The Fifth Kiss (8 page)

He took her hand again with a cautious hesitancy. “Pr-Proceed?”

“Yes. What do you do next?”

“Well, I … I …” he mumbled, reddening.

“Please don't mind my curiosity, Mr. Crawford. I'm most truly interested. Just behave as you would do ordinarily.”

“But … this is not quite ordinary, you see,” he objected.

“No? Why not?”

“I … er … don't usually speak quite so … openly … about my intentions.”

“No? Does speaking of these matters spoil things somehow?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “The …
mood
, y'know.”

“I'm sorry. I should have realized … I should have been warned by Shakespeare's Helena, for she says that we ladies
cannot fight for love as men may do; we should be woo'd, and were not made to woo
. But, Mr. Crawford, if I promise to refrain from my shocking bluntness, may we not proceed from this point in the usual way and restore the mood? Here you are, seated in this secluded spot with a lady, her hand tucked into yours. Now, then, what follows? Do you kiss her?”

He made a slight gurgling sound in his throat. “S-Sometimes …”

“Then go ahead, please,” she said, lifting her face to his.

He blinked at her. “Do you
mean
it?
Now
?”

She nodded.

His eyes lit up. “Well, if you're
certain
… ” He leaned toward her with dramatic deliberation, but, as their eyes met, he seemed to freeze.

“What is it?” she asked in surprise. “Is something amiss?”

“I …
can't
! Not while you're staring at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. What shall I do?”

“I think you should shut your eyes.”

“Really? Why?”

“Don't have the foggiest, but … most young ladies do.”

“Very well. But
do
get on with it,” she urged, shutting her eyes and lifting her face to him again. He leaned down and planted a gingerly kiss on her lips. When he'd finished, she opened her eyes and stared at him. “Is that
all
?”

Mr. Crawford's eyes were startled, and his expression revealed that he'd taken decided offense at her question. “
All
? What do you mean?”

Olivia dropped her eyes to her hands. “I think I expected something more … more …”

“More exciting?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “Well, I
warned
you that we were not proceeding in quite the ordinary way …”

“No, of course not,” she said, patting his hand soothingly.

“And besides,” he added, defensive once more, “a fellow doesn't ordinarily stop at
one.
”

“Doesn't he? Do you mean you'd like to … do it again?”

He looked at her earnestly. “That is usually the procedure.”

“Go ahead, then,” she agreed, closing her eyes and leaning toward him.

He squared his shoulders, set his jaw and—much more boldly this time—slipped an arm around her and kissed her with fervor.

She neither resisted him nor responded, and poor Morley Crawford, who had in the past been either wildly resisted or warmly encouraged for this type of effort, didn't know what to make of this strange impassivity. He held her close until it seemed foolish to continue, and then he let her go. She opened her eyes and regarded him with a steady, contemplative gaze. “Well, thank you, Mr. Crawford,” she said, nodding politely. “That was very … interesting.” She got briskly to her feet and started toward the door.

A bit shaken, he jumped up and followed her hastily. “
Interesting
?” he croaked. “Never heard anyone describe a kiss as
interesting
before.”

She looked back at him. “Oh, dear, I suppose I shouldn't have said that. I should have said ‘exciting,' shouldn't I?”

“Well,
wasn't
it?”

She shook her head. “I'm afraid I … didn't find it so,” she said gently.

His mouth drooped sulkily. “It was because of all that
talking
about it, I daresay.
Told
you that wasn't at all the thing.”

“No, I suppose it wasn't.”

“Of course not. Spoils the … mood, y'know.”

“Yes, perhaps, but I think …”

“Yes?”

She walked slowly to the door. “I have the feeling that it was something
else
that was amiss. Something more … fundamental.”

“But …
what
?” he asked urgently, following her.

She paused, her brows knit thoughtfully. “I don't know,” she said at last. “I only wish I did.” With a deep sigh, she bid him goodnight and went to find her brother.

chapter six

Morley Crawford's self-esteem had suffered a blow, and, as a result, his attentions to Olivia ceased abruptly. Jamie, not knowing the details of the episode, blamed his sister for “cutting the poor fellow to the quick” and refused to provide her with another of his friends on whom to experiment. But fortunately for Olivia's researches into the nature of love and passion, a few of the gentlemen who'd danced with her the night of the ball were brave enough to call. They made an unpromising group, however, and Olivia, without feeling very sanguine about her choice, gave encouragement to only one—a rather plump and serious young baronet, Sir Walter Haldene. She chose him because he claimed to be a scholar, and she persuaded herself that the relationship had brighter prospects than the one with Morley Crawford because she and Haldene had more interests in common.

It didn't take long, however, for her to discover that Haldene's scholarship was more imaginary than real. His knowledge of Latin was shallow and of Greek nil; his views of politics were so naive as to be almost silly; his reading was narrowly parochial and his understanding superficial. Worse still, whenever they discussed a subject on which they disagreed, he would pontificate on his position with irritating doggedness. This combination of pedantry and stubbornness was not only inhibiting to true intellectual growth but stained the rest of his personality like a drop of ink in a saucer of milk.

As these qualities began to manifest themselves, Olivia tried to discourage Haldene's attentions. But Sir Walter persisted with the tenacity of a leech. So great was his self-esteem that he was incapable of taking the hints that she dropped with increasing frequency. Finally, on a rainy afternoon when he was paying his third call in as many days, Olivia took him into the sitting room, firmly urged him to take a seat on the sofa, sat down beside him and told him flatly—although with all the politeness she could summon—that she did not wish him to call again.

His reaction was totally unexpected and shocking: he threw his arms around her, crushed her to him and, muttering a number of incoherent endearments, pressed his lips to hers. His grip was like iron, and Olivia had to endure a seemingly interminable embrace before she was able to push him away long enough to catch her breath and scream.

After Charles had angrily ushered him from the premises, Olivia took refuge in her bedoom to regain her composure. She had been kissed for the second time, and she'd found the experience more repugnant than the first. If she were to draw conclusions from those two examples, she would have to say that lovemaking was a most unpleasant activity. But she knew from books and from the attitude of the world that this was far from the truth. Thus, she concluded, her experimentation had led her farther afield than she'd been before she started. The secrets of love and passion, she decided, were too complex to uncover by this sort of trial-and-error method. Until she could find a way to pursue the experiment in a less hazardous manner, she would put the whole matter aside.

She returned to her usual, secluded way of life, and, as the days and weeks passed, the importance of the subject seemed to diminish. Even her feelings of disgust toward her brother-in-law seemed to abate. By the time two months had passed, she began to believe that she could finally face her sister with sufficient equanimity to keep from blurting out Strickland's repulsive secret. With the coming of April—as spring made itself felt in the new green growth on every tree—she at last accepted her sister's often-repeated appeal to her to pay a visit to Langley Park. But before she left home, she made herself a stern promise to permit no word of Strickland's misconduct to pass her lips during her stay with her sister.

Whatever misgivings may have lingered in Olivia's mind as the carriage approached the Park were dissipated by the sight of the manor house through the carriage window as the equipage turned into the curved drive. No matter how many times she'd seen it previously, she still felt a thrill of pleasure at the sight of it. Langley Park was considered to be one of the most beautiful of country estates, and the reason was apparent as soon as one turned into the gate. The drive was lined with trees, but every few minutes one could catch glimpses of the house through gaps in the foliage. The three-story building was a large, square edifice with a slightly projecting entrance framed by high double columns. The unusually tall windows and the impressive columns that flanked the entrance made the manor appear lofty and majestic. Built in the Palladian style (a style Olivia usually felt was too massive and imperial for a country house), the building was so perfectly proportioned and so ingeniously scaled to suit the surroundings that it managed to combine both warmth and dignity in its lines. With respect to the house, at least, Olivia mused as the carriage drew near the entrance, her sister was a fortunate woman.

No sooner had the carriage drawn up to the door when her sister came out and flew down the stone steps to welcome her. Clara looked thinner than she'd appeared when Olivia had last seen her—so much so that Olivia felt a constriction of her heart at the first glimpse of her. But Clara enveloped her in so joyous an embrace that Olivia was given no suitable opportunity to remark on her sister's altered appearance. Then she was led into the huge entrance hall while Clara chattered on gaily about the exciting plans she'd made for her visitor's enjoyment during her stay, not giving Olivia a moment in which to catch her breath. Immediately upon crossing the threshold, Olivia was set upon by her nephew, who appeared out of nowhere and flung himself into her arms with a glad cry of “Aunt Livie! Aunt Livie! You've
come
!”

Miles Peregrine Strickland, the someday-to-be sixth Earl of Langley, known in the family as Perry, was an unusual seven-year-old. Although in appearance he somewhat resembled his father, his nature was distinctly his own. Shy and highly strung, he tended to shun strangers, to prefer indoor to outdoor amusements and to find more pleasure in the company of females of any age than of boys of his own. He lived a great deal in a world of his own imagination, which he permitted very few to share. His father was remote and awesome and often away from home. His mother was a sometime companion, but she was often too busy with household matters to listen to his chatter. Miss Elspeth, the governess, was a willing audience for his fancies, but she often was shocked by the gory nature of his stories and tried to divert his mind to more “wholesome” matters. His little sister was his favorite companion, for she listened with wide-eyed fascination for hours on end to his tales of bloody deeds in phantasmagorical places. But his Aunt Livie had a special place in his heart. She was the only one who not only
understood
his tales but entered into them with such enthusiasm that she added details of her own contriving which blended perfectly with his own. Her presence in the household promised happy hours of tale-spinning and joke-making that they two—and they only—could share.

“Have you met my first knight, Sir Budgidore?” he asked, pointing to the empty air beside him.

Olivia did not blink or hesitate a moment. She dropped a bow toward the space indicated. “How do you do, Sir Budgidore,” she said, offering her hand for the imaginary knight's imaginary kiss.

Perry laughed delightedly. “He's blushing,” he confided to his mother. “Sir Budgidore thinks Aunt Livie is very pretty.”

At that moment, little Amy danced into the hallway, and, running right through Sir Budgidore, held up a pair of eager arms to her “Auntie Wivie.” Only four, the entrancing little girl had a great deal of difficulty pronouncing her consonants, especially her “s” sounds which she made into “th,” and her “r” and “I” sounds which sounded like “w”s. “We've been waiting aw
day
!” the child exclaimed, submitting contentedly to her aunt's embrace. Amy, with her light, silky hair and huge gray eyes was the embodiment of a ray of sunshine. Her disposition was like her mother's—all agreeable placidity. And since her appearance radiated such sweetness that no one in the household had the heart to refuse anything she asked, she never had to shake herself from her customary tranquility. She showered affection on her mother, her father and everyone else with equal warmth, but each member of the household had a particular and personal reason for favoring the child: Clara took keen delight in the similarity of their dispositions; Strickland marvelled at her ability to sit a horse (for even at the age of four she had already surpassed her brother in her ability to ride); Miss Elspeth found her ability to learn quite remarkable (for, like so many governesses, she was more apt to see talent in Amy's ready obedience than in Perry's strange unconventionality); and even Fincher, the staid and impassive butler, would relent and beam as he watched the tiny girl use her spoon at the tea-table with all the grace and finesse of a “real lady.”

Olivia swept her sunny-spirited little niece into her arms and kissed her cheek. Then, tossing her over her shoulder, she reached down a hand to Perry. “Come up to the nursery, you two. We must become reacquainted. And tell Sir Budgidore to come, too.” With Amy gurgling happily into her ear, Perry chattering away about how Sir Budgidore had come into his life, and Clara following contentedly behind, Olivia climbed the stairs to the third-floor nursery and spent a delightful afternoon in childish play. It was not until the housekeeper, Mrs. Joliffe, took the children away for their evening meal that the two sisters were finally alone.