Page 115 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

“It was worse. You could scarcely tell us apart. We all had enormous beards.”

Her mouth tilted up at one corner. “You as well?”

“Everyone, to a man.” He gave her an amused look. “Did you never see any of the soldiers returning home?”

“A few,” she said. “Their whiskers were substantial, but I didn’t know it was a feature of the breed. I thought it merely a personal preference.”

“It was a necessity. Crimean winters are cold as the devil. And shaving soap was difficult to come by. ‘Let nature be your valet.’ That’s what one of my superior officers used to say. We all of us were glad to do so. Facial hair keeps a man warm.”

She examined his countenance. “I can’t imagine you with a beard.”

His blood warmed under her regard. “I don’t much like having one.”

“I’m glad.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “I don’t care for them, either.”

He gazed down at her, wanting to kiss her so badly in that moment it was all he could do to draw back a step. He cleared his throat. “Is Daisy about?”

“She’s gone down to the barn. It seems she requires a certain amount of time to herself each day. I’m trying to give it to her.”

“I try to do the same,” he said. “Within reason. Too much time on her own isn’t good for a child of her disposition.”

“She needs a playmate,” Julia said. “Someone close to her age. Her brothers are too old to include her. They have their own games.”

“Not today they don’t. Today we’re all going to the pond.”

Julia’s face lit with delight. “Now?”

“As soon as Beecham packs us something for luncheon. We’ll eat and we’ll swim.”

“Oh, splendid. But . . .” A note of uncertainty seeped into her voice. “Are you certain you won’t find it tedious to teach me?”

“Tedious? Lord no.” He took her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.”

Julia had often read stories in magazines about ladies bathing at the fashionable seaside resorts of Margate or Scarborough. The women depicted wore heavy woolen bathing costumes, lace-up canvas slippers, and oilskin caps over their hair. Wheeled out into the ocean in wooden bathing machines, they emerged beneath the cover of a canopy to climb down into the water.

It was all done modestly, far from the view of anyone of the opposite sex.

Not so today.

For one thing, the pond at the edge of the moors was nothing like the sketches she’d seen of the seaside. It was wild and remote, surrounded by encroaching trees and a profusion of wavy hair grass with delicate flower heads trembling in the rippling breeze.

For another, Julia had no bathing costume. Jasper had said she didn’t require one. She would swim in her chemise and drawers, as Daisy did.

And there would be no question of separating the sexes. They were all going to swim together, with Jasper and the boys wearing even less than she and Daisy wore. Indeed, they were no sooner in view of the pond than Charlie and Alfred took off running for the water, stripping down to their drawers as they went.

Julia averted her gaze.

“You needn’t be shy,” Jasper said. He walked along at her side, the hamper containing their picnic lunch hoisted on one broad shoulder.

His black three-piece suit was gone. In its place were Bedford cord breeches, a loose linen shirt, and a pair of old top boots. If not for the fearsomeness of his scar and the proud, upright carriage of his frame—a posture that loudly proclaimed his years in the military—he might almost have resembled a country squire.

Almost.

Daisy trotted off after her brothers to the water’s edge. She was clad in a clean pinafore, her dark hair pinned up in a crown of plaits.

“It feels indecent,” Julia said when the little girl was out of earshot. “Being undressed like that in company.”

“You’re not in company,” Jasper replied. “You’re with your family. And this is the country. People don’t fret about such things out here. Who would do so? There are no strangers to see.”