by Jen YatesNZ
And so her alter ego wanted to run, to cry off, to hide, take no risks. Her alter ego was a coward.
She’d lain awake into the early hours of the morning alternating between the two. At one moment she’d be lost in the memory of his mouth, his hands, the glorious sensations he drew from her body; and the next she’d be shivering in horror at the memory of his hoarsely spoken desire to look upon her perfection! Sleep had been long in coming and then she’d slept so late there was no time for her usual ride. Breakfast had been muffins and hot chocolate in her room and now she was having to endure the seemingly endless procession of callers using the excuse of her betrothal to visit and offer their congratulations, however insincerely.
She was over everyone else too. The crowning glory of the morning was Lady Basingstoke observing the shortest possible engagement was probably necessary when one had reached the advanced age of twenty-three and didn’t want to risk the catch of the century slipping through one’s fingers! Sheri looked pointedly at her mother and rose to her feet.
Augusta got the message and rose also, which signaled to everyone morning calls at Parmenter House were over.
‘I’m returning to Springwoods,’ Sheri tersely informed Augusta the moment they were alone. ‘I’ll not endure another morning like that! You cannot deny me, Mama. I’m now betrothed—as you wanted—and Dom is out of town, likely until the week before the wedding. He intends to be back in time for us to attend the Regent’s ball.’
Augusta sighed.
‘Very well, Sher. But spare me a couple of days at least for fittings for your gown and trousseau—and perhaps you should come back a week before the ball so there is time for any final adjustments to be made.’
Sheri acquiesced. A month of losing herself in working with her horses should keep her mind from its ceaseless churning. And painting, which was the other passion she fully indulged at Springwoods. It was doubtful she could sit still long enough or bring her mind into the state of serenity and inner focus required, but perhaps that would come. Must come for she needed to work on the erotic miniatures for Mr. Puttick. She just needed the air, the space, the green acres and the mental concentration of training the horses to settle her back into her natural state of composure.
…
Three torturous days later, Sheri arrived at Springwoods, hanging out the carriage window like an excited child, eager for the first glimpse of the mellow stone manor. Nestled amongst groves of ancient oaks and elms and reflected in the tranquil waters of Spring Lake, it was like a page from a picture book. Fallow deer grazed beneath the trees and a lone rider galloped a striking black mare around the training circuit meandering through the entire estate.
She was home. At sight of the carriage the rider swung across the park, leapt the rails onto the drive and waited for them to pull alongside before settling into a gentle trot to keep pace.
‘Welcome home, my Lady!’
Mackey grinned his delight at her and turned Ebony Lady so Sheri could pat her nose.
‘How is she doing?’
‘She’s ready. Just needs your ‘lady-touch’.’
‘I’ll meet you at the stables straight after luncheon.’
‘Aye, my Lady!’
With a brief salute he urged the mare ahead and back over the fence into the park, allowing Sheri to appreciate the improvement in the animal’s confidence and agility.
It was so good to be home. This place represented freedom beyond precious; a freedom it might be difficult to claim after her marriage.
Her horses and her painting. Where would they fit into her life as a Duchess? Especially her painting. She could not risk Dom—or even the ton—discovering the Duchess of Wolverton had an ability with a brush verging on the erotic. S. P. R. Woods was nearing his demise.—She just needed time to complete three more paintings. The request, relayed to her from the art dealer in Bond Street, through her ‘agent’ who was her maid Maggie in disguise, had been for three more titles in the series.
‘Lord, I wish there were two of me, Maggie,’ she addressed the maid who’d been sitting back watching her mistress with an indulgent smile. ‘I want to ride every one of my horses every day—and I want to paint! I must paint.’
‘I can ride the horses for you, my Lady,’ Maggie said, ‘but I can’t paint. So that had best be your main focus.’
‘You’re right of course,’ Sheri sighed. ‘As the Duchess of Wolverton I’ll still be able to ride and train my horses—and paint insipid portraits and landscapes. S. P. R. Woods however, will have to be laid to rest!—Three paintings in four weeks! Two anyway. I feel woefully inadequate to paint that last one the buyer demanded!’
Maggie’s sudden grin lit up the dim interior of the carriage.
‘You’ll be able to paint it after the wedding night, I’m thinking. Your Duke never came by his reputation by leaving a woman wanting.’
Maggie’s freckled cheeks were bright and her blue eyes were dancing.
‘Are you laughing at me, Maggie?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, my Lady. I’d hate for you to dismiss me!’
Sheri rolled her eyes—and fanned her cheeks that were every bit as hot as Maggie looked.
‘And then who’d sell my wicked paintings for me? And how would I finance the lady’s maid training scheme? Malder Valley orphanage alone has three girls to outfit and send to Miss Dalton’s school. There are two more from Welton and yet more at Tolbury! I know I could afford to endow the scheme from my own funds but where is the fun in that? I still get goosebumps when I think about what Mr. Puttick paid me for those first three paintings. As for what has been promised for the next two—it makes me anxious about the quality of my work.’
Maggie snorted.
‘The quality of your work is without peer. You know it and so does Mr. Puttick, so don’t start doubting yourself just because some fancy gent is willing to lay down a hefty purse to acquire it!’
‘If I ‘nailed’ it.’ Sheri couldn’t keep the shudder from her voice. ‘I gave him paintings entitled Innocence, Awakening and Awareness. He requests two more entitled Enticement and Offering—and then he demands the final one be titled—Fucked?’
Sheri had trouble enunciating the word, even alone in the carriage with Maggie with whom she’d shared most of her life. Their cheeks were positively glowing as they gazed at one another, momentarily shocked Sheri had spoken the word aloud.
‘Men don’t understand subtle, do they? I think Enlightenment would be a good title.’
Maggie nodded.
‘T’would mean the same.’
‘And how am I to paint that without the Duke discovering it?’
The carriage rolled to a stop on the drive before Springwoods, saving either of them from trying to answer the unanswerable.
…
London was so dreary, noisy, smelly. Sheri was glad she’d been able to escape it, if only for a few weeks. She would not have bothered to return at all this season if Dom hadn’t been so particular about attending the Regent’s ball—and if she’d not needed to endure the final fittings for her new wardrobe.
There were also the two completed paintings to be delivered to the gallery on Bond Street.
But first she and Mama would call on Lady Holly Brisco. Her mother, Lady Baxendene, had been desperately ill and Sheri had missed her niece’s coming out ball. The invitation had arrived the day she left for Springwoods.
Chesterfield Street was crammed with carriages, phaetons and urchins proudly holding restive horses.
‘Gracious!’ Augusta exclaimed as the coachman carefully maneuvered Sheri’s smart carriage opposite the door. ‘I’d heard the chit had taken the salons by storm and this confirms it!’
The hall of Brisco House was awash in a heady mixture of scents from the colorful bouquets of flowers a harried young maid was arranging in vases; the salon was humming with chatter, Miss Pountney holding court amid a bevy of other prettily gowned ladies looking, to Sheri’s jaded eye, as if they were too youn
g to be out yet.
Lounging amongst them were several scions of notable houses, gaudily garbed pinks of the ton and even a few well-known Lotharios striving to look fashionably uninspired, which their very presence belied.
Head and shoulders above all the rest and glowering across the crowded room like a beleaguered guardian, was Lord Baxendene. Sheri didn’t think she’d ever seen this version of the Great Bax. His usually wickedly glinting grey eyes had the dark pewter glitter of a stormy sea.
The Brisco butler announced them, causing scarcely a hitch in the buzz of conversation, but seeing them, Bax’s dark scowl lifted and he was once again the smiling rogue Sheri was accustomed to.
Forging a path through the throng of young people, he gained their presence, bent gallantly over her mother’s hand and then her own, before leading them back across the room to where a group of older matrons clustered about Lady Holly. With the scowl settling once again to his brow he returned to his spot by the window and to watching the young bloods milling around his niece.
Sheri was intrigued. But first she needed to ask after Lady Georgiana, who was thankfully well on the mend, meet Lady Jane Rotherby who’d come to help Holly with chaperone duties, and hear about the stunning success of Miss Pountney’s launch into society.
At last she was able to ask, ‘What’s with the scowling monolith by the window?’
Holly’s glance darted to the monolith in question, connected briefly with Lady Jane’s and settled back on Sheri. Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
‘Pountney charged him with standing ‘in loco parentis’ as it were, for Selena. Pountney knows my brother well. All that ‘rake about town’ nonsense is really just a façade. Charge him with a responsibility and you know he’ll regard it a sacred trust! Selena is hoping Lord Jasper Falcon-Smythe will propose, but so far I don’t think he has the temerity to approach Hades. And I guess my brother has decided if Lord Jasper finally does ask permission to court her it’ll be because he really loves her. Hades has already turned away three unsuitable hopefuls! He can be so intimidating! I think Selena is getting quite annoyed with him, but he won’t relent.—I think I’ll go and distract him by suggesting he make all their girlish hearts flutter by actually joining the group about Selena to monitor more closely what those young bucks are whispering in her ear to make her blush like that!’
As she rose and moved purposefully in the direction of her brother, Lady Jane said, ‘I’ve been longing to meet you, Lady Sheri!’
‘You have?’ Sheri asked, a little startled. Lady Jane Rotherby was a few years her senior.
‘Yes, ever since Holly told me about your stud at Springwoods. I’m looking for a new hunter. My current one is having trouble keeping up, these days, and it’s time I allowed her to retire.’
A kindred spirit! Suddenly London didn’t seem so dreary.
‘Red Dancer! I have just started breaking her in. You would look stunning on her. And she has a lovely nature. Do you have a horse with you in London? Do you enjoy a morning ride?’
‘No horse, but Lord Brisco has offered me the use of a lovely silver mare while I’m here. It’s just that I don’t really know my way around London and it’s no fun riding on my own. I love a morning ride and I’ve really missed that here.’
‘Then I’ll ride by early tomorrow if you want to join me. I like to catch the sunrise—and beat the traffic!’
The woman’s hazel eyes were glowing.
‘Magnificent. If I can start the day with a gallop outdoors London will not seem so—pointless!’
In finding another in London who enjoyed riding as much as she did, Sheri had forgotten the looming presence of Lord Baxendene and almost jumped when he spoke beside her.
‘The two most beautiful women in the room with roses in their cheeks and excitement in their eyes must be talking of a man! Should I be concerned?’
Sheri felt all her hackles rising, but before she could form any sort of clever response, Jane’s bright laughter peeled out.
‘Oh, you should indeed, my Lord!’ she told him. ‘We were just discussing the propensity of some gentlemen for interrupting conversations not meant for them and how to make them wish they hadn’t!’
‘Ah, Angular Jane, you wound me!’
Lady Jane laughed again.
‘My puny barbs would make more of a dent in the hide of a rhinoceros than your dense hide!’ she declared.
Bax shook his head and glanced at Sheri, who knew her eyes had widened at the frank exchange.
‘Lady Rotherby and I have known one another a long time,’ he said with his usual disarming grin. ‘Is Wolverton back in town yet?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ Sheri answered stiffly.
‘Oh go and tease someone else,’ Jane said impatiently. ‘Lady Sheri and I were just making plans to go riding in the morning.’
‘And no, you may not join us,’ Sheri almost snapped, as she saw his grey eyes begin to gleam.
‘Not even if I promised to be on my best behavior?’
‘I doubt your best would be good enough!’
Tossing his head back, he laughed unrepentantly.
‘Am I never to be forgiven for desiring a beautiful woman?’
‘You go too far!’ Sheri gasped.
‘Yes, I often do,’ the graceless scamp concurred easily. ‘Jane tells me so frequently. And sadly, I must decline the invitation to ride as I collect you prefer to do so at a totally unseemly hour!’
Flashing them both a practiced, roguish smile, he turned to penetrate the wall of males about his niece once again.
‘Don’t let him rile you,’ Jane said, her eyes following his tall elegance with a fond smile. ‘He’s the world’s worst tease. Always has been.’
‘Angular Jane?’ Sheri asked, unable to help herself.
‘Oh I had some names for him too,’ she laughed. ‘Believe it or not I used to be quite angular! I filled out a little with maturity—and James’s care.’
‘You miss your husband?’ Sheri asked gently at the shadow that crossed the other woman’s face.
‘I do. But let’s not be sad! I’m so pleased to be going riding tomorrow.’
‘And I’m pleased for the company,’ Sheri smiled back.
At least she’d not be alone if Lord Baxendene should take it into his head to join them after all.
…
Reflection was a pastime the Duke of Wolverton rarely indulged. But as he sat back in his carriage on the way to Grosvenor Square to pick Sheri up for the Regent’s Ball, he couldn’t help but wonder at the accelerated beat of his heart and the tight lump of apprehension lodged in his throat when he thought of the month he’d spent away from his fiancée and the uncertainty of her commitment when he’d left. Was she still ambivalent about their marriage?
He’d never pursued a woman he’d been uncertain of seducing, except Jassie. But even she would’ve agreed to his suit if not for Windermere. Women pursued him. Sheri was unique in that she never had; had resisted him in fact.
The last month had seemed interminable. He’d travelled miles over the north of England tracking down the three older sisters of Lady Ann Marie Oldesborough, only to find none of them had stayed in touch with their scandalous younger sister. She’d been directly responsible for the death of their father, and a drastic change in their circumstances since, having no brother, a distant cousin had inherited the title and estates. He’d encountered only recrimination and bitterness, and open hostility when he’d asked for help in locating the child born of the ill-starred and scandalous union. The only information he’d garnered that might be of use was the name of the maid who’d accompanied Ann Marie to America. He should be going through the ship manifests to see if Lally Perkins returned to England after her mistress’s death, perhaps with a babe? He should be advising his agents in America of the name to work with.
But all he could focus on was that in a week Lady Sherida Dearing would be his wife and the thought was as deeply exciting as if he was a green you
th and she his first. There was good reason to be concerned at himself. He’d lost interest in the mission, phenomenal in itself for he’d always been compelled, obsessed with the unravelling of such a puzzle until the last clue had been exposed and that which was lost, reclaimed.
When he’d found a missive from Knight awaiting him at Bruton Street informing him there were two virgins seeking the services of the Master at the Matrix Club, he’d told his cousin to perform the task himself, because he, the Master of Virgins, wasn’t interested.
Not interested? At first he’d been inclined to panic at that fact until he realized he only had to think of his betrothed bride to be as hard and rigid as a carriage shaft. Most damning of all, he’d scarcely thought of Jassie during this last month, let alone spent hours in the dark of night awake and hungering for her.
He’d become a stranger to himself, no longer content to maintain a mistress in Eagle Street, conduct discreet liaisons with fast widows and bored and neglected wives, or service rebellious virgins at the Matrix Club while imagining himself in Jassie’s arms with every one of them. All he could seem to focus on was Sheri, the memory of her satin-smooth naked shoulders and breasts in his hands; the fiery promise of her; her unrestrained response when he’d proved beyond doubt she was anything but frigid.
Their wedding night would be spectacular. He’d ensure it was and it was as much to avoid anticipating that event he’d stayed out of London. Sheri deserved his every consideration, the dedication of his every skill and ability to control himself. Her initiation would be a night she’d never forget, the night she’d surrender herself into his hands with no restraints. He planned to make her so forget herself she’d not care if he took her with a thousand lamps blazing and she as naked as a newborn!