All the same, though, his hands and eyes upon her did the most peculiar things to her heartbeat….
She managed to get through the ride and luncheon on the beach without disgracing herself too shamefully. But her sensation of being flustered only seemed to increase during the day as the rest of the party joined them and began to loosen up under the influence of good food, company, and some chilled white wine.
Monroe, Mitchell and the Baineses served everyone, and then organised games for the whole party, including the children.
No, it couldn't be Sir Wilfred, Mr. Joyce, she corrected herself, recalling his request from the previous day. It had to be Parks, she told herself as they tossed one of the children's balls to each other.
They both went for one Will had thrown. They ended up almost in each other's arms rolling around in the sand.
"Lord, Parks, you're going to break the poor girl's neck," Stewart remonstrated.
The children giggled delightedly and all piled onto the struggling couple.
Parks sat up from the wriggling mass of bodies. "Hah! Got it, Monroe."
He threw it to his friend and moved to help Will disentangle Elizabeth from the writhing toddlers, as well as Bob, who was tickling them all until they screamed with laughter, even Elizabeth.
Will helped her up, pressing her close to his chest. He began brushing down the back of her gown without thinking. "Sand everywhere," he whispered.
She raised her lips to his almost instinctively, touching his shoulder as she did so. He winced and she almost fell again as his bad arm gave way completely with the searing pain. He caught her to him tightly with his right hand to stop her tumbling into the sand once more. He almost thrust her at Vevina and Stewart as they came up to see if she was all right.
He was white-faced with pain, clutching his left arm hard. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I must have overdone things today. I hope I wasn't too rough with you."
"Never mind you, love. What about the children being too rough? Are you all right, Lady Elizabeth?" Vevina asked.
"Fine. But if the vicar is coming to tea, I'd better run home and change," she said, flooded with confusion.
"Yes, it's about time we were all heading back home," Stewart agreed.
Vevina helped brush off the worst of the sand from Elizabeth's dark habit. Monroe helped her into her saddle silently. The whole party was now a great deal more subdued than it had been a few moments before.
"Mr. Joyce's arm. Can he get into the saddle?" she asked sotto voce.
Monroe flashed her a broad grin. "Can he ever. Watch."
She turned to see Will take a small running jump at the back of the horse and vault squarely into his saddle. He was already moving the horse with his knees alone as he took up the reins and put his feet in the stirrups at last.
Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She stared at him open-mouthed.
To her chagrin he did not meet her eyes; rather, it seemed he took pains to avoid her gaze. What on earth had happened between them? To his arm?
She longed to ask him, but there was no chance to draw near enough.
Yet he seemed fine and was perfectly cordial as he took his leave of her. He reached over the pommel of his saddle to shake hands. "Goodbye."
"Thank you for a lovely day."
"Enjoy your tea."
"You're coming for supper, surely?" she blurted out almost desperately.
"Oh, no, I have-"
"Nothing that cannot wait," Parks intervened. "We will all be there for the wine tasting. Plus the last minute arrangements for the ball, of course."
Will said nothing, merely nodded.
"Thank you. I shall see you then. And I'm sorry if you hurt yourself because of me," she said with a timid glance up into his face.
"Not at all. Your servant, Ma'am."
Elizabeth waved and went in to change, playing over the whole day in her mind. She noted that she had had a marvelous day, and not once had she even thought of Marcus Fitzsimmons.
She wondered at how flustered she had been around Parks. He had never once said anything even remotely indicating admiration, or any hint of what had happened in the cave. She had been ruffled by what had happened on the sand, but it had actually been when Mr. Joyce had tried to help her, not when she had been in Parks' arms.
She stripped off her now sandy riding habit, refreshed herself with a quick sponge bath, and put on her spotted muslin with the blue trim.
She had worn it the night of the incident in the cave, and allowed its soft folds to whisper over her flesh like a lover's caress. With a shake of her head over her romantic notions, she went down to greet her guests.