by Ella Edon
She stood silently and watched him, marveling at how he was at once familiar to her and at the same time, like a wild stranger, his torn shirt and his hair falling in his eyes and his still-fiery demeanor as he stalked around the millhouse.
"I won’t return to the house tonight, I will sleep out here instead,” he said mostly to himself. “That might let me think. And if it doesn't, at least, I will not disgrace myself under my father's roof any further – at least, no further tonight."
"They will surely know that their son is bound to fight for his honor. They would only not want it in the house, and it was not."
"But nor would they want it to be a battle against a respectable farmer who is a neighbor of theirs! He was forced to leave and walk six miles home in the middle of the night. My parents will not be proud of that."
"That was Daniel's decision to make. He could have waited in a barn until his wagonload of friends were ready to leave. It was his choice, Mr. Brookford."
"Huh." He sat down hard on the edge of the wooden ledge at the back of the large room. Behind him, against the far wall of the ledge, the sacks of newly ground flour were stacked and waiting for the farmers to pick up.
Perhaps this battle tonight will push you into making a choice of your own, thought Merope, for she knew that they had reached the breaking point.
If Mr. Brookford wished to choose Sally, or any other woman, Merope knew she would never be able to bring herself to see him again. She herself had chosen long ago, she had to admit that now. It only remained to be seen what Mr. Brookford would choose to do now.
He began to examine his shirt and pulled at the cuff of the sleeve as though trying to rip off a piece of it. She realized James had need of a bandage for even by the small flickering lanternlight, she could see that blood still ran down his face from where Daniel had managed to connect a solid blow to his cheekbone.
A ripping, tearing sound filled the air. Merope stood up with a long, wide strip of her muslin chemise in her hand. She handed it to him, and he took it without a word, using it to clean the blood from his face.
He could not see the several streaks on his cheek and neck, of course, and so after a moment, Merope took the strip of cloth from him and took over. Mr. Brookford closed his eyes and let her work as she stood in front of him. It was not long before he stopped her hand.
Still seated on the edge of the wooden ledge, he suddenly tossed the cloth aside and pulled her close to him. His body was tense, still shaking from the rage and the fight and – and from something else.
She returned his embrace, their faces nearly at the same level. She knew – she knew very well – that she ought to step back from him, but that was no longer possible.
"If you are to go, you must go now," he whispered, his voice low and rough against her ear. "You can walk back down the lane to the house. You can tell my parents that I mean to sleep in the millhouse tonight and will return in the morning."
Merope hesitated. This was sounding too much like the end for them.
But then Mr. Brookford drew back from her and looked into her eyes. "There will be no turning back, if you do choose to stay." He shook her a little. "Do you understand me?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but only caught her breath and nodded her head. "I know that you were fighting for me," she managed to say at last. "There is nothing that could make me leave this place tonight."
"Stay, then, Merope," he whispered in her ear, and then they kissed each other hard and furious, with all the fervor of a long-repressed passionate feeling.
James stood up and drew her up after him, up onto the ledge, and once she was there, he lifted her up in his arms and carried her over to the large sacks of flour stacked up against the back wall. They made a soft enough cushion for her to be placed on. She watched him in the soft and flickering shadows, listening to the endless rushing and splashing of the waterwheel.
"Do not move," he commanded her, and she nodded faintly in agreement.
He stepped away, his boots fell to the wooden floor, and then his black trousers joined them. Very quietly, she took her feet out of her own dancing slippers.
Then James stood before her wearing only his long, white, torn and bloodstained shirt. He reached for her hand and drew her up to her feet once more, where he pulled her close and kissed her again and again.
Merope felt as though she were drowning in heat and softness and excitement. She clung to his strong shoulders and allowed his arms to keep her on her feet as her head fell back and she kissed him passionately in return.
"You are so beautiful, Merope," he whispered, drawing back from her. "I have always thought so…from the first time I saw you . . . there was never anyone like you."
As he held on to her, he took hold of the lacing at the back of her gown and pulled it apart. Without a word, he helped her take off the delicate silk gown, lifting it off over her head and then tossing it aside onto the flour sacks.
Now, she stood before him in only her loose and flowing muslin chemise. As tense as he was, he took his time to gaze at her in the flickering light . . . and then reached out and touched the ruby pendant, which was now all she wore, save for her chemise and pair of stockings.
Merope closed her eyes. Like so many young women, she had thought she might feel quite apprehensive at this moment, but she found that it was not the case.
Standing before James in the shadowy candlelight, both of them fired up with long-held desires, and unleased by the violence of the fight he had put up for her this evening, Merope found that the whole experience was not frightening, but exciting and almost magical.
How she had longed to pull this man close and run her fingers over the smooth bare skin of his neck, as she did now, and feel the ever-increasing heat, and strength, and hardness of his body against the softness and yielding that flooded through hers. Now that she finally had the chance to do these things, there was nothing in the world that would have made her want to stop.
Still supporting her with one arm, James reached down almost to her knees and brushed up the chemise. Her silk stockings were tied below her knees, but she wore nothing else, besides the linen undergown.
She was glad there was nothing else between them now as he ran his hand up her thighs, and to the softness of the triangle between them. Her head fell back and she caught her breath as he caressed her all over with his fingers.
Suddenly, he picked her up in his arms and then placed her onto the sacks of flour again, pressing into her shoulders, so that she lay down flat. Before he could move though, Merope surprised even herself by pulling him down to her and holding him very tightly.
Her lightweight chemise was hardly a barrier to his insistent weight. It was strange and wonderful to Merope that all of the tender parts of herself welcomed his touch, strange to her body though it was, and indeed it could not get enough of it.
It was not what she might have expected. Pleasure overwhelmed her as he touched her, stirring her senses. He knew how to use his fingers to tease her, even as his lips trailed kisses down along her neck. Merope moaned softly, biting her bottom lip.
He thumbed at her nipples through the fabric of her chemise. She had known that he would be experienced, though she had not, until that moment, known what that meant. Her body was like a violin, and he was a virtuoso. He pulled down her chemise, taking her nipple into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue.
James pushed up her chemise until her legs and belly were open to him, soft and warm and inviting . . .
James parted her legs, his hands flat against the inside of her thighs. The cool night air against her skin was tantalizing. His eyes met hers. She saw a hunger there, that she had not known. He waited. She nodded, giving him the consent that he sought.
Merope marveled at the broad, muscular expanse of his chest. His arms were hard. She had never seen a man undressed before. He undid his breeches, then slid them downwards on his slim hips. She pulled him as close as a man and a woman could ever be, gaspi
ng out loud in surprise as he entered her.
James stopped, his eyes on hers. He flexed his hips, moving in and out of her. It stopped hurting, and Merope pulled him closer, holding him tightly, until he too cried out, and rested his head gently on her shoulder.
They lay together in the darkness for a time. Merope ran her fingers through his soft hair, as she had long wished to do, and all down his strong shoulders, his back and arms. She wanted to stay there, like this, holding him closely.
I would stay in the country if it meant that I could have James, she thought, surprised at the sudden clarity.
When James sat up, she almost cried out again at the loss of him and wanted to quickly pull him back down to her again . . . but instead he helped her to sit up and then swing her feet back down to the wooden floor.
They sat together and he held her close, gently stroking the side of her face. "I do love you, you know," he said, and she nodded and smiled through a tear that she did not want him to see.
“I love you, too, James,” she said. “It wouldn’t matter to me, you know, where we would live, be it in the city or here in the country. I may not belong anywhere, but I would like it if I belonged with you.”
He kissed her, tenderly, on the cheek. “You do belong with me,” he replied. “I just hope that that’s enough for you.”
“You are,” she insisted. It was true.
He stood up and she knew he would dress again. She quickly dressed herself. He helped her with the buttons on the back of her dress, without being asked. They stood there, together, in silence. Merope’s face was warm. She didn’t know what to say to him. She felt both closer to him, and farther away from him than she would have liked.
After a few moments, he helped her step back down to the floor of the millhouse and then over to the door. After picking up the lantern, he opened the door and led her out outside.
Merope breathed deeply of the fresh cool air of the night, closing her eyes and holding James's arm as some dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. Looking up as they walked, she saw that the moon had moved only a little since they had first left the house, prior to the fistfight. By the lights in the house and the many carriages out front, the ball continued and most likely her absence had barely been noticed, if at all.
"No, it has not been long," he said, and she knew he was smiling. "I will take you round to the servant's stairway and make sure you get back inside. You can go up to your room if you wish – I am afraid that your gown may have suffered some damage."
She turned and smiled at him. "No damage," she whispered, and he leaned over and kissed her as they walked.
Very soon, they had skirted the house and walked to the back door. After one more passionate kiss, James left her there and then disappeared into the darkness once again.
Now alone, Merope felt as though some enchantment had suddenly vanished. She stood alone at the servants' entrance, sneaking around like a girl with something to hide – there was no denying that now, she most certainly did have the most profound of secrets.
She managed to do as James had asked and found her way up the back stairs, and then down the long hallway to her room. She encountered no one and even if any of the servants had noticed her, they would never say a word about it to anyone beyond each other.
When she reached the door, which was not quite shut, Merope could hear weeping coming from inside the room. It was Sally, sobbing and wailing, still upset from witnessing both the terrible fistfight and from having Daniel abandon her to walk all the way home.
Merope started to go inside, but just as she touched the door, she withdrew her hand. Sally was certainly upset and had been crying for some time now. Her first thought was that if Sally saw her now, Merope would surely give herself away – it would be obvious, by her manner and expression, as to what had just happened between herself and James Brookford.
Quickly, she inspected her dress. Yes, it had grass and dust caught in the hems, but it seemed otherwise undamaged. She brushed it off as best she could with her hands, made sure that her hair was still securely pinned, and hurried back downstairs to the ball.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As she walked to the ballroom, Merope took a deep breath and made herself move slowly and calmly as if nothing at all had happened. She walked inside, where the dancing continued in full swing, and went to the refreshment table for a glass of punch.
Soon, she was sitting along the wall and sipping the cool, sweet drink. A couple men did ask her to dance, and at any other time she almost certainly would have accepted. But she found that she could not think of accepting any other man and thus sent them on their way just as soon as she could. Her only thought was on finding James again.
Merope knew that she must be looking breathless and flushed, but she did not care. She found that her excitement for the secret she now shared with James was only growing, for it would, of course, only end in a proposal!
Surely, that would be the first thing to happen tomorrow, as soon as their heads had cleared in the cool light of day. No doubt he was too swept away to think of it tonight, for she was certain that after – after their interlude in the secrecy and darkness of the millhouse, a proposal would go without saying.
Sitting in the corner and watching the ball, Merope could hardly wait until morning. How would she ever sleep? All she could think of was how wonderful it would be to have time alone with James as his wife whenever they wished . . . and of how thrilled her mother would to be able to plan a wedding at last.
Finally, the dancing master called for the last dance – the Dunrobin – and as all those who wanted one last chance hurried to the floor, Merope stood up, took a deep breath, smoothed her gown, and left the ballroom with her head high. She had been properly seen by all in the room, and no one had noticed her absence earlier. She had not seen James in the ballroom again, and knew that he was back in the mill, alone.
She walked up the stairs, beginning to realize how tired she was after all the very strange and wildly emotional events of this night. Pushing open the door to their room, she found that there was still a candle burning near the dressing table but all was silent – it seemed that Sally had cried herself to sleep at last and seemed peaceful enough in her bed.
Merope got herself undressed alone and changed into her nightgown. She was still riding high on the wave of excitement that had carried her through the entire evening. When she sat down at the little dressing table to brush out her hair, she suddenly saw in the mirror – gleaming in the light of the single candle – her mother's gold-and-ruby pendant still hanging from her neck.
Quickly, she clutched the pendant in one hand, blocking out the sight of it in the mirror. She realized that she had been wearing it the whole time, even with everything that had happened.
As fast as she could, her hands shaking, Merope unfastened the necklace and took it off. The reality of all this was beginning to descend on her now. She finished brushing her hair and then blew out the candle, trying not to weep as she, too, crawled into bed.
After a few hours of fitful sleep, Merope felt somewhat better as she and Sally walked down to breakfast the next morning. She would see James again today, and her spirits lifted with every step. This would also be the day she received a proposal of marriage from him.
He had been distracted last night, she knew, to the point where he had insisted on sleeping in the millhouse. But he would be home today, and – after their encounter last night – it was impossible that he would not propose at quite literally any moment. It could happen right here at the breakfast table, right here in front of everyone!
She had tried to look her best this morning, wearing a simple, but elegant muslin day dress in the shade of deep blue that he had complimented her on more than once. She kept her chin up and looked forward to the day, for this would be the day that her life changed course and became exactly what she had always hoped it might be.
Beside her, though, Sally showed every sign of having had an awful
night. She wore a pretty pale pink muslin gown, but her face was puffy and pale, her eyes raw and red from weeping. She had refused to speak since awakening this morning, and now she looked down as she stumbled along, sniffling from time to time. Merope sighed and led her firmly down the stairs and into the dining room, making sure that Sally did not insult their hosts any further, and did at least, make an appearance at breakfast.
They walked into the dining room. Both James and Lord Albany rose to their feet.
Merope forgot everything else as he smiled at her and she stared back at his tall form and warm brown eyes. All of last night came rushing back . . . every thought, every move, every whisper, every touch . . . all of the strangeness and newness, all of the familiarity.
