by Sahara Kelly
“Lovely boy,” she laughed, as he wriggled out of her grip. “Go and have lots of fun with pretty girls.”
“Uh yes, Ma’am. I will definitely do that.” He bowed and quickly moved aside, barely missing a servant with a tray of glasses.
“Wine, sir?”
“God yes. Thank you.” Mowbray seized a glass as Miles came up beside him and did the same thing.
“I think I just got my arse squeezed.”
“You too?” Mowbray downed the wine.
“Maybe she’s doing a survey,” muttered Miles. “I can’t wait to see if Colly is going to get the same treatment.”
The brothers stood for a moment as the Duke and Ivy reached the Stauntons. Sir Francis was as gracious and cheerful as his wife, but fortunately less eager to grab body parts.
“There,” said Miles. “See that? She got him too.”
“He did jump a bit, didn’t he?” Mowbray chuckled.
Rose crossed the grass with wine in her hand. “Did you catch that?” She giggled. “I swear Colly just got patted on the behind.”
“If all he got was a pat, he’s lucky,” said Mowbray.
“You’re jesting now,” scoffed Rose.
“He’s not,” Miles shot his wife a glance. “She got me too.”
Rose gasped as Ivy, Lydia, and Prudence joined her. “Did you see…”
Everyone nodded.
“Right then. Rule number one tonight, keep our gentlemen away from Lady Susan’s wandering hands.”
Sir Ronan arrived, looking pale and a bit shocked. “You’ll never guess…”
It was an odd start to the evening, mused Mowbray, but thankfully it looked as if the dancing was about to begin.
Quite a crowd had gathered; he recognised Anthony Calder, and Will Furness, and there were a couple of other faces he’d seen but couldn’t put a name to. The rest he guessed would be local friends and neighbours.
He didn’t mind the casual informality of the affair, since he could wander where he wished without worrying about it, and if he bumped into anyone by mistake or lost his footing now and again, it was not made much of, if noticed at all.
Lydia was surrounded, of course. Her stunning appearance, glowing like moonlight in that lovely gown, all but guaranteed attention. Sir Anthony appeared to be squiring her, but was occasionally replaced by Will Furness.
Mowbray couldn’t help wondering if they’d both kissed her.
Calder must have. She’d told Ivy he was a good kisser which naturally implied she had some frame of reference.
Somewhat depressed, he wandered to the food table and helped himself to lobster patties. A moment later, Colly joined him.
“How are they? Any good?”
“Not a patch on your Cook’s, Colly. She outdoes everyone when it comes to these things.” Mowbray quietly snabbled a couple more.
“Did you…” Colly paused. “Er, when you arrived…” He looked a bit flustered.
Mowbray grinned. “Yes. She got me too.”
The Duke shook his head. “Caught me completely by surprise.”
“Probably doesn’t happen too often to someone of your elevated status,” teased Mowbray.
“Damn right,” Colly puffed out a breath of air. “Just glad Ivy didn’t catch her at it.”
“Well, Lady Susan is certainly warm in her welcome, but I don’t think she means any harm by it.”
Colly nodded. “I agree. Just a bit of a shock.”
The two men watched the dancers on the lawn, forming and reforming the patterns, laughing as they did so.
“A pretty sight,” observed Mowbray.
“And you’re not there joining them?”
Mowbray shrugged. “I’m saving my energies and filling up on the lobster patties before they disappear,” he answered.
“Wise of you,” approved the Duke. “I suppose I should find my wife. I wouldn’t mind a dance or two.”
Mowbray nodded as he left, only to be replaced with Ronan a minute later.
“God, women love to dance,” he said, surveying the food. “Good thing I adore them all, or I’d be out on the ocean far away from this right now.”
Mowbray laughed. “I seriously doubt that statement, lad. You’d miss the fun and the flirtatious looks all the girls are giving you.”
“Well, yes, that’s true,” Ronan nodded shamelessly. “And these local lasses are quite bold.” He cleared his throat. “Er, as is our hostess…”
Mowbray stopped him. “Say no more, but join the club.”
“Everyone?”
“Most everyone I’ve spoken with. Of the male persuasion, that is.”
Exchanging glances, the two men shared a laugh, Ronan shaking his head. “Ah, ‘tis lovely to enjoy a casual summer and leave all the formalities of town behind, isn’t it now?”
The dance ended and the dancers swarmed toward Ronan and Mowbray. Although, to be more accurate, they swarmed toward the food table near them.
Backing carefully out of the way, Mowbray watched both Sir Anthony and Will fill plates and then rush back to where Lydia had found a seat at one of the many smaller tables set up in the garden.
He sighed as he observed her laugh, try to decide between the two, and then diplomatically take something from each plate for herself.
Obviously both men were vying for her favour. So this evening was unlikely to be much fun for a gentleman observing from the edges of the party. He didn’t even consider joining them. Why hand one’s head to someone else for washing?
So he wandered, chatted, spoke with Ivy and Prudence, laughed with his brother and risked a dance with one young lady who commenced the conversation by telling him she lived a few miles inland, but that the Stauntons were such lovely people and invited everyone to their parties no matter how far away they came from, and she couldn’t wait to get here this evening after waiting what seemed like years for the day to arrive, and didn’t he think her dress was quite particularly lovely?
Half deaf, half exhausted after that experience, Mowbray took himself far away from any dancing and settled down in a chair to watch as dusk surrendered to night and the moon rose.
Of course, the main object of his attentions was Lydia. And by virtue of their presence, Calder and Furness.
At precisely what point he realised that Lydia was growing irritated, he wasn’t sure. But he knew, simply by watching her movements, increasingly sharp and definitive, that she’d had about enough of their companionship.
Without even thinking about it, he rose and walked back into the throng, directly to Lydia. Ignoring the other two men who stood either side of her, arguing about something, he simply smiled and held out his hand.
“Our dance, I believe?”
The look of pleasure on her face was reward enough, but when she willingly put her hand in his and moved toward him, his heart raced.
“Indeed, it is, Mowbray. Thank you for reminding me.” She glanced behind her. “I have a partner for this dance, gentlemen, so you can forgo your squabbling over me. Since it is nearly the last one I believe you should now share your kind attentions with the other guests for the remainder of the evening.”
She turned on her heel, linked her arm with Mowbray’s, and walked away from them.
*~~*~~*
The feel of his arm entwined with hers gave Lydia a sense of security, of rightness.
Sir Anthony and Mr Furness had been charming and attentive. A little too much of both. Clearly in competition with each other, they made a game of it, which was entertaining at the beginning of the evening but quickly became annoying.
She was not a prize to be won, nor claimed.
If there was to be a winner, she would be the one to choose him. And it hadn’t taken her long to verify that neither of these men were eligible for any kind of award. They pressed themselves on her, badgered each other, encouraged her to favour one of them and generally made nuisances of themselves.
She was well aware that other young women would have been in alt
to have two such charming gentlemen squaring off at each other like that.
But to Lydia, it was irritating, and reinforced her barely concealed distaste for the flirtations and innuendoes designed to lure the unwary into some kind of marital commitment.
Or worse.
Sir Anthony Calder would bed her in a heartbeat, and think nothing of it, assuming she’d wed him afterward. Will Furness would do the same, but probably follow it with a formal proposal of marriage.
She sighed, wanting neither of them.
“Anything wrong?” Mowbray took her hand in his as the musicians struck up the opening notes of a waltz.
He swung her out onto the well-flattened lawn, and together they spun in unison around and through the other dancers.
“Not now,” she smiled up at him. “How is it, Mowbray, that a man known for a tendency to trip over things can dance as if there is nothing but air beneath his feet?”
He smiled and for a few moments, did just that. Lydia, as his partner, shared the sensation. Two bodies perfectly attuned, swaying and swirling to the distinctive tempo of the waltz.
“I think it has to do with the logic of it,” Mowbray said thoughtfully.
“I don’t understand that,” she answered, looking up at him, admiring the way his face reflected his thoughts. He was trying to find the right words to explain it, she guessed.
“Well, a waltz is in three-four time.” He spun her around, counting aloud. “One-two-three, one-two-three…see what I mean?” They slowed. “It is quite logical. The movements are simple and steady and one can follow them as long as one can count to three.”
“I understand that…so far,” she smiled. “I can count too.”
He chuckled. “But what you don’t see is that there are no surprises. The only thing we need concern ourselves with is keeping time. No fancy crossing circles, clapping hands, linking arms, trotting up and down squares, or changing partners or anything like that.”
“You are so logical, Mowbray, and yet a quadrille or a cotillion confounds you? Are not those steps logical too?”
“It’s a valid point,” he nodded, with a warm look of approval. “But I have to focus on remembering those and that is nerve-wracking. I spend so much time remembering what steps come next, I forget what my feet are doing at that moment. And…disaster usually ensues.”
“So just the waltz then,” she said softly.
“Just the waltz,” he answered, tightening his grip on her, taking advantage of the shadows that were growing darker. “And waltzing with you? There’s nobody else I’d rather dance with.”
“If it matters,” she spoke quietly, her face close to his. “There’s no one else I’d rather waltz with, either.”
She felt a tiny shudder traverse his body, which didn’t surprise her since her nipples were hard against his waistcoat and she flushed from their exertions. His warmth seared her through the thin fabric of her clothing. A mad idea flashed into her mind.
“Walk me home, Mowbray? Walk with me in the moonlight back to Maiden Shore?”
“Uh…”
She drew back. “You don’t have to, of course. It was perhaps a silly idea.”
“Stop,” he said firmly, gathering her close again. “I would love to walk you back. As long as it won’t endanger your reputation and as long as we let Colly and Ivy know. I don’t want them worrying.”
She nodded. “All right.”
Which was all well and good, thought Mowbray half an hour later, but since she had mentioned it to Ivy, the idea had grown legs, and now here they all were, taking their leave of the Stauntons, and walking back to Maiden Shore en masse.
It seemed that everyone wanted to walk off the food, enjoy the balmy night air and stroll in the moonlight.
He and Lydia just looked at each other and sighed.
But at least Anthony Calder and Will Furness wouldn’t be present. That was something to be thankful for.
So with a resigned shrug, Mowbray took Lydia’s arm and followed behind Miles and Rose as the entire party set out to walk back to Maiden Shore.
The lane wasn’t completely dark, since there was enough light from the moon to make the going relatively simple.
When it led through the trees, however, the going was a bit slower.
“You have a loose shoe,” hissed Mowbray in Lydia’s ear.
“No, I don’t.” She blinked at him.
“Yes, you do. You need to take a moment and re-fasten it.”
“Uh…”
“On that log over there. That’ll do.”
With an indrawn breath, Lydia told him she understood. “I think my shoe is untied,” she called. “It’ll only take a moment. We’ll catch up.”
“All right,” called Ivy from the front of the group where she and Colly were leading the way.
Mowbray all but dragged her off the path and into the darkness beneath the trees.
Then she was in his arms and he was kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Once again, her head whirled, her body ignited with something hot and swirling deep in her belly, and she barely managed to restrain a moan of pleasure as she opened her mouth for him and his arms bound her tightly against him.
She ached, oh how she ached for…something. Something that made her push herself into him, part her thighs, and search for the hardness she could sense beneath his breeches.
“God,” Mowbray tore his mouth away. “God, I want you, Lydia.”
“I want you too,” she panted and kissed him again, pouring herself into the passionate moment. Without thinking, she whispered her need against his lips. “I want you to take me to bed. To make love to me.”
He stilled and she froze at his reaction. Then she moved away slightly. “Well, not here, of course. Far too many prickly things.”
Turn it into a joke. Maybe he didn’t understand.
He caught her chin in his hand and held it firmly, making sure she looked at him. “That isn’t a trivial thing, Lydia. Do you realise that?”
“Of course I do,” she was embarrassed now. “Spoken in the heat of the moment, Mowbray. Please disregard it.”
He snorted and led her back to the path, hurrying her a little to catch up to the others. “I cannot disregard it, Lydia.”
She clenched her teeth. “I’m sorry if I’ve inadvertently given you a disgust of me.”
“Don’t be silly.” His voice was cool. “Of course you haven’t.”
“Good.” She walked on in silence, wondering if she could run into the woods and stay there for the rest of the summer, until everyone had forgotten all about Maiden Shore and Lydia Davenport.
“I will take you to bed, Lydia. If and when the opportunity arises. But you must know this.” He held her back for a moment and stared down at her, his eyes shining in the moonlight, his face sober. “If we share such intimacies, it will change things. Forever.” He began walking again. “So you have to take some time to seriously consider the implications. For both of us.” He bit his lip. “I want you as much if not more than you want me. But as I said, this isn’t a step to be taken lightly.”
Heartened by his statements, Lydia felt a constriction around her heart lessen. He was right. Life would indeed change for her once she gave her virginity away. But she now knew she had to consider how he might feel if he was the one taking it.
However, having brought it all out into the open did make being with him a little easier. She looked at him and reached over to touch his cheek. “You’re a splendid man, Mowbray. It’s no wonder I want you so badly.”
True to form, the next instant he tripped on a rock in the path and all but fell over, his yelp attracting attention from the party ahead.
“Mowbray. That has to be you,” Miles’s voice rang out.
“I’m all right,” he called back.
Rose chuckled and turned her head to look behind her. “Lydia? Did you catch him?”
“Almost,” Lydia replied. And wasn’t that the truth…
C
hapter Thirteen
The days passed, as summer days are wont to do, and at Maiden Shore the happy revellers were able to indulge their wishes without restraint.
If they wanted to stroll, they strolled.
If they preferred a morning reading in the library, well that was just as much fun and perfectly acceptable.
The ladies often gathered for some time together, laughing, chatting about various topics that could only be of interest to the fairer sex—in other words, men—and when the London papers arrived, there was fashion and gossip to be discussed.
They discovered an archery set in one of the Maiden Shore storerooms and enjoyed time spent challenging each other with a bow and arrows.
The gentlemen discovered fishing and the pleasure of standing hip deep in a cool river listening to nothing but the sound of the water and the birds, and the occasional yelp from anyone who actually caught a fish.
Surprisingly, these trips often resulted in enough of a catch to provide dinner for the household, and it was with great pride that Colly served up fresh trout, along with a variety of stories, most of which included the dimensions of ‘the one that got away’.
They all walked, enjoying the chance to do so without concern. It was as if London and all its constraints, both physical and emotional, had been washed away by the sea and the sun. Everyone enjoyed the benefits, allowing noses to redden, cheeks to flush with colour and the bloom of good country air seemed to have a beneficial effect on them all.
Sir Ronan and the Maeve were much in demand as the string of perfect summer days held for over a week.
Shedding hat, jacket and formality, he took to the water with his passengers, sometimes all of them, other times those who just felt like a sail. For him, it was a joyous thing, to be able to share his love of sailing and the ocean with good friends.
He felt adopted into what he perceived as a tightly knit group of friends; they’d formed their own family in many ways. Some had no family, others a perfectly good one of their own, but still, there were bonds here, strengthening bonds, that united them. Some might perhaps have called them a budding clique, but Ronan saw no signs of anyone being standoffish. To a man, or woman, they were unfailingly kind, interested and ready to talk.