Rescued from Ruin

by Georgie Lee

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, trailing her fingers across the top of a row of yellow flowers.

  ‘I told you I was quite the gardener.’

  She threw him a disbelieving look. ‘I can’t imagine you mucking in the mud.’

  ‘Well, my greensman and I. He did the work while I suggested what to plant and where.’ He motioned to the statue of a large man holding up a sword, his stomach muscles rippled in white with veins of brown, his erect penis now draped with a tasteful kilt of honeysuckle.

  ‘You’ve both done excellent work, I’ve never seen a garden like this.’ She wandered along the path, her hem sweeping the flowers hanging over the gravel and collecting bits of dew and fine yellow pollen. She passed three dancing nymphs, admiring the tall hedge of purple flowers protecting their modesty. Just past them, where the paths merged in a wide circle in the centre of the garden, stood a willow tree. The arching branches draped over the marble bodies of Venus and Mars locked together in ecstasy, the sinewy screen swaying and shielding their full nakedness from everyone except each other.

  It’d been so vulgar before, all of it, and something inside her caught at the beauty of it now. Randall might not believe in love, but, like his embrace on the bridge, all the carefully placed flowers and trees whispered of his caring and tenderness.

  Randall trailed behind Cecelia, her breathy gasps of amazement and surprise worth more than all the impressed murmurings created by his art exhibit.

  ‘Theresa will be very disappointed when she finally sees this. I’ve made it sound like some kind of statue Gomorrah, but you’ve transformed it into something wonderful.’

  ‘As you can see, my talents extend beyond mere rumours and ruining people.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She touched something hidden beneath the dark pelisse. ‘It’s in everything you’ve created here and all your kindness to me and Theresa.’

  Randall looked up to watch a small bird hopping between the branches. Despite what he’d done ten years ago, and all he’d done and become since, she was still willing to believe in him and it rattled him more than all his father’s old curses.

  ‘There aren’t many who’d agree with your generous opinion of me.’ He didn’t deserve her belief, not when he’d worked so hard to gain it and to what end? What waited for them at the conclusion of all this, more broken figurines and Cecelia weeping on a chaise while he strode away? After comforting her at the mill, it sickened him to think they might become strangers again, avoiding each other across ballrooms.

  ‘Your aunt thinks highly of you,’ she offered optimistically, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear before the wind caught it again. ‘She practically sings your praises and your uncle thought well of you, too.’

  Without thinking, Randall reached out and tucked the hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch or pull away, but watched him with wide eyes, looking more like a porcelain statue than any of the solid marbles surrounding them. His hand hesitated by her ear, brushing the curve of it. He should stop this game, stop drawing her to him, but he couldn’t.

  He pulled back his hand. She deserved more than the little he could give her, the little he’d ever given anyone, including his father, who’d been right to call him selfish.

  ‘My father didn’t think so well of me.’ He reached up and took one thin branch between his fingers, pulling it close to examine the leaves. ‘Aunt Ella used to say he laughed more before my mother died. I never saw him laugh, or happy. I think that night I did him a favour. He wanted to die, to be with my mother, but couldn’t because it’s a sin.’

  He tugged a handful of leaves from the branch and sent it bobbing back up over their heads. Death might have freed his father, but it’d trapped Randall with a torn past he could never mend.

  She moved closer, the earthy scent of grass and dew faint around her. ‘You aren’t to blame for what he thought of you or how he died.’

  Randall opened his fingers and the leaves fluttered to the ground as he wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her into the arc of his body. Her hands rested on his chest, light, easy, not tense or ready to push away. Temptation licked through him as her tongue swept over her lips, making them shine like her eyes. Old memories rose up before him, the dark hallway outside the manor dining room, Uncle Edmund’s laughing inside, Cecelia pressed like this against him, free, willing, eager. Excitement shot through him as she tilted back her head, raising her mouth to meet his, offering herself to him as she had so long ago.

  I’ve found you again.

  He slid his other hand behind her neck and the small curls above her collar brushed against his fingers. His arm tightened around her waist, pressing her closer, her body warm against the chilly wind. With his tongue, he traced the line of her lips and she opened them, accepting his deeper caress. He drank her in, the taste of her like honey to a man used to vinegar.

  Somewhere outside the garden, a far-off voice sounded before fading like the distant bleat of a sheep in the field. The voice called out again, closer now, and Randall clung to Cecelia, turning them away from the garden arch and everything beyond the trellis which sought to separate them. If he could kiss her deeper, hold her closer, she and all the comfort she offered might never vanish from his life again.

  * * *

  ‘Cecelia?’ Theresa’s voice rang clear from just beyond the hedges. Cecelia barely heard her cousin’s calls or the soft rustle of half-boots on the grass, ignoring them in the hopes they might go away. She laced her fingers behind Randall’s neck, holding him as if he were a large rock in the middle of a fast-moving stream. The current might rush around and over them, but it would not move them. If only the current could drown out the noise of the world beyond the garden.

  ‘Cecelia?’ Theresa’s voice rang out again. It should have pulled her back, but instead she fell deeper into Randall, pressing her stomach into his, feeling the true depth of his need between them.

  ‘Cecelia, where are you?’ Theresa’s voice insisted, much closer this time, the sharp tone startling Cecelia from this daydream.

  She broke from Randall’s kiss, all her forgotten caution rushing in to fill the small gap between their bodies. She widened it, looking around Randall, expecting to see Theresa at the garden arch. Instead, she could hear her moving through the leaves on the opposite side.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he whispered, trailing his lips up the curve of her neck, his cheek soft against hers. Need and fear tugged her in opposite directions and she didn’t know which urge to follow.

  The sound of Theresa’s footsteps near the garden entrance finally made her decision.

  ‘I have to,’ came her feeble protest.

  Randall’s arms eased around her and she stepped back. His thumb pressed hard against the palm of her hand as he led her away from the willow and to the arch where he finally let go.

  ‘Here I am.’ Cecelia stepped out of the garden, listening for the sound of Randall following behind her but there was nothing except the rustle of bushes in the wind. He remained hidden behind the hedges. Only Reverend appeared, bounding up to Theresa, his tail wagging. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Lady Ellington asked me to fetch you.’ She patted the dog on the head. ‘She’s going to let us borrow some of her jewels tonight and she wants us to choose which ones we want to wear. Can I wear her diamonds? Please?’

  ‘Diamonds aren’t for unmarried ladies,’ Cecelia chided with a laugh, her own nervousness bubbling up through her and heightened by her cousin’s enthusiasm. ‘Something more subtle like pearls will do.’

  Theresa scrutinised Cecelia’s face. ‘You seem flushed. Are you feeling well?’

  ‘Quite well, I only hurried up from the end of the garden when I heard your voice. Tell me more about the jewellery.’

  Theresa took Cecelia’s arm and together they walked back to the house, leaving Rev
erend to follow another trail across the lawn. Theresa continued to chatter, but Cecelia heard little of it. The soft urgency of Randall’s kiss lingered on her lips, along with the relief of finally knowing where his intentions lay.

  Movement in an upstairs window caught her attention and she noticed the Countess watching them, a wide smile on her face.

  Cecelia stumbled, gripping Theresa’s arm to steady herself. How long had Lady Ellington been standing there?

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Theresa asked.

  ‘Yes, my shoe slipped on the wet grass.’

  ‘But the grass is dry.’

  ‘Never mind. Come along. We can’t keep the Countess waiting.’

  Cecelia forced herself to focus on Theresa’s lively words as they entered the sitting room, the darkness unsettling after the bright light of the garden. They climbed the stairs and Cecelia looked out the large window at the top, but only the tips of distant trees were visible. She wanted to rush to it and know just how much of the garden one could see from here, but she couldn’t, not with Theresa holding her arm.

  They reached the end of the hallway and Lady Ellington came out of her room.

  ‘Cecelia says I can’t wear the diamonds. She wants me to wear the pearls, but I don’t think they’ll look right,’ Theresa hurried forward to complain.

  Cecelia lingered behind her, trying to ignore the way the Countess’s eyes kept dancing over Theresa’s shoulders to meet hers with a knowing gleam.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I have something which will suit you both,’ Lady Ellington reassured her. ‘Now go inside. My lady’s maid has laid out the selection.’

  Theresa practically skipped into the Countess’s room, leaving them alone in the hallway.

  ‘My dear, I’m so sorry we haven’t had a chance to chat.’ She clasped her hands together in front of her mouth, hiding the start of a smile behind her large rings. ‘Though I think Randall has more than made up for my neglect.’

  Cecelia didn’t know whether to groan or worry. After years with the late Marquess, she doubted Lady Ellington would be scandalised by a stolen kiss, but if she saw them, it would only increase her matchmaking ideas. Cecelia barely knew her own feelings when alone in her room, much less under Lady Ellington’s less-than-subtle scrutiny. ‘Yes, Randall showed me the changes he made to the garden.’

  ‘And were his improvements to your liking?’ The smile peeked out again and this time Lady Ellington made no attempt to hide it.

  Cecelia felt her own wicked smile escaping until it spread to match Lady Ellington’s, not caring what she or any else thought. She was happy for the first time in two years and, even if it didn’t last beyond their time here, she would enjoy it. ‘Yes, the improvements are very much to my liking.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cecelia, Lady Ellington and Theresa entered the assembly room, the lively music increasing the anticipation building in Cecelia since the garden. The gentlemen stood in groups along the edge of the hall, laughing and exchanging news from London. Their wives, adorned in their country finest, chatted together around the dance floor while their sons and daughters spun though the vibrant quadrille. Everyone here seemed more at ease than at Lady Weatherly’s ball and it reminded her of the many country balls she’d once attended in Virginia.

  While Lady Ellington and Theresa searched the guests for Mr Menton, Cecelia looked for Randall, every tall man with dark hair making her heart stop until he turned and revealed himself to be a country gentleman.

  Where is he?

  She hadn’t seen him since the garden. He’d disappeared, sending word to Lady Ellington to leave for the ball without him, intending to follow behind on his horse. She wondered what kept him away and whether it was regret at having laid himself so bare or qualms at having finally dropped all pretence of friendship.

  ‘There he is,’ Theresa gasped and Cecelia stiffened, relaxing only when she realised her cousin wasn’t speaking of Randall.

  Mr Menton wound his way through the crowd towards them, focused on Theresa, a smile as wide as hers lighting up his face. Cecelia breathed a bit easier. Randall was right, time had not changed his interest in Theresa.

  ‘Miss Fields, you have no idea how wonderful it is to see you again. I hadn’t expected it so soon,’ he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his excitement.

  His pleasure was not shared by all. Across the room, Cecelia noticed a thin woman watching the exchange with hawk-like eyes, her disapproval evident in the quick tap of her folded fan against her palm. Cecelia guessed by her scrutiny, and the narrow jaw she shared with the young man, that it must be Lady Menton.

  The room burst into applause as the music and the dance came to an end.

  ‘Miss Fields, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?’

  Theresa accepted his invitation, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor, her new pink muslin gown with white embroidery floating around her as she walked. Theresa stood out in the dress, looking every inch the sophisticated London woman who possessed a fortune and lands. Paired with Mr Menton, they made a fine couple and more than one head turned to admire them.

  ‘I think our plan is working.’ Lady Ellington beamed as the young couple bounced and twirled through the lively steps.

  ‘Indeed.’ Cecelia tapped her foot in time with the music, her spirit buoyed by the festive atmosphere. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen her so happy.’

  ‘She isn’t the only one who deserves to be happy. Ah, here comes Randall now. I shall politely decamp to where the other ladies are standing.’

  ‘No, you don’t have to go,’ Cecelia choked out, warmth spreading low and fast inside her at the sight of him. He moved through the crush with long strides, people stepping out of his way as he approached them.

  ‘Of course I do.’ Lady Ellington walked away to join her friends, leaving Cecelia to face Randall alone.

  The candlelight glowing overhead deepened the darkness of his hair and sharpened the angles of his cheeks. She touched the pendant hanging above the low neckline of her gown. She’d chosen to wear her black-silk dress embroidered with gold flowers because the fine thread captured the glimmer of the pendant, making it stand out against her chest. His eyes dipped down to where her hand rested, a knowing smile drawing up the corners of his mouth.

  He stopped in front of her, his eyes penetrating and shadowed, and she clutched her fan, waiting to know how to face him.

  His fingers swept the swell of her breasts as he slid them beneath the gold chain to cup the pendant. Her skin pebbled at the light touch, the music and chatter fading into the background like a distant waterfall. She didn’t care about the intimate exchange made in such a public place, nor what anyone who watched them might say. In this moment there was no one in the room but the two of them.

  ‘You don’t know how happy I am to see you wearing this,’ he said.

  ‘I have been for some time, only I kept it hidden.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was embarrassed.’

  He laid the gold gently on her chest, the heat of his hand tortuous above her skin. ‘Of me or the gift?’

  ‘Neither. I was afraid to show you how much it really meant to me.’

  He brushed the curve of her cheek, pushing a small curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear and making the diamond earring dance.

  ‘Shall we go out to the balcony?’ he tempted and she looked up at him through her lashes.

  ‘I’m not sure I can court the dangers of such darkness.’

  ‘Then let’s stay here and see how your cousin fares.’ He moved to stand beside her, his hand brushing the side of her dress, the faint touch thrilling against her thigh. ‘There will be plenty of darkness for us to enjoy after the dance.’

  If the afternoon without him had seemed long, the end of th
e assembly seemed an eternity to wait to be alone with him again.

  ‘Lord Falconbridge, good to see you,’ a male voice interrupted. Before them stood an older gentlemen and Lady Menton, her face pinched where her husband’s was wide and friendly.

  ‘Good evening, Sir Walter, Lady Menton,’ Randall greeted. ‘May I introduce Miss Fields’s guardian, Mrs Cecelia Thompson.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Thompson.’ Lady Melton’s lacklustre tone indicated it was anything but.

  ‘You don’t know how glad I am to meet you.’ Sir Walter bowed, an appraising twinkle in his eye. ‘Lately, Adam has talked of nothing except Miss Fields, wouldn’t you say so, dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lady Menton hissed with none of her husband’s cheer.

  ‘And it’s a great pleasure to meet the parents of such an affable young man,’ Cecelia flattered, but it did nothing to soften the woman’s stony look.

  ‘I’m hunting in the morning. Lord Falconbridge, care to join me?’ Sir Walter offered, rubbing his large hands together.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t. I have other matters to attend to. Perhaps another time.’

  The baronet’s eyes flicked to Cecelia before he shot Randall a knowing look. ‘With such a lovely woman at your side, I don’t blame you for not wanting to tromp through the forest at dawn.’

  Beneath her tight brown curls, Lady Menton’s forehead wrinkled in disapproval and Cecelia tried not to laugh. She took no offence at the comment, the baronet delivering it with as much affection as a weathered old grandfather. It was Randall’s reaction which shattered her calm. He laced his fingers behind his back, the same stiffness she’d felt in him at the mention of marriage last night straightening his spine.

  ‘Since I can’t tempt you with pheasants, will you join me for a hand of cards?’ the baronet invited.

  ‘Yes, only allow me a moment with Mrs Thompson.’

  ‘I’ll save a chair for you. Mrs Thompson, it was a pleasure to meet you.’ He bowed, escorting his wife away then leaving her with some friends and making for the gaming room.