“What do you think of Duncan?” Mary asked, keeping her tone lighthearted, though her heart pounded a little faster to bring his name into conversation.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlotte’s needle pause.
“I think he’s as much in love with you as he ever was.”
Mary dropped her needle.
“And I think he’s devilishly handsome,” Charlotte added, winking at Mary, who was retrieving her needle.
“It’s the cleft in his chin. Oh, and his eyes. He has the dreamiest eyes.” Mary sighed, recalling their shared moment in the vicarage parlor. Only just in time, she stopped herself from touching her lips in memory.
“No, I’m sure it’s the military brawn. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man quite so well-muscled.”
“Charlotte!” Mary squawked.
“Now that he’s returned, what are you going to do? Pick up where you left off? Torture him into a lengthy courtship? You must have a plan, Mary.”
“I’m afraid I don’t. Though I’ve dreamed of his return, I haven’t waited for him. I made my own life. Now, what of my plans? We’ve not yet spoken of any of that. What do you think I should do?”
Of course, she had waited for him. There had been no other course of action for her but to wait. At fifteen, she had first fallen in love with him, with his passion for life, his flirtations, his maturity, all so juxtaposed to her own dull youth. There was no one for her but him. Her fear now was that they might not be as compatible as they once were. She had been a silly girl, and he had been a carefree boy.
It was only nerves, she told herself. It would take time for them to reach the point of comfort they once had. And they had all the time in the world together, a lifetime to explore their new selves.
Charlotte said, “I think you should punish him for staying away so long by making yourself irresistibly desirable while not letting him know how much you’ve missed him. It’ll drive him wild and serve him right.”
Mary smiled, feeling a little guilty that she had already foiled that plan.
“Let’s start tomorrow. I’ll help you choose the right dress for the occasion, something low-cut.”
“Tomorrow?” Mary searched her memory for what could possibly happen tomorrow. He had mentioned calling in a few days, but it had not exactly been a few days yet. It had only been two.
“Oh, did I not mention?” Charlotte giggled. “I invited myself to tea with the Starretts. Drake isn’t the only one who is determined to play matchmaker.”
From the carriage window, Mary could see the house at the end of the winding driveway to Cois Greta Park. Though the Starrett home could not compete with Lyonn Manor’s size or splendor, it was a sizable house of its own right—Palladian with a courtyard bounded by stables, charming Venetian windows and Doric columns, and two rivers that fed into a lake. Their lake. The lake that marked the boundary between the ducal estate and the Starrett home. The lake where she fell in love.
With the sun out and the air chilled with the promise of autumn, today presented perfect riding weather. How gauche to arrive in the ducal carriage, she thought. The homes were not far enough apart to warrant such extravagance. She would give her left arm to be riding Athena rather than being jostled about in a carriage. Alas, her sister-in-law preferred the carriage.
But that was not the entire motivation for taking the carriage, Charlotte had explained to her that morning. The point of the carriage was to ensure their dress and hair showed to advantage. It would not do, the duchess had said, for Mary to arrive in a militaristic riding habit, looking for all the world like a boy in regimentals. No, Mary needed to look coiffed and sensual.
She tugged at the top of the dress.
“If you’re going to fuss,” Charlotte said, swatting at Mary’s hand, “pull it lower rather than higher.”
Rolling her eyes, Mary tugged at it anyway. The dress made her bosom swell in indecent ways. If she made a concentrated effort not to breathe, she might survive the tea. What would his parents think?
Seamless, peach satin plunged low to accentuate her proportions. The waist was higher than any of her other dresses, doing its own part at displaying her assets. She felt entirely underdressed. All morning, Charlotte had raved about how becoming the dress looked and how fortunate Mary was to have an admirable bust to display. All Mary wanted was to don her riding habit.
The plan, according to Charlotte, was to ignore him while looking enchanting. Make him do all the work, she had advised. Make him believe he must act quickly or lose the chance.
“Aside from teasing glances,” Charlotte had said over a cup of chocolate, “pretend you’re not interested.”
Mary had no intention of doing any such thing. Her plan was to find another parlor and kiss him until she was dizzy. Best laid plans were a far cry from reality.
The carriage came to a halt. Her pulse quickened.
When her shoes met gravel, her palms began to sweat in her gloves.
A lump formed in her throat.
She followed her sister-in-law and the butler to a modest garden terrace with an al fresco tea prepared. Mrs. Georgina Starrett, Colonel Sean Starrett, and Mr. Quinn Starrett were all in attendance alongside Duncan, just as they had been one week ago to the day. Mary was disappointed the vicar’s wife had not joined them, but she ought not to care since her only purpose was to see Duncan. When she laid eyes on him standing by the table and looking powerful and virile, her body burned with the memory of their kiss.
She thought she might die when his eyes swept over her. Was she blushing? Were her thoughts discernable? The urge to tug at the neckline to keep her bosom from rising with every breath forced her hands into fists. At this rate, she would be sitting on her hands before the end of tea.
Time slowed to a snail’s pace as everyone exchanged pleasantries, Duncan and Mary sitting idle, catching each other’s glances every few seconds.
How could she get him alone?
She could feign feeling vaporish from the outdoors and hope he insisted on showing her inside. Too contrived.
She could stand to take a better look at something in the distance—a particularly interesting sheep, perhaps—and pretend to turn her ankle so he would have to help her inside. Too obvious.
She was feeling so desperate by the end of fifteen minutes she almost blurted out that she needed an escort to the water closet.
Just when she was at her wit’s end with all the talk of the coming autumn weather and the October shooting party, Duncan turned to her and asked louder than necessary, “Would you care to take a turn about the garden?”
Mrs. Georgina Starrett clasped her hands to her breast. “What a splendid idea. Do show her the view from the cherry orchard.”
Mary eyed the land surrounding the house. The orchard was a fair distance but still within clear sight of the terrace with not a single place to hide from prying eyes. Blast.
When she stood, all at the table stood, except Duncan. He made a point of finishing his tea. Slowly. She turned to Charlotte with a comment, pretending not to notice his behavior, but she watched him from her peripheral. Just as he had at the vicarage, Mr. Quinn Starrett aided his brother in standing, though this time, he put a fair bit more effort into it than she recalled from the other day. Duncan gripped the vicar’s forearms as the latter pulled him to his feet.
The whole of it troubled her.
“Shall we?” he asked, walking up beside her.
To see his confident smile as he offered his arm removed all worries from her mind. Cheeks flushed, she left behind the family to accompany him.
They walked in silence until they reached the first row of cherry trees.
“You’re stunning,” he said, turning to her with brown eyes darkened by the shadows of tree limbs. “I thought I’d been shot again when you walked onto the terrace. I couldn’t breathe for
a full minute.”
Mary met his gaze, feeling heat spread across her chest and up her neck into her cheeks.
“If you’re trying to flatter me, it won’t work,” she said in her haughtiest tone, knowing her flushed skin belied her pleasure. “I’m too wise to fall for a rogue’s flirtation. You only want me for my dowry.”
When he raised an eyebrow, she responded with a teasing smile, one he matched in return.
Were they not in full view of the terrace, she would wind her arms around his neck and sink her fingers knuckle-deep into his hair. She disliked having to hide her affection.
“Tell me about your come-out,” he said, leading her through the orchard.
“I already have. I wrote to you about it.”
“In a single sentence. Something along the lines of, ‘I’ve suffered the come-out and survived to see another day.’ I want to know more. I want to envision you as you once were, experiencing a London ball for the first time. I want to imagine that girl with her starstruck eyes becoming the mature woman I see today.”
Touching a hand to her chest, Mary laughed. “That was nearly four years ago, Duncan. I’ve tried my best to forget it. I didn’t want a come-out. I had you. I did enjoy the parties and dancing, though. All the same, it was a tedious year that my brother made me suffer only once. And before you ask, yes, I did receive proposals. Too many to count. Most of them Drake dismissed, but a few I had to suffer sitting through.”
“Were you tempted?” Duncan paused to reach into a low-hanging branch for a handful of cherries.
“Not in the least, and you know it.” She accepted one of the cherries and savored its sweetness.
“So, you did wait for me.”
“Need I remind you that I do not need to wed. Ever. When my mother was head of the household, yes, but now that my brother runs the dukedom, no. I have my own wealth and am content with my freedom. Should I tire of living with my brother and sister-in-law, I could choose any one of several estates.” There was an edge to her tone that surprised her. She had meant to tease, not sound defensive.
He stopped abruptly and leaned against a tree trunk, gripping his thigh and squeezing his eyes closed.
“I didn’t mean that quite how it sounded,” she said in haste, worried she had offended him or given him the impression she was not interested. “It’s only, marriage is a choice for me, one I never thought to have under my mother’s tyranny.”
Duncan shook his head, grimacing, his hand massaging his thigh muscles. When she made to speak, he held a hand to silence her.
Mary covered her mouth with her hand when he dropped the cherries to grip the tree, bracing himself. His breath shallowed to a pant mingled with groans. She glanced back to the terrace, wondering if she should signal for help.
As though reading her mind, he growled through gritted teeth, “It’ll pass.”
He continued to rub and knead his leg, a sight full of contradictions given how fit and powerful his thighs were in the buckskin. Mary pulled her lips between her teeth, concerned.
His features softened with each passing moment. Whatever he had suffered appeared to lighten.
After a time, he leaned his head against the tree and chuckled. “I do apologize, Mary. How distressing for you and embarrassing for me. It comes and goes. It’s nothing, really.”
“It didn’t look like nothing to me,” she protested.
“It’s a numbness. A tingling numbness that’s accompanied by muscle cramping. It’s nothing. Just a remnant of the wound that’ll pass in time. I had hoped to spare you from seeing any residual effects by delaying our reunion, but here we are.”
“I would rather be by your side while you heal than waiting in darkness thinking the worst.”
He opened his eyes, his head still resting against the tree trunk, and looked at her. “Truly?”
She nodded.
Pushing himself against the tree, the corners of his lips lifting, he said, “I knew you waited for me.”
Laughing, she took his arm for the remaining walk through the orchard. It was not lost on her that he squeezed his leg from time to time as they journeyed forth.
“What do you do with your time? Gossip with friends? Visit neighbors? Dance the night away?” he asked as they reached the edge of the orchard.
Mary looked out past the slope of the plateau, an admirable sight of a shallow valley, one of the rivers bubbling through it for a romantic vista.
“I’m the best horsewoman in the county. I don’t say that with arrogance, only truth. Horses mean everything to me. I have plans to breed thoroughbreds. It might not be the most ladylike of endeavors, but I don’t care. I have my own money and can do with it what I like.”
“You’re serious?” Duncan sounded more surprised than doubtful.
“I am. If you must know, I prefer the company of horses to most people, though if you’re fortunate, you can be an exception.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
As they turned back to walk the orchard towards the terrace, he moved his other hand to cover hers, hugging it between his forearm and palm.
“How did you break your nose?” she blurted out, not intending to start with what might be perceived as a rude question, but wanting to know everything about him that had changed.
His laugh ended in a snort. “An ambitious rifleman at Tourcoing thought my nose should meet the butt of his rifle. It was a short-lived introduction, but one I’m not likely to forget. At the time, I was Captain of a foot regiment. That was the last time I fought on foot rather than from horseback. But let’s not talk about war. Do you think my nose will come between us?”
Biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling, she said, “Only when I kiss you.”
The deep rumble of his chuckle tickled her abdomen. “Well played.”
“Don’t laugh when I confess that though I found you handsome before, I think you all the more dashing now.”
Her words understated her feelings. He had gone from innocent to roguish with a single broken nose. His muscular build contributed to her sentiments. How could it not? His height may be the same, an easy six feet or more, but his new physique accentuated that height, making him appear altogether taller, broader, and larger. There was something majestic about him, not unlike the stallion he rode.
He drew them to a stop at the edge of the orchard, as hesitant as she to return to the terrace so soon.
“Before I say what I’m going to say,” he began, leaning against a tree again, “I need to know if your feelings for me have changed. Be honest, please. Don’t play coy. Though I’m nothing more than the youngest son of a colonel, do you still feel as you once did? You aren’t embarrassed by me or our social differences?”
Mary clasped her hands at her waist, surprised by the turn in conversation.
“I could never be embarrassed by you, Duncan. You needn’t ask such a question. On the contrary, I’m proud of you. I wish you had never gone to war, and I wish you had not stayed away so long, but I’m proud of you.”
“And what of my other question?”
She stared down at her hands, uncertain how to respond. “I’m not ready to answer that question. My feelings have not changed, and yet we both have.”
“Fair enough.” He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest. “The thing is, Mary, my life circumstances have somewhat changed.”
Brows furrowed, she frowned.
“A royal messenger arrived this morning.”
Her eyes widened.
“You’re looking at the newest baronet in the kingdom.”
Mary shrieked and covered her face with her hands. When she peeked at him between her fingers, he smiled sheepishly.
Dragging her hands down to her bosom, she said, “How? Why? Oh, Duncan!”
“That’s Sir Duncan to you.” His smile broaden
ed, deepening the cleft. “Of all I did, it was the bluff I organized as lieutenant colonel that was most valued. It seemed nothing at the time. A defense tactic, nothing more. We were losing abominably and needed to bide time to recuperate. I bluffed the French into believing we were retreating. All the while, three of my companies were sneaking up at the rear. It really was nothing, but it would seem Crown and country think otherwise.”
“Oh, Duncan,” Mary repeated. “This is wonderful!”
“It’s not without perks. I’m now the proud owner of Sidwell Hall in Durham. From what I gather, it’s not large, but it does come with tenant farms and a moderate income. I’d like to ride out to see it next week. If I should invite my brother and his wife to join, would you come with us?”
With a bounce, Mary laughed. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, yes!”
“From what I understand, it has a sizable stable block. Perhaps it would do for a future breeding farm?”
She was speechless; all she could do was gape.
He laughed at her silence. “We’ll see, shall we? My parents will have shared the news with your sister-in-law by now. What they won’t have mentioned is the invitation that accompanied the letter. It’s in May, in London, a celebration to honor the returned officers. I hope to attend with you at my side.”
Tears stung her eyes as she nodded.
Her joy for his success faded when his smile tensed, and his jaw clenched.
“I need to return to the terrace,” he said.
The walk was interrupted by continuous pauses wherein he clawed at one or both of his thighs. Mary felt helpless. He paced their steps until halfway to the terrace, when his brother approached and offered an arm of support. Though Duncan took his arm, he gave a subtle shake of his head, an unspoken communication passing between brothers but lost on Mary. She hated feeling so helpless.
Not long after they returned to the table to allow Duncan time to recover in a seated position, did Charlotte and Mary take their leave.
However concerned she was regarding Duncan’s condition, it was difficult not to remain excited about his news, especially when Charlotte could talk of little else while the butler helped them into their traveling cloaks and bonnets. Mary divulged the invitation for May. After all, who else could she tell? And it was not as though Duncan would not ask for her hand before then or that she would deny his suit. It was simply a matter of time before all came to pass.
The Colonel and The Enchantress (An Enchantress Novel Book 4) Page 5
