by Cach, Lisa
“You cannot have thought I would let the new year begin without seeing you,” he said, then waited an eternity in the space of a heartbeat for her response.
“I had hoped you would not,” she answered quietly.
He laughed with relief. He put her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her to a quieter end of the room, where they stood near a bust of a long-dead Twitchen ancestor, pretending to examine it.
“There’s a cobweb in your hair,” he said, spotting the wisp of gray, and brushing it away with his fingertips. “What have you been doing?”
“Fortune-telling in the cellar. Penelope and the vicar’s daughter insisted I come with them.”
“Why the cellar?”
“My guess is because it is dark and cold and suitably unnerving. They had a silver dish full of water, in which they dropped a ring, and we sat around it in the light of single candle, waiting for…”
“Waiting for?” he prompted.
“For the faces of our future husbands to appear,” she said, as if embarrassed to admit it. “Someday Sara will do the same thing with her friends, I imagine.”
“And did his face appear?” he asked, moving slightly closer.
“I don’t know. It was so dark and cold, and we sat for so long, my mind began to wander.”
“Where did it wander?”
“Everywhere,” she said.
“Did it wander to me?”
She met his eyes: they were as wide and wary as he knew his own to be. “Would you want it to?”
He reached down and took her hand, and after a glance around the drawing room to check that none were watching, led her through a nearby door that went to the library. She came willingly. The chamber was dimly lit by candles in wall sconces, and it was cool after the body-heated warmth of the drawing room. The voices from the party were but a murmur through the heavy door.
He slowly backed Vivian up against a wall of books, standing with his feet to either side of hers, close enough to touch but not doing so.
“I want your mind wandering to me in every free moment of your day. I want you to think of me upon rising in the morning, and to find me in your dreams at night.”
“You’re already there,” she whispered, and the words sent a joyous thrill through his heart, frightening in its intensity.
He knew it was foolish to rush things, that he risked scaring her away, but he had to know for certain. To know the depth of her feelings. To know if she was the one. He bent down his head and kissed her. No lady concerned with appearances would stand for such in the middle of a party.
At first her lips were motionless under his—she was likely shocked—but as he continued the kiss she responded, tentatively mirroring his own movements. He pressed up close against her, gently pinning her to the bookcase, until he could feel each soft curve of her body against his own. He deepened the kiss, and she made a small noise in the back of her throat.
He lifted his mouth from hers, his hips still pressed against her lower belly. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, and her slender arms wrapped around his neck.
She wanted him. Against all possibility, all doubt, she wanted him.
He had found the place he belonged, and was finally free. The joy of it sent him wild. He let loose the reins on his desire, exploring her mouth, her neck, the exposed swell of her breasts, each touch making him hungrier for the next. He breathed in the warm, faintly musky scent of her, and then trailed his tongue up to the hollow at the base of her throat where he pressed gently until he could feel the beat of her heart with his lips.
She was his heart, his desire.
He worked his way up and let his tongue play at the sensitive place behind her earlobe, while his hand went down to cup her buttock and pull her against him, where he could press the firmness of his arousal against the softness of her body.
Her breathing was a soft panting against his ear, and he could feel her trembling even as she pressed herself to him.
He fastened his mouth over hers once more and thrust with his tongue in frantic substitute for how he longed to thrust inside her.
She made a soft sound of pleasure, and he felt her fingers working their way into his hair, gripping tight. He pulled her away from the bookcase and backed her slowly to the library table until she bumped up against it. He boosted her up the few inches until she was sitting on its surface.
“What are you doing?” she asked in a whisper.
“Exactly what I wish.”
“Good.”
Had she said that or sighed? He wasn’t sure. He chuckled and parted her knees so he could stand between them, then brought her tight against him. Her eyes widened, and then she wrapped her arms back around his neck and pulled him down on top of her.
He had one hand lost in her hair, the other on her bare thigh, his mouth sucking at her breast and her legs wrapped around his still-clothed hips when the library door opened. The sounds of the party flooded in upon them, accompanied by an outraged gasp.
Vivian heard it as well and reacted with the reflexes of a startled cat, thrusting Richard off her and scrambling to disentangle her legs from his person as he helped her to pull down her skirts. A quick glance told him it was Captain Twitchen who had discovered them.
There could have been no worse—or better—person to walk through that door. Richard felt a perverse, happy satisfaction stirring within him.
“Mr. Brent!” Captain Twitchen sputtered, then shut the door behind him, blocking off the sounds of the party and the possibility of witnessing eyes. “How dare you, sir! How dare you!”
“My deepest apologies, sir.”
“A guest in my home, and this is how you repay my hospitality!”
Vivian gave a soft whimper. Richard put his arm around her, pulling her to his side, concerned for her embarrassment. He would not let her be shamed. “It was a transgression against the kindness you have always shown me, and unforgivably ill-mannered,” he said. “I hope that you will allow me to make the proper amends.”
Captain Twitchen seemed not to have heard. “I never listened to the rumors about you, never let them cloud what I thought I saw before me. But damned if I shouldn’t have paid attention. Mrs. Twitchen was right, and even if you are my nephew’s brother-in-law, you are unfit for decent company. Vivian! Go to your room, girl, and stay there.”
Richard felt her start under his arm, but he held her more firmly. “What we have to say concerns her, as well.”
He saw he’d made a mistake when the captain’s face, already red, took on a deeper, almost purple shade of rage. His feeling of satisfaction and confidence assumed the barest quiver of uncertainty.
“Contradict my orders, will you? In my own house! My own house!”
“I should go,” Vivian whispered.
He did not want her to have to stand here and suffer as a target of Captain Twitchen’s fury. The man might say something hurtful. “Perhaps for the moment,” he whispered back.
She started to slip away from him, and he bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Not to worry. You’ll be called back down within the hour, I promise.”
She cast him a quick glance—was it one of hope and uncertainty?—and he smiled in reassurance.
Once she was safely from the room, Captain Twitchen lent full force to his ire. “Now, sir, are we going to settle this like gentlemen?”
“That is indeed my intention.”
“Pistols or swords?”
Richard felt a sinking in his gut. Soothing Captain Twitchen was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.
*
An hour passed, and there was no call for Vivian to come down. She paced her bedchamber, she listened at her door for footsteps or the distant sound of voices, she watched from her window as guests left in pairs and in groups. She built up the fire in the grate, and wished that there was something to eat.
Horrible, to have been seen by Captain Twitchen with her bare legs
wrapped around Richard, flat on her back, his mouth at her breast. She knew that she had briefly entertained causing such a scandal, but… The sickening embarrassment of it made her stomach churn. Far worse, was not knowing what was presently happening down in the library.
Another quarter of an hour passed. Was Richard still here? He must be. He and Captain Twitchen must still be arguing. She rubbed her forehead; the muscles there were sore from her frown of worry. Richard had given every indication that he would ask permission to wed her. Captain Twitchen couldn’t possibly refuse, could he? Surely his pride could not be so severely offended.
And if it were?
She would marry Richard despite the captain’s objections. She would abandon all family ties, if that was what it took. It would be cruel repayment for the generosity the Twitchens had shown her, but there was no other choice. She had to have Richard. She would have him.
Only, if she could, she would do so without breaking her ties to her cousins. She found herself surprised. In the short time she had been with them, she had grown fond of them all—Mrs. Twitchen with her social ambitions and motherly heart; Captain Twitchen and his blunt good cheer; even Penelope had become something of a friend, despite her selfishness.
The one thing Vivian knew about this life was that caring ties to others were more precious than gold, more precious than titles or gowns or beauty. She would not easily give up even the meager ones she had with the Twitchens.
And she would never give up the one she had now with Richard. Never.
Another half hour passed. She was torn between the need to find out what was happening and the fear of interrupting and somehow spoiling whatever advantage Richard may have gained.
She went to the window and gazed down at another pair of partygoers as they departed. She could feel the cold of the night seeping through the glass.
A knock on her door turned her around, and Mrs. Twitchen entered. She rushed towards her cousin, then stopped as she read the distress upon the woman’s face.
“Is Mr. Brent still here?” she asked.
“He is, but not for much longer if Captain Twitchen has anything to say about it.”
“Tell me, what is happening?”
“This is a fine mess you’ve managed to get yourself into,” Mrs. Twitchen said in a stern voice that quavered on the last word. “A fine mess. I can only be thankful that we are yet in the country, and that it was the captain who came in upon you, and not one of our neighbors—else I don’t know how we would have been able to save you from a future with that man.”
“The captain hasn’t refused Mr. Brent, has he? Surely he could not have!”
“Mr. Brent has nearly caused my husband to fight a duel, that’s what he has done! The foolish man!” Mrs. Twitchen wrung her hands and then burst into tears, sinking into the chair by the fire.
Vivian didn’t know which man Mrs. Twitchen meant was the foolish one, but she felt a wave a guilt wash over her at the sight of the woman’s distress. She went and knelt by her side, and laid her hand on the woman’s knee.
“Hush, now. Hush,” she said. “Mr. Brent would never engage in the nonsense of a duel.”
“Nonsense? This from you, sitting there with your honor in shreds!” Mrs. Twitchen dropped her hands from her wet and reddened face. “Captain Twitchen has more honor in him than Mr. Brent could ever dream of, and knows a coward and a sneak when he sees one. We won’t be letting you throw your life away on such a man, that we won’t!”
Vivian sat back on her heels, taking her hand from Mrs. Twitchen’s knee. She steadied herself to disagree. “Mr. Brent is the most honorable man I have ever known. It may be a peculiar sort of honor, but it is true and deep, and I love him for it. I will marry him, with or without the blessing of you and Mr. Twitchen.” She bit her lip. “But I would rather have it.”
Mrs. Twitchen’s expression softened to one of pity. “You are not thinking clearly, child. Don’t think that because I’m old I do not know what you are feeling, the passions that are in your heart. And that is how I know that this is a time when you must rely on those older and wiser than yourself, who can see with clear eyes. Mr. Brent is a scoundrel, and will bring you nothing but unhappiness. It is too late to save you from the pain of an entanglement with him, but we can at least save you from public dishonor.”
She had lived long enough by the rules and wishes of others. No more! “I am well past my majority. I can make up my own mind in this.”
“Have you forgotten the engagement Mr. Brent broke in the past? Do you not think that other young woman felt as passionately as you do now?”
“I am sure there must have been a good reason behind that.”
“How can you know?” Mrs. Twitchen asked. “You have known Mr. Brent little more than a week. I have been with the captain nigh on two decades, and still do not know him entirely. Anyone can be charming for a week, my dear. Let his history speak to you of who he truly is.”
Vivian shook her head and stood. “It is his very history that tells me he is a man worthy of love. You cannot dissuade me from what my heart knows is true.” She marched to the door and laid her hand upon the knob.
“Vivian, darling.” Mrs. Twitchen rose and came toward her, hands fluttering. “Can you at least give us this one night? Can you at least sleep upon it, and let us know that you have considered fully?”
Vivian took in Mrs. Twitchen’s frantic concern, her distress, and wavered. She let her hand fall from the knob. If waiting one night was all that the Twitchens required of her, she would be heartless not to give it. Such was not so much to ask. The bond she felt with Richard would not suffer for a handful of hours apart. “I will sleep upon it.”
Mrs. Twitchen nodded and opened the door herself to go. She was through it and pulling it closed when she paused and turned, her face in the narrow space between door and jamb. “Forgive me, child. I do this for your own good.” Vivian lunged for the knob, but was too late. The door slammed, and the key turned in the lock from the other side.
She was a prisoner once again, to another’s idea of how she should live.
Chapter Eight
Twelfth Night
The few bits of Christmas greenery in her room had been taken down and were waiting now in a dried-out pile to be fed into the fire. Her hopes of a marriage to Richard Brent might as well burn along with it.
Vivian had been locked in her room for five days now, allowed to send no letters nor receive them, and even Penelope was forbidden from visiting. Vivian saw Mrs. Twitchen daily, and suffered through her lectures and, more dangerously, the growth of the seeds of doubt that the woman planted and watered so carefully.
Richard wanted her. She knew he did. He had offered for her, she was sure of it. Did he love her enough to continue to fight for her, whatever the obstacles?
He had never said he loved her. But he must, he surely must! He had given her every indication. She could count her own love for him as nothing, if she could not trust that he would hold steady to his purpose and free her.
The isolation was making her mind play tricks, and she had no biscuits or tarts with which to soothe herself. They were cold meals that were brought to her by Mrs. Twitchen, with nothing of pleasure to be found in them.
As the days passed, her mind turned in upon itself, reluctantly treading garden rows of doubt. She pulled each plant that showed signs of green, whacked them with her hoe, scuffed them over with her shoe, but Mrs. Twitchen always came back to nurse them to health.
Richard Brent was an honest man. He was an honorable man. He would not abandon her. She must hold tight to that truth.
From her window she had twice seen him come to the house, and leave shortly thereafter, always pausing to gaze up at her window, where she stood with her fingers against the glass, as if she could reach through and touch him. But then Captain Twitchen would emerge from the manor and shoo Richard away, preventing any exchange of words between them.
She had not seen him for two days now. Was
he himself beginning to doubt the wisdom of pursuing this course? Had the captain convinced him that it would be better for her to marry another, that she would be happier with a man with an unsoiled reputation?
She would not be able to bear it if it were so.
She wished she had lain with him as a wife, there upon the library table, for all to see. There would have been no question then of what their future would be. If she ever saw him again, she knew precisely what she’d do.
*
He had tried reason. He had tried patience. He had put to use all his powers of persuasion, and all to no effect. He had run out of gentle options, a realization that had come to him upon receipt early yesterday of Penelope’s letter:
Dearest Mr. Brent,
Forgive me for writing to you so, but I feel you must be told: my cousin is being fed only crusts of bread. She has no coal to keep her warm, and is threatened with beatings if she does not give up her insistence that she be allowed to wed you. My father has threatened to send her to a Catholic convent in France, where you would never see her again. I fear for her health—nay! I fear for her very life. She will be dead of grief within a fortnight if she is not saved. I have heard many things about you, but I trust they are not true. Here is your chance to prove yourself.
Yours Faithfully, P.
Of course he knew she was exaggerating—he doubted very much that Vivian would be sent to a French convent, no matter the provocation—and he was somewhat annoyed by Penelope’s allusion to his past, but Vivian was confined to her room, that he knew. And he very much doubted that pastries and cakes would be part of the meals sent up to one suffering such a punishment.
His Vivian, without a pudding. What misery must she be suffering! He smiled sadly at the thought.
And what might she begin to think, as the days passed and he left her languishing, the only words she heard those painting him as the darkest blackguard. His smile vanished. Might she not begin to think that he had abandoned her? Might she not begin to wonder if the Twitchens were right and if their reasons were ones to which she should listen? Especially since they were so intent upon protecting her that they would lock her up?