by Sahara Kelly
Edmund took the head as always, with Rosaline to his right since this was an informal gathering of family and close friends. Next to Rosaline was Paul, a smile on his face that could probably have lit up the room every bit as well as the candles flickering from the chandelier.
Simon and Tabby would be dining at the Rectory as usual. Their visits were many, but their devotion was to each other. They were setting up their own family traditions, which was—of course—exactly as it should be.
Hecate’s place was vacant; she had taken yet another trip up to London to stay with Kitty
Letitia wondered about that as she finished her excellent leek soup. Hecate was old enough to be out, of course. In fact, she was old enough to be considered ‘on the shelf’ compared to the current crop of debutantes. But she was still childlike in many ways…how was she faring? And what was the attraction that kept her traveling the roads between Ridlington and the metropolis?
She had never said.
And that, realized Letitia, summarized many of the relationships in this family. Loving, always. But also secretive. Jack Ridlington’s legacy to his offspring. I don’t care about your secrets so why should anyone else?
An attitude that had lingered in all of them. Wasn’t she sitting here at the table this exact moment with her own gargantuan secret?
“You’re unusually silent, Letitia.” James nudged her. “I believe we’re supposed to make polite conversation.” He grinned. “I’ll start. Delicious soup, isn’t it?”
She glanced up and shot him a quick smile. “How kind of you to remark upon the excellence of the soup, sir. Indeed, it is most palatable.”
He rolled his eyes. “Stop it.”
“You started it.”
“Children.” Rosaline eyed them across the table.
“Yes, ma’am.” James looked repentant. “I’m simply engaged in drawing our reticent Miss Letitia into some polite dinner conversation.”
“Well, I suppose that’s better than drawing her into impolite conversation,” quipped Paul.
“But a lot less interesting,” countered James.
“Speaking of polite,” Rosaline interrupted with firm tones, “how is your new maid coming along, Letitia? She seems quite competent.”
Letitia nodded and allowed a footman to replace her soup plate with a clean one. “She’s very good indeed, Rosaline. I was most fortunate to be in the right place at the right time as far as she was concerned, and I think our meeting was truly a beneficial act of Fate.”
“The fact she wants no wages is enough for me,” muttered Edmund. “I’m trying to persuade the rest of the staff to adopt the same beliefs, but they’re having none of it. Eh, Chidwell?”
Chidwell, who stood by the sideboard as dinner was served, cast his master a scornful look. “Your Lordship’s humour is always most amusing and appreciated by all of us, sir.”
“He has you there, Edmund.” Paul chuckled.
Edmund sighed. “Oh well. I do believe we can scrape up enough pennies to survive yet another month.”
He was indeed jesting, Letitia knew. Certainly the additional burden of wages for her maid would not have helped the planned recovery of Ridlington Chase, but overall their situation had improved drastically since Edmund had acceded to the Barony.
“Speaking of pennies,” Rosaline turned to her brother. “What is the news from London as to your situation, Paul?”
He shrugged. “It crawls, my dear. It just crawls along like a slug. I am learning that although they are no longer persona grata in society, the von Rillenbach family still commands enough power abroad that many would prefer not to offer insult. Especially at this point with the situation in France so tenuous.”
“Damned Napoleon,” offered James.
“Indeed,” nodded Paul. “However progress is being made, albeit at the speed of aforementioned slug.” He took a bite of his dinner.
“How fast do slugs move?” Letitia ponded aloud. “One has to assume that they do actually have a destination in mind when they start crawling. Do they feel it a slow journey? Or is their crawl like a trot on a good mare for us?”
Silence fell as everyone looked at her with varying expressions of confusion and curiosity.
“Well, I just wondered,” she said defensively.
“Back to the topic at hand,” said Edmund, shaking his head at the odd turn of conversation. “Will you stand to inherit a title, Paul?”
“No. No, I don’t think so.” Paul frowned. “The DeVoreaux line has substantial holdings, most of which are currently in some sort of frozen state, either rented or held by distant relatives. That’s a mess that will need to be sorted out by an army of lawyers, most probably.”
“Financially…how is it looking?” Rosaline asked her brother. “And I inquire as your beloved sister, not as the almost-destitute Baroness, of course.”
The laugh was general and followed by Paul putting down his knife and fork and throwing an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “I completely understand, my dear.”
“Seriously though, Paul.” Edmund leaned back in his chair. “You know there is a place for you here with us.”
“And at FitzArden Hall, as well,” added James. “He’s put his name on a suite there, by virtue of the many favours he’s done for me during the building of the darn thing. I couldn’t be where I am now without his help obtaining all kinds of things from all sorts of people in town.”
“So there you have it.” Paul spread his hands. “I am well taken care of, at the moment. And I have hopes that some of the DeVoreaux investments will begin to trickle my way by the new year. In that, at least, the transfers are being done quietly and privately. The Ton might get a tad gossipy about my taking up residence in the DeVoreaux town home in Mayfair, but won’t even notice if I acquire a goodly number of shares on ‘Change.”
“Good, then things are moving, slug-speed notwithstanding.” Rosaline smiled. “’Tis good to know, Paul. You are my brother, after all.”
“And knowing I have family now?” He glanced around the table. “That is enormous. Thank you all.”
“Well, I think it’s time to withdraw?” Rosaline touched her lips with her napkin and allowed the omniscient Chidwell to pull her chair back as she stood.
“I refuse to let the gentlemen desert us, Rosaline.” Letitia lifted her chin. “And I would like brandy, instead of tea. I’m not sure why they get to enjoy it by themselves…”
“Good point.” Rosaline linked arms with Edmund and smiled warmly at him. “We shall withdraw together, although I’d prefer tea. I do have an obligation to the tadpole…”
Paul choked. “For God’s sake, is that your nickname for your husband?”
Standing at the door of the parlour, awaiting the after-dinner arrival of her mistress, Harriet heard the burst of laughter and smiled. This was indeed a close-knit family who shared more than she’d imagined could be possible, including laughter.
It was a strange notion, but a pleasant one to a woman who’d had nothing in the way of family at all for too many years. And for a few moments she forgot that she was about to deliver a highly private document to a gentleman who shouldn’t have been reading it without the author’s permission.
And she was doing all that so that her mistress could learn about passion and desire from the only man Harriet considered worthy of instructing her. Again, a highly improper state of affairs.
The consequent question remained unanswered. After all, when had life ever been proper for any of them?
Chapter Nine
James was very aware of the package tucked into his outside pocket as he and Paul walked the mile or so back to FitzArden Hall.
Miss Harry had fulfilled her role with alacrity, it would seem, and now it was up to him to read the book and find out what on earth was going on with Letitia.
“An excellent meal, don’t you agree?” Paul stepped over a log.
“I do indeed.” James followed suit. “Of all the dinners I’ve had in town, the banquets, t
he mostly highly regarded chefs, the elegant and overloaded dining rooms…I would rather have a meal like this once, than those flamboyant displays of gastronomic improbability every night.”
“Well, a bit on the verbose side, but fundamentally I agree.”
“Yes would have done,” joked James.
“Just matching your floridly descriptive language, my friend.” He sought firmer footing. “And I’m going to suggest perhaps sending a few men down this way to improve the path. Since it would seem you’ll be using it frequently, you might think about removing the more obvious pitfalls.” He dodged a low hanging branch by inches. “Especially for these evening trips.”
“Good point.” A squishing sound followed. “Damn. I thought I’d managed to avoid that puddle.”
Paul chuckled at his friend’s mishap. “Your boots will serve to remind you of my suggestion.”
“Isn’t that the way of things? I just break them in to the point of utter comfort…only to drown them in a mud puddle.”
They walked on for a little while, managing to avoid further mishaps. Then Paul spoke. “I am known for an improper degree of curiosity, so forgive the prying nature of this question. Letitia’s maid, Miss Harry. What do you know of her?”
James thought for a few moments. Letitia had honoured him with the tale of how they’d met, but he doubted she’d be happy to learn he’d told Paul that same story.
“I don’t know much about her,” he hedged. “From what I understand, Letitia had just met her when you arrived. I gather the poor girl had just lost a position and had ended up in the village inn, only to be discovered by Letitia.”
“And immediately adopted, it would seem,” said Paul.
“Yes, that’s Letitia. An excellent heart and a gift for making instant decisions.”
“Which could land her in a lot of trouble,” cautioned Paul.
“Don’t I know it,” groaned James.
“Oh ho. I deduce from the sound of it that perhaps some stronger emotions are at work here.”
James sighed. “Really?”
“Good lord, lad. If you wish to claim Miss Letitia, you’re taking your own sweet time to go about the thing, you know. Haven’t you heard the phrase Faint Heart ne’er won Fair Lady?”
“It’s a good thing it’s dark, Paul, and thus you are unable to see my face. Because the look I’m giving you this moment would sear your flesh and char your bones to ashes.”
“Hit a sore spot, then, did I?” Paul did not sound repentant.
“Look,” tried James. “Letitia is a very dear friend…”
“Who you’d like to wed and bed. In whatever order that may be.”
“I…really, you should not speak of her like that…”
“Oh for God’s sake, James. Listen to yourself. You lust after Letitia. You dream of her. You pine and gaze upon her loveliness.” He took a breath. “You want to fuck her till you’re both blind, man. And I say that with no disrespect for either you or the lady in question.”
James choked, tripped on a stump and fell flat on his face on the path.
“I believe that to be a completely adequate answer, lad. Well done.” Paul dragged his friend to his feet.
“I don’t believe this,” sputtered James.
“Life really can kick you a good one in the bollocks now and again, can’t it?”
Remembering what Paul had suffered, James bit back the snide comment that trembled on the edge of his tongue. “Indeed yes.”
“Look on the bright side, James. You can afford a new pair of boots, and now you’ll need new breeches as well. But it’s not going to mean you can’t eat tomorrow.”
“There is that,” answered James. “And to be fair, in answer to your earlier—and very inappropriate comments—yes, I am deeply attached to Miss Letitia Ridlington, and I plan on marrying her at the earliest possible moment.” He paused for breath. “Which plan, I would appreciate your not mentioning to anyone yet, since I haven’t quite managed to perfect the details at this point.”
“Aha. I knew it.”
“Smug bastard.”
“Thank you. I do work hard to maintain that reputation.” Paul’s laugh rang out as they emerged from the wood onto the rough walk that would soon be the lane leading to FitzArden Hall. “Why haven’t you asked her yet?”
“Because Letitia is somewhat of a force to be reckoned with.” James realized he’d just casually stated something that was so true it shook his bones. “If I did the proper, you know, bended knee in the rose garden and so on, she’d kick me out on my arse. She has some silly notion of not loving anyone ever. The Ridlingtons are an odd lot when it comes to the tender affections. From what I have learned, they didn’t get any affection at all, tender or otherwise, from that damned old Baron who fathered them all.”
“Bit of a bastard, was he?”
“He redefined the word bastard.” James sighed. “One of those men who seem to have had their hearts removed and replaced with a lump of granite. Look at the family. Edmund ran away to sea, deserting his inheritance. Simon vanished into the church. Letitia stuck it out by protecting herself with a shield, a wall she’s built around her heart that few can penetrate. I don’t know the twins very well, since they fled to town the minute they got the chance. And Hecate? She’s something else again and I’m honestly not sure what.”
“Good lord.” Paul sounded stunned. “That bad?”
“Yes, that bad. So now perhaps you understand why I’m not falling over myself to propose to Letitia.” He paused. “And there’s the matter of our ages too…”
“Your ages?”
James cleared his throat. “I am considerably older than Letitia, Paul.”
“No you’re not.”
“Indeed I am.”
“By how much?”
“Nearly ten years.”
“James, you are a great friend and I’m honoured to know you. So forgive me if I observe that in this instance you are being a pompous arse.”
“I must disagree.”
“Of course you must. But I will restate my assertion. You’re being an utter, bacon-brained, pompous arse. Women have always been—and will continue to be—centuries older than men, in ways we will never comprehend.”
James sighed.
*~~*~~*
There was still a final glass of brandy to be enjoyed and some friendly conversation to end the day, so it was a couple of hours after he’d arrived back at the Hall before James could open the book that had been burning against his hip on the walk home.
But Paul finally retired, leaving James free to go to his own rooms, which were completed enough for him to sleep there, and also work there if he needed to.
Being used to town life, it had taken James some time to adapt to the earlier mornings and consequent earlier evenings offered by country life. He found himself waking later than he should, then working harder all day, only to retire and stare at the room around him. Thus he’d decided to install a desk and chair for himself in the adjoining room off his bedroom. While this was in no way unusual for a gentleman, what was different was the fact that James actually used it.
There was no carpet yet, nor had the fireplace been deemed usable. One or two chimneys needed finishing before fires could be lit anywhere but the kitchen. He was assured of hot food, but the rooms would remain increasingly chilly until he could set the taper to the first log. He hoped it would be soon, since autumn was getting her hooks into the countryside and winter wouldn’t be far behind.
So this night he lit himself a branch of candles, grabbed a warm quilt from the bed and retired to his private study to peruse the stolen book with the last of the brandy.
Carefully unwrapping the string, he smiled at Harry’s ingenuity. The covers announced the volume to be a second edition of a treatise on the correct way to shear a sheep. Published in 1749.
He removed the old, musty covers, and placed the enclosed manuscript on the table in front of him.
The first page anno
unced that this was a volume titled Cytherean Tales.
That alone made him blink. He knew the word…Cytherea was another appellation of Aphrodite or Venus. It was an alternate way of describing the goddess of love, and had been subverted into a description of women…mistresses mostly.
The subtitle confirmed it. Diverse Stories of Women Empowered to Choose.
Good God.
He turned the page. Lady Corinth. An interesting pen-name, to be sure. Again it betrayed the potentially erotic nature of the work, and James found himself with slightly sweaty palms as he turned the page and began to read.
Sure enough, the content grew more and more sensual, leading to passages that shocked even him.
He had to read those several times, just to make sure, aware that they were affecting him quite strongly.
Unfastening his breeches, he read on.
There were notations all over the place; clearly the suggested changes or comments from the publishers. He ignored those. The story had drawn him in, and as he paused for a sip of brandy, he realized why so much work had already been performed on it. The publisher had a treasure here…a goldmine, if James was any judge of the matter.
There were four sections, each devoted to a woman who had chosen to join the demi-monde for a variety of reasons. Once in the House of Cytherea, they were schooled and dressed, becoming well-read women of the world, with skills that augmented their sexual expertise. Then each was “presented” to the Ton, and eager applicants for her favors were screened, then finally auditioned. The winner got the goods, as it were.
James couldn’t put it down.
The women were well-drawn, each different but interesting, and the men depicted in a frighteningly accurate way. He had to wonder how that had happened, since Letitia had been cocooned at Ridlington for most of her life.
Then again, she was also describing erotic scenes about which she also should have known nothing. He made a note to himself to investigate Edmund’s library at the earliest opportunity.
Reading on, it seemed that the room grew warm…coincidentally at the time Miss Susan Sweetsilk was luring Lord Strongstaff into her web of sexual desires. She danced for him, then succeeded in tying his wrists behind him, at which point she revealed her breasts to him—inches away from his hungry lips.
