by Ella Edon
“My Lady,” he said softly.
“You know,” she said after a long moment, her fingers still knotted with his. “We are going to have to do something about this.”
He grinned. “You mean, us?”
She raised a brow. “It is a situation of some awkwardness, you know.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “It’s the best situation I could have wished for.”
She still looked at him, one brow raised, a lopsided grin on her lips. “It could be easier, for me, in terms of reputation.”
“I know what I will do,” he said at once. “I will go straight to Emilia when we return and ask for immediate permission to court you. If there is anybody else whose permission I require, I will address them as soon as you give me word.”
She laughed. “Emilia’s permission will have to do. I have no other relatives whom you might ask.”
“Well, then,” he said. “Immediate permission to court you, then?”
“I am sure it will be granted,” she smiled.
He could see a sad expression on her face and he guessed it must be due to the nature of their trip. She was, he knew, horribly compromised by the situation. Her reputation would be ruined if anybody knew about it.
And yet, I would not wish her to think that I would wed her only to right my wrongs.
“Lady Raymonde,” he said softly.
“What?” she asked, one brow raised.
A thousand things to say crowded at the edges of his lips: you are beautiful. I admire you more than I have ever admired anyone. I trust you. I love you.
He looked into her eyes and could find no courage to say any of them.
“I am lucky to have you here,” he said instead.
She smiled. “And I am starting to enjoy this mystery we’re embroiled in. Shall we ride when we return to the house?”
“Yes. Let’s.”
“And while we’re riding, maybe you can tell me more about it,” she added, as they turned, without truly having planned to, to walk back to the house. “I think I should know as much as possible about this Stirling, if we are going to confront him.”
“That is true. You should know as much as you can.”
At the door, they looked at each other for a long moment, and Cutler felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
“Very well,” he said, drawing in a slow breath, aware of her dark eyes on his. “I think I will go up to change into my riding-clothes.”
“Me, too.” She nodded. She was also being a little awkward, it seemed, her eyes dropping to the toes of her boots. They were damp, he noticed, and slightly mud-stained. The sight of them touched his heart, seeming oddly vulnerable and girlish where all the rest of her was so poised and polished.
“I’ll see you downstairs, then, in half an hour?” he asked.
“Twenty minutes.”
He laughed. “You can dress yourself faster than I can, I think.”
“If you would care to bet on that?” She raised a brow.
He felt his heart twist. “I’m not a gambling man.”
“You don’t like losing.”
He laughed. He was still laughing when she went upstairs to her room.
The morning was brisk and cool. Cutler rode along the path, feeling his spirits lighter than they had been since they arrived. He could hear Lady Raymonde riding along beside him, setting the pace at a brisk trot. He looked around over the fields and woodlands, feeling his spirits lift.
“Five miles until we get there,” he called out. “And it seems we have a clear day for riding.”
“I would challenge you to a race, but the track is still muddy, and I do not wish to soil my gown,” she replied with a wry grin.
He laughed. “I would not wish that either, Lady Raymonde. Red is most becoming on you.”
“It’s not red. It’s dark brown.”
“Oh.”
They were both still laughing as the skylarks started singing overhead.
It was a warm morning, and the sunlight had spread out over the fields. Cutler leaned back in the saddle and was surprised at how relaxed and happy he felt.
His dark mood returned as they neared Alford. He felt his stomach tighten, seeing the path that led down to the gate. He couldn’t shake the air of gloom that pervaded the place.
“We’re almost there.”
“Good!” Raymonde breathed. “My back is quite sore, and I could do with a rest.”
He rode on down the path, dreading the moment he’d cross onto the next field. His visit yesterday had been harrowing. He’d had to endure the criticism of the cottagers and see the suffering that his uncle’s rule had inflicted on them all.
“This is it?” Raymonde looked around interestedly. He thought she also sat a little straighter, as if she too was nervous. Seeing that made him push his own misgivings aside.
“I have my pistol,” he said softly. “I am ready to defend us.”
“Thank you.”
They rode on in silence into Alford Acres.
The first person to meet them was Mr. Simmons, a downcast-looking fellow with a long beard and eyes set in deep wrinkles. He had been the one who had told Cutler about the injustices being perpetrated.
“Greetings, Simmons,” Cutler said warily. He had no desire to be subjected to the lashings of implied criticism he’d received at his hands yesterday, but at the same time, the fellow was his best informer. “Have you any news?”
“No, sir,” the fellow said wearily. “Nothing new to see, sir. Just starving youths and weeping women and…”
“Thank you, Simmons,” Cutler cut him off crisply. “I am aware of the suffering of the entire community. That is why I am here to do something about it.”
“I see.” His eyes lit with some interest and then they slid to Raymonde, lighting up more.
Don’t even think it, he thought grimly, aware of his pistol where it was concealed in his coat. He wanted to laugh. He couldn’t very well shoot the old fellow dead simply for daring to lay eyes on Raymonde! Much as he would like to.
“I would like to talk with you,” he said to Simmons. “In secret.”
Simmons nodded briskly and, as Raymonde and Cutler dismounted, he led them briskly across the grass and to the door of what was once clearly a well-kept, prosperous cottage. The garden about the cottage was in disarray, all the produce dug out from its neat rows. The shutters hung awkwardly and the thatch needed replacing.
“Repeat the story you told me yesterday,” Cutler said, feeling acutely uncomfortable as Raymonde took a seat in the humble kitchen. He was sure she had never seen a place so ill-appointed. Oddly, though, she acted as if she was in such places regularly.
While Simmons re-told the story, Cutler found his concentration wandering. He looked out through the windows where, in the distance, the fields that belonged to his father’s estate, could be seen.
I need to set this right.
He and Raymonde took turns in questioning Simmons. They determined that the steward had last been on the fifteenth of the month and would be back on the last day of the month, to harry those people who still owed him rent.
Cutler nodded.“I will be back then,” he said. This was the twentieth – that left them some days to plan.
It was only later, as they left the cottage, that it occurred to him that Raymonde would not be there at the end of the month. It was high time that she returned to Westmore House. He had already almost exceeded their agreement of three days.
“I am sorry,” he said, as they walked back into Hanford’s cottage through the side door. “I have imposed so much on you.”
“Shh,” Raymonde said, lifting a finger. He blinked in surprise. She smiled.
“It’s a terrible imposition,” he said softly.
“It is one I do not regret.”
His heart almost stopped. He had to remind himself to breathe. The words went around his head and he cleared his throat, his face lighting with warmth.
“And nor do I,”
he replied. “Lady Raymonde… Any time that I am granted to spend with you is an honor I would never regret.”
Raymonde held his gaze. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips.
“My Lady,” he said, letting his fingers close around hers. “I hope you will allow me to say that I admire you more than I do anyone else on earth. I have meant to say this ever since… I don’t know when. But I am falling in love with you.”
She stared, her brown eyes wide. Then she cleared her throat. “And I am falling in love with you, too.”
He leaned forward and took her in his arms and they kissed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Making Plans
Raymonde stood in the dining room with her back to the door, looking out at the night sky. Her heart was thumping in her chest and she could barely make herself breathe evenly. She was excited, and confused, and breathless. More than any of those, she was joyful.
He loved her. He had said so!
She felt her cheeks lift in a grin.
She hadn’t the slightest hesitation when it came to believing him. She knew that he wasn’t lying. He was trustworthy and open-hearted, and besides anything else, she couldn’t fail to notice that he was frightened to speak to her sometimes, when there was no need to be!
It’s true.
She sighed. She felt warm all over, her cheeks red and flushed. She heard his footsteps in the doorway and turned around swiftly. He was there, dressed in an evening jacket over his riding-things. She smiled at him.
“You took the time to change your clothes.” She was still in her riding-things, though she had changed her boots for soft indoor shoes and her hair was arranged in a loose, less-severe style about her shoulders.
“I did. You look pretty,” he said.
She flushed. “All I did was change my hair.”
“I know. It becomes you well.”
She flushed again and looked away, towards the table. Now that they had shared their secret, finally confiding how they felt about each other, the conversations between them had become even more awkward. She could barely look at him without feeling her body heat up with a blush.
“I am pleased dinner’s ready,” he said carefully. “I’m starving.”
“I’m quite hungry, too,” she admitted. She reached for a piece of bread. Dinners here seemed to follow a similar pattern every day: first soup, then roast fish and vegetables. In any case, she really was hungry. The day’s riding had worked up quite an appetite.
“I am glad we visited Alford,” Cutler said. He reached for a glass of cordial, his fingers brushing hers where they rested on the table. She swallowed hard.
“Yes. Me too.”
Sitting opposite him exchanging politeness was a special sort of torment, when she wished to be held safe in his arms.
“You know, My Lady,” he said as they finished with the soup and he passed her a plate of fish. “I think we have to do something about our own particular situation.”
“Situation?” she asked, her voice tight in her throat. Her heart pounded madly, and she could barely believe that he meant what she suspected he did.
“Yes. I think that courting is… While a convenient explanation, not nearly good enough. And, what’s more, it doesn’t altogether make me happy.”
“It doesn’t?” she felt alarmed. What could he mean?
“No,” he said. He stood, and to her acute surprise, came and sat beside her. “My Lady,” he said. This close, she could see that his eyes were wide, the whites showing all around. His hand had a tremor, where he gestured with it towards her. “My Lady… I must ask you if you could do something for me. It is a big request – the biggest I can make. But, I ask it of you nevertheless. Do you think you might consider marrying me?”
She stared. Of all the things he might have come out with at that moment – a request to stay longer, a request to help him with his troubles, maybe even a request not to return to Westmore, but instead go to London – nothing could have been further from her mind.
She swallowed hard. Her heart was thumping so hard in her chest she thought she might collapse. She wet her lips, blinking as if to clear her head.
“Sir,” she said softly. “Would you mind repeating that sentence?”
“You mean…”
“Just what you just said,” she said, as steadily as she could. “I’m afraid I didn’t follow.”
“My Lady,” he said, and this time he held her fingers to his lips. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She swallowed hard. This time, there was no doubt in her mind. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Cutler.”
She flushed as he nodded and tenderly kissed her fingers.
“Thank you, Raymonde,” he said quietly. “I truly do thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
She smiled at him. Her eyes were wet with tears and she blinked them back, looking away so that she could hold back the flood that threatened to wash down her face. “Cutler,” she said slowly. “I am pleased you asked. And pleased to call you by name, at last.”
He chuckled. “I am, too. You have no idea how long I’ve wished I could say your name. Raymonde. Raymonde, Raymonde.”
He bent forward as he whispered her name, planting kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her chin. She shivered, the touch of his mouth tickling.
“Cutler,” she whispered, trying to suppress a giggle as he kissed her throat. “I think maybe we should…”
“Lewis!” Cutler shot upright as the door opened. “Good man! Fetch a bottle from the cellar, would you?”
Lewis blinked at him, looking from Raymonde to him and back again. Raymonde wanted to laugh. Lewis looked shattered – he couldn’t have been more astonished if he’d walked in and found the entire town having a party there. He swallowed hard, trying to get a hold of himself.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
When he had gone, Cutler turned to her, laughing.
“Sorry. I had to send him off, or he’d have hovered, and I couldn’t bear that. I want every spare second with you.”
“Yes…” she agreed, as he leaned forward and kissed her lips again. She felt her heart melt as his lips gently parted hers. Her eyes were shut, and she marveled at how tender his mouth was on hers.
They drew back, gasping for breath. She felt her body light up and looked away, trying to compose herself. This was all such an adventure! She knew that she ought to try not to get too swept away by this bliss, but she couldn’t help it.
Cutler grinned, eyes going to the door as Lewis entered again.
“I brought a bottle of wine, sir,” he said softly.
“Capital, Lewis,” Cutler said, and in that moment, it was easy to see he had spent many years associating with men of rank. He was as at ease about both the wine and the man opening it as any Duke would have been. “Let me taste it first.”
When Lewis had departed, Raymonde lifted the glass he’d poured to her lips, feeling somewhat giddy. She smiled at Cutler, who lifted his glass.
“I have a lot to celebrate,” he said. “And most of all, I celebrate that you’re here.”
Raymonde smiled. It was all a bit surreal to her. She had never been treated with so much acceptance and love in her whole life. It felt as though a new world had suddenly opened to her. She pressed the wine to her lips and tasted it, eyes shut.
“And I celebrate that you’re here,” she said, and smiled into his eyes.
Cutler looked over at the door and then stood, coming to sit beside her again. He grinned at her conspiratorially, and then his lips met hers. She gasped as he explored her mouth with his tongue. He held her close against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around him, parting her lips to his kisses. His mouth was so soft as he gently traced the outline of her lips with his tongue. She could feel how hard and muscled his chest was underneath the linen of his shirt. She tightened her grip on him, pressing her body to his.
“Raymonde,” he murmured, leaning back in his seat, his eyes shining as th
ey held her gaze. “I am so happy.”
“And I am happy, too,” she said, feeling her heart swell with the sensation as she said it. “I am so very happy.”
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. They discussed their plans as they ate. It seemed sensible to both of them that they would wed as soon as possible. Raymonde felt her heart swell as they decided to visit the chapel the following day.
