Rock Hard Seal: A Navy Seal & A Virgin Romance

by Rye Hart

  “There His Lordship is,” Lucy announced as if he’d been missing. “We’ve made a hearty meal for you, sir.”

  Hearty it was, and the Griffin brood were painstakingly deliberate as they served each course. Lucy knew how to season her food. The mutton was moist, the vegetables cooked in a delicious sauce that was awash in flavors, the bread soft and still warm from the oven. There was a compote of dried fruit, and cheeses that she’d brought with her from the inn. The ale, Laverly noted, was not as robust as what he’d had at the Dart cottage, but then, Bella Dart no doubt added some mysterious ingredient, the identity of which he was better off not knowing.

  His compliments were profuse and genuine, but when the family left him to his table to finish his meal, he felt the vastness of the room which had seated dozens of guests at suppers during his youth. He detected, in the pervasive odor of lemon, that the Griffin women had plied their cleaning in the dining room and there was no evidence of the musty smell that had been there the night before. A bevy of women armed with cloths and cleaning oils could, he realized, work as speedily as an army attacking a despised enemy. Their zeal argued well for the condition of their inn, and soon, he knew, they must return to it. This mission to return the Hall to its supremacy among the estates in the county was commendable, but it took them from their daily tasks. He would pay them well for their labors and the two who would stay as servants would be recompensed fully for their service so that they could provide their parents with their earnings.

  The family, except for a daughter and son introduced as Bess and Martin, left at dusk, promising to be back on the morrow to continue their work. The women had made his bedchamber fit for occupancy and Martin escorted him upstairs while Laverly gripped the carved railing of the staircase. Promising to ring if he needed anything further, Laverly dismissed him, assuring him that, with the basin handy and a change of clothes nearby, he would fend for himself.

  The odor of lemon that pervaded the room was a pleasant one, although he found himself recalling the fragrance of lavender that had been redolent in the Dart cottage. In any case, either was better than the mold and dust that had been the only inhabitants of the room before the Griffins had advanced upon it. What rigorous housecleaning could not alleviate, however, was the loneliness of his position. As a bachelor, his entertainments were by nature circumscribed, but his blindness diminished those social contacts as well. He could not make his way through a room without help; how could he woo an heiress? He did not, to be sure, need to marry well; the Laverly wealth was both extensive and well managed. But he could not marry beneath his station and that meant that he needed, despite his blindness, to cut a figure in society. A fine spectacle he’d be, falling on the floor, spilling his punch, and risking untold humiliation at social events.

  His mind drifted back to Larkin Dart, who had been able, despite his blind state, to raise Laverly to his knees as competently as if he had the same vision as any other man. Dart had credited his daughter with the transformation, and despite the unconventional methods, her success was apparent. Harold had been fulsome in his praise of the Dart cottage and its well-maintained state; Laverly could not see the late-blooming flowers or the newly painted door, but he had sensed order and comfort within its walls.

  He found his way to his bed, relying on memory and the furnishings in the chamber. Knowing that there were servants within reach of the bell, and aware that the Hall was divesting itself, with the aid of the Griffins, from its abandoned state, Laverly was able to drift into sleep.

  He was pleased, the next day, when Harold followed Martin into the room. “Sir, I’ve come to shave you. Young Pargetter has come by to begin clearing the stables. Should Martin work with him, or should he tend to you?”

  Laverly needed a valet more than most, given his physical limitations, but he deferred to Harold on this. Harold thought that it was best if Martin began to train in His Lordship’s service. “He’s willing and quick to learn,” Harold said.

  “Does he speak?” Laverly joked. Martin seemed to be a lad of few words.

  “I do, sir, if you wish me to.”

  “An admirable quality, then. Yes, Harold, if you can begin to train your son, we’ll proceed that way. I declare that you would likely prefer to be starting your morning off in your own business rather than with my whiskers.”

  After the shaving and dressing, Laverly asked Harold to stay behind while Martin was set to work on Laverly’s clothing, which had spent a quantity of days in his trunk rather than his wardrobe.

  “I’ve given some thought to your suggestion yesterday,” he began. “I should like to give Miss Dart’s experimenting a try.”

  “Very good, sir. Shall I tell her to come up to the Hall?”

  “I think we had best invite her to come up for an appointment,” Laverly considered. “She is not a woman unmindful of her due.”

  “She’s spirited, sir, that’s for sure,” Harold agreed.

  “I shall tender an invitation. Will you see that it is delivered?”

  Laverly labored long over the wording and the writing; he did not wish to scrawl his pen like a child just learning his letters and the task. The note consisted of a brief request to meet with him at two o’clock that afternoon, and took more time to compose than he had expected. But he sealed the message and handed it to Harold with a feeling of accomplishment.

  When the hour of her expected arrival approached, Laverly directed Martin to bring Miss Dart to the freshly cleaned library when she arrived.

  He rose when the door opened.

  “Miss Bella Dart, sir,” Martin said, closing the door behind him.

  The fragrance of lavender marked her approach. It was a bewitching aroma; clean and fresh, quite different from the heady perfumes that ladies of the ton drenched themselves in.

  “Miss Dart, I have considered what your father said, and if you would be willing, I would like to employ you in the same task that you performed with Mr. Dart.”

  “May I sit?” she asked.

  He felt his cheeks flush. Of course he should have thought of that; regardless of her station, he could not treat her as he would a stable lad or a parlor maid. She was not obliged to accept his offer and he knew that, with Miss Isabella Dart, any man, be he gentleman or laborer, had best not regard her as inferior.

  “Certainly. My apologies. Will you accept my offer?”

  “I may do so.”

  “I assure you, my terms will be generous.”

  “I assure you, my conditions will be demanding,” she countered.

  “Bella, you presume—“

  “Indeed, I do not, sir. You want a service which I can provide, but you cannot require me to render it. If I am to provide what you need, I must not be treated as a humble servant. I must be given the same respect that you would give to a fencing master or a commanding officer.”

  Laverly rose to his feet. “You are impertinent!”

  “Yes, I daresay I am. Do you accept that condition or do you not?” she inquired calmly.

  He considered a moment before resigning himself to answer. “I must.”

  “Yes,” she answered, that hidden mirth bubbling in her voice as if the world and its ways were a matter of endless amusement. “You must.”

  Respect was not her only condition. She expected him to obey her, however humbling the instructions. She would not tolerate excess of temper or lack of spirit, she told him. He was an officer under Wellington and she expected him to go into battle against his blindness with the same vigor that he had turned against the French. If he cursed at her or showed her intemperance, she would consider the contract ended.

  Laverly swallowed the words which rose to his mind and curtly agreed.

  “Very well,” she said. Then there was silence. “I have risen, my lord; will you not rise?”

  “I did not know,” he retorted.

  “You must learn to listen. The sound of my dress rustling as I stood up should have alerted you. You are young and healthy;
you will call upon your other senses to come to your aid just as you would call upon your bayonet or your revolver in battle. They will not fail you. I will come back tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and we will begin.”

  “Nine o’clock! That’s early, is it not?”

  “I have other matters to attend to, my lord. I will be with you from nine until after lunch. We will begin tomorrow with the proper tying of a cravat.”

  His hand flew to his cravat. “I do not see what a village girl can teach me about the knotting of a gentleman’s cravat,” he scoffed.

  “Lord Laverly,” she said gently. “You do not, as yet, see anything at all. It is my job to teach you to see without your eyes, and I tell you that your cravat is an abomination. Good day, my lord. There is no need to see me out; I know the way.”

  Laverly fumed after she left and when Harold came to tell him that Lucy had prepared supper and they would be on their way, he delayed the innkeeper’s departure by twenty minutes with details of Miss Dart’s impudence. “I have met with royalty who have not had her arrogance,” he railed.

  “She is very spirited, sir,” Harold agreed.

  “Spirited! She is the very devil incarnate! You could not conceive of the terms she demanded.”

  “I can, sir. She is no coward.”

  “She is most unwomanly,” Dennison grumbled.

  “She is not, sir,” Harold dared to disagree. “She is accounted quite comely.”

  “What does she look like?” Laverly asked, trying to sound uninterested but unable to keep his curiosity to himself.

  “Her hair is as black as your own, sir. She has most pleasing blue eyes that are always showing some merriment, though what makes her mirthful is not always apparent. She is not too tall and not too short; I believe she comes to your shoulder, but you are taller than most. She is accounted to have a most pleasing figure. She has more education than most of the village lasses; her father was a schoolmaster and he taught her as much as he taught his students, even if she is but a girl with no real need for Latin or Greek. She is skilled at sewing and makes her own clothing. ‘Tis said that she has a different dress to wear to church for four Sundays in a row. I pay no mind to such frivolity, but my womenfolk do and they are agog at her frocks. She is popular in the village for all of her learning and her spirit, and she is a kind girl, sir.”

  “Does she not have a young man? How old is she?” he demanded to know more.

  “She is twenty-one years. ‘Tis said that no young man dares to ask for her hand for fear of her tongue, although I have never heard her speak ill to any of the lads. It’s generally held that she will end up a governess.”

  “I think she’s more likely to end up a scold, but that’s neither here nor there. She has told me that she will be at the Hall at nine in the morning to begin to teach me how to see while still blind. Will you be on hand to shave me? And Harold, do you know anything about the tying of a fashionable cravat?”

  Chapter Six

  Harold was both prompt and reasonably adept at the tying of a cravat, clearly an innkeeper who accepted the diverse needs of his clientele. Laverly felt that his taskmistress would find no fault with his appearance; he could not see his cravat but he ran his fingers along its folds after Harold had finished and pronounced it suitable. He was upright when she entered the library and bade her to sit down after she entered.

  But it was not a day for sitting down, it seemed. It was a day for walking. As the Griffins were cleaning the upstairs, Bella decided that Dennison would learn to make his way through his home. When he reached for the bookshelf or the chaise to guide his path, she told him that he must learn to walk with his hands at his sides. “You shall learn where the furniture is,” she told him, “and gauge its presence with your body, but you must not grip it as if you cannot stand on your own.”

  “That’s all very well when I am at home,” he said crossly after he’d stumbled over the elegantly carved leg of a chair, “but when I am at the homes of others, I will not perceive where they have positioned their furnishings.”

  “You will develop a sense for it,” she said calmly. “I told you: other senses will come to your service.”

  “Shall I smell the settee, then?” he ask with sarcasm. “Or perhaps lick the armoire?”

  She laughed. “Very good, sir. You are quite a wit when you are not so disobliging and rude.”

  He began to object, then to his own astonishment, joined her in laughter. “I confess that I am perhaps more disobliging than I am witty.”

  “You have been sorely tried, sir. I know my father’s spirits were low when he was first afflicted.”

  “He seems to be a most agreeable gentleman now.”

  “He has learned to accept what he can do without longing for what is lost,” she said softly.

  “How does one do that?”

  “Must not we all do so?” she asked. “Life is not so profligate with its favors as to grant us all that we wish.”

  “I thought it had, until I was blinded. I had everything a man could hope for. I was born to a position of rank. I had the affection of my fellow officers and the regard of a general, Lord Wellington, whom I esteem highly. I had a substantive income and a house renowned for its history; I was not a rake at odds with convention nor on the outskirts of Society. Had I bothered to consider the matter, I would have thought myself quite fortunate,” he said.

  “Sir,” she said, her voice warm, “you still have all those things. You are the Duke; Laverly Hall is a beautiful residence. Your reputation for valor is known throughout England, your wealth has not diminished, you are accounted a Corinthian for your fashion and your whip and your pursuits. Much of those qualities are yet yours to claim.”

  “A fine image I’d make in a bout at Jackson’s,” he said sardonically.

  “Can you live without boxing?”

  “Yes, of course, if I can have other pursuits,” he said.

  “Is not Will Pargetter to teach you to ride again?”

  “How do you know that?”

  She laughed. “The village is small; tongues are busy.”

  “Do the villagers not think it comical that the Duke of Laverly is a poor figure, blind as a post and helpless as a newborn babe?”

  “They think it gratifying that the Duke’s son is now back in his home, and the Hall occupied again. They regarded your father and mother with great esteem and they wish to bestow that esteem upon you, if you will allow it.”

  Bella Dart was a demanding tutor but by the time she departed after lunch, where she had taught him how to carve a joint of meat with skill, Laverly felt as if he were, if not precisely restored, at least not helpless. He could walk through two of the downstairs rooms without stumbling. He knew how to listen for the sounds of motion that he could not see; she had taken him outside and instructed him to tell her what he heard. He heard the sounds of the Griffin boys removing the dead branches that had been left on the ground. In spring, she told him, he would be able to discern the sounds of the birds and their individual songs. “My father will be able to school you; he knows more about birds than anyone, and he is up before sunrise, waiting for them to begin to sing.”

  “I don’t fancy that I’ll be eager to rise so early to hear them,” he warned her. “I am a lie-abed, given the option.”

  “Gentlemen have that option,” she said.

  “Except for me. I am bidden to rise at the crack of dawn with you around.”

  She laughed. “Dawn is much earlier than when you were obliged to rise. I must return home. We are preparing the chapel for Advent and I am embroidering the altar cloths. And you will be riding by Christmas. Will Pargetter has learned of a mare that is for sale, he tells me; one that is well-mannered and suitable.”

  “A lady’s palfrey,” he said disdainfully.

  “You must start somewhere,” she reminded him.

  A week later, he received an invitation to a dance at Leedings, the estate of Sir Godfrey Birch, a local squire. It was not
a London event but the Birches were wellborn and well-connected thanks to Lady Eleanor’s kin. Bess had handed him the invitation but could not read it to him. He gave it to Bella the next day.

  “I shall decline,” he said.

  “You shall not! It is a dance and you shall dance,” she said firmly.

  “I cannot dance.”

  “You can dance. You know the steps,” she challenged.

  “Are you mad? How shall I dance when I cannot see?”

  “You shall dance, my lord. You shall forget what you cannot see and you shall consider what your limbs can do, and you shall dance,” Bella repeated stubbornly.

  Dennison was both dubious and afraid. He had been nimble and a sought-after partner before blindness. But under Bella’s guidance, he recalled the steps of the dances. Bella herself was a graceful dancer, easy to lead. As they moved, he attended to the sound of her skirts as she performed the steps, he paid heed to her stillness when the dance ended, and he was mindful of the wafting of the scent of lavender as it drifted past his nostrils. Her hands were smooth and strong, her gait lively. When the dancing ended, he was sorry that she was no longer in his arms.

  “Harold tells me that you are accounted pleasing to look at,” he said when she was preparing to leave, having declared the dancing lesson a success.

  He sensed her pause as she put on her gloves. “And you are accounted handsome to behold,” she replied. “Good day to you.”

  He was cross at supper that night, although it was no fault of Bess, who had prepared a meal with her mother’s skill. He went to bed early, irritated and disinclined to sleep. The house, although inhabited only by himself and the two Griffins who were servants, was in repose but its lord was not. The dance was in two days, and he had a fashionable outfit to wear. He would make, he supposed, a passable figure among the company of people of local society. It was time to seek a wife, he recognized. When the spring came, it would be time to go to London for the Season when the true matchmaking got underway. Laverly smiled, recalling Bella’s comment that, come spring, he could begin to listen for the sounds of the birds as he learned to distinguish their songs. Imagine, a gentleman up at dawn to attend to the tunes of birds. It was laughable.