The Lady's Desire

by Audrey Abbott

  “Well, Lieutenant Dixon is to receive the credit for the repairs!”

  “Aye, but ye found and persuaded him to help. That is significant! And ye play so beautifully! Church is a much more pleasant experience with ye at the keyboard!”

  Voices in the hall drew their attention to the supper table. “The supper bell has rung, milady. May I escort ye into the dining room?” William asked, offering his arm. He gazed down at her upturned face.

  A slow smile crossed her lips as she wrapped her hand around his sleeve and together they joined the others for the evening meal.

  ~ ~ ~

  Anne paired the traditional words of “Amazing Grace” with a 17th century Scottish folk song. On the following Sunday, to the tune of “O, Waly Waly,” the quartet sang:

  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound;

  That saved a wretch, a wretch like me;

  I once was lost, but now am found;

  I once was blind, but now I see.

  ’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

  And grace my fears relieved;

  How precious did that grace appear

  The very hour I first believed!

  Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

  I have already come;

  ’Twas grace hath brought me safe thus far,

  And grace will surely lead me home.

  When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

  Bright shining as the sun,

  We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

  Than when we had first begun.”

  Chapter 44

  August 1813

  Presidential Ball

  Fort William, Calcutta, India

  A month later, Anne found herself back in Calcutta. She stepped into the enormous ballroom of the Presidential Palace at Ft. William. A dozen sparkling chandeliers illuminated the grand space. A myriad of British flags adorned the walls. Silver candelabras glittered over pristine white linen tablecloths. Waiters wove among elegantly dressed couples as they negotiated the graceful steps of the new dance called the waltz.

  Anne examined her image in the gilt mirror positioned at the end of the ballroom. She stood alone. Most of the couples clustered near the orchestra at the opposite side of the room. She did not have to check her dance card. William Ferguson would be her next partner. She willed herself not to show the depth of her feelings. She had tried for weeks to resist the charming captain, but he was everywhere she needed to be.

  Whenever not away on patrol, Captain Ferguson could be found escorting her when she traveled to the village to tend the sick, on her weekly shopping trips to the bazaar in a nearby town, or when she desired to go riding into the countryside. Anne was forbidden to venture out alone. Because of the local unrest in that part of India and the possibility of encountering brigands on the roads, a small troop of sepoys always participated in this duty with William often in the lead.

  And her husband, Lord Westmeare, was behind it. Why she did not know, but he had ordered the captain to accompany his wife whenever she left the compound. William had confirmed that fact. He led her to believe that it was due to Westmeare’s concern for her safety, but Anne suspected that there existed another reason.

  Although other officers offered to escort her and did so on occasion, especially Major Bradley, it was Captain Ferguson who usually arrived at her door at six o’clock in the morning to accompany her on her morning ride. Although still seared by appalling heat, the mornings were deemed the coolest and thus the best time for outdoor activity.

  Anne looked forward to those early morning rides. Captain Ferguson always maintained a proper comportment when in her presence. He was reserved while friendly. He was restrained yet jovial. Anne was nearer his age than her husband and she enjoyed his companionship. Possibly too much . . .

  They discussed each other’s childhoods, music and their favorite books. She liked the author, Jane Austen, and the political writings of Mary Wollstonecraft, while William preferred novels such as Tom Jones and the poetry of William Blake and Robert Burns.

  They shared many common bonds. Both were country born, she a vicar’s daughter, he a farmer’s son. Anne told herself that she simply enjoyed his company. But she knew that was not the entire truth. She not only enjoyed his company, she desired his company. As much and as often as possible.

  And today would be no different. Today the fine captain would be her partner, if only for a few minutes, for one dance. William would hold her in his arms. William. Her heart raced at the thought.

  Across the ballroom floor, William studied Anne. She looked so small and fragile, standing alone in front of the gilt mirror, but he knew that the lass had pluck, possessing both an independent spirit and tender sensibilities. William found himself admiring that spirit and respected her selfless reasons for marrying Westmeare. He had observed her kindness to her staff and to the native sepoys and their families.

  She was an excellent horsewoman and he had to admit that Lady Anne sat very well on a horse. She could ride side-saddle, but in India she preferred the freedom and control of riding astride like a man, especially in the early morning hours when such scandalous activity would go unnoticed by the other women.

  William sighed as he watched her, quietly acknowledging his intense and burgeoning attraction to the fair Lady Anne. From the moment he first laid eyes on her at the fête at Addiscombe, he had been unable to resist thinking about her. But beyond that, he was not willing to venture. Even though his heart would press him otherwise, he would not violate the principles of his honor nor of her virtue.

  But every day he found those principles and his willpower tested. Lady Anne was a lovely prize and so very tempting. Every day he struggled to keep his passions in check. William understood his duty, to accompany Lady Anne and to keep her safe.

  Nothing more. But what he would not give for a few minutes with her . . . Alone . . .

  Tonight at her husband’s command, he had escorted Lady Anne to the Ball at the Presidential Palace in Calcutta. Tonight he had pushed the boundaries. He had also signed her dance card. Tonight he would hold her in his arms and dance with her. He wondered if he dared to steal a wee kiss . . . Just one?

  He knew that was a foolish idea. He dare not cross that invisible line that separated them.

  Or could he?

  Chapter 45

  For Anne, the evening progressed predictably. Lord Westmeare greeted her upon her arrival and then disappeared into the smoky recesses of the casino, probably now losing at cards. This abandonment by her husband no longer surprised, shocked, nor even disappointed Anne. Her dance card was full and she had already partnered with several of the post officers including the always solicitous Major Bradley. Even the Governor-General, Lord Minto, had honored her with a dance.

  Other bureaucrats of the East India Company had vied for a place on her dance card and she smiled as each one took his turn, moving her across the dance floor in varying degrees of accomplishment. Some chattered on about their work, some stared at her bodice, a few trod on her toes, but she smiled and nodded. When there was a blessed pause between sets, she escaped to the ladies’ convenience where Bridget waited to assist her.

  Returning to the ballroom, Anne positioned herself on the floor opposite the orchestra in front of a large gilt mirror. She stared at the pale woman reflected there. Who was this person? She did not recognize the demure lady so outwardly calm, yet whose thoughts flew to the gallant officer who was her escort tonight. Surreptitiously, she applied one final pinch to her cheeks and closing her eyes, she pondered her next dance partner.

  When she opened them, William Ferguson, standing tall and strong and so pleasingly handsome, was reflected in the glass. He looked resplendent in his cavalry dress uniform. Anne stifled a gasp as she saw his gaze and the ye
arning revealed there. A hot blush bloomed across her cheeks as she spun around to confirm what the mirror had disclosed.

  William’s face was carefully expressionless, but did she see in his eyes just a fleeting glimpse of sadness and regret? Anne’s blush did not fade, exposing her own raw emotions. She wanted to be in his arms. To feel his touch. They had never kissed. She trembled at the thought.

  I must not pursue such desires. I must not indulge in my passionate nature. I must not! But until I met this man, I had not known that I even possessed a passionate nature. But, I am a married woman. That is the end of that. I will dance one dance with this officer. That will be all. Then I will forget him.

  Anne attempted to take possession of her emotions. But how can I forget him when every day our paths cross? Dear, God. Help me.

  The room blazed with candle light reflected in the myriad of miniature glass prisms that glittered and danced over the white walls and marble floor as the press of couples and buzz of conversation converged then separated and swirled around her.

  Waiters and servants added to the crush. Music in three-quarter time floated over them as the orchestra tuned their instruments for the next waltz. But for Anne, the heated room expanded and then faded. For Anne, the only reality was the man who now stood before her.

  William Ferguson.

  Chapter 46

  William had crossed the space in a few steps. Deftly skirting junior officers, fluttering fans, and crystal goblets born through the air on silver trays by liveried waiters, he arrived at Anne’s side, bowing deeply. He whispered in a subdued voice, “I believe that this dance is mine, my lady.” He brazenly placed his hand on her slender waist, guiding her onto the ballroom floor.

  She nodded, afraid to speak, but yet she dared to look up into his eyes. Those warm hazel eyes held hers captive as he led her elegantly around the floor. Anne blushed anew as his gaze swept over her face and figure and lingered fleetingly and appraisingly over the bodice of her low-cut gown. The pale green silk swirled around her as she floated over the marble floor, steered expertly by her partner.

  His supple fingers kept her just the correct distance from his waist. She smiled up at him, happier than she ever remembered feeling in her life. The music swelled and so did Anne’s pulse. Her heart beat so fiercely, she wondered if he could hear it. She tried to memorize every detail of the dance. The gold braid on his wide shoulders, the strength in his arms, the tenderness in his eyes as they crinkled at the corners when he smiled down at her.

  Then all too soon, the dance was over. Anne had spoken not one word.

  Chapter 47

  When the music faded to a final lingering note, she allowed herself to breathe as William escorted her off the floor still holding onto her waist. His hand was firm as he drew Anne toward a small alcove in a less crowded edge of the room.

  “Would your ladyship like a cold champagne punch?” he asked. She nodded mutely. A servant passed by holding a silver tray. Releasing her, William plucked up two goblets and handed one to Anne. Proceeding into the alcove, he turned to Anne and raised his glass, his eyes shining as he touched the rim of his goblet to hers. He sipped at the bubbly beverage, watching Anne over the edge of the glass. Anne swallowed and giggled as the bubbles burst over her tongue.

  “Why, Captain, this is delicious. Just like the punch at the fête at Addiscombe. Do you remember?” These were the first words she had spoken.

  “Aye, I do, my lady.” He nodded, smiling as Anne took another careful taste.

  “How delightful. Thank you,” she said. “I remember how warm that evening seemed, but nothing can compare to the heat of Calcutta.”

  The orchestra launched into a lively new tune and they watched as couples once more gathered on the dance floor. Anne sighed inwardly. She knew who her next partner would be and it would not be Captain Ferguson. Anne waited for him to excuse himself, bow, and leave to dance with some other fortunate woman.

  “Do ye have a partner for this next set, my lady?” he asked. She was certain that he was simply being courteous.

  “Only my husband. And my Lord Westmeare never dances. He is often losing at cards somewhere.” She looked away from William, wistfully gazing at the new formation of couples, swirling across the floor. “It is difficult to admit this. That my husband prefers gambling to dancing.”

  “Then your husband is a fool.” His voice was muted. But the words were biting. Glancing at her, his determined tone did not invite dissent. Anne knew that William had served Lord Westmeare long enough to understand the true measure of his character. Anne did not even venture to contradict him as he removed the empty glass from her grip and placed it on a nearby table.

  Taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers, he drew her further into the secluded alcove and away from the din of the dance floor. Large ferns and flowering plants shielded them from prying eyes. For several moments they stood alone in their own small cocoon.

  Tightening his grasp on her fingers, he led her toward a darkened archway. “Anne, come with me.”

  “William, where are we going?” Anne’s heart skipped a few beats when William touched her. She endeavored to resist his tug on her hand, but the pull was too strong. She felt as if she were iron and William a magnet.

  “Trust me, Anne,” was all he said as he led her through the archway and out into a narrow corridor. And she did trust him. They had known each other for over a year and though she now questioned his actions, Anne ignored her instincts and followed him.

  Yes, she would follow him. And as she did so, she realized that he had called her “Anne” and not the customary “My Lady.” And she had called him “William.” Shedding the use of formal titles somehow crossed a delicate barrier that Anne was not certain she should traverse, but cross it she did with no desire to retreat.

  Anne had no idea where he was leading her, but she obeyed William’s simple command to trust him. He guided her along a dimly lit passage that grew darker with each step. William ascended a short stairway and drew her after him into a small chamber. He closed the door behind him and locked it.

  A fragile light from a single round window revealed a few sparse furnishings, a short settee, a cushioned ottoman, and a potted fern. Other than that, the room was empty.

  Anne wondered if perhaps she should be afraid, but she was not. She did trust William. In fact since their first meeting at Addiscombe, she felt safe and protected in his presence. Her heart thudded and echoed in her chest. Surely William heard it.

  William turned slowly to face Anne with the same look of yearning she had glimpsed in the mirror. His eyes held hers with a tenderness that broke her heart.

  His strong fingers encircled her waist as he gathered her close. His lips hovered over hers for what seemed an eternity. He uttered but one word, “Anne.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes uncertain what to do. She felt his mouth brush hers. His lips were warm and firm. He smelled of leather and spice.

  Anne stood on tiptoe as her hands reached upward to grasp his broad shoulders, feeling hard strength and power as his muscles tensed. They stood there, a man and a woman, barely touching, breathing through a lingering kiss that promised so much more.

  Anne sighed as his soft kiss grew harder. His lips parted and devoured hers. His mouth burned, making her head spin and her will melt. Anne’s legs quivered beneath her. She felt herself falling, but he slid his hands down over her silken hips, drawing her firmly and resolutely against his. She moved her hands up to clasp his neck, pulling him closer as her breasts pressed against his uniform.

  His mouth searched for and found her eyes, cheeks, ears, throat. His hands slid upward and again enclosed her waist. She relished his lips pressing their advantage. She welcomed his fingers, caressing and gentle. For only a few moments . . . Or was it an eternity . . .? Passion blazed between them, enveloping th
em in heat and bliss.

  Anne had never been kissed like this. She did not want this kiss to end. She savored every bit of warmth and desire in William’s touch. But even as she treasured that touch, Anne knew it must end.

  Opening her eyes, she drew back slowly and broke the spell. She took his achingly handsome face in her hands.

  Within the depth of his eyes, Anne saw the clash of sorrow and longing. Anne wondered what William could read in her eyes. She felt her own face ablaze with shame and desire, not certain which emotion trumped the other.

  “Oh, William,” she murmured. “What have we done?”

  “Shall I stop?”

  “Yes! No.” She sighed and whispered only one word, “William.”

  She did not want him to stop. She did not have the strength to resist him. She yielded again to his embrace, drowning in desire for him, her mind clashing with her heart. I must stop this. It is madness. Where could this end, but in ruin and disaster?

  Determined to finish this before there was no turning back, she withdrew her hands from his face and placed them against his chest, to push him away. Her efforts were feeble, but sensing her need to detach herself from his embrace, William slowly, reluctantly released her.

  “William, please,” she whispered in a tremulous voice. “No more. I can’t see how this can end . . . properly.” Her voice faltered as she shrank away from him, fearing his touch as much as her own yearning to be touched.

  William’s eyes held hers like a vise. Through unwelcome tears, she watched him fight his deepest desires as he raised her hand to his lips one last time and allowed it to linger there. Then he bowed his head. “As ye wish, my dearest Anne. There is no need to regret this one kiss. Remember that if ye ever have need of me, for any reason, send me word and know that I will come to ye.”