Ginny by M.C. Beaton Page B

admit to himself that she looked like a very beautiful doll indeed.
    “Dear me, Ginny,” he said. “Do you intend to walk across the fields dressed like that?”
    “Why not?” was all Ginny would say.
    But it turned out that she was wearing a pair of sky-blue button boots, much more serviceable than they appeared, and the skirt of her dress only reached as far as her ankles, so there was no reason for her to have to hold up her skirts or worry about getting her feet wet.
    Everything seemed very fresh and green after the rain and little wisps of gray cloud trailed off high in the sky above.
    The sun was already hot and drying the grass. A blackbird sang with noisy gusto, rocking himself backward and forward on the slim branch of a larch and sending a shower of raindrops down onto Ginny’s hat, where they twinkled and sparkled among the silk roses like tiny diamonds.
    Ginny looked as cool and as fresh as a salad, and Lord Gerald found, to his irritation, that it was he who was unsuitably dressed for the day in an old hacking jacket and jodhpurs and a black polo sweater.
    Ginny chattered amiably about the ball she was planning. Even Lady Rochester had accepted an invitation, she said. She wondered why that was, since Lady Rochester had not seemed to enjoy her last visit one bit, and, with effort, Lord Gerald refrained from pointing out that Lady Rochester was probably hell-bent on revenge.
    Soon the rotunda appeared on its little knoll in the distance. “Is that someone walking away from it?” asked Ginny, screwing up her eyes. “Can you see who it is?”
    “Too far away,” said Gerald. “Probably one of the workmen.”
    His companion fell silent and, as the brim of her hat shaded her face, he had no clue as to what she was thinking.
    Only the base of the rotunda had so far been built, explained Ginny, finding her voice again as they approached it. When the pillars were erected and a little golden cupola put on top—it would look charming.
    They mounted the shallow steps and stood looking across the field.
    Lord Gerald reluctantly admitted to himself that the choice of situation was a stroke of genius. From each side of the rotunda, on its little rise, was spread a pleasant idyllic view of trees and meadows. The pastoral scene sparkled in the hot sunshine as the rain-washed grass and trees slowly dried in the sun.
    “Everything’s glittering,” said Ginny. “Why, even the—”
    She looked down at the side of the rotunda and turned as white as a sheet.
    “Run!” she screamed, “
Run!
”
    She seized Lord Gerald’s arm and tugged frantically. Her fear was infectious and without pausing for thought, he took her hand and ran with her, some part of his mind registering surprise at Ginny’s agility as she fled across the field and took the stile in one bound, stumbling and nearly falling and then recovering herself and fleeing on.
    “This is ridiculous,” gasped Lord Gerald, grabbing hold of her and forcing her to stop. “What the devil—”
    The ground beneath them suddenly seemed to heave as a deafening explosion rent the air and a great shock wave threw them on their faces. They lay very still. For a while Lord Gerald could hear nothing but the thumping of his heart. Then a great silence fell and he slowly turned his head to one side and looked at Ginny.
    Her frivolous blue hat had tumbled off and lay a yard away in the grass in front of her. She had her arms tightly clasped over the top of her head and was lying very still.
    He gingerly sat up and looked back to where they had come from.
    The rotunda lay in smoking ruins and a column of black smoke climbed up lazily into the blue sky.
    Shouts and cries and the sound of running feet were coming from the direction of Courtney.
    Lord Gerald turned Ginny over and looked down at her. Her face was very white but she gave him a trembling smile and said, “It’s like the fifth of November.”
    “How did you know what was going to happen?” asked Gerald