by Sahara Kelly
“How thrilling,” said Letitia. “I’m sure you will produce something spectacular. Imagine your first ball there.”
He chuckled. “It is more the necessity of having a ballroom, than the excitement of using it. Should I wish to sell at any time, such a feature will ensure a good price.”
“Oh.” Letitia’s spirits plummeted at his words. The idea that one could spend so much time and money, not to mention personal effort, in creating such a lovely mansion only to consider how much it would pay in the future—well, it was more than a little depressing.
“But that is a long way away. Let us instead talk about the topic you have studiously avoided during our delightful ramble.”
She blinked, still saddened at the thought of James selling his house. “What?”
“Your book, my dear. Were you not to see your publisher yesterday?”
Letitia ignored the tiny gasp she heard from Harriet. “Ah, of course, yes. Yes, I did meet with him. That’s where I met Harry, as I believe I mentioned.”
“You may have done so, but I was so engrossed in Miss Harry’s story, I neglected to pay attention to that important detail. So tell me now?”
She chose her words carefully. “He seemed most favourably inclined toward my work.”
James stopped dead. “Letitia.” He turned her by the shoulders to face him. “That is splendid news. I couldn’t be more thrilled.”
His arms went around her and he pulled her close in a warm hug.
And oh my goodness, did Letitia wish he’d linger there just a little longer. His arms were strong around her, bands of iron holding her against him.
She sighed with pleasure, then a little cough from Harriet recalled her to the present. “Well, thank you, James. But it’s not entirely cause for celebration…”
He released her, and perhaps she imagined it, but she could have sworn he sighed as well. “In what way?”
They resumed their progress, Letitia’s heart beating a bit faster than was usual for a stroll along country paths. “Well, he has given me the manuscript and there are editorial suggestions included. Things he says will strengthen not only the content of the book, but also the chances that it will be read by many more people.”
He tilted his head to one side and glanced at her. “What do these suggestions encompass? Not a rewrite, surely…”
“No, no. I’m sure not.”
“You haven’t looked?”
She bit her lip. “I’m rather afraid to.”
“Coward,” he teased. “But you do think he found it appealing, overall?”
“I do, yes.” She took a breath. “He even went so far as to write up a contract. If I can satisfy his suggestions, then he will sign it.”
“Good heavens.” James sounded astonished. “That sounds quite unusual and leads me to endorse your opinion. He was definitely interested.”
“Yes. So I must be brave and review the manuscript soon.”
“Would you like my help? You have never allowed me to read it, but I consider myself a relatively literate sort of gentleman. Perhaps another viewpoint would be of use?”
Letitia shook her head. “Let me work on it first. But thank you, James. I will most certainly call upon you for advice and assistance if the need arises…there’s no-one else whose opinion I trust more than yours.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. Word of a lady.”
“In that case, Miss Letitia, Miss Harry…” James disengaged himself, “we have reached the place where we must part.”
Letitia realized the lane diverged and he was correct. She’d lost track of where they were in the delight she always experienced in his company. “Oh my goodness, indeed that is so.” She turned to him with a smile. “Thank you, James. As always an hour in your company raises my spirits, enlightens my mind and exercises my body.”
“My, my. All that?” His eyebrows rose.
“Yes, you jester.” She laughed at him, then daringly leaned over and dropped a brief kiss on his cheek. “Thank you dear friend. And good luck with the ballroom.” Moving quickly away, she nodded at Harriet. “Come then, Harry. We’ve had our walk. Time to attack that manuscript.”
“Yes, Miss Letitia. A lovely walk indeed.” Harriet dropped a polite curtsey to James. “Sir.”
“Good day, ladies.”
They departed as he raised his hat, then replaced it and headed away from them to FitzArden Hall.
“A very pleasant gentleman,” remarked Harry.
“Yes, isn’t he?”
“And a true friend…”
“Indeed.”
Silence fell as the two women walked briskly back toward Ridlington Chase.
“He hasn’t read your book, then?” asked Harriet.
“Er, no,” replied Letitia. “I-I’m not really ready for that yet.” She turned to Harriet. “Do you think he’d be so horrified he’d never speak to me again?”
Harriet quirked an eyebrow. “May I be honest, Letitia?”
“Of course. I demand nothing else.” Letitia met her gaze frankly.
“I think Sir James FitzArden would be overwhelmed by reading your book. Even from such a short time as our meeting this morning, I would judge him to be possessed of a deeper interest in you than just that of dear friend.”
Letitia bit her lip. “Hell and devil confound it.” She made no apologies for her language. “I wish people would stop telling me that.”
“But why? He’s charming, certainly comfortably situated, and single. What impediment could there be to a match between the two of you?”
Letitia shook her head. “Me. I’m the impediment, Harriet. He deserves someone coming from a much better lineage than mine.” She looked forward. “Marriage, as we both know, is a business arrangement for those of us in certain positions. You’ve had your exposure to this sad fact. And James is mine. I know he will find the perfect match, because his fortune will make his lack of a title acceptable to even the most particular of families. His connections are impeccable and as you note, he’s also charming and handsome. As soon as he decides to make any kind of appearance in Society, he’ll be a six course dinner for the starving debutantes.”
“And what’s wrong with you, may I ask?” retorted Harriet indignantly. “You are of a noble line, and even though it has suffered reverses, I very much doubt that would be an impediment…”
“The Ridlington name has been badly damaged, Harriet.” Letitia sighed as they came in sight of the house. “Look. It’s not just the tainted reputation…it’s the lack of a fortune as well. There are still boarded up windows that have yet to be replaced. One wing is still not fully habitable. It’s beginning…our recovery. But there is a long way to go. I have hope that little Hugh Edmund Ridlington, when he assumes the title, will have a solid foundation on which to build.”
“So you’re not entertaining any thoughts of Mr. James as a husband? None at all? And if not, then who might be of consideration? You must wed, Letitia…”
“Why?” Letitia stopped Harriet with a hand on her arm. “Why must I wed?”
“Well…” Harriet paused. “To have children?”
Letitia shook her head. “Not a good enough reason. We have a new generation beginning now, and I won’t be at all surprised if Edmund and Rosaline produce further additions. All of whom I shall adore as if they were my own.”
“So you will not marry or become a mother. What will you do, then?”
“I shall become a famous and successful writer, Harry.” She took a deep breath. “And if I choose to favour a man with my affections, even to sate my lustful nature—assuming I have one buried somewhere—I shall do so because of my own desire for pleasure, nobody else’s. I swear it. Word of a lady.”
Harriet gulped. “Oh my goodness. You will be so very…contumacious.”
Letitia stopped dead in surprise. “Good God, Harry. Well done. You’ve just used a word I don’t know. So let us hurry, for I must immediately look it up or hate you forever.”
Laughing, the two women dashed the remaining yards to Ridlington Chase. But in spite of her light-hearted demeanour, in the back of Letitia’s mind lurked the idea of using James for her own pleasure. His arms had been deliciously strong…
Chapter Five
Because of the constant interruptions on her time, it wasn’t until a few days later that Letitia finally had the time to sit down in her small parlour and pull the manuscript from the drawer.
The birth of young Hugh had sparked Ridlington Chase into a frenzy of delighted activity, and with Rosaline still spending the majority of her day with the baby, Letitia found herself summoned to fill the gap.
It wasn’t that she was running the Chase—she had neither the intention nor the desire to do so. But she could, and did, lend a hand with menus, staff questions or problems…whatever routine chores needed approval from the lady of the house—well, Letitia happily acted as Rosaline’s proxy.
But an hour or two for herself was appreciated and she sat with a renewed sense of energy to go over Mr. Lesley’s suggestions.
Harriet was busy setting her own smaller quarters to rights with the small pieces of furniture Letitia had scrounged from the assortment of older, unused rooms. She declared herself more than content with the space and the chance to make it her own had been welcomed.
So in spite of the occasional bump as her not-quite-maid moved her furniture around to suit her preferences, Letitia was undisturbed.
Tentatively, she opened her book, turning the pages over and looking for the marks left by Mr. Lesley. They were soon evident, but not on every page. She continued her review, trying to get a sense of what he wanted and where.
Deciding to review the entire thing for her first pass through, she reached the final page, surprised at how few actual corrections there were. Many had been single word notations; ‘Here’ was written in red ink beside an arrow pointing—usually—at the end of a paragraph. Clearly, Mr. Lesley was asking more for additions than corrections.
Which was, mused Letitia, a little more acceptable.
She reached the end to find a couple of extra pages. She leaned back in her chair, picked them up, and began to read.
“Dear Lady Corinth,
Forgive my temerity, but having perused your manuscript with interest, I find myself both fascinated and entertained by the narrative. Your daring document is ground-breaking in its content and not a little scandalous, both of which will most likely guarantee a successful debut.
I use the term most likely with deliberation; and I hope you will permit me the opportunity to explain my thinking.
If you would reference my insertion points…they all occur during moments of great intimacy, which you describe with pleasurable accuracy. However…in this reader’s humble opinion, these episodes are singularly lacking in one crucially important feature. That of personal engagement.
As an example, (Ch.4). Lady Clarinda has selected the Earl of Wattlesby to be her escort for an evening of pleasure. Their engagement is most passionate and satisfactory. However, it is described as if by an onlooker, not a participant.
If you find yourself able to add that certain touch, words that encourage the reader to become a part of the scene, not just a voyeur, then I anticipate that this book will easily go into a third, if not fourth edition within the year.”
Letitia put the page down, and settled into deep thought. What did he mean? What exactly did he want? Since nothing immediately leapt into her mind, she picked up the second page. Aha. Apparently he had clarified his requests with an example. Good man.
“Lady Clarinda approached the Earl with confidence, ‘her heart beating rapidly and her body ripening at the thought of his touch.’
The Earl thrust deep into the dark and welcoming (body) ‘furnace that teased his control with slick hunger. She was hotter than fire, her skin ablaze where he caressed it’.”
She frowned, reading the examples over twice. There were several more in the same vein.
A knock on the door made her jump, but she welcomed the interruption and beckoned Harriet into the room when she peeked inside to see if Letitia needed anything.
“Yes, I need you to help me make sense of this.” She gestured at the papers on her desk.
“Oh,” said Harriet with interest. “Is this about the publisher’s suggestions?”
“It is indeed. I would be grateful if you’d read his comments here, and examples, and give me your opinion.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to.”
She settled herself with the pages, and read, taking her time and—Letitia was pleased to see—making sure she understood, referring back to the first page once or twice.
Finally, she looked up. “Well.”
“Yes. Well.”
“It seems self-evident, Letitia.” Harriet rose, put the papers back on Letitia’s desk and then resumed her seat.
“Uh…it does?”
“Yes. Do you not see it?”
Letitia shook her head. “I must be quite scatter-brained today for I cannot grasp his point at all. I thought I had covered everything necessary to educate the reader in those scenes.”
“Do you have that particular scene, the one with Lady Clarinda, there in your pages?”
“I do. Wait just a moment…” Letitia rustled through her manuscript, easily locating the section in question. “Here.” She stood and walked to Harriet, handing her the pages.
“And you don’t mind if I…”
“Please do.”
Fifteen minutes later, during which time Letitia felt as if she’d lived several lifetimes, Harriet raised her head. “Oh my goodness.” She fanned herself with one hand. “This is quite…exhilarating, I will confess.”
“So what on earth is Lesley talking about, Harry?” Letitia spread her hands wide. “I simply don’t understand.
“Well, as far as I can tell, he is asking for the one thing that isn’t in this scene. Or any of the others as near as I can make out from his letter.”
“And what on earth is that?”
Harriet squared her shoulders and looked Letitia in the eye. “You need to write from experience, Letitia. There is no sense of personal involvement. Your descriptions are certainly erotic in nature, but they are in the abstract.”
Letitia sank down on the front of her desk, her mind whirling. “So, bluntly, you’re telling me he thinks I should go and fuck someone to be able to properly write about it?”
Harriet blushed, but bravely held her ground. “Basically, yes.”
Letitia closed her eyes. “Oh bollocks.”
“Quite.”
*~~*~~*
“Look.” Edmund slowed his horse and pointed across the field to where a couple of deer grazed at the edge of the forest. “I suppose I should be hunting them, but one can’t help but admire their beauty.”
James grinned, stopping his mount next to Edmund’s. “I agree. And yet venison still gets my appetite aroused. An interesting conundrum.”
Both men watched for a few moments, enjoying the chance to simply breathe in the country air. It wasn’t an ingrained habit, but every now and again James would ride over to see if Edmund might like to join him, or vice versa. They were well-matched; both liked to read, had ideas that were similar in some areas and different in others—which made for a lively conversation—and respected each other’s honesty.
It was, James believed, a desirable and appreciative friendship that showed no signs of diminishing, even after Edmund’s new fatherhood experiences, and James’s frequent absences in London.
The deer vanished, and the two men resumed their ride, walking their horses down the lanes until they reached open fields where they could enjoy a hearty gallop. Which was exactly what they did this particular morning, ignoring the clouds that threatened rain later in the day.
Exhilarated, they matched each other’s pace as they rode toward the edge of the field, and finally drew to a halt, allowing the horses to catch their breath.
&
nbsp; “You’ve an excellent horse, there, Edmund,” approved James. “I saw one not unlike him at Tattersall’s a couple of months ago.”
“Marchwood’s breakdowns.” Edmund patted his horse’s neck. “This might be the one. I asked Richard to look out for a decent mount, since he’s there in town. He let me know this fellow would be available, and that he might be a good sire for our mares.”
“I agree.” James studied the horse’s points. “Good conformation, and Marchwood was known for his eye when it came to his stud.” He glanced at Edmund. “Forgive me, but he must have come at quite a hefty price…” He hated to ask, but he was as aware of the Ridlington financial situation as anyone. In fact, he’d quietly offered help in the way of a loan, knowing it was the right thing to do.
Edmund and Rosaline had thanked him profusely, but told him his friendship was far more valuable to them than money. And the subject had been closed. James understood…he would have done exactly the same thing himself.
But this horse…he estimated at least five hundred guineas.
Edmund, however, shook his head. “That was my thought, as well. But Richard worked some sort of miracle and managed to purchase him for only a monkey.”
“That’s amazing.”
They resumed their progress through the hedge and into the lane, while James privately wondered how Richard had pulled off that particular miracle. He didn’t know Edmund’s step-brother very well, but he’d run into him in town several times.
He was good looking, personable and had made a number of well-connected acquaintances as was to be expected of a young, single gentleman from an established title. If something lay behind his charming smile, James had yet to discover what it was.
“I do have a somewhat inventive family,” commented Edmund, with a wry curl to his lips.
“Well, yes you do. And actually that was one of the reasons I wanted you to come out of the Chase and ride this morning.”
Edmund turned and looked at James. “And I thought it was the pleasure of my company that led you to suggest it.”
