by Mary Blayney
~ ~ ~
Morgan saw the tears, heard them in her voice, and cursed her absent Richard for being so young and unfeeling. He could imagine what the young officer had written to his father and brothers. It most likely did not have a single reassuring word for his almost fiancée.
“I am sorry, Sprite.” He could tell her not to worry but that would be pointless. Women excelled in worry, and a good thing, too. They were so grateful when their worry proved pointless. He could tell her Richard would be safe, but that was even more nonsensical. Young Wilton was in the heart of the action. With Wellesley in command and determined to make up for the previous year’s debacle, Spain was a perilous place to be just now.
She sniffed. “And exactly what are you sorry for, my lord? Sorry that you are a man? Sorry that you are here to witness my tears?” There were no tears now, and while he preferred anger to upset, he would much rather have her smiling.
He leaned across the small space separating their horses and took her hand. “I am sorry that you are worried. I am sorry that I can do nothing to ease it. I am sorry that I can think of nothing that will make you smile.” He held her gloved hand with both of his and was shocked at how much he longed to touch his lips to hers.
She held his gaze for a moment, then pulled her hand from his and spoke in a rush. “Why do men like brandy?”
Where in the name of Bacchus had that question come from? His horse danced restlessly and Morgan took a moment to control him before he spoke. “I do believe brandy is an acquired taste.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Does that mean that you did not like it when you first tasted it?”
It was so long ago he could barely recall that first taste. Port had been his initiation into strong drink. He could still recall all too clearly how he felt the morning after that adventure. “Miss Lambert, exactly what did you and your sister do last night?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It tastes perfectly hideous, like fire trailing down your throat, and then it settles in your stomach in the most sickening way.”
Her expression was eloquent and Morgan was hard-pressed to hold back his laugh. He did, though. She was completely distracted from her misdirected anger and he had no desire to resurrect it.
“Are you laughing at me, my lord?” She narrowed her eyes, but he saw no anger there.
“No, never, my dear.” He let his own smile show.
“Well, whom can I ask when I have questions like this? My brother is in Jamaica and Peter Wilton has forgotten we exist. You have grown as dear to me as a brother and I hope you think of me in the same way.” She looked at him through lowered lashes and in such a way that he knew she was testing his reaction.
Morgan relaxed, surprised at the tension that drained away. This sort of conversation he could handle. “I have two brothers, neither of whom are particularly dear to me at the moment. No, Sprite, I refuse to think of you in that way.”
“That is not what I mean and well you know it.”
“Ahh, do you mean do I think of you as a sister?”
She gave no answer, but pursed her lips and waited.
Until that expression settled on her face, it had not occurred to him that there was a wrong way to answer the question. But obviously there was. “No, I do not think of you as a sister.”
He looked at her face and then let her see his eyes travel down the length of her very close-fitting habit. He smiled at her blush. “A sister? Most definitely not.”
He stroked his horse’s neck to quiet him. The movement brought his horse closer to hers, so that her skirts were brushing against his riding boots. “I may have taught my sisters the steps to the minuet, but I never wanted to dance with them. I may have noticed their new dresses, but I never once admired the way they fit. I may have been sorry to see them crying, but never sorry enough to want to wipe away their tears.”
With each phrase his voice grew softer, so that she had to lean closer to hear him. He could see the color rise in her cheeks, not a blush of embarrassment this time, but of awareness.
“I never once wanted to drink brandy from the same glass that their lips had just touched.”
Her eyes were wide. They went from his eyes to his mouth and only then did he realize how very close they were.
He wished the prospect of a kiss brought pleased surprise. He had a sinking feeling he had answered the question incorrectly after all. And he could think of no way to change his response. Nor did he want to. He did, however, straighten in the saddle.
She moved away abruptly herself and looked straight ahead. “I...” she began, but her voice was hoarse. She stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I can not...”
Now he thought there were tears in her voice, but she still would not look at him. She mumbled a word he was almost sure was “Richard” and turned her horse with a jerk that was another indication of how upset she was.
Morgan cursed his stupidity. For all her flirtatious ways, Christiana Lambert was young, as he had told James, and provincial, as James had reminded him. A few weeks in London might have given her some Town polish, but a lifetime of country living was not forgotten so quickly.
There was no denying his actions were the reason for the set-down today. It had passed just far enough beyond innocence to rouse guilt.
If he was not more careful, he would lose his chance with her and be left with no courtship pretense. He would have to think before he spoke. Simple enough, but when he was around Christiana he seemed to have an increasingly difficult time with that basic precept.
With real regret, Morgan turned his own horse toward the gates. In truth, a sincere courtship would hardly require more effort than this sham.
Ten
“What I wish to know now and can not possibly ask him is how you tell the difference between a flirtatious comment and something sincerely meant.” Christiana was pleased with that phrasing. It was the essence of the problem. In truth, her feelings were at the core of it, but she was not sure she was ready to share her confusion with anyone, even Joanna.
The vast emporium that was Schomberg House rose before them. They had planned this expedition days ago. Until this morning the sum total of Christiana’s worries had been whether the two of them could find a bonnet that would match Joanna’s newest dress.
However, as a result of her morning ride, Christiana realized that she needed to clarify her mind before she could give the myriad of goods the attention they deserved.
“He did not seem to be flirting at all when he told me that he wanted to drink from the same glass that had touched my lips and I did not feel at all like giggling when he said that.”
“What did you feel like doing?” Joanna asked, pausing inside the entrance, giving her sister her full attention.
Christiana stared at the furs and fans in the first shop and did not really see any of them. What did I feel like doing? I wanted to kiss him. And that is precisely why I hurried away. Christiana could feel a blush rising at the memory of his caressing eyes, his smile, the chance touch of their bodies as his horse moved closer.
She moved on quickly, stopping at the next display.
“Oh, Joanna, look at this wonderful porcelain vase. Do you think it is French?”
Joanna took her arm and drew her away from the display. “Yes, it is precisely the sort of thing Mama would like.”
Christiana was about to argue the point further when Joanna gave her a look. “Now why did you ask me a question and avoid the discussion? The difference between flirting and a sincere compliment? Exactly what did happen this morning?”
“Nothing happened.” Oh dear, now there was no way to avoid telling the truth. Christiana looked around. No one was paying the least bit of attention to them. Still, she urged her sister into an alcove where they could pretend to examine some shawls. “I am being foolish. It remains a flirtation as long as I behave as a flirt should.”
“Christy, you make flirting sound like a virtue.” Joanna shook her head.
A
ny other time Christiana would have read disapproval but right now her sister was smiling. “Well, it is a skill at the very least. And there is nothing wrong with it as long as it is done properly.”
“And you did not ‘do it properly’ this morning?” Joanna’s smile had disappeared and Christiana could hear the edge of alarm in her voice.
“No, no I was very proper.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “It is only that my thoughts were not precisely proper. All I could think about for a moment was what it would feel like to lean closer, to touch his lips with mine.” No blush this time, but guilt at her weakness.
Joanna laughed, actually laughed at her, and she laughed so loud that a gentleman passing looked their way and smiled. Pulling her from the alcove, Joanna took Christiana’s arm and urged her to the next shop.
“My dear heart, that is the very sign of a successful flirt and not some great wrongdoing on your part. Do you think that just because you have given your heart, you will never be attracted to another man?”
Well, yes, she had, Christiana realized. But even a bare moment’s thought made her realize how naive that was. “I suppose you are right.” Of course she was right, but Christiana did not like the feeling that an element of her long-held romantic conviction was so easily crushed. Did that mean that the other elements were as vulnerable?
That worry made it worth one last defending gesture. “No, Joanna, I take that back. I am not at all convinced you are right. A true love match would indeed make you oblivious to all others.”
“That may be, if it is a true love match, but even the most devoted lovers must eventually notice the world around them again. Especially as their lives change and their family grows.”
Christiana saw Joanna’s blush now, but forbore to tease her about it as her words registered. If it is a true lave match. That was exactly how Joanna had phrased it. Was she suggesting that her love for Richard was not a true love match? That was not something she cared to discuss right now. The very thought made her shiver. Not that she doubted her love for Richard.
Fortunately Joanna did not press the point. “Christy, I think that this is the issue: It is no longer a flirtation when the lady thinks the compliment is seriously meant.”
“No, Joanna, part of the charm of an accomplished flirt is this very ability to be convincing. No, I think it passes beyond flirtation if the words make the lady uncomfortable.” Is that how she would describe what Morgan made her feel? Uncomfortable? She tried the word out and found it did not suit her reaction at all.
Pleased. Yes, that was it. She’d been pleased, flattered, and totally entranced. Then shocked at the feeling of intimacy that had surrounded them in an open field so early in the morning.
It was hours later and that feeling of pleasure was still hers to summon. Did Joanna have any idea exactly how entrancing true flirtation could be?
They walked on toward the shop featuring hats. The hallway was as crowded as the entrance had been. Everyone abroad seemed to be intent on shopping along Pall Mall and at Schomberg House specifically.
Christiana looked around again to see if they were overheard and then realized not a single person cared what they were talking about. Some much more august personage was moving toward the small furniture display and much of the crowd was following.
Joanna moved closer to her sister and Sally and the footman closed in behind them. “There is also a quality of credibility in a true flirt.”
“Hair like corn silk?” Christiana asked, recalling Joanna’s least favorite compliment.
Joanna laughed. “And creativity.” She looked at her sister out of the corner of her eye. “I think Lord Morgan scores very highly on that point.”
Christiana paused to consider a display of buttons. They were truly elegant and clearly beyond her allowance. Without discussion, they walked on.
“Perhaps that is where the awkwardness is. If he would use the tried and true compliments that would be acceptable, but to say ‘I taught my sisters to dance, but never wanted to dance with them’ is beyond clever and charming, you must admit.”
“Yes,” Joanna agreed, “and as beyond our experience as Mr. Harding’s buttons.”
“But you see, Joanna, we can enjoy the beauty of his buttons, can we not, just as we should be able to enjoy a flirtation.”
“And are you?” Joanna stopped and looked at her sister.
Christiana did not care for any of the stationer’s wares, but she stared at the display. “Yes, yes, I do enjoy his company and his conversation and even his very elegant flattery. I do.” She said the last almost to herself.
“If this flirtation with Lord Morgan is a pleasurable experience and you are enjoying yourself, then exactly why are we having this conversation when we could be examining any number of fine shops?” Joanna was not so much exasperated as confused.
They moved on, their attention drawn by the steady stream of people in and out of the milliner’s shop a few steps ahead of them. “Joanna, my question is simple: How does one react to a compliment that appears more meaningful than flirtatious. Especially when I am not at all certain which it is?”
“How did you handle it this morning?”
Joanna asked the question so cautiously that Christiana was not sure her sister really wanted to know.
“I stammered incoherently and then left; actually I would say that I ran away.”
Joanna pursed her lips. Was she thinking about her answer or trying not to laugh?
“I can tell you one thing, Joanna, that bit of truly gauche behavior guarantees embarrassment at our next meeting.”
“It was an honest reaction though, Christy.”
“You are sweet as can be to try to find a way to make it sound acceptable.”
“I suspect, Christy, that there is no answer good for all such situations. It must depend on the people involved, their level of friendship, and their understanding of each other’s minds.”
“I suppose you are right: the level of friendship is the key.”
“And as far as I am concerned, a direct response is infinitely better than a simper.” Joanna looked genuinely puzzled. “What is a ‘simper’ anyway?”
Christiana knew that her sister was trying to distract her. And in truth, she was tired of attempting to puzzle it out. So she gave Joanna’s question some thought.
“A simper? Let me see if I can describe it.” She considered it thoughtfully. “A simper is an unspoken way of accepting a compliment that you know is your due.” Christiana paused a moment.” Which is precisely why it is so unappealing. There is entirely too much self-conceit in it.” She looked at her sister. “Miss Perry.”
“Ahhh,” said Joanna in perfect understanding. They were outside the millinery shop now. Despite the heavy custom, the display-stands were still filled with an appealing range of hats and bonnets. As they watched, the prettiest of the lot was taken from its stand and into the shop. Christiana and Joanna looked at each other, sharing dismay.
They waited impatiently while several matrons made their way out of the shop as Christiana insisted, “We are not too late. There is no good reason in the world why someone else should buy that bonnet when it is so perfect for you.”
In complete accord, the sisters turned their full attention to the cause at hand.
