by Matilda Hart
“I have a man for that.”
She laughed. “What do you mean?”
“Your maid servant was shown a good deal of hospitality last night by my man, Matthews. He really is quite proficient.” He yawned. “Quite the man in a tight pinch. Not sure what I would do without him, really.”
Annabel shook her head.
“So, we have time, or would you prefer breakfast?”
“I am not sure what bell to ring, if Susan is not going to respond.”
He yawned again, and ruffled his own curls. “Just the same bell, Annabel.” He enjoyed his wordplay. “Simply ring it twice.”
She did so, and Lord Donovan got out of bed and proceeded to get dressed.
“Donovan, I do not know how to address this…but, what happens now?”
“Matthews will bring us breakfast.”
“No, I mean with us. I am not even sure what to call it. Last night was wonderful, and it was all I ever hoped it would be – and more, so much more. Yet, this is not the first time you have been in this position. But it is for me, and it matters so much more for a woman than a man, as you know. My future husband will know that I have been with another man, and it will be to my ruin.” She began to shake, and the tears flowed.
Donovan strode over to her, and gently took her by the shoulders. “Now listen to me, Annabel. Of course your future husband will know that you are not a virgin. Do you know why?”
She shook her head, moving in to his embrace.
“Because I intend on being that man. If you will have me.”
Annabel pushed back from him in shock. She quickly gathered herself, however. “It is not a matter of me having you, Donovan. My father has a list the length of his arm full of men who would make excellent and proper husbands for me. I can assure you, that the Duke of Reading, who may or may not be a French spy, would not appear on that list!”
He laughed. “I don’t tend to make those kind of lists, that is true. To be fair, I have never wanted to be on such lists until this morning. So, let me be clear. At the very worst, this night stays between us. No one will discover what happened here. I will deploy all my wit and all my strength to ensure that you honor is not besmirched.” He tilted her head up and kissed her. “But Annabel, you could do much worse than to seriously consider me as a future husband. Leave your father to me.”
She noted that he had not responded to her comment about him being a French spy. “A husband? I am sure you say that to all the women you wake up next to. I’m sure you know the phrase in Spanish, French and Italian.”
“No, no I do not.” He laughed.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask Matthews when he arrives. He has been a loyal servant and is a good man. H would have a knack for remembering weddings he has had to get me out of at the last minute.”
“I will.” Annabel breathed out. The world did not seem to be closing in on her quite so much. There was still the danger of discovery, to be sure, but she finally felt as though matters were leading to a suitable conclusion. To be sure, it was a conclusion that would have been unthinkable barely a day before. She breathed in, slowly, centering herself in the moment and what she needed to do next.
“I need to get dressed,” she announced.
“Do you need any assistance?” asked Lord Donovan slyly.
For a moment, she contemplated his suggestion, and was tempted to be swept up again in the waves of pleasure that had shuddered through her the night before. Her heart pounded, but she turned quickly from him, putting aside the promised excitement in the hope that she would revisit those feelings again, and again, once they were husband and wife.
“No, I am quite sure that I can manage without your help, my lord. Or were you in fact suggesting that you have a man who could help me?”
He shook his head. “As far as it is in my power, no man but me will ever assist you in such a manner.”
“As you wish,” she teased, and disappeared into the bedroom to get herself suitable for breakfast. The room betrayed what had occurred the night before. She could not but look at the bed and think of his body next to her, on top of her, inside of her. Fragments of memory led to her remembering the pleasures she had tasted for the first time at his hands – pleasures that she had not even imagined had existed. It was unfair, she thought, that she as a woman would now be considered ‘damaged goods’ – as if she were any man’s property – but that Donovan was able to be a well practiced lover, knowing exactly what to do with her. If he married, no woman would expect him to fumble about the sheets and not know his way around her body. But the wedding night experience for a woman like Annabel was vastly different. What was expected of her was to be modest, afraid, compliant and totally mismatched with her future husband’s experience in the bedroom. If she showed any natural expertise, he would be suspicious.
As Annabel dressed, so tempted to call out to Donovan to come in and assist her, she made a decision that she feared would only lead her to a painful and solitary life. No matter what happened, she would not settle for any man other than Lord Donovan Hayden. She was not so foolish to think that other men were not experienced in the bedroom, but having given herself to this man, she would not settle for anyone else.
“Breakfast can wait,” she whispered. She undressed, and walked to the doors, and opened them.
Donovan was sitting on the couch, evidently deep in thought.
“Donovan,” she said clearly and firmly.
He looked up and smiled.
“Don’t move,” she commanded. “I want you to look at me. This, this is all yours – every part of me, inside and out. I have decided to take you at your word, that one day we will be able to be together. Is that what you want?”
He nodded. “That is what I want.”
“Good.” She brushed her hair back, aware that his gaze was heavy upon her. “So, let me tell you what I want. Before breakfast arrives, you will make me feel like you made me feel last night. Now.”
Lord Donovan – clearly aroused – strode over to her as she backed towards the bed. Finally catching her, he entered her, and gave her what she had asked of him.
Afterwards, they breakfasted quickly, and Matthews – discreet and well practiced – ensured that his master had new clothes and looked like he had slept well.
“Excellent choice, Matthews,” said Lord Donovan, admiring himself in the mirror. “The dress coat is particularly well fitting.”
“Thank you, m’lord. And once you have left, should I send Susan up with the footmen and a bath.”
“Yes,” but then he paused. “Annabel, would you like a bath brought up?”
Still picking at her breakfast, Annabel looked up and smiled. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”
“See to it, Matthews.”
“Indeed, m’lord. And, if I could add – I think it is time that we made a discreet exit. The house is beginning to awake to the sounds of regret.”
Lord Donovan adjusted his cravat, and nodded. “You see, that is why I don’t drink, Matthews.’
“A man must specialize in his vices, m’lord.”
Lord Donovan moved to the table, and embraced Annabel. “Do not worry. If, by some chance, there is a delay to my plans, I can assure you that there will be no other to tempt me, simply the memory of you.” He kissed her, deeply. “Fear nothing. I will see this through.”
Annabel looked at him. “I trust you, Donovan.”
From the corner, Matthews coughed.
“It is time I left you – for the moment.”
They said their goodbyes and, with Matthews standing guard by the door, the infamous Lord Hayden Donovan left her rooms.
Chapter Seven
The bath was everything that Annabel had hoped for. It was large enough for her to fit in comfortably, and the kettle over the fire ensured that Susan could keep it warm for her mistress. Susan was nervous, and with each pour of the kettle she shook.
“Cal
m yourself, Susan.”
“Yes, miss, I am trying, miss. My nerves are all a flutter though.”
Annabel sunk a little lower into the bathtub. “Please, Susan, there is nothing to be nervous about. Since I am going to have to keep to my rooms for a few days, it is best that we try and enjoy our stay in the Duke of Reading’s manor.”
Susan tried to control herself. “Miss, did you meet him?”
“Briefly.”
“And – begging your pardon – what was he like?”
Annabel smiled to herself. “He made an impression upon me.”
“A good one?”
“I suppose one could say that.”
With the next pour, Susan’s hands began to shake again. “I wonder what your brother would make of that?”
“He can make of it what he will.”
Susan whistled to herself. “The stories they tell about Lord Donovan, though – miss, they are enough to turn one inside out! The gossip was rife last night about him being a spy.”
“Quite. I had heard the same thing.”
“What do you think, miss?”
“I think,” and she dipped herself completely in the water, and then arose to finish her thought. “I think that if he were a spy, he would be a very good one, so we would not really know if he were a spy. It is not the sort of profession that one boasts of.”
“I suppose not.”
As enjoyable as the bath was, Annabel knew she must get herself ready for a tired and irritable visit from Charles. She wrapped herself up in a towel and proceeded to make herself presentable. She wondered how many days she would be confined to her rooms and – at this point she grew warm – how many visits from Lord Donovan she would receive over that period of time? If the pattern of the last night were to continue, being confined to her rooms would be agreeable. She would be able to sleep by day, thereby lending credence to the doctor’s claim that she was overtired and unwell.
When Charles and Elinor arrived, Annabel had to stifle a smile. Elinor looked as she normally did. Fashionably but not ostentatiously dressed, she was a most presentable woman and, Annabel noted, would make a fine Duchess when the time came. She would ruffle no feathers, prompt no fears and be admired as one admires a painting that has been well framed. But Charles – the normally dapper and meticulous Charles looked as though he had slept outdoors.
“My word, Charles,” she exclaimed in mock surprise, “are you unwell? Do you need me to call Doctor Wentworth?”
Charles collapsed in an armchair, and called Susan to his side. “Susan, get me some coffee if you will. You will find some in my rooms.”
“Coffee, sir?”
“Now, Susan.” She bustled away. “Our host suggested that it has some healing properties. His man brought some to our rooms quite early this morning.”
Elinor sat down on the sofa. “It was ten o’clock.”
“It was early, when you consider the lateness that the dance concluded.” Charles’ voice was raspy and sharp.
“So, you are just tired?” piped up Annabel, loudly. “Not sick. I was worried that you were unwell.”
“I would not say that he was well,” muttered Elinor in obvious displeasure.
“Regardless, we will make this a short visit, Annabel, as there is much to be done today. I have decided that we will move today – based on what I saw last night, I do not think that we should stay longer than we need in Hayden Manor.” Charles was struggling with each sentence – but Annabel was struggling more with what he was saying.
“Today, Charles? Is that not a trifle hasty? Will we not risk offending Lord Donovan?”
Susan entered with a steaming cup of coffee for each of them. Charles took two for himself. “I suspect, Annabel, that it takes much more a ‘hasty’ departure to offend Lord Donovan. I suspect one might need to take a battering ram to this house before he would blink.”
“But if we leave today, does that not undermine your story that I am unwell?”
Charles furrowed his brow. “People get better. It happens. However, in case people ask, we will not be returning to Great Portland Street. We will go to my manor at Epsom, which is far enough out of the city to suggest we will get some fresh air. Or you can be seen at the baths there.”
“But Charles – “
“Please do not argue with me, Annabel!” he snapped. “Do not forget that it was your disobedience that has forced me into this position. You are indeed fortunate that Lord Hayden is so removed from good manners to be unable to recognize the bad manners of guests.”
“Mine, or yours, Charles?”
He clenched his fist in frustration. “You need to pack. We will leave later this afternoon.” His hand unclenched, and he rubbed his brow as he drank the first of his coffees. “For my part, the sooner we get out of London to Epsom the better. We will find the waters refreshing and reinvigorating. And the less I have to write about our stay here to mother, the better I will be at hiding my disappointment in my sister’s rash behavior.”
Annabel sighed. “Your mind is made up, then?”
“Yes.”
“Despite the risk of offending a man who you suspect is a creditor to our father? Who could exclude you from Court circles and limit any chance at influence you would wish to exert?”
Charles put the coffee cup down, quietly. “I appreciate that you are thinking – now – of our family and our future, Annabel.” His tone was tired, but almost kindly. “There will be enough to occupy you at Epsom, and we will still be able to show you enough society to whet your appetite for the future. To stay here, while the Duke is here, is simply foolish. I spoke with him at length last night and, from what I recall, he is not a man to be trusted. There will be riots every night in this house so long as he is here. We are best to take our leave, and move our unwell sister on to the quieter environs of Epsom.”
Elinor nodded.
“And myself, to be honest. I am weary. Last night’s dancing was rather too much for me, I’m afraid. My days of spending all night dancing seem to be well past me.” Charles attempted a wan smile, but stopped short and moved on to his other cup of coffee once he looked at his wife.
Elinor paused, and looked as though she was going to say something. She instead began to fiddle with her jewelry.
In Annabel’s experience, Elinor rarely disagreed with her husband; to have corrected him about the time that the coffee had been brought to their rooms was a significant sign that Elinor was incredibly displeased with husband and his behavior. Annabel often wondered why her parents passed such commentary on Elinor’s behavior – to her eyes, she was far from wayward or meddlesome or anything approaching improper. Whereas, to her mind, it was Charles that had exposed the family name to the most harm.
Whereas, of course, Annabel herself had positively besmirched the family name but, at least, she had the common decency to do so behind closed doors. And under the covers. Again, she flushed.
Elinor, not befuddled by a too great love of expensive, red wine, noticed. “Are you well, Annabel? You are not feverish?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you, indeed, too well to pretend that I am unwell. Just as Charles appears to be too unwell to pretend to be well.” Charles waved her off. “But I will do my best to continue my brother’s charade.”
Charles got to his feet, and Elinor mirrored him. “I think we have had enough talk, for now. We will send Margaret down to you when we are ready to leave. Good day.”
“Good day,” and she saw them off with an ever sinking heart. Despite her light hearted banter, the reality of what was happening was beginning to weigh her spirits down. Would there be the opportunity to say farewell before she left Hayden Manor, and how? A chaste, public goodbye, or an intense and private one, where he could hold her close and she could drink him in, all to herself? And after that, when would she see Lord Donovan again? How long would it take him to get to Liverpool and arrange with her father the terms of their marriage, assuming that her father would give his blessin
g?
Yet there was one thought that caused her to break out in a fearful, cold sweat – what if Lord Donovan was everything that Charles said he was and, having reveled in her body for a night, would now throw her aside with no more thought than if she were some servant girl? Some meaningless woman that only Matthews would remind him of when they were swapping lewd anecdotes?
He was, surely, not that kind of man.
How could two people share what they had shared, and not think of one another again, and not seek to repeat the night, and not to seek to ensure that circumstances would be arranged so that they would be together forever? Annabel stopped herself. She realized that she was pre-empting a series of thoughts that had no basis in reality. It was only a few minutes since Charles had indicated that they would leave that day – perhaps in an hour or so, word would get to Lord Donovan and he would send a note through Matthews?
A note. Of course! Why should she be so passive in the face of her circumstances? She moved to the writing desk, and hastily scribbled a note, which read:
My love, my brother is moving us on to his manor in Epsom. This is against my will and choices, and I yearn to see you again before I go. Come to my rooms and we can say our goodbyes. I dread every moment that I am to be apart from you, so while we still have the opportunity, let us be together. I have so much to say but I dare not write it.
I await your touch,
Annabel.
She folded the note, and pushed it into an envelope. “Susan!” The flustered Susan entered the room with clothes in both arms. “Yes, miss.”
“Take this to Lord Donovan’s man, Matthews, and see that he brings it to his master immediately.”
Susan blushed. “I’m not sure who his man is, miss.”
“Susan.”
“Yes, miss, right away, miss.”
She took the note and rushed to the door, clothes trailing behind her like the tail of a kite. Annabel heard the door slam, and went back into the bedroom, and sat on which she know considered their bed. There she remembered his touch, so intimate and deep, and realized that there was nothing more than she could do but await Lord Donovan or, at the very least, a note from his hand.
