Kael was a natural at the folk dances and they danced every one of them, she relying on his steady hand as he whirled her through the steps, laughing, eyes sparkling. This was what it felt like to be alive, to be in love, to be with Kael. And this feeling was going to be hers for ever. She could not believe her good fortune.
After desserts of chak-chak and symiki and countless other delicious and equally strangely named desserts, they walked back to the house, his arm about her. Other couples did too. The folk dancing, the outdoor air, the general tenor of the evening seemed to warrant a lapse in formality. It felt good to walk beside Kael, her head resting on his shoulder, the magic of midsummer heavy in the air. ‘I was thinking...’
He chuckled. ‘Three very dangerous words, I’m sure.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she went on, ignoring his tease. ‘That we should be married in Sussex, at your home.’
‘Not in London or at your family seat?’ Kael asked, surprised. ‘I would have thought you’d want a big wedding.’
Zara shook her head. ‘Just a big wedding night. I only want you. We’d best send that message from the start.’
They reached the steps and Kael bent to her ear mischievously. ‘Send your maid away, Zara. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
* * *
‘You are very punctual.’ Zara gave a throaty chuckle twenty-one minutes later as Kael slid into her room and shut the door softly behind him.
‘And you are still very dressed.’ Kael raised an eyebrow in mock disdain at her satin robe.
Zara cocked her head to one side, her hand working the sash until it was loose and she could slide the robe off her shoulders. ‘I have two things to say to that. First, not any more.’
Kael drank in her nakedness, his body hard and aching. He loved her breasts, the flat of her belly, the dark shadow between her legs...he loved all of it, all of her. ‘And second?’ he asked hoarsely.
‘And second...’ She stepped towards him, running a finger down his chest. ‘You’re the only one committing a clothing infraction.’
‘Hmmm. So it seems,’ Kael murmured, liking where this was going. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
She yanked on his cravat, pulling it loose, her eyes dancing as she held up the strip of material. ‘I am going to take off your clothes and then I’m going to render you senseless.’
Kael Gage liked the sound of that. But he liked the practice of it even better.
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday June 21st
Brockmore Manor House Party
Programme of Events
Annual Brockmore Midsummer Games
The Midsummer Ball
Zara had come up with a plan to fund their near future. ‘We have to win the games,’ she informed Kael over breakfast Saturday morning. Kael was enjoying how hard she was trying to appear ‘normal’. ‘How can you stroll around here as if nothing has happened?’ she whispered. ‘It seems wicked for us to meet like this, fully clothed, and acting as if you haven’t just come from my bed where we’ve done far more wicked things than fork eggs.’
Kael carried their plates to an empty place at the table. ‘We’ll worry about wicked things later. Tell me, why do we have to win the games?’
Zara gave him a shrewd look and whispered sotto voce, ‘Haven’t you been listening to anything? There are expensive prizes to be won. I think I could win ladies archery. Are you any good with a knife? A gun? Can you shoot accurately off the back of a horse?’ She gave his biceps an appreciative stare. ‘Arm wrestling?’
Kael laughed. ‘You are an avaricious miss, already turning my finer assets into profit. But you might be disappointed. I can arm wrestle, but I won’t beat the village smith. I can ride and shoot, but I won’t beat Colonel Kennedy who is a professional.’
‘Not to worry. We’ll find something you are good at. Besides, Colonel Kennedy isn’t competing.’ She nudged him with her elbow. ‘Knot tying, maybe. You seemed passably accomplished at that last night.’
‘Passably? I’d say downright expert from the way you were moaning,’ Kael murmured over his coffee. Last night had been a rather erotic version of the Brockmore Midsummer Games. Zara had surprised and pleased him with her willingness to experiment with the more exotic aspects of love making.
‘All right, expert, then,’ Zara conceded. ‘We have to sign up as teams of two today and at the end of the day, the points will be tallied. The winning team gets one hundred pounds. All placements, first through third, earn points.’
Kael grinned. ‘So when I come in second, I won’t be a total loss?’
Zara looked at him smartly. ‘No, so when the village smith comes in second, he won’t be a total loss.’ She tossed her head. ‘Perhaps a private wager might inspire you to greatness. If you score more points than I do, I will...’ She leaned over and whispered in his ear.
Kael’s grin expanded. ‘Really? Then I’m sure I could best Thor himself in a hammer throw.’
* * *
The games became fiercely competitive. There were individual contests for everyone, men, women and children. Everyone wanted one of the fabulous prizes and the shiny medals that hung on thick blue ribbons. Zara accumulated her share, winning two events and taking two seconds. She won the ladies archery and shooting, but placed second to a villager in a barefoot race and behind Florence Canby in the egg-and-spoon race. She might have won if Kael hadn’t winked at her three steps from the finish line. ‘Well, I’m really looking forward to tonight.’ He wagged his eyebrows when she accused him of sabotage.
There were games for the men: shooting contests, knife throwing, wrestling and riding. Kael won shooting targets off the back of Merlin, but took second in knife throwing to Alexandr, and another second in wrestling the bulky blacksmith. But Zara assured him with a laugh that it was worth it to see him greased up with his shirt off. The ride was last and Kael and Merlin dominated the field, easily romping to victory in a quarter-mile sprint.
Last to come was the couples’ three-legged race at the end of the day. A tally board had been posted on the lawn, showing the leaders. ‘We’re tied for the lead with the blacksmith and his wife,’ Zara whispered. Only the top three couples would race, everyone else had bowed out and retreated the field.
Kael grabbed two long strips of cloth from a basket. ‘Are you ready for me to tie you up?’
She lifted her skirt so he could reach around her knee. ‘We really need this, Kael.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t you think that’s exactly what the blacksmith’s wife is saying to him?’
Zara shook her head. ‘No, she’s saying, thank goodness you beat him in wrestling or we wouldn’t even be tied with them.’
‘There.’ Kael finished the knot and she wrapped an arm about his waist as they experimented with the three-legged arrangement. ‘Start slow first. If we fall, we’re finished.’
They hobbled to the starting line, finding their rhythm and looking over the competition. The blacksmith and his wife were both burly. Their bulk might slow them down. Florence and Jessamy were struggling to stay upright because Florence was giggling too much.
‘I don’t want to lose to them,’ Zara said.
‘Correction. You just don’t want to lose.’ Kael squeezed her. ‘We won’t. We’re going to do this together.’
The duke raised his hand to start the race. ‘Racers must go down to the barrels, circle them and run back. The first team to cross the finish line wins. Runners, on your marks, get set, go!’
They started cautiously, finding their rhythm again. Their strides grew more confident, their speed increased. By the time they reached the barrel, they were flying, their lead increasing. Oh, this was glorious! Zara’s hat came off and she let it go, let her hair fall down as they ran. She was laughing, almost too hard to run, but Kael’s ar
m was hard around her as they sprinted towards the finish line, he would not let her fall. They crossed the finish line, collapsing in laughter on the ground, Kael coming down on top of her and stealing a rather vibrant kiss while the crowd roared, caught up in the excitement.
‘We won, we did it!’ she breathed as Kael helped her to her feet. Just like the horse race, this race, this silly foot race, had taken on an importance that transcended the race itself.
‘I think that means I get to claim my prize,’ Kael whispered at her ear.
* * *
He did get to claim his prize, much later that night. Zara made him wait. All through a beautiful cold supper on the veranda, all through a breathtaking evening of indoor-outdoor dancing at the spectacular midsummer ball, the ballroom turned out like a fairy wood where guests could not tell if they had wandered in or wandered out. But the greatest spectacle of all was Zara in her ethereal white gown covered in brillante-studded tulle, winking like stars when she moved, a veritable Titania among her subjects as she defied convention and danced not twice with him, but five times. It was quite a declaration by London’s standards. In town, Zara’s snub to etiquette and its significance would be duly noted. Tonight though, Kael wondered if anyone was counting besides him. No one seemed to care. Midsummer magic had them all deep in thrall. Except perhaps Zara’s mother, who begrudgingly watched them from the sidelines, but she had begun to come to terms with her daughter’s choice and her daughter’s right to make that choice. It was the best Zara and he could hope for at present. The rest would come. Zara had chosen her freedom and him over the trappings of tradition and that was all that mattered. She declared it in every dance this evening, letting everyone see how happy she was.
The duke danced by with the duchess, Markham with a blushing Ariana, Jessamy Addington with Florence Canby. It appeared the duke’s party had been a success after all despite some rocky spots. That reminded him of Kennedy. Kael looked around to catch sight of the officer. Surely, with so many couples dancing, he would be here with his secret lady-love, not so secret any more. It was a night of declarations. But Kennedy was nowhere to be found. Perhaps that was a declaration too.
Kael whirled Zara through the turn, using the opportunity to bring her up against him. They would leave tomorrow. He to Sussex, she to London to pack and to prepare for the wedding. It would be two weeks until he saw her again. In the meanwhile, he could content himself with having the banns called in his parish church. But it would be hard. He planned to make tonight count.
Kael danced them out of doors to the edge of the floor and into the night. Then he took her hand and they began to run; across the south lawn, down to the lake, to the boat and lantern he had waiting there.
‘What are we doing? Where are going?’ Zara was breathless, excited, as he helped her into the rowboat.
‘To the island—’ Kael smiled, wickedly ‘—where it all started.’
Zara leaned back into the bow of the boat, watching him work the oars, her gaze speculative, the mischief in her eyes matching his own. ‘Hmmm. I’m starting to see why this is called the house party of the Season. I forget why I ever wanted to be any place else.’
Epilogue
January 1818
Brockmore Manor was quiet, blanketed in a fresh coat of snow. The excitement of the holidays was well behind them, the new year ahead of them. It was a time for revisiting the bounty of the past year. Marcus leaned back in his chair, leg over one knee, and looked fondly at Alicia as he lowered his newspaper. ‘Addington and the Canby girl have tied the knot.’
Alicia looked up from her needlepoint with a smile. ‘That makes eight matches so far that have come to fruition.’ The party had been one of the most difficult to date, but the matches had arguably been the most brilliant. She counted them off; ‘Colonel Kennedy and Katerina, Markham and Ariana, Catherine and Jeremy, Kael and Zara, Verity and Desmond, Brigstock and the one Kilmun twin, I forget which one, and now Florence and Jessamy.’
‘There were a few surprises in that batch.’ Marcus chuckled, recalling some of the rough patches. He patted his coat pocket, feeling the crinkle of paper. ‘I almost forgot, Zara and Kael wrote.’
‘From Austria?’ Alicia looked interested. ‘How are they liking Vienna? It’s so romantic in winter. I remember when we were there: the opera ball, the tortes. I loved the chocolate.’
‘Yes.’ Marcus remembered too, as if it had been yesterday instead of thirty years ago. He’d been a young man then, with a new bride on his arm and his first foray into international politics. ‘You wore green silk to the opera ball and every man spent the evening staring at you. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. You still are.’
Alicia gave him a coy smile. ‘I don’t suppose those memories had anything to do with how the Gages ended up in Vienna for a honeymoon?’
‘Gage has a fine eye for horses.’ Marcus shrugged noncommittally. ‘It made sense to send him. My stables will benefit and so will his. It’s mutually beneficial for both of us to have Gage in Austria.’ He handed her the letter. ‘They may be home early. The honeymoon has borne fruit already. Zara is increasing.’
‘An anniversary baby then for their first year,’ Alicia said knowingly. They had once hoped for such a thing, more than once actually. ‘Perhaps you’ll be named godfather. They could do no better. You have a soft spot in your heart for the young man.’
‘Maybe I do,’ Marcus admitted.
‘And Fergus Kennedy too?’
Marcus laughed. ‘His circus will be the talk of the New World once it opens. Sometimes even I am surprised by the way things turn out.’
Alicia reached a hand out and rested it on his leg. ‘You have a good heart, my husband. You’ve helped so many young men and women as if they were our own, even if they don’t know it at the time.’ She gave him a coy glance. ‘Do you know what I want to do this afternoon in front of a roaring fire?’
‘Plan this year’s party?’ Marcus grinned at his wife, who still turned his heart after three decades of marriage.
She gave a sultry laugh. ‘We can start, but I thought we could do something else.’
‘Let me guess.’ He grinned broadly.
‘Really, Marcus.’ The Duchess of Brockmore traced a finger up his thigh. ‘After all this time do you need to guess?’
* * * * *
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Author Note
Writing any novel is a challenge. Writing one in close collaboration with a fellow writer whom you’ve never met and who lives many thousands of miles and a seven-hour time difference away certainly ups the ante!
We began our journey with nothing more than an invitation announcing that the Duke and Duchess of Brockmore were hosting a week-long house party, culminating in a lavish midsummer ball, and a mood board. We had no idea who would be attending the party or how they would be entertained, but we did know it would be light-hearted, colourful, romantic and sexy—as the invitation said: a house party like no other.
We started with the concept. We wanted, if possible, to interweave our two stories closely, providing the reader with two quite different romances, both being played out at one sumptuous Regency country house event, sharing the same colourful cast of characters. We wanted to make it a fun party to experience and read about, but we were also determined to have fun writing it. We wanted to let our imaginations run wild when creating the Brockmore Manor world, but we also knew, from working together on the much bigger Castonbury Park series, how vital it was that the world we built looked and felt identical to both of us.
Logistics meant that achieving this was certainly a challenge, but a combination of an active Pinterest board, and a lot
of emails flying back and forwards—and we mean a lot!—kept us in synch.
Our world-creating began with the Duke and Duchess of Brockmore—a powerful couple with, we decided, a hidden agenda: a Regency Gatsby and his consort, brokering all kinds of matches, political, commercial or dynastic. Naturally that led us both to decide that it would be interesting if our respective heroes and heroines upset the Duke’s carefully arranged apple cart. We then populated the party with a guest list chosen as carefully as if we were the Machiavellian Duke himself. With a complement of ten guests apiece, we swapped characters, physical appearances and history, we plotted on the Duke’s behalf, and as the stories progressed we meddled in his plans, allowing some to come to fruition, and some to run a very different course.
With a whole week to fill with events, we allocated alternate days as the backdrop for our romances to play out against. And, with a house and grounds to fill, we drew up a garden plan and posted pictures of each of the main rooms where our characters would be acting out their various dramas. Where we both covered the same events—such as the opening drawing room party and the horse race—it meant a lot more time-consuming reading and continuity-checking than either of us had planned for, but it was important to us not only to be consistent, but to give the reader a chance to see those events through the eyes of different characters.
We hope we have achieved what we set out to do—which was to write two fun, sexy romances in one lavish setting. We also hope you enjoy reading our stories as much as we enjoyed writing them.
Bronwyn and Marguerite
Keep reading for an excerpt from MARRIAGE MADE IN HOPE by Sophia James.
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Scandal at the Midsummer Ball Page 22
