by Matilda Hart
By the time the Earl and Countess of Arness and Lady Regina Fairchild arrived, Lottie was suitably attired and perfectly even-featured, with no evidence that inside she was shaken and on edge. Having spent all her life in the house of a man who set great store by appearances, no matter the cost, she was well-equipped to show a brave face to the world. She managed not to blush or start at every word of Ryde’s, and avoided looking at him as much as was possible without being rude. She fielded questions put to her about the dinner party after the fair and about her plans for the evening’s entertainment. She listened politely as she was told about grandchildren, and nieces and nephews, about the upcoming wedding of the Lady Regina’s brother to a woman whom everyone hoped would tame his wild ways.
“And by the way, Barry,” Lady Regina said, turning her mischievous gaze upon her cousin, “how is it that you are here without a lady in tow? You are not known for being without one, from all accounts.”
Lottie felt a cold compress squeeze her heart at those words. Ryde had a lover. What had she been thinking? That a man like him, with his looks and charm, was interested in her? She felt the heat of embarrassment battling the the cold in her chest, and under it all a rising anger that he would trifle with her as he had done. She reached a hand unconsciously to touch the ache that was spreading in her chest. What was the matter with her? He had made no advances to her, nor any pronouncements of desire. Why was she so overwrought?
“My dear, are you quite well?” her husband asked. “You have gone quite pale.
Lottie tried to answer, but the words escaped her. She felt herself swooning, and tried to keep her feet, but fortunately for her, her husband was there to catch her as she fell. He helped her onto the couch, and sat with her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to stop the flood of color from invading her cheeks. She had never been so thoroughly humiliated in all her adult life. “You must not miss the Mass, my Lord. No doubt I shall be well enough by dinner time.” She offered him a faltering smile, and continued, “I shall be quite all right here. Alice will look after me.”
“I will not leave you alone here. Regina will stay with you until you are well enough.” He turned to his cousin, who immediately agreed, coming to sit by Lottie.
He turned back to her and raised her hands to his lips. “I shall return here after Mass to check on you,” he said, and when she tried to protest, he silenced her with a finger to her lips. “I will not hear any argument against it. Rest.”
He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them gently, then rose to his feet. Satisfied that he had done all he could for the present, the duke led his guests out of the parlor and all were helped into the carriages. They were going to Mass, and from there they would proceed to the fairgrounds, where the servants had already begun to set up the picnic for them. Lottie watched them leave, feeling mortified that she was keeping a woman she barely knew from enjoying her day.
“I’m so sorry,” she began, sitting up, but Lady Regina shushed her.
“Don’t be silly, my dear. It’s clear you are unwell, and I don’t mind missing out on all that extra sunshine.” She chuckled as she said it, and Lottie found herself smiling back at her. “Now, how about a bit of brandy to settle your stomach?” she said.
When Lottie shook her head, Regina quirked an inquiring brow at her. “Whyever not?”
“I fear it is brandy that has caused my indisposition,” she replied, blushing faintly.
“Do tell,” Regina demanded gleefully.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, and came down to get a drink. I took some brandy from His Grace’s stock, but didn’t finish it until this morning when I woke up with a headache.”
“Oh, I see. Perhaps a spot of tea and some crackers, then?”
“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Lottie agreed, and allowed Regina to summon Bates.
Chapter 4 -- Barrington
Mass seemed to go on forever, though it was but an hour in length, and as they exited the little chapel, Ryde wished he had a reason to return to the house. Seeing Charlotte collapse had frightened him more than he would willingly admit, and he wondered if she were with child. He could not imagine that his cousin had left her untouched in all the months of their marriage, and it was therefore possible that she might be so. The thought should have enraged him, as it would mean he had lost his last hope of a dukedom. Instead, he found himself fuming at the thought of his cousin between her legs, his mouth upon hers, his body taking hers.
Unsettled by the direction of his thoughts, Ryde forced himself to attend to the conversations going on around him. The duke was in earnest conversation with Charlotte’s father, the subject no doubt being the upcoming meeting between the millers and the weavers. The rest of the party were variously engaged in exclamations over the crowd already gathered for the fair, the possibility of rain before the afternoon’s events, and the duchess’s collapse. He listened in on that last discussion among the women, though he was careful to avoid giving the appearance of doing so.
“Perhaps she is with child,” Lady Arness said, smiling slyly. “It is quite possible.”
“I remember the sicknesses of my own child-bearing years,” Lady Farley said. “It will not be a happy time for her if she suffers as I did.”
“I myself was quite healthy for all of mine,” Charlotte’s mother interjected, clearly proud of the accomplishment. “I’m sure my Lottie will follow in my footsteps.”
“I suppose that is possible, too,” Lady Farley sniffed. “She is a strong, healthy girl, after all.”
Ryde was no stranger to female venom, having not only a reputation among the ladies, but two younger sisters of his own. That Lady Farley continued to try and belittle her hostess was inexplicable to Ryde, because he knew her husband was far down in the line of succession for the dukedom. He moved away, needing to settle his feelings which were rising inside him like a wave on the ocean. He settled himself against a fence post close to where his party’s picnic tables were set up, and watched the activities, but remained curiously distant from them. His thoughts were back at the house, with the woman he seemed to have developed an unhealthy interest in. It bordered on obsession, and he was not a man known for allowing any emotion to master him.
“You don’t seem to be enjoying the festivities, Ryde,” his cousin commented. He had not been aware that he was being observed, and he did not much care for the feeling. He struggled for a suitable response to make, since it would be entirely inappropriate to tell his cousin what, or rather who, was occupying his mind. He was saved from making any reply by the welcome distraction of the first race. He made more of an effort to be present, so as to avoid any further comments or questions, and by the time the last race was run, and the taste testing complete, he was more than ready to applaud the winners of various prizes. He noted, with a kind of vicious satisfaction, that Charlotte’s mother was disappointed in only winning second place in the pies and breads competition. The winner was the wife of one of the weavers. The irony was not lost on Ryde, who watched the Hawthornes’ faces as she received her basket of food and blue ribbon.
Impatient now for it to be over, Ryde watched as the servants packed up the remains of the picnic and took themselves off to assist with preparations for the evening’s event. He rode back in silence to the house, glad that no one sought to engage him in conversation. His thoughts had returned to Charlotte, whom he found himself eager to see. And when he did see her, two hours later at dinner, he was hard pressed not to drop his jaws in abject appreciation. She was a vision of loveliness in a pale pink silk gown, her cheeks once again bearing the natural glow of health, her smile radiant. He wondered if it was his imagination that the smile did not quite reach her eyes. He would find out soon enough, he knew, and waited with great anticipation for their first dance.
The players heralded the beginning of the first set, and the group all foiled happily into the great hall to while away the hours, and work off the goose and other delicious
morsels they had partaken of at dinner. As expected, a minuet began the evening’s round, with the duke and his duchess leading off. Regina was a lively dancer, and he found himself enjoying her company mightily.
“So, how was her Grace today?” he asked as they twirled in a waltz.
“She slept for most of the morning, but she was fully recovered by afternoon,” she replied. “I’m sure the gossips,” here she cast her eyes over the assembled guests, “have all decided she is enceinte.” She chuckled, then pierced Ryde with a questioning look. “And I’m sure that if she is, that will not go over well with you.”
“As it is to be expected, I cannot see how my feelings matter,” Ryde retorted, not wanting to go where that train of thought would inevitably take him.
“She is a fetching young thing, isn’t she? I’m surprised you didn’t snatch her up before John did.”
“Her parents had set their cap at a richer prize,” he said cynically, “and in any case, I was not in town when she was put on the auction block.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but knew he had failed when his too-perceptive cousin said,
“Why, Ryde, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were smitten with her yourself.” She treated him to a long, assessing look, which he endured with as cook an aspect as he could. “She’s not normally your type, though, is she? And you are not the marrying kind.”
It irritated him to have his reputation with the ladies rubbed in his face by a woman who had decided she would rather be single. “You are one to talk, Regina,” he snapped. “Why do you steadfastly refuse the attentions of every man who has approached you?”
She relented with an amused chuckle. “Because we are cut from the same cloth, you and I. We enjoy our freedom too much to lightly surrender it. Mayhap one day we will find the one who can lure us into the dreaded trap of marriage.”
Regina’s access to wealth allowed her to be cavalier about marriage, but Ryde knew that underneath her brash worldly veneer, she was very tied to tradition, and had her financial situation been worse, she would have married ere now. As to his own reasons, he had not met anyone who made him want to explore the foreign world of commitment...until Charlotte, Duchess of Snowley. His mood darkened as he realized what he had just admitted to himself. He wanted to Duchess, and she was out of all reach.
Excusing himself from the dance, Ryde strolled out to the gardens, after accepting a double whiskey from an attentive footman. He needed to get himself under control. Charlotte could never be his, unless his very healthy cousin met an untimely end. Aside from the fact that he bore the duke no ill will, he had no way of knowing how the woman between them felt about him, and he knew never to make plans for the future based on insufficient information.
How long he remained outdoors he could not say, but when a soft tread called his mind back to his surroundings, he turned to find the object of his thoughts standing at the edge of the garden, watching him warily.
“Are you well, my lady?” he inquired, remaining where he was, feeling his body stir at the sight of her.
The greater the distance between them, the better for his peace of mind. The lushness of her breasts was in no way disguised by the bodice of her gown, despite the wrap that she had thrown around her shoulders.
“I am, thank you,” she replied, studiously avoiding calling him by name. He could not fault her. He had just done the same. Even something as innocuous as calling her by her first name seemed too intimate in his current state of mind.
“It is a cold night,” he said. “Perhaps you should withdraw to preserve your returned good health.”
“I only came to catch a breath,” she replied. “It became very warm inside.”
He watched her, and saw in her eyes what her lips refused to say. The realization that she had noted his departure, and had come to seek him out, if only to breathe the same air as he did for a few unguarded moments, made his blood boil and his groin tighten with need. Not knowing how to respond without making an ass of himself, he held his peace, and when she offered him a tentative smile and retreated, he let out the breath he had been holding. In five more minutes, once his raging body had calmed, he would also return to the drawing room and hope that no one else would have remarked upon his extended absence.
A lively jig was underway when he returned, and he watched from the sidelines as Charlotte danced again with her husband, Regina with Charlotte’s father and the Farleys with each other. Another drink to fortify himself before he claimed a dance with the hostess, and then he was holding her for the second waltz of the evening. They stood at the circumspect distance from each other, and twirled around with the entire assemblage, who seemed to love the waltz.
“Did you enjoy the fresh air, Your Grace?” he asked. He kept his features even, so as to give no indication to anyone who might be looking on that theirs was anything other than a friendly conversation.
“Indeed, my Lord, I did. The cold air was very bracing.” She plastered a smile on her face, and the closeness of those warmly curving lips made Ryde want to swoop in and suck on them. He resisted, of course, and replied,
“Sometimes one needs a cool head when situations grow heated.” He squeezed her hand gently in his, and waited for a response.
“I try not to become too heated myself, my Lord. It can be quite distressing to give in to heated emotions, don’t you think? One runs the risk of embarrassing oneself in such circumstances.” She squeezed his hand in return, and offered him a small smile.
“You are the soul of discretion, Your Grace. It is an admirable quality in a gentle lady.”
The dance came to an end, and they bowed to each other before parting. Ryde danced twice more, once with Regina and once with the Countess of Arness, who was quite good. But always in the back of his mind was that guarded conversation with Charlotte, one that hinted at great passions strictly leashed. And he wanted to unleash them as she stood and waited for her guests to say goodnight and make their way to their rooms. When it was just the three of them left, his cousin offered him a last drink before bed.
“I fear that your father will incite further incidents among the weavers, my dear,” the duke said to his wife. “How shall I contain him?”
“Is he to be contained?” Ryde asked. “”He seems to be a man of strong opinions.”
Lottie smiled. “You have read him well, your Lordship,” she said, and looked nervously at her husband.
“Cousin, we should not stand on formality any longer,” he interrupted her. “Ryde is acceptable en famille.”
“He’s right, of course, my dear Lottie,” the duke chimed in. “No need to stand on ceremony when it is just us together.” He smiled at her, and then went back to the question. “There is to be a meeting at the weekend between the weavers and the millers. Your father must be persuaded to speak of compromise, and to acknowledge the justified concerns of the weavers.”
“I heard talk of a Luddite uprising if the millers continue to oppose all the weavers’ just say hi when you get here. when I’m on here, I am always invisible. demands,” Ryde said. “We must avoid that at all costs. We cannot afford a loss of life.”
“Is it likely then?” Lottie asked, her color heightened, whether by fear for her father or apprehension at the new intimacy she had been allowed by her husband.
“I’d say it is a distinct possibility,” the duke answered, “especially with the way your father dismisses them. You must help me tone him down, my dear.”
“I wish I could be of more service to you, but I know of no way to change his mind once he is set upon a course of action,” she replied, clearly distressed.
Snowley sensed her rising tension and changed the subject. “Perhaps things will look better tomorrow,” he said. “Let me just tell Bates that I shall need the carriage in the morning. I must be off to London for a meeting with my solicitors. Ryde, I expect you to take good care of Lottie in my absence.”
Smiling indulgently, he walked over to the bell pull a
nd summoned the butler, who arrived almost immediately after, as though he had been in the vicinity. As they talked, Ryde walked over to Lottie.
“You beauty outshone all the others this evening, Lottie,” he said.
Her face bloomed with color. “You are very kind, Your…” she paused when he quirked a brow, then continued, “...Barry.”
He wanted to kiss those cheeks, to add color to the lips that curved up to entice him. “Let me say that any ill will I may have borne you has been replaced by admiration. It would relieve my mind if you were to forgive my rudeness at our first meeting.”
Ryde was rewarded when she looked him in the eye and said, “It is forgiven,” and offered him a secret smile that told him there was more she would wish to say but couldn’t. She was seducing him with her sweet innocence, and she had no idea.
“I am glad of it,” he said with perfect sincerity, inhaling the fresh scent of her one last time before moving away as his cousin returned.
Goodnights having been said, Ryde took himself off to his rooms, and hoped he would sleep through the night. His body was thrumming with suppressed urges, and his blood flowed hotly in his veins at the thoughts of what he would do with the lovely Lottie if she were his wife instead of his cousin’s. In all his thirty years, he had never been called upon to exercise such restraint as he had been doing since his arrival for the week’s stay, and he despaired of being able to hold on to it once his cousin was away. Hopefully he would not be too long alone with her, or he would not be held accountable for the consequences.
