The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  She could see his point; there had really been no other option if his goal had been to marry her off. She suspected her father was happy to be getting rid of her, once and for all—hence the perpetual tongue-in-cheek smile.

  Well as far as she was concerned, it was Dr. Larkenson’s fault entirely that all her options had disappeared with her bodice ripping. And she was none too happy to be joining him at the altar to become his wife because of it.

  Then she saw him standing tall, facing her, and waiting at the front of the church. Her heart leapt and then faltered. She had to admit, he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes upon. Stunning in his formal black and gray ensemble, his hair brushed back from his forehead to reveal his prominent sculptured hairline and squared-off jaw, he was unaccountably the most powerful looking man in the filled-to-overflowing church. Just their eyes meeting across the chapel caused her womb to contract and her nipples to go pointy hard. She looked down to see if it was obvious and decided that it wasn’t at all noticeable. When she looked back at him and saw where he was staring so fixedly, she changed her mind. Clearly, he saw something that brought an intense heat to his eyes and she blushed from the knowledge that they were both remembering his mouth pulling and sucking on her nipple.

  Her father nudged her and she began the walk down the aisle to him. As soon as her hand was in his, he used it to pull her to his side. His hand felt warm and large, encompassing her tiny one with ease. Words were parlayed back and forth and questions answered with automatic precision. She was so focused on his face, measuring his expressions, and assessing his glittering eyes that she was not even aware of what they had been saying. It had seemed odd that her betrothed was introduced with no less than eight names though, as in “Do you My Lord Carderick Hampton Chessley Reynard Larkenson Wainwright Dresden of East Riding of Yorksire take Lady Felicity Cobham Janisbridge Montmarch of Wolverhampton and Stoneleigh for your wife . . . Did the very nervous friar just say My Lord, she wondered? She had been so mesmerized by the blue green eyes gazing into her very soul that she was uncertain of anything else being said until it was her turn to answer the vow he had just replied to, which now included one for obedience. She replied with the sudden surprise that she did, she did promise to honor and obey and to take this man, this man that she knew nothing about, for better or worse. Well, at least he was a doctor for the in sickness part.

  They were pronounced man and wife and her new husband gripped her waist and pulled her to him with such force she felt the air rush from her lungs. His mouth swooped down and captured hers, forcing hers open and meeting her tongue with his. He stroked every part of her mouth intimately before releasing her, and when she swayed, he held her against him as they turned to face the congregation for the pronouncement.

  “Milords and miladies, I give you the Marquess of East Riding of Yorkshire and his Marchioness.” I passed out as the words echoed throughout the chapel amidst gasps and concerned screams. Firm hands caught me and lifted me against a steely chest as darkness overcame me.

  Felicity’s eyes fluttered open and she saw the concerned face of her doctor, and now her husband, floating above her. “Welcome back, you were beginning to worry me. And now everyone believes you to be with child,” he said with a big grin.

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Well, we needn’t disappoint them. We’ll work

  on it tonight, I assure you. And most diligently.” His lips quirked to the side and Felicity couldn’t help it, her hand raised and her fingertips touched them tentatively. None of this seemed real. After allowing her a moment to explore, he took her wrist in his, turned it and kissed it tenderly.

  “Our guests are awaiting your return. Unfortunately we must celebrate before I am allowed to spirit you away so I can ravish you.” His eyes were twinkling and he was giving every appearance of being besotted with her.

  “Marquess? You’re a marquess?”

  “Well, I consider myself a doctor first, but my parents considered me the next marquess, so yes I guess I am. I was the Earl of East Riding until my father passed; my mother was the Countess of West Midlands before marrying my father. He left me quite a legacy with his title, but I was just finishing my studies to become a doctor at the time and felt I had worked much harder for that title, so I vastly prefer it to any other. Most of my friends, and all of my peers understand this, so I am not usually referred to by my title.”

  “Which was why Viscount Worthington deferred to you so readily and left you with me on the dance floor.”

  He nodded and I saw a predator’s smile cross his handsome face. “Rank does have its privileges. I wanted you and I believe I made it plain. He was wise to give you over.”

  “And in the bower?”

  “I wanted you and I was going to have you—by any means necessary. It seemed like the fastest way to make you mine, and to let every man within a hundred miles know it. Unequivocally.”

  “You are my doctor.”

  “And so I will remain. I will be your doctor, your husband, your provider, and your most ardent lover. And now if you’re up to it, I’d like to join the reception so I can get on to the latter. I am most anxious to make you mine, in every way that matters.”

  “Well, you certainly went a long way to assure yourself of a virgin bride.”

  “Indeed I did. But now I am very interested in remedying that condition as soon as possible.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “In short, my delightful bride, I can’t wait to slip my cock into that sweet, welcoming little hole that I once had my fingers in.”

  Felicity gasped.

  “Get used to me praising your divine breasts and your luscious genitalia my love, as I will never tire of telling you how marvelous your body is. Now up you go, smile and nod to everyone and then I will take you home, to the Marquess’ bed where I will keep you for many, many days, and many, many nights.” His lips trailed along her throat and she shivered from the delicious feeling. He laughed at her reaction and wickedly said, “I’m going to have an amazing amount of fun with you.”

  He took her hand, helped her up and led her into the reception hall where the nobility had gathered to celebrate their marriage, to wish them well, and to sigh distractedly as the women envied her and the men envied him.

  To be continued . . . Felicity’s wedding night is next. You’re not going to want to miss that. But I will need another payment. How about something lower this time, something between the first picture you sent and the last. And don’t even think about sending a picture of your navel.

  Peter

  I fell asleep that night envisioning Philip, his back ramrod straight carrying me, in a cavalcade of chiffon up a magnificent grand staircase Gone-With-the-Wind style. By the time I had been divested of all the petticoat layers I presume I had fallen asleep, because I did not remember dreaming of wonderful, all engrossing sex with a man desperately in love with me, as I pictured Carderick was with his Felicity.

  After a breakfast of scrambled eggs with salsa and peanuts, I got myself made up and drove over to the beach for my walk. Today, I was not going to fast track it, I was going to leisurely stroll as I was beginning to experience a few foot twinges. Lord what my feet had been through the last two years. If it hadn’t been for the Yoga Toes, I was sure I would have had to have surgery. So many women on the plantation had had bunion surgery over the winter that I knew how fortunate I was to have sidestepped that one. But often I felt a thickening on the pad of my left foot and I had to force myself to slow down whether I wanted to or not, it was either that or end up in a surgical boot and slowing down to a crawl for a while.

  The days were getting beautiful again; we were just past the early bloomers, the Bradford Pears, the jonquils, crocus, tulips, and forsythia. The dogwoods and peonies were on stage now and we were heading fast toward the azalea season, which included the ubiquitous creeping wisteria that cast everything in such splendid lavender, followed by the ligustrum and honeysuckle phase. The
n it would be summer. On the beach,nothing reallybloomed, although if you looked closely into the dunes you could see the wandering evil briars showing off their little yellow teasing tufts, enough to draw the eye and then the foot, but not enough to bring anyone to their knees in hopes of gathering some to bring home.

  I liked flowers, too much sometimes if one judged by the wallpaper patterns I selected. I managed to morph into stripes sometimes, but always felt compelled to add that whimsy of blooming color to a border or a drape. I had a lovely beach mural Sue Hunady had painted on one of my guestroom walls and I remembered with a smile the argument we’d had over the reality of actually seeing some of the more exotic blooms in a seascape. We had finally compromised with her adding a rickety wind fence with these beautiful tiny white, daisy-like flowers with fine-toothed leaves growing up against it. She was invariably right when it came to art. When my mom had come out of the bathroom the morning after her first visit announcing she loved the Feverfew, that she often used it in her potions to heal a broken heart, I was tempted to call Sue and ask her to come paint over it. Then I remembered that it actually was used in the world of herbal medicine to calm irritated skin, to lessen the severity of migraines, to inhibit the release of serotonin much as an anti-depressant did, and now, in modern day, it was being used to kill leukemia cells. I had to smile at the thought; my mom really was a primitive medicine woman, not the witch she’d prefer to be. I had to admit, there was less glamour in the former, certainly more intrigue in the latter.

  I finally got to the mailbox. I was not surprised to see Jazzy sitting there in the sand, arms hugging her knees, staring out at the ocean as if waiting for me. When she saw me, two hundred yards away, she quickly got up and ran to me.

  We hugged tight to each other and I heard her sob. Fearing the worst, I pulled her back so I could see her face. “What’s happened now?”

  “She won’t talk to me. Says I ruined her life!” “She thinks that now, but one day, she’ll thank you.”

  Knowing full well that someday meant nothing to a teenager, everything to them was all about the here and now. “And you and I know that. The best thing for you to do now is to let her go. Find another best friend, someone you can connect with until she realizes what a true friend you were.”

  “What if she never does?”

  “Then she’s not the friend for you, she’s too selfish.” “But I miss her,” she wailed.

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and walked with

  her. “Tell me this, if the tables had been turned what would she have done?” I saw her face go distant as she pondered this, then she whispered, “Probably nothing.”

  “And knowing what you know, would that have been the right thing to do? Knowing this man is a sexual predator and only cares about one thing, luring innocent young girls to run away with him so he can have sex with them, would you have wanted her to do nothing?”

  “No! I would have wanted her to find me, or to keep me from going to see him in the first place.” I saw when everything clicked into place in her mind.

  “Hmmm,” she said as she swiped at her tears.

  “Yeah, hmmmm. So you admit it, she wouldn’t have been there for you the way you were there for her?”

  “No, I guess not,” she said in a voice so low I could barely hear her.

  “You need some new friends, Jazzy. Summer is coming and I have some good friends whose grandchildren are coming down for the summer to stay with them while their parents go on a mission trip—three girls and two boys. How about I introduce you to themand you can show them around? They’ve only been here once and that was last Christmas so they’re going to need a tour guide, someone to show them the area.”

  “How old are the boys?”

  I laughed out loud. “You would ask about the boys before the girls!”

  “Well, duh!” she said with a big grin. “One boyfriend is worth three girlfriends!”

  “Well, I have never equated it that way before, but thinking about it, you might just be right. However, I have two girlfriends I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

  “Really? Not even for a hunky rock star?”

  I laughed again, “Especially not for a hunky rock star.” Now for an aging porn star, that might be a whole other thing. But I certainly couldn’t tell her that!

  We walked back to the 40th Street access alternately naming attributes we liked in our men and I was surprised to find that on most things we were in agreement: nice teeth, pretty smile, sexy bod, though her criteria and mine differed considerably—today’s youth preferring a lanky, less muscular build—nice smelling, funny, and an awesomely good kisser. She had been shocked when I had started this naming game with her, and had given me a few shocked looks when I mentioned him having sexual stamina and good moves. I guess she had been assuming older women like me were no longer interested in the sexual part, so I was delighted when I topped her with: “Is into trying new things, spices things up and makes sure I come, too.” I watched her jaw drop, but I was glad I had a chance to give her one good measuring stick to use so she would know if a guy truly cared about her or not. “If he puts your pleasure first, he’s definitely a keeper.”

  We hugged good-bye at the walkway so she could go back to her grandparent’s house and I promised to call her when my friend’s grandkids got here in June. Then I kissed her on the cheek and smiled at her. “You are a delight Jazzy, never change. Always be the good friend, even if it’s not the most popular thing to be at the time. It will pay off in the end, trust me on this. And don’t let anyone try to isolate you, there’s no limit to how many friends you can have, you will need each one in a different way. Remember that I am your friend, there’s no age limit. The Kindred Spirit brought us together because you needed me, so now we’re kindred spirits and always will be.”

  “Yes,” she whispered against the wind, her long hair flying in stripes across her face, “two souls searching for answers, searching for meaning, needing a lifeline. I’m glad you were there for me.”

  “Me, too. Now run along and get to work on your term paper.”

  “Ugh! Don’t remind me.”

  “I often wish I could go back to school and do it right.”

  “Do you now how many adults say that?”

  “All but the ones with Ph.D.’s I imagine.”

  She smiled, “Next you’re going to tell me you wish you were sixteen again.”

  I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “No, then I would be way too young for Philip, and everything I’ve done to this point, has led up to my meeting him, so I wouldn’t change a thing. Not a blessed thing.”

  I thought back on how often I had wished I had not been a topless waitress that night. And how I regretted getting drunk the night I had spilled all to Tessa and Cat. But now I smiled inside, a warm feeling tickling me all over. Had Cat and Tess not mentioned my naughty transgression on the questionnaire that had ended up on Philip’s desk, he never would have called or come to the beach to meet me. We would never have met. And that in itself would have been a sin, because I truly was coming to believe we were meant for each other.

  “Then you’re the first. Most adults want a do-over.”

  “Then you take that as a warning to do it right the first time, young lady, do-overs are only allowed in golf.”

  We kept turning and waving until she was out of sight, hidden in the dunes. I picked up my pace and walked as if weightless. I felt good about everything. So few times in life is everything in balance, nothing off kilter. Today was one of those days and I spread my arms and basked in its glory. All was right in my world. And I knew in that moment that I was in love again—irrevocably and irretrievably.

  Chapter Thirty

  A blast from the past On the way home from the beach, I stopped at Island Breeze in the Sonrise Shopping Center. I had a big date coming up and wanted to see if there was a dress that might strike my fancy. This was Tessa’s favorite store, but shopping really wasn’t my cup of tea. I
usually flipped through catalogues and when I saw something I liked, I ordered it. Then when it arrived, I would try it on, decide I hated it and return it. So, naturally I had quite a bit more room in my closet than Tessa did.

  But this next date was special and required a very special dress, and Clarice knew what looked good on any woman, so I was counting on her to have something spectacular in stock for me. Sharon, my favorite salesperson, was working and I told her what I was looking for. Sharon, bless her heart, is the bubbliest, most enthusiastic person you can imagine. There was never a holiday, obscure as it might be, that she wasn’t dressed to the nines for. She loved celebrating life, and if there was anything she was up for, it was making a woman’s night with her new beau as special as it could possibly be.

  We went through rack after rack while she piled things on her arm and then she led me to the dressing room and insisted I try each item on. After six, I had picked out two I liked, but she wasn’t satisfied. Number nine pushed all her buttons, though. Effusive praise went on for about a minute as she walked around me tweaking this, tugging on that,

  “Ohmying” the overall effect as she stood back to gape at me. “This is it!” she pronounced. “This is the one, oh yeah. He hasn’t got a chance.” Her enthusiasm lifted my already over-the-top spirits and I bought it without asking the price, something I have never, ever done. Not once in my entire life. I didn’t even look at the charge ship when I signed it. I didn’t want to know. For the perfect dress, for the perfect man, there was no qualifier, the sky was the limit.

  I went to show Cat, then the two of us drove over to show Tessa, from there we all got into Tessa’s car and traipsed back to the shop to find shoes to match. Tessa had the perfect necklace, and I already had the handbag, but no way were the girls going to let me wear my trusty black heels. This wild, wonderful dress required purple, fuchsia, or lime green, something equally vivid and sexy, I was told.