Beloved

by Stella Cameron

  Father guffawed and snorted. “Dress the girl! Dress her for her weddin’—to me.”

  Pom folded his arms. “The hell I will.”

  Precious pointed a toe. “Wouldn’t you enjoy putting on a stocking for me, Pommy?” Her high voice wheedled and she teetered precariously on her plinth. A plump, pink ballerina on a too-small music box—turning, turning. He could almost hear the tinny sound of a clockwork waltz. “Pommy?” she repeated.

  He looked from her foot to the red bush that so pleased his father.

  “Help her,” Father said. “It’ll be worth it. Get you in the mood, so to speak.”

  Scowling, Pom selected a lacy white stocking from the pile of fabulously expensive clothing and bent over Precious’s wriggling toes.

  “Easier if you kneel down,” she told him. “Better view, too, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m damned if I’ll—”

  “Just tell yourself she’s Ella,” Father said slyly. “That’s what we’re doin’ here, Pom, making sure you do this perfectly with Ella.”

  “With Ella?” He grew even warmer. “Yes,” Father said. “With Ella. Take your time, m’boy, but do it. With Precious’s help we’ll soon manage to deal with that little problem. To our great advantage. And to your satisfaction. But, in the meanwhile, we might as well enjoy the anticipation, what?”

  Pom’s heart speeded. He went slowly to his knees and pulled the stocking on, unrolling it over Precious’s limb, smoothing it past her knee, stroking the soft, bare skin of her thigh.

  Sweat broke out on his face, his back. “Naughty, naughty!” Precious smacked his hand when it reached her red curls. “If you go too fast, you’ll spoil it. And Ella isn’t as passionate as me, remember. She’ll need a bit more persuading.”

  Pom took the other stocking and repeated the process before tying a silver garter above each of Precious’s dimpled knees.

  Ella’s legs would be long and slender beneath his hands. He wiped the back of a wrist over his brow.

  The very air in the room had grown warm. “The stays,” Precious said, and held her arms straight out. Pom picked up the gusseted, boned garment. “I doubt Ella Rossmara wears stays,” he said.

  That brought a wrinkle to Precious’s smooth brow. “She will wear stays on her wedding day. We want to see her in them, don’t we, Woky?”

  “Mmm?” Father had dozed. He roused himself. “Mmm. Yes, ’course. Whatever you say.”

  “What does she mean, we want to see Ella in stays?” Pomeroy and his father had certain rules where these things were concerned.

  “Tell him, Woky.”

  “Precious will be with us when you take your Ella.”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” Father said. “Be guided, Pom. The Rossmara girl will be the more vulnerable in the presence of another female. We’ve no doubt she’ll appeal for help, for understanding. Titillatin’.”

  “She’ll want me,” Pom said, pursing his lips. “She doesn’t know herself yet, her passion. I’ll make her know it, and want it. She’s mine.”

  “Put”—Father indicated the stays—“put ’em on.”

  Pom hesitated, then spread the heavy cotton garment open and wrapped it around Precious’s very soft, very pink and white body. She lifted her breasts and leaned toward him. “Ooh,” she said, “won’t you like putting stays on Ella and making her do this for you?” She brought a chubby pink nipple to his mouth, but withdrew quickly when he went to suck it.

  “Lace her in,” Father said shortly.

  Pom ran his tongue around Precious’s nipple. He sprang even harder inside his trousers.

  Father scooted to the edge of the chaise. “You’re not doing it the way it’s supposed to be done. You don’t get to this part until after the ceremony.”

  Ella’s breasts were smaller, firmer, more pointed. Pom’s legs trembled with lust. He closed his eyes and filled his mouth with Precious’s turgid female flesh. Ella would taste sweet. She’d moan and push against him.

  “Do as I tell you,” his father said. “Do it now.”

  “He’s thinking about Ella, aren’t you, Pommy?” Precious said, gasping, clutching his head to her.

  Reluctantly, he pulled away. He regarded her wet nipple, before turning her around and beginning, awkwardly, to lace the stays.

  “Nice,” his father said, grunting as he got to his feet. “Very nice. I believe I’ll have you in those, m’dear. Later.”

  Precious’s giggle was predictable. “Come and help me get comfy, Woky.”

  Pom held his teeth together and yanked the laces till Precious gasped. Her future husband amused himself with her breasts, and the red “there” that so pleased him.

  By the time Pom fastened the bodice of the satin gown his sweat ran freely all over his body. Precious had contrived to taunt him to bursting arousal while Father mewled and bleated, and pawed at her.

  Finally dressed, she stepped down off the stool and swept away from them. “Now.” She swung around. “The practice has gone well so far, wouldn’t you say?”

  Pom couldn’t speak. He looked at Precious and closed his eyes, and saw Ella before him, her arms outstretched.

  “On the day when Ella stands in this room, we’ll be very close to getting everything we need. Her dear papa’s money will keep us as we deserve to be kept. And he’ll keep on paying us, won’t he?”

  He opened his eyes. “If he doesn’t, the truth about Ella will come out, and the viscount wouldn’t like that.” Precious smiled. “Woky and I have everything worked out. She’ll get ready for the ceremony in this very room.”

  Fury overtook Pomeroy. “Have your fun. But I shall have Ella. Not as my wife the first time, I realize—I’m no fool. But I’ll have her anyway, and afterward no other man will take her. Then Hunsingore will be happy enough to make sure she marries me.”

  “He’s so clever,” Precious said, her eyes growing ever more round. “He’s guessed what we had in mind, Woky.”

  “Not exactly what you had in mind, evidently,” he told them both. “Why not let me in on your clever plans?”

  “We’re going to!” Precious turned her back on him again. “Come on, Woky, let’s show him.”

  Father’s face grew red. He took short, raspy breaths. “Well, I didn’t think … I’ll do the honors first, m’dear.”

  “No!” She beckoned her fianc0atiently. “We can wait. Pommy needs something to keep his mind busy for a while.”

  “Hmph.” Father filled his cheeks with air and puffed it out before trotting in front of her. She promptly bent over and thrust her head between his legs.

  “Put your knees together,” Precious said indistinctly. “She’ll try to get free. This will keep her where we want her.”

  Pom’s father obliged, clamping Precious’s head between his skinny knees.

  “Now the skirts,” Precious said, flailing her arms ineffectually.

  “What if she kicks?” Father asked. “Could hurt a fella.”

  “You’ll hold her legs,” Precious informed him. “I’ll do the honors with her head and deal with her dress. Do come on, Woky.”

  Father leaned over Precious and pulled up layers of satin and cotton and lace-edged lawn until the gown gathered in heaps to frame a plump bottom.

  “The drawers,” Precious shrieked, rocking her hips back and forth. “Rip them.”

  Obligingly, Father ripped the divided drawers asunder, presenting Pom with Precious’s ready private parts.

  “Get it out, then!” she cried. “I know how ready it is for me. Do it, Pom.”

  “Do it, man,” his father said, panting loudly now. “Do it and don’t take long about it.”

  Pom struggled and freed himself, letting his trousers fall around his ankles.

  Precious’s next shriek had a different tone. “This is how it’ll be,” she told him breathlessly. “With Ella. She’ll think she’s coming here to help me. I’ve got it worked out. Then we’ll get the money.”

  The money. With E
lla. “Come on,” Pom’s father said impatiently. “Get a move on.”

  Pom did as he was told.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I am beside myself,” Justine said, sitting down on Great-Grandmama’s favorite gold chaise in the old lady’s Pall Mall boudoir. “Edward has always been such a happy child. And Sarah. I cannot believe they are pining and that they cry for me constantly. What can I do? They need me. But Ella needs me here. Especially since Struan has been recalled to Scotland.”

  “This is why I asked you to attend me this morning.” The dowager leaned on her cane and favored her granddaughter with a sharp-eyed stare. “Struan must respond to his brother’s request and return to Kirkcaldy. They have need of him there, and matters of estate always come first. You, my dear Justine, belong with those children you insisted upon giving birth to at such an advanced age. When you should have been considering my welfare, I might add.”

  Ella expected Papa to explode as he invariably did when Great-Grandmama commenced to berate Mama. Instead he nodded gravely. “How right you are, Duchess. There is no doubt that Justine must return to Scotland with me—

  to Scotland and the children. This pining we’ve been informed of, this refusal to eat, demands the presence of their mother.”

  Ella smiled a little behind her hand. Papa would do anything to have Mama at his side—even tolerate Great-Grand-mama’s waspish insults.

  “No, I cannot leave Ella,” Mama insisted. “At this time as at none other before, my daughter needs her mother at her side.”

  Ella knew an instant’s deep, old pain. Quickly eased. Her own mother had been dead four years since, but Lady Justine and the viscount had taken an orphaned boy and girl and made them their own. Fortune had breathed on Ella and Max, who had never before possessed a family name, or known those of their respective fathers.

  “As always.” Blanche Bastible sighed hugely. Her eyes, as round, blue, and baleful as those of a painted china doll, filled with easy tears. “As always, it is the mother who must deny her own needs in favor of her children’s. It was the same for me with Grace. Such an ungrateful, uncaring, willful—”

  “Charming, long-suffering, and dear woman,” Papa finished, his mouth drawn into a grim line. “You will remember that Grace is my brother’s wife, and a more faithful, giving, talented woman does not favor the earth—with the exception of my dearest Justine, and Calum’s Pippa.”

  Ella knew Grace, Marchioness of Stonehaven, Uncle Arran’s wife. Aunt Grace was a lovely lady whom the entire family regarded as a saint to tolerate her hoydenish mother.

  “Enough of this prattle,” Great-Grandmama said, pounding the floor between her feet with her ebony cane. “Both Justine and Struan are needed in Scotland. Arran would not have sent word to that effect had it not been so. I am more than capable of attending to the business of seeing Ella properly launched. After all, I’ve had considerably more experience with Society than you, Justine. You barely made your Season, if that’s what you can call that pathetic attempt—”

  “I do not care for these things,” Mama said, her voice unusually sharp. “But it is entirely possible that I should have been less of a failure had you not insisted upon repeatedly reminding me of my …” She glanced at Papa. “Of my slight limp.”

  Papa grinned his approval. He had worked diligently to improve Mama’s view of herself. Not so long ago she would have referred to her “slight limp” as a “deformity,” and managed to add the word “cripple” to boot.

  “Struan,” Mama said. Her fingers hovered over a dark red curl escaped at her temple. “Please tell me what I should do? I—”

  “We shall all return to Scotland.” Ella heard her own words before she’d finished forming the thought. “I want to go too. I hate it here.” Why stay if she couldn’t have Saber?

  “Pah!” Streaks of pink appeared on Great-Grandmama’s thin, papery cheeks. “I’ll not hear of such a thing. I’ve already arranged everything.”

  “Everything?” Papa said, his black brows raised.

  The ebony cane rose to jab the air in his vicinity. “Everything,” Great-Grandmama told him. “As soon as I learned of Arran’s letter—yesterday—word went out that all communications regarding Ella shall be delivered here. That will include the extravagant gifts she is receiving.”

  “No gift could be more than she—”

  “I approve.” Great-Grandmama interrupted Mama. “Evidently Ella has already captured a good deal of attention. Mountains of flowers, gems, fans, golden clocks.” She sighed. “Reminds me of my own Season. Naturally, I only required one, and that one was merely a formality for my own amusement and satisfaction. Justine’s grandfather had already secured my hand.”

  Mama, who showed signs of extreme agitation, gave her full attention to Papa. “Struan, please help me in this.”

  He sat beside her and took her hand in his. “I am as torn as you, my sweet,” he told her simply. “But I believe we should be grateful for your grandmother’s kind assistance and return to Scotland.”

  “We shall all go together, I tell you,” Ella said, moving to stand beside her parents. “I don’t care a fig for London or the Season. Empty people doing empty things.”

  “Oh, darling,” Mama said. “It’s time for you to marry, and this is where you will meet your husband.”

  “I’ve already met …” Ella crossed her arms and massaged the spot between her brows. “I do not intend to marry, thank you.”

  Blanche Bastible made a twittering sound. “Did you hear her?” she asked, breathless. “I did. She’s trying to rush on, but I heard her say she’s already met someone. Oh, girls are such a bother. She’s been sneaking around behind our backs. You must tell us everything at once, young lady. Who is this man?”

  “No man,” Ella said, beyond patience with Blanche’s foolishness. She had met Saber and no other man mattered, but Blanche should not know that her heart was broken. “Papa, I can be very useful at Kirkcaldy. I can be a great help to Mama with the little ones—and to Aunt Grace. I have small needs and I promise never to be a burden.”

  “Enough!” For a very small, very frail-looking lady, Great-Grandmama had a very big, very penetrating voice. “The girl will do as she is told. She needs launching and I shall launch her. This discussion is over. Get ready to travel, Justine. Struan, take your wife and leave the rest to me.”

  “Well,” Papa said, smiling into Mama’s troubled eyes. “It appears that all is in hand. We must certainly be here in time for the ball Calum and Pippa wish to give for Ella. If necessary, the younger children will travel with us. Meanwhile, the dowager is capable of taking care of our girl.”

  “No,” Ella said. “I hate it here.”

  Great-Grandmama approached Ella and stood looking up into her eyes. “You do not hate it here,” she said.

  Ella moistened her dry lips. “There is something you want and which you do not think you can have.”

  Shaking her head slightly, Ella frowned. “You and I shall do very well,” Great-Grandmama said, the faintest of smiles twisting up the corners of her colorless mouth. “Justine and Struan will return to Scotland, and you and I will become a formidable alliance. Do you understand me?”

  Ella shook her head again.

  Great-Grandmama made certain her back was to Mama and Papa. She raised a finger to her lips in silent warning. “Of course you do. We have a common goal.”

  A common goal? Ella smiled politely. Possibly Great-Grandmama was not as spry of mind as they’d all supposed.

  The old lady’s eyes narrowed. “Our goal is your happiness,” she said, spearing Ella with her gaze. “Yours and that of the man who will be your beloved. I may be old-fashioned, but I still believe these matters may be preordained. I believe there is only one man for one woman in this world. Finding that man and woman can be a problem. One simply has to persevere.”

  “Yes,” Ella almost whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  “Finding them, then convincing both parties they have bee
n found?” Great-Grandmama cocked her perfectly coiffed head.

  “Yes,” Ella agreed.

  “Quite. Trust me in this, my child. All we have to do is help events along a little.”

  The dowager’s affinity for a girl with no pedigree puzzled those who knew of Ella’s lowly beginnings. Ella only knew that in the dowager she had an indomitable, if irascible, ally.

  A discreet tap at the boudoir door diverted everyone’s attention. The butler, Finch, entered with an envelope and a card on a silver tray. These he delivered to Ella before announcing, “There’s a Miss Able here to see you, Miss Ella.”

  Ella glanced at the card, then began to open the envelope. Invitations had started to arrive at Hanover Square almost hourly. Evidently Great-Grandmama had indeed managed to divert deliveries to Pall Mall.

  Finch cleared his throat. “Should I show Miss Able up?”

  Ella started and studied the card again. “Able? Oh, Precious Able.” She looked to Mama. “Why would she come to see me? She obviously doesn’t like me.”

  “Why?” Blanche asked baldly. “Blanche, dear,” Great-Grandmama said. “Why don’t you run along and check that cap the maid was supposed to be mending for me?”

  “But—”

  “I want to wear it this afternoon,” Great-Grandmama said firmly.

  Blanche opened her mouth but clearly thought better of persisting. She left the room in a great rustle of orange taffeta skirts.

  “Why doesn’t this Precious person like you?” Great-Grandmama asked as soon as Blanche was gone.

  “I don’t know,” Ella said, knowing all too well but reluctant to as much as think about Pomeroy Wokingham.

  Great-Grandmama wrinkled her sharp nose. “Probably jealous. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more,” Papa said. He stood, urging Mama up with him. “We must prepare to leave at first light tomorrow. Will you at least give London a little more time, Ella? I know it would bring your great-grandmother pleasure to assist you here.”

  Ella considered. She might merely be wishing, but she had a strong feeling that when Great-Grandmama spoke of persuading a man that he was the “right” man, there would seem to be a definite possibility that she referred to Saber.