Shelley declared, who seemed as eager for the dance as anyone, then gleefully added, “We have chaperones enough, I think.”

Mrs. Wilson nodded her consent.

Miss Freeman offered to play for us, and Mr. Shelley wasted no time asking Juliet to dance.

Jeremy Beaumont asked me, holding out his hand.

It was much different to touch his hand when we were both wearing gloves, but I couldn’t help remembering how it had felt when we weren’t.

Since there were only four of us, we were able to dance thescotch reel and skip and twirl until I was nearly as dizzy as when I’d been staring over the side of the cliff at the waterfall. But it was good to feel the rush of such lively exercise while Jeremy Beaumont was smiling at me.

We switched partners for the next dance, which was another fast-paced frolic. But when I was back with Jeremy, Miss Freeman began to play a slower song, with more hand touches and close-up movements, where our faces were so close I could see the green flecks in his blue eyes and the subtle contours of his lips.

I was sorry when the dance ended. It was a heady feeling to have Jeremy Beaumont stare at me with his serious, intense gaze.

Dancing the next dance with Mr. Shelley was enjoyable, but he had a distracted air about him. And when it was over, I noticed Mr. Shelley whispering something to Juliet, very close to her ear. She looked up at him and nodded, then they came and sat down.

After we all retired to bed, I was about to ask Juliet what he’d said, when she grabbed my shoulders and, looking me in the eye, said, “Mr. Shelley asked me to meet him early tomorrow morning in the garden by the fountain. He said he had something to ask me.”

“Oh, Juliet!”

“I know! He’s going to ask me to marry him. How will I bear to wait until morning?”

She let go of me and spun around in a circle, clasping her arms.

“I am so happy for you. And you do love him?”

“I do, I am sure I do. He is so clever, and he is truly good and kind. We have so much to talk about whenever we are together. He enjoys so many of the same things that I enjoy, and when he looks at me a certain way, I can hardly breathe.”

She clutched her chest and gazed at the ceiling.

“But then,” she said, plopping down on a chair, “it is a bit frightening to think of getting married.”

“Frightening? Why?” Truthfully, I could think of a few reasons.

“What if I want to do something and he doesn’t want me to? We will quarrel, and I might be angry with him, and I dislike being angry. What if he’s unyielding, once we are married? I couldn’t bear it if I felt like a prisoner.”

“Do you think he will be?”

“No. I suppose I am being silly, but once we are married, we can never change our minds.”

“I will tell you, I think Mr. Shelley seems like the least likely person to disappoint you.”