by May Burnett
“How did you sleep?” He stretched out his hand and rubbed it slowly, possessively, over her shoulder.
“More deeply than ever. I had no idea that making love was so strenuous and involved so much movement.”
“Not always,” he said, “there are many different ways to go about it. We will try them all.”
“Fine.” She smiled, clearly pleased at the prospect. “I also had no idea it was so delicious. Or maybe it is that you are so skilled and experienced.”
He detected a tiny trace of insecurity in the last statement, and smiled lazily. “Whatever experience I acquired before this, is exclusively at your service from now on. We will both acquire more and different experience together.”
“I’d like that.” She reciprocated his gesture, running her own soft hand over his chest muscles in exploration. “I still cannot believe that the man so many girls were sighing over, who was once described as irresistible to me, is all mine. I didn’t even want to come to England this time, but now I shudder at the thought that it might not have happened, that I might be in a different marriage far away, and never have met you.”
“Dwelling on such possibilities is a waste of time,” Rook said, “especially when we have leisure to indulge in further delights right now. Unless you are sore, -“
“No, I’m game if you are,” Anna said. “I am not one to shirk my duties, and marital duties least of all.” She assumed a tone of brave virtuousness.
“I am deeply moved by your devotion to duty.” He caressed her right nipple with his hand, then his tongue, pleased to see her breath accelerate. “In return, I shall be most assiduous in fulfilling my own part, love.”
“I expect nothing less,” she said primly, even as she began to writhe under his clever hands and tongue. “I warn you that I plan to keep you on your toes, Rook. You’ll have your hands full.”
“There is nothing I could like better,” he said, raising his head for a moment to grin down into her face. “And my hands are full already, full of delight and joy, hadn’t you noticed? I love you, Anna.”
“Oh, Rook,” Anna sighed. “I cannot resist you when you do that. I love you too, and always will.”
Rook was too busy to reply just then, but Anna found she had no complaints.
The End
Lady Anthea’s Choice
The Amberley Chronicles
May Burnett
Chapter 1
London, October 1823
Mr. and Mrs. Durwent were sharing a leisurely breakfast in their Bruton Place house, as had lately become their custom. Jonathan rarely scheduled meetings in the early mornings any more. Both were already dressed – he in the sober garments he preferred for business, and Cherry in an elegant moss-green confection that set off her pale complexion and brilliant hazel eyes. Apart from her wedding ring, she eschewed jewels in the daytime.
“However much its members vex us, having a family is preferable to the alternative,” Jonathan quoted from his wife’s recently published Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady.
Cherry groaned. “I hate it when you use my own observations against me. I never should have allowed you to hand my manuscript to that publisher. I only wrote it because I was bored out of my mind during those dreary weeks before we met.”
“From what we have discovered, the Desboroughs are your family, like it or not. Since your cousin Rook suggested the possibility, it was only a question of time until his theory was either disproven or confirmed.” Their investigator Hendrickson had furnished proof that would hold up in any court of law, not that they were contemplating legal action.
“That’s all very well, Jonathan, but while it is a terrible fate to have no family at all, there can be too much of a good thing. I already possess quite enough relatives for my taste – you, our sisters and their spouses and children, my aunt, and soon our first child. In younger years I dreamed of finding my birth family, and that it would be rich and noble; but at thirty I am not desirous of acquiring yet another large set of relations – who mislaid me as a baby and only discovered my existence now by merest accident. Is it any wonder if that circumstance prejudices me against them?”
Jonathan shrugged. “They were tricked into looking in the wrong place. Besides, the younger family members had nothing at all to do with it. Discovering your existence three decades later must be as much a shock to them as to you. Now the truth is known, it is impossible for any of us to simply ignore it. You are entitled to a courtesy title and your late mother’s estate. It might also be in our children’s interest to remain on civil terms with your new-found family.”
Cherry picked out a dark grape from the fruit basket, stared at it for a couple of seconds, and popped it in her mouth. Jonathan’s eyes followed the fruit’s progress to her luscious lips. His wife’s potent allure could overpower his most ingrained habits at inconvenient moments, but after the strenuous exertions of the previous night, he was determined to resist temptation. He had a very full day of business before him.
Cherry was stirring her chocolate more vigorously than necessary, a sign of perturbation.
“Darling, I would never pressure you into anything uncomfortable, but don’t you feel any curiosity about the place that should have been your childhood home? You may come to like your new-found brothers and sisters.”
“Or not. They have been brought up as feckless aristocrats, and my existence will diminish their own inheritance. I doubt that I shall be welcome among them. They may even suspect me of being an impostor.”
Jonathan could not in good conscience tell her this reaction was unlikely – he had his own concerns, but was willing to give her noble family the benefit of the doubt. “If that is the case, we shall simply depart early.”
“I would have preferred the first meeting to take place on more neutral ground, and less lengthy than a three week house party,” Cherry complained. “We could have met here in London for tea, rather than travel to their place.”
“Inviting us to the family home is Lord Desborough’s way of acknowledging you as his daughter,” Jonathan gently pointed out. “It is only natural that they want to know us better, in a family setting, than would be possible otherwise.”
“But what if I find I hate the Earl? Or this is all a great mistake and we are not related after all? The evidence is so circumstantial.”
“An accumulation of circumstantial evidence can be highly convincing. If he had any doubt, the earl would not have invited us to the family seat, though I note that the invitation is directed to Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Durwent, not to Lady Madeline Durwent and her commoner husband.”
“And that is another thing – I am accustomed to Cherry. Madeline is such a mawkish name. It is not me.”
Her pregnancy was making her grumpier than her usual sunny self. It was up to Jonathan to calm her concerns. “If you could be Cherry and Sophia as well as Charity, why not Madeline as well? Another first name is just one more facet of my fascinating, irresistible wife.” He got up and kissed her. “Don’t fret, love. It is only natural to feel some apprehension, but compared to your recent adventures, what is there to fear? We are already richer than the Desborough family, and do not depend on them in any way. Remember that I shall be at your side to support you, and can whisk you back to London at the slightest insult.”
“Three weeks is a long time to be away from your business,” Cherry mused, “are you sure there is no important merger coming up, that would necessitate our postponing this trip?”
He grinned at the slightly hopeful tone in her voice. “Nothing I cannot delegate. The only good reason for postponing it would be your own health – if you feel doubtful about travelling in your condition, then of course we shall put the journey off.”
Cherry shook her head. “I am as fit as a fiddle, and would rather get the meeting over with now, while I am not yet waddling like a duck. At least the morning sickness is long past, or I would not care for the coach trip.”
Jonathan was not taking only
her word for it. Sir Broderick Trolley, the renowned specialist they had consulted, had pronounced the excursion safe as long as they went in easy stages, and Cherry walked a little every few hours. He had even opined the fresher country air might prove beneficial to an expectant mother.
“Did you not yourself write, if something disagreeable cannot be helped, the longer you put it off the more disagreeable you will find it? Though I believe the Bard said it more concisely. And we don’t know for sure that the visit will be disagreeable, after all.”
“My maxims sound awfully sententious in your mouth.” Cherry swallowed some chocolate. “Very well, I shall send our acceptance, and start packing.” She picked an almond biscuit from the plate and stared at it.
“Is there anything wrong with the food? It looks fine to me.”
“I am merely trying to follow Sir Broderick’s advice to avoid overeating. He wants me to scrutinize all morsels while I ask my stomach if they will be of benefit.” She put the biscuit down again. “I only remember his advice when I am already stuffed, unfortunately.”
Jonathan’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t worry.” Cherry was in no danger of turning fat, and even if she did, would still be the most attractive woman of his acquaintance. “Look on the bright side, this visit to Desborough Hall is sure to offer endless material for your second volume of maxims. How many have you written down so far?”
“Fifty-eight,” she admitted.
“Our mutual sisters will be most interested in your experiences when you next write to them. And chances are that of all your new relatives, at least one or two are worth knowing.”
“That is an optimistic assessment. What about a small bet? If upon our return to town we decide the visit was a success, you win a favour of your choice from me – and I from you, if we conclude it was a waste of time.”
Her roguish smile suggested the kind of favour she expected him to ask, and assured Jonathan he would win either way. But now was not the time, dash it all. “Very well,” Jonathan agreed, “but to make it a fair bet, you need to give these new relatives of yours an honest chance to win you over.” Her own charm would surely affect them in turn. Cherry could easily break hearts if she was not careful, though in a family setting, that effect should be muted. He hoped.
“I had better get on to the office, to make sure all is shipshape before our departure,” he said regretfully, getting up. “We should bring some presents, at least for the children – shall I have my assistants take care of it, or will you?”
“Leave it to me. It should be something personal, from their new sister. I have my maid and your valet to help. I assume we are taking both of them?”
“Of course. Otherwise we would quite sink in our hosts’ esteem.”
Chapter 2
When you return from a long journey, do not be surprised to feel like a stranger for a time.
Maxims for Young Gentlewomen, by A Lady, London 1823
Charles Denham had pictured his homecoming countless times on St. Romain, the small island in the West Indies where he had served as assistant to the Lord Lieutenant for the last four years.
He should be glad to be back at all, with all his limbs and organs in working order. In that dreadful storm on the homeward journey he had despaired of ever seeing England again.
Anxious to join his grandfather and only living relative as soon as possible after that harrowing experience, Charles had hurried up from Portsmouth without stopping for rest, ahead of his luggage. Yet now he stood in front of the familiar house in Bolton Street, the knocker was off.
Sir Christopher Denham had to be out of town – surely that was all? At sixty-four the baronet was not a young man, but his most recent letters had not hinted at any ailments. On the other hand, these missives were months out of date. Charles had stupidly taken for granted that he would find his grandfather in their London house as he had left him in June 1819, unchanged by the passage of time.
No need to be too alarmed yet. He walked around the block to the mews and knocked on the modest black door of the kitchens.
After a short while that seemed much longer in his anxiety, the door opened.
“Mr. Charles!” The cook’s face split in a broad smile. “You are back at last, and so tanned!”
“My Grandfather?” he asked tersely. “Is he all right?”
“Of course, Sir. He’ll be chagrined he was not here to receive you himself. Sir Christopher is attending a house party in Kent, at Desborough Hall. He will be staying there for several weeks yet.”
Charles breathed out in relief, even as he felt an unreasonable stab of disappointment. Since the date of his return had been uncertain, he could hardly expect the old man to put his own life on hold, just so Charles would not find an empty house. Sir Christopher was a sociable man, and Lord Desborough an old friend of the family.
“Is that bag your entire luggage, Sir? Mrs Pellew will open up and air your room in a trice.”
Charles nodded. It was already past five, too late to depart from town. The cook and housekeeper, who knew him from boyhood, would be disappointed if he did not at least spend the night. He would post down to Desborough Hall in the morning.
“Yes, thank you,” he told the cook, and entered the home where he’d grown up by the back door, the servants’ door. Maybe it was a sign from above to put away pride and privilege, and focus on essential reality from now on.
The cook bustled to prepare him a cup of tea, accompanied by a plate of biscuits that evoked childhood memories. She chatted about mundane household affairs while the housekeeper readied his room.
Though he listened with half an ear, his thoughts were far away. Charles badly wanted his grandfather’s advice regarding the vow he had taken a scant two weeks earlier. The Melanie Rogers had been close to disintegrating. The main mast had broken, killing the second officer as it fell. Watching the man’s brains spatter on the deck, Charles had not felt fear, but rather surprise that his existence – which he had naively pictured stretching several decades into the future – was to be cut short so unexpectedly.
It had not occurred to him to bargain with the Almighty until he saw the terror on the cabin boy’s chalk-white face, and remembered his fellow passengers fearfully shut in their cabins below deck, including a family with five young children. Their ship’s survival had been called miraculous by the captain himself, after the storm subsided at last. Charles would never know if his impulsive vow to dedicate the rest of his life to the Lord’s work had any influence on that happy outcome.
In any case, a promise to an omniscient deity was final and binding. Now he had to decide how best to go about fulfilling it. It meant a new direction in life, one he had never seriously contemplated in his youth. Just explaining himself to Sir Christopher would help to clarify whether he was doing the right thing. In the end, of course, it had to be his own conscience that dictated his course.
A gust of wind rattled the back door, and drops of rain knocked against the window. He was glad to inside. The English autumn weather was grey and unfriendly, almost enough to make him appreciate the heat and azure skies of the Caribbean.
But even cold and wet, home was best.
***
Charles gave orders for the disposal of his more substantial luggage, when it caught up with him, and quickly re-packed for a few days at Desborough Hall.
The Earl and Countess would undoubtedly urge him to stay, though he had not seen them frequently since his teens. It was a little awkward that his clothes were so outdated, when the Desboroughs were sure to be up to the latest rig. From the little he had observed on his hectic journey, gentlemen were dressing in darker, more sedate colours. Coming from the tropics, he also lacked outfits for the colder season. To his relief, in his rooms several sturdy jackets and coats from his past awaited him. They still fit, albeit their cut too was out of fashion. Charles sternly told himself that vanity had no place in his new life.
The cook offered to prepare a simple dinner, but Charles d
eclined. The almost empty house was vaguely depressing; he would dine at his Club. Would the doorman and his fellow members even recognize him after all this time? His contemporaries would laugh at his clothes, and chaff him for his tan, but he would not mind seeing some familiar faces after all those lonely weeks aboard ship. And in St. Romain too, when he was honest with himself, especially after Amanda’s departure from the island. He had not been in love with his mistress, but the end of their intimate friendship left an emptiness he had not been able to fill during the last eight months of his posting.
The rain had subsided into a half-hearted drizzle. He walked over the short distance to St. James’s Street. As bad luck would have it, the first person he ran across inside the premises was Percy Willis, who had been his fag at Eton. Since when did the club admit infants?
“Denham!” The young man squealed. “You look like a quiz! I had no idea you were back in town!”
They were standing just outside the library. A number of censorious older heads turned towards them. Charles tried to escape with a shrug, but Percy would have none of that, and clung to his sleeve like a limpet as Charles moved towards the dining room.
“You must join us for dinner, old fellow, and tell all about your adventures in the tropics. Intrepid adventurers are very much in fashion just now, though you’ll need to see your tailors first thing tomorrow.”
In his schooldays, Charles would have given the younger man a crushing set down for his presumption, but this was as good an occasion as any other to practice tolerance and humility.
“Hullo, Percy.” His voice sounded a trifle hollow. “Are there any other old acquaintances around? I am only in London for this one night.”
“Then what luck I caught you!” The young man’s voice turned a trifle diffident. “I’ve always tremendously admired you, you know.”
