Before Fitzwilliam reached her breasts, he got up and lay down beside her, and Elizabeth was pleased for she wanted to stroke him, too. They kissed, with more love than passion so far, though she could feel her beloved's excitement clearly enough. He'd always had an iron control over his urges, well, at least those. She supposed his humble spells had been an urge, too, and he had not been able to stop them.
She pulled him on top of her to feel him all around her, that was such a blissful feeling, his weight, and his warmth, his smell and his touch. His buttocks were rock hard from all the riding he did, there was little flesh on him but just enough. Most of his body was rougher and harder than hers, but there were some spots that felt like silk, softer even. Too bad most of those were also very ticklish. Fortunately she now had access to the softest parts of him, and they actually enjoyed her touch, so much so that an ardent moan escaped his usually so controlled lips.
'Oh, Elizabeth, my love, that feels so good!'
Just to stroke that smooth skin covering his sensitive male parts wasn't enough, she wanted to taste them and make him shudder as well as moan, so she turned underneath him and helped herself. Of course he couldn't resist the opportunity to reciprocate, and they spent quite some time pleasing themselves and each other. The moans and shudders to be heard and felt were not just his either.
Early afternoon a small party left the large house to visit the little guard house near the gate, consisting of the three ladies of the household, Prince George, and surprisingly, Nick. Elizabeth wondered why, it was not as if Anne or
either of the others needed a guard against the prince, who was really not as bad as the papers suggested. There was that proposition but both he and Mrs Fitzherbert had accepted her polite refusal easily enough.
Nick did understand the art of making himself difficult to notice, especially in the new livery that Simon had designed for the two of them. Though Frederick refused to call it a livery, Simon had admitted he liked wearing one and had used the general cut of a livery coat but with much more neutral colours, worn on a pair of black pantaloons. In this situation it made Nick's role perfectly clear, he was not a gentleman and obviously at work, but he was not a mere servant either. The prince had made no comment on his presence, and Anne treated her lover kindly but there really was no hint of admiration in her whatsoever. Nor in Nick, for that matter, he was merely the perfect guard.
The walk to the little house was very pleasant, spring had returned to the north and leaves were unfolding, birds singing. Elizabeth would just as soon have walked straight on into the park beyond the gate, but of course Mrs Brewer was waiting for them with some of her best sweets, made with ingredients from the Pemberley larders, others having been fetched from the nearest town. Mrs Brewer had only done the work, the expenses were Fitzwilliam's, and she knew they were bringing a gentleman to visit but not who he was. Hopefully none of the staff had gossiped in any of the nearby villages, though they generally didn't except among themselves.
The others were keeping up a lively conversation, even Georgiana was participating. She was so serious in her practising that sometimes even Elizabeth forgot she was actually still a girl. It did show now.
'Do you have a more common name you can use, Your Highness? Mrs Brewer would just die if she knew you were the crown prince, and not in a good way, she's very shy, you know. You'll have to be a mere gentleman of our acquaintance.'
Prince George obviously thought that hilariously funny, his expression became positively cheeky as he said, 'You may call me George, Mrs Fielding.
Though I suppose that will merely draw attention to both of us, that will not do. What about Chester? Mr George Chester. I've been the Earl of Chester from birth, I suppose it's fitting.'
'Chester? That sounds like the strapping, rosy-faced aide of a furniture hauler, Your Highness,' Georgiana replied, 'oy Chester, pull that rope a mite tighter or the gentle-folk's piano will drop to the cobbles!'
She really treated the Prince of Wales like a personal friend, but then, in a way they were kindred spirits, connected by a love of music. And indeed, Prince George laughed heartily and addressed Nick, 'I suppose you can improve on Mrs Fielding's performance, I've heard you are a Londoner born and raised?'
Nick took a theatrical look around for unwanted witnesses and repeated Georgiana's effort in a blistering dialect, not repeating her exact words but instead using slang and adding more than a few curses.
They all reacted the same, first they were a bit stunned to hear someone they thought they knew well utter such language, then they all burst out laughing.
Prince George slapped his thigh and barely managed to say, 'That is even better than I expected! I admit I'd like to be Chester for a day, hauling furniture all day then going to a pub and drinking ale, flirting with the girls.'
Anne said, 'I did that once, with Nick's former charges, the Blackwood twins.
We went to a pub to dance, dressed like common girls. I danced with two local men and drank ale, though watered. It was great fun.'
'And your master knew that?'
Nick replied calmly, 'He did. At that time I didn't know he knew, I was afraid he'd find out and blame me for it, but he wanted his daughters to be as wild as they could in their youths and trusted me to keep them safe. We'd take one guard for each girl, also dressed in common clothes.'
'And you'd dance with the local girls?'
'Sometimes, yes. But usually we'd dance with our charges.'
Now, finally, Nick showed some feeling, his face became rather soft, he had good memories of a certain night in that pub. So did Anne, though she showed it a little less.
'So you danced with Mrs Manners, though I suppose she was still Miss de Bourgh then. I'm jealous.'
'In that pub she was merely Anne, with two pig tails. You certainly would have enjoyed that pub, Mr Chester, they dance very differently, too, you know. Less... formal one might say.'
Elizabeth knew that had been a memorable evening for either of them, both already very much in love but expecting to break their hearts rather thoroughly. Still that didn't show now, as Nick told it it had mostly been a rather wild night, something that would appeal to the prince. Mr Chester.
'Nick, you're killing me and you know it. You may be quite lost in love with one woman, but I'm not that strong. Have you ever danced in a less formal
manner, Mrs Darcy?'
'I guess I haven't, Mr Chester. Not in public. Though I suppose I'd like to. Do you think I can get away with pig tails?'
'Oh yes, maybe even better than Mrs Manners. I can even imagine you talking like Nick did just now. It's what your husband loves about you, isn't it? He relishes your liveliness, and rightly so. I bet a lot of men do.'
'I cannot deny I've had my share of admirers, but only after Fitzwilliam brought me into society.'
'The way you call your husband by his first name in public is so endearing.
But it does make him even more yours, somehow. And Mrs Fielding, have you danced other than proper?'
'Certainly not, my brother would never have allowed it. Though I've danced with a cowherd's son, does that count?'
'Did you wear pig tails?'
'It was at the New Year's Eve Ball, if I'd worn pig tails you would have read it in the newspaper.'
'It was Mr Fielding, wasn't it? He could never dance with a girl with pig tails, strangely enough, he is so dignified. Maybe I'll show up at the Ball this year, as Mr Chester. But I suppose I'd rather visit that bar Mrs Manners talked about.'
Chapter 17
By now they had reached the walled garden of the guard house, and Mrs Brewer was waiting for them by the side door. They shook hands, and Georgiana introduced Prince George as Mr Chester and Nick as Fowler. Nick was back to a servant by now, and interestingly, Prince George's demeanour was also different, his natural arrogance had disappeared and he seemed much less conspicuous somehow. Mr Chester addressed Mrs Brewer in such a kind, genial way that the rather sensitive woman felt tota
lly comfortable with his presence.
She preceded them through her garden to her workshop, where she made intricate statues of iron. Her art belied her fragile looks, she had a forge and an anvil and while her creations were incredibly detailed and very life-like, the way she made them involved heating and hammering and cutting the iron,
and sometimes melting it down altogether and casting it in a mould that she had carefully prepared. If there hadn't been several finished works and plenty of projects in various stages of completion on display on the walls and hanging from the roof beams, the workshop would have looked like a smithy.
As it was, it was clear this was not a regular smith's work space but an artist's haunt.
Mrs Brewer wore her usual artistic gown, Elizabeth supposed she'd exchange it for breeches whenever she set to work in a serious way, or maybe she'd merely put on a large leather apron, but she could not imagine the sleeves not getting caught in her work or at the very least having little burn holes spread all over them from the flying sparks.
As talkative as Prince George, Georgiana and Nick had been on their way over, ever since entering the Brewer garden they had been silent, feasting their eyes on the works of art scattered all over the garden along the rambling path to the work shed, and now those inside the shed as well.
'Mrs Brewer, did you make all these things? Those with the burned glass as well?'
'Yes, Mr Chester, an artisan in the next village discovered a way to make coloured glass and whenever a batch fails, breaks or is coloured unevenly, he sends word and I buy it from him for a very reasonable price. I fit the pieces to my work, I have even made works to fit especially beautiful pieces of his glass. It's a process.'
'It's divine inspiration, Mrs Brewer,' Prince George stated firmly, his natural dominance asserting itself for a brief moment, 'you have a precious gift. I am certain it makes you happy to retreat into your own little world and create these fantasies in iron and glass, but really, more people should be allowed to see them. Would you mind very much if it were to become known what you are capable of?'
Mrs Brewer was a bit taken aback with his sudden assertiveness, but somehow the prince had a sort of innocence about him that made it difficult to take offence at what he said. And this was certainly a compliment.
'I'd not like to be all over the papers, like Mr Fielding. But it would make things easier for us if I could sell some of these pieces, I could buy new glass and iron, maybe even bronze and copper and order glass in a specific colour.
And I'd really like to learn how to burn images into the glass, I'm certain I could convince someone to teach me if I could pay him for his time.'
'I know a gentleman who would be very pleased to exhibit some of your work
in a beautiful, large space where a lot of people visit. You'd not have to talk to anyone yourself, visitors or reporters, he'd find someone to do that for you.
Would you be interested in such an arrangement?'
She was deep in thought for a few moments, undoubtedly considering what it would mean to have to talk to this unknown man, arrange with him to send her works all the way to London, and numerous other things.
'Mrs Annesley works on commission, she loves making the customer's imagination into a reality. I think I would like to do that as well. So yes, please, I'd like to exhibit my best works, as long as I don't have to live in London myself and talk to all the people coming to look at them. I will show you the ones I love best myself if you have the time.'
'We have plenty of time, Mrs Brewer, as much as you have,' Georgiana said.
'Well, I thought we might start right here, in my workshop, and then we can see my favourites in the house, and then we can have tea and try some of my best pies. I cannot afford to make them regularly, the ingredients are much to dear for us, but I was glad to have the chance to perfect them.'
And she led them around them the workshop, which was as spotless as a workshop could be, in which she was working on no fewer than seven pieces at the same time. Three were nearing completion and two were in the first stages, but it was obvious she was a hard worker. After the workshop she took them to a separate room on the first floor, one Elizabeth hadn't seen before, which was filled up to bursting with lovely creations, plant-like objects that turned out to be chairs or lamps, the outlines of familiar animals made of pieces of iron, with an almost natural movement in their still shapes, one large burned-glass painting of a red rose, but with an entire garden of glass flowers in the background. Everything was beautiful.
There were as much as twenty-five pieces in the room and they took their time to study them all, the prince asking numerous questions, the women overflowing with compliments and Nick in silent admiration. Elizabeth added another physical ability to his list of accomplishments, though this was probably not one Fitzwilliam would envy him: standing perfectly still and totally merging with the background.
Then they followed their hostess down the stairs and into the cosy drawing-room, where she urged them to sit down, though she allowed Nick to help her fetch tea. Anne generally didn't like to see him acting as a servant but it was the wise thing to do, it was the position they wanted the prince to believe Nick had and this was a perfect opportunity to enforce that opinion. She
didn't show any sign of disliking her man assisting with the serving, of course Mrs Brewer wasn't a servant either but just a good hostess, but Anne also knew this was the only way for Nick to be in the company of the prince.
Elizabeth couldn't imagine Anne thinking she needed protection on her cousin's own grounds, but they undoubtedly had a much better reason to have Nick accompanying her. Maybe Nick had merely wanted to see Mrs Brewer's house, or taste her best pies.
With his help they soon had the table ready, though when Elizabeth first thought it was ready another kind of pie appeared, and another. By the time Mrs Brewer asked Nick to sit down with the others, Prince George was showing eyes as wide as saucers and a broad grin, and Nick didn't look any different. They were anticipating the tasting! Anne seemed to be admiring the beautiful flowers adorning one of the cakes, of course there was no chocolate to be had this far from London, this far from Carlton House probably, but these pies and cakes looked beautiful with coloured glazes and little ornaments made of sugar or marzipan. Mrs Brewer had even made a cake statue as Elizabeth had described to her, except it wasn't in the shape of a group of people but an exact likeness of the little Greek temple in the park, a stone's throw from where they were sitting. The shape and the colouring were just perfect, and Elizabeth was very proud of the artist living on their very own doorstep who could make cakes as beautiful as a French confectioner.
Two French confectioners, according to the prince himself.
'Mrs Brewer, you must have slaved in the kitchen for days!' Georgiana blurted out, and she did not often lose her professional calm.
The slender artist smiled, pleased with the admiration though she had to know how outstanding this was.
'I admit I had some help, Mrs Fielding. Mrs Reynolds sent me a maid to help out, and Mrs Eliot dropped by to see me work my magic, as she called it. She didn't sit still while watching us work, she did a good bit of the whipping of eggs and cream and the chopping of nuts and fruit. Nathan managed to find me some apricot preserve and some fresh lemons.
Now let me pour you some tea and then we'll tuck in. Which one would you like to try first, Mr Chester?'
'The one with the beautiful flowers, please, Mrs Brewer. I cannot believe you made these all yourself, in a normal kitchen! Have you any idea what kind of amenities confectioners demand? Not ask, but demand?'
Careful, careful Prince George! But Mrs Brewer was merely interested.
'What is a confectioner, please, Mr Chester?'
Elizabeth thought everyone knew, but Prince George didn't show a single sign of surprise at Mrs Brewer's question.
'A confectioner is a very expensive cook who makes nothing but pies, cakes and sweets, Mrs Brewer. The best ones are from F
rance, and they love to use expensive ingredients like vanilla, chocolate, Madeira wine, sugar, bergamot, and indeed apricot preserve and nuts, preferably almonds. Honey, too, but not just ordinary honey, only the kind made solely from linden flowers.'
'Oh, but that is indeed the best honey, I buy a few jars every year from a farmer a few villages from here. Though I do get your point, I've never even tasted chocolate or Madeira wine, it's supposed to be really good. And I have no idea what bergamot is. But are you seriously telling me there are cooks who make nothing but sweets? All day? Really?'
'Certainly, Mrs Brewer. The best French confectioners consider themselves artists, like you, but they are not one hundredth as modest as you are.'
'I'd love to taste what they make, but I suppose only the very rich get to do that. Have you ever tasted their work?'
'I have had that privilege, yes, and so have Mrs Darcy and Mrs Fielding.'
'Well, then I hope my sweets won't be a disappointment, though I know Mrs Darcy and Mrs Fielding liked mine before.'
'We certainly did, Mrs Brewer,' Georgiana observed, 'as much as I liked the expensive things. Really.'
Prince George could no longer control himself, and since everyone had a piece of the cake with flowers by now he didn't have to. He carefully cut off a properly sized bite from the chunk on his plate and almost daintily put it in his mouth. They all watched him as he tasted it, well, except Nick, who was more interested in his own cake and was not far behind the prince in tasting it, though as neatly as he'd learned in the explorers' headquarters.
'This is just magnificent!' the prince exclaimed. 'The sponge cake is just right, not too dry but certainly not too moist either, that is very difficult to accomplish with filling. But I've never tasted anything like the filling, it's rich and creamy as it should be but what is the aroma? It's not fruit, nor vanilla, it cannot be pineapple or banana or even mango, this is rural England. Can you tell me, Mrs Brewer, or is it your secret? It's so unique!'
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