by Megan Mulry
God, how Nora loved this woman—her fire and her audacity and even her managing ways—but she was a terrible menace to those who loved her.
“What must I stop?” Vanessa gave a teasing lift of her hips. “I thought you liked me quite a lot the way I am.”
Nora leaned down to kiss the edge of Vanessa’s lip. “Yes, quite. In fact, I love you. Quite a lot. But thank God you are not my mother.”
Vanessa’s face clouded at the insult, but Nora kissed her lips again, lightly and teasingly. “You pretend to be so businesslike, but you are really such a fanciful romantic, darling.” Nora kissed lower, following a path down her neck, to the trim of her dress. She dipped a finger into the shirred bodice of Vanessa’s empire gown and toyed with her nipple.
“Yes, I am feeling very romantic just now.” Vanessa arched her back, her body yearning for Nora’s touch. “Which is lucky for you.”
Pinching lightly, Nora watched as Vanessa’s eyes rolled back. “But you must stop trying to control everyone. Their lives are not lacking anything, and you shouldn’t make them feel so.” Nora continued to roll the nipple in her fingers beneath the fabric, torturing until Vanessa was begging for her to stop-but-don’t-stop the methodical teasing.
“Please, Nora. I promise. I’ll be the least-controlling creature on God’s green earth. Please—”
“You promise . . .” Nora tugged the fabric down below one breast and pulled the swollen nipple into her mouth.
“I promise . . . anything.” Vanessa arched again and Nora reached one hand under her lover’s gown.
“I’m going to make you promise—”
“I promise, I promise—” Vanessa gasped when Nora’s knowing fingers found the wet slit of her drawers.
“Oh, Vanessa, my love, you are such a needy thing aren’t you? Why can’t you just admit it?” With the tips of her fingers, Nora teased the swollen lips between Vanessa’s thighs, hot beneath the many layers of linen and cotton. Vanessa cried out something guttural—half words, half emotion. Nora kissed her one more time on the tip of her breast, then hard and quick on the mouth, then she flipped up the dress and kissed her way into Vanessa’s hot quivering center.
The pleasure the two of them brought one another was always fulfilling, but out in the glade, with all the pent-up worry of the past few weeks, they were nearly frantic. Reaching for arms and thighs, hair and fingers—unexpected and torrid—Vanessa fought to curl her own body around Nora’s, until they were both indulging in one another with mutual delight.
All thoughts of family obligations—past and future—floated away like the tiny motes that sparkled overhead through the afternoon sunshine. At last, both women were crying out and their muffled releases mingled with the summer air.
When the sun had passed its zenith and they’d redone each other’s hair and smoothed the fabric of their dresses, Nora turned to Vanessa and sighed. “I don’t know who I think I am to be giving parenting advice. Anna will probably despise me.”
“Oh my dear.” Tucking a strand of Nora’s glossy black hair behind her ear, Vanessa tried to calm her nerves. “You are patently undespisable. I’m the one who puts everyone off . . . at first, and at last, if Georgiana’s constant absence is anything to go by. I’m too loud, too opinionated . . . too too.”
Nora laughed and kissed Vanessa one more time at the pulse along her neck. “You’re none of those things and you know it.”
They both got up and started back toward the castle. After a few minutes of silent walking, Vanessa said in a low, comforting voice, “You’re safe here, darling. Whatever happens.”
Nora smiled at the kindness. “Looking around at the greens and blues and yellows of high summer, I believe you. Even the way the sun pours through the leaves, forcing its way into the forest for a few moments each day—it’s all so familiar to me now, and I am reminded this is a peaceful place and I am safe here; that this is my home, far more than some dank Spanish castle or decrepit townhouse in Madrid from another lifetime.”
“Of course it is. Over the past twenty years, you’ve become more English than I,” Vanessa joked.
“Very well, then. Anna won’t hate me,” Nora announced in her best English accent. Perhaps if she kept telling herself that, she would one day believe it. “I shan’t fret a moment longer! I’ll take a page from your book. I’ll believe she is thrilled and delighted at the prospect of meeting her mo—” Nora’s heart sank and her voice halted before actually finishing the word “mother.” The moment of jollity was destroyed, and her hand went to her stomach, gripping her middle involuntarily. No amount of late summer sunshine or tender kisses or letters from Arabia were going to make this any better for her. Nor should they, damn it. Nora was about to experience one of the most profound moments of her life. She was quite done with trying to manage it. At this point, she hoped she might simply remain standing when the Duke of Mandeville’s carriage arrived and her daughter alighted.
While she adored Vanessa and her competence, Nora realized she would never be Vanessa. Nora’s feelings swirled around her, whereas Vanessa’s feelings seemed to line up like obedient soldiers. Even massive feelings—like the potential loss of her daughter’s affection— Vanessa was able (for better or worse) to fashion into something akin to an object, something to be observed and pondered. Even when they first declared their love to one another, Nora now realized, that was what Vanessa had done. All those weeks and months that Nora had been a nineteen-year-old girl screwing up the courage to declare herself, Vanessa had withdrawn deeper into herself, trying to manage it all.
“Oh my. You are still very much a wreck, aren’t you? Even after all of our diversions?” Vanessa pulled Nora’s hand into hers. “I know you think I am an emotional iceberg at times, but trust me, in dire circumstances like these, automatons can come in quite handy when you need something solid to lean on.”
Nora smiled weakly and then nodded. “I do need to lean on you today, Vanessa. Do you mind very much if we leave off strolling and go sit on the front steps and wait for them? I know it’s not much past midday, but I wish . . . that is, I want to be waiting for her.”
“Of course that is where we must be.” Vanessa tucked Nora’s hand into the crook of her arm, and they walked together through the warm summer air. Nora no longer tried to stay calm and steady, but allowed herself to feel the full onslaught of emotion that was bound up in the pending reunion.
As they neared the wide front steps, Vanessa saw Tomaso sitting on a portable canvas chair right in the middle of the driveway, sketching the castle. He was quite absorbed and failed to notice their approach behind him.
Nora leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at what he was drawing. “It’s quite unfair really—”
He jumped from the chair and dropped the sketchpad and the bit of charcoal onto the pebbled drive. “Nora! Vanessa!” He kissed them both in his exuberant continental fashion. Cheek-cheek. Cheek-cheek. Hand clasp. Dramatic sigh. Arms spread wide. Hand clasp. Dramatic sigh.
Vanessa looked at Nora to make sure all was well—or as well as it was going to be until Anna arrived—then released her hand. Ever since Tomaso had come to their room that night after supper, he had proven to be a wonderful friend to Nora. His experience, talent, and innate good humor were the perfect antidote to Nora’s endless worries about whether young Anna would spurn her. Even though he was nearing fifty, he had a youthful energy. Like a devoted puppy, he followed Nora everywhere, hanging on her every word. Vanessa loved to watch the way he charmed her.
“What is unfair? What is unfair?” he asked, returning to Nora’s original comment.
“That someone as handsome and fascinating as you should also be so talented. Your perspective is damnably perfect. I can’t draw a building for love or money.”
He looked affronted, as if Nora had insulted someone he held in high regard. Which, Vanessa supposed, she had. “Do not speak that way of yourself, Nora! You are a splendid artist! A genius!”
Nora smiled
again. “I’m hardly a genius, Tomaso—” She slipped a piece of his wavy hair out of his eyes and he shuddered a bit when she touched him. Vanessa had no worries about his rapture turning into something deeper or more dangerous to any of them; as much as he adored his “sessions” with Vanessa and Nora, sketching, painting—swooning—while the two women languished in various states of undress and passion, he was never long alone. He tumbled with an angry French poet most mornings . . . and a Danish sculptress most afternoons.
“I’m surprised to find you unaccompanied, Tomaso.” Nora’s tone was playful as she watched him collect his supplies.
He blustered for a moment and then decided to meet her taunt. Folding his arms across his barrel chest he declared, “Well, if you won’t have me, I must seek comfort elsewhere, mustn’t I?”
Nora laughed, and Vanessa felt it thrum through her; her lover’s happiness was what made Vanessa feel most alive. Of course she knew that her constant efforts to distract Nora from her more upsetting feelings were beginning to wear on Nora’s nerves, but at this point in their relationship, Vanessa simply could not tolerate Nora’s unhappiness.
“Yes! And you are quite the seeker, from what I’ve heard,” Nora teased. He blushed like a boy when she patted his upper arm and gave his solid muscle a squeeze. “And you don’t want to have me, not really.”
Tomaso shrugged his shoulders in that Italian way. “Certain things simply can’t be helped.”
Vanessa settled on the grand front steps, lounging comfortably with her elbows resting on the step behind her, watching them. She absorbed the warmth of the sun, without a care for the current obsession with paleness among elegant women of society. This was all she ever wanted: to be with Nora, to be at peace. Tomaso’s words reminded Vanessa of the first time she and Nora had kissed—because certain things couldn’t be helped.
“This is true,” Nora agreed, giving Vanessa a knowing smile with those dark soft eyes of hers. “Certain things can’t be helped.”
Vanessa blew her a kiss and then let her eyes slide shut beneath the afternoon sun.
It was a glorious summer afternoon, and Anna attempted to appreciate it. The windows of the carriage were open to let in the Derbyshire breeze; the ancient trees that lined the drive made shadowy marks across Sebastian’s handsome face where he sat next to her. Pia and Farleigh were across from them, Pia’s hand resting lightly at Farleigh’s inner thigh as she gazed appreciatively out the window.
“It is so luxurious here. The children are going to adore it—I think it was wise to send them in a second carriage tomorrow, but I already miss them.” Pia continued to look out at the scenery before turning to Anna. “How are you faring, my love?”
Anna took a deep breath of impatience at yet again being the source of everyone’s concern. If nothing else, this dreadful meeting with her mother would put an end to all of that. Sebastian reached for her before she could answer. “Yes, my precious little flower, how are you faring?” He dipped his mouth to the edge of her neckline and began kissing the rise of her breast. “You’re such a delicate thing, Anna . . .” She couldn’t help laughing at his sarcasm, but she nearly resented his ability to make her feel better. In most things, she was about as delicate as a Newcastle collier and well he knew it.
Nonetheless, his kisses were delicious, and she couldn’t bring herself to push him away. Instead, she lifted his face to hers, plunging her hands into his thick dark hair. “I will be very stern with you later, Sebastian. It’s not wise of you to make me smile when I’m feeling quite so perturbed.” She kissed him roughly.
His head was bent back at that taut angle she adored, and he moaned into her commanding embrace. She stopped abruptly when she got a swift kick on her shin. “Ow!”
“Cut that out!” Pia demanded. “You two will get us all hot and agitated. The last thing we need is for the four of us to come tumbling out of the carriage in some sex-addled bundle of red cheeks and partially clad limbs when meeting your mother for the first time.”
Anna rubbed her shin and glowered at Pia, still collaring Sebastian about the neck with her other arm. “You’re going to pay for that.” She turned to Farleigh with mischief in her eyes. “These two seem to be accruing many punishable debts this afternoon, don’t they, Farleigh?”
He smiled wickedly. “Indeed they do, Anna. Indeed they do. And we shall make them pay, is that it?”
“Precisely.” She released Sebastian reluctantly. Anna looked down at her appearance to make sure she wasn’t a disheveled mess. Pia was right—as usual—first impressions and all that. She didn’t want to koo-too like some Chinese delegate, but she didn’t want to disrespect her mother out of hand either. “She is probably some square-toed, punctilious old matron who will see us for tea, set about painting our damnable portrait, and then shoo us off.”
“As for her being an old matron, she was only eighteen when she had you, darling,” Pia pointed out. “That makes her a wizened thirty-eight by my reckoning, only a few years older than Farleigh here.” Pia leaned against her husband’s shoulder to drive home the point. There was nothing wizened about the thirty-four-year-old duke—in fact he exuded a pounding strength even as he sat there doing naught but grinning.
Anna sniffed and folded her arms defiantly. “A very judgmental thirty-eight, then; probably takes after one of those Spanish ladies who still wears her black lace mantilla and prays all day. Living like a recluse out here in the wilds of Derbyshire with her spinster friends.” She looked out the window to avoid any further charitable insights from Pia.
“I thought she was gallivanting?” Farleigh chided, reminding Anna of her previous complaints.
Anna merely growled at him.
The castle came into view as they emerged from a shady stretch of road. The man-made lake and deer park framed the prospect perfectly, everything grand and dignified, but still soft and welcoming. A few yards off the pebbled drive, two shirtless men came into view. They were boxing—well, wrestling really, groping even.
“Oh my.” Pia craned her neck to get a better look at them. Anna smiled despite herself. “I say,” Pia whispered with eyes wide.
Sebastian and Farleigh were equally taken with the brief glimpse of all that blatant manhandling. “It must be some Etonian sport or other,” Farleigh muttered. “The alternative would be too delightful to contemplate—that everyone is running around Camburton Castle shirtless, sweaty, and . . . thumping one another.”
Sebastian and Pia laughed along with Farleigh, but Anna was no longer able to make light of their arrival.
The carriage began to slow, and the humor and distractions faded. Anna was about to meet her mother. No further well-intentioned diversions by the three people who loved her most could postpone the experience.
Nora’s skin prickled all over when the faint sound of carriage wheels and horse hooves floated on the wind through the trees. Her head was resting on Vanessa’s lap while the two of them reclined on the long, wide front steps of Camburton Castle. Tomaso was sketching them for the thousandth time, but Nora sprang up like a jack-in-the-box at the first hint of the far-off rumble.
“Oh dear. How do I look?” She patted frantically at her long hair. Vanessa had tied it up beautifully in the fashionable classical Greek style, but it remained uncovered.
“Like a goddess,” Vanessa replied soothingly.
“I should have worn a hat or a kerchief. I look reckless. She will think me foolish.” She put both of her palms to her cheeks.
“Oh my dear, sweet Nora—” Vanessa leaned in to kiss her.
“No! Good lord. Don’t kiss me for heaven’s sake! She might see and then whatever will she think?” Nora swung away from Vanessa and walked down the few steps to the driveway.
“Perhaps she’ll think that I love you,” Vanessa called hotly from behind her. “Even though you are quite undeserving of it at moments like this!”
She turned to look at Vanessa. Standing there in front of the castle, the wind playing lightly with
the hem of her thin muslin walking dress, her hands resting defiantly on her hips in tight fists; Nora thought she had never looked more commanding or more beautiful. “Come.” Nora reached out her hand.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes, but stayed where she was.
“Please come.”
Walking slowly down the few steps, Vanessa approached her with caution. When she was within reach, Nora laced her hands around Vanessa’s neck and pulled her mouth to hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered between nips and licks along Vanessa’s sultry lips.
“I forgive you,” Vanessa choked out in a throaty reply, as she pressed Nora even more firmly against her. “The Duke of Mandeville’s carriage approaches,” she added after a final, thorough kiss.
Nora withdrew her hold on Vanessa’s neck, and let one hand trail down her arm and slowly laced their fingers together.
“You don’t mind if she sees us hand in hand?”
Nora exhaled nervously. “If she can’t accept my love for you, she won’t be able to accept anything about me. So . . .”
“Oh, don’t say that, my sweet.” Vanessa tried to tug her hand away this time. “No need to frighten her off with our desperate passion for one another.”
Nora refused to let go. “I’m sorry. I was nervous before, but that’s no excuse.” Squeezing Vanessa’s hand tighter, Nora continued, “If Anna is living in close proximity to the Duke of Mandeville, I find it hard to believe she will be frightened off by much of anything.”
Vanessa smiled at the truth of that: Farleigh’s outrageous nature was legendary.
The carriage came to a stop, and Nora’s heart slowed to a dull thud. The footmen jumped down from the box, set the stair, and opened the door with a great flourish.