by Sahara Kelly
“I can assure you he will be fine, Lydia,” Colly touched her shoulder. “We men have hard heads. I’ve done the same thing myself a time or two. And he’s warm and dry, which will help.”
“Yes, but…” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Shouldn’t he have woken by now?”
“He needs rest, dear,” said Rose kindly. “And so do you.”
“I’m not leaving. I want to be here when he wakes.” The statement brooked no argument.
“Then we should give you some peace and quiet,” Ivy said. “Stay here with him. Get warm, because you’re still looking quite peaked yourself. And let us know when he awakens. We’ll have tea ready.”
Lydia teared up once again, but this time at the warmth and kindness surrounding her. “You’re all such wonderful people,” she said, choking on the words. “Thank you.”
They left the room and took much of Lydia’s energy with them. As the door closed behind Colly, she slumped, holding Mowbray’s hand in hers. Wriggling around in her cocoon, she moved herself and her chair as near to him as she could.
He was so still.
His hair had dried and the bits sticking out of the bandage shone red in the firelight. Her heart snagged as she saw his mostly dark curls lying over the white cloth, with those unique little fiery glints.
“Mowbray,” she said softly. “I wonder if you can hear me. I hope you can, and if you can, please wake up soon? I need to tell you how much I love you. I need to tell you that marrying you would be the best thing that could ever happen to me. I need to tell you so many things…”
Her voice tapered off as her feelings threatened to overwhelm her.
“I’ve been an idiot and you’ve been…everything I could ever have wished for and more.”
She looked down at their hands, his so strong, his fingers long and tapered. Hers so much smaller, but holding on with fervour. “So please, dear dear Mowbray. I love you. Please wake up so that I can tell you so.”
“You already did.”
She jumped and gasped, coughed and nearly fell off the chair into a tangle of blankets.
“Mowbray…”
His eyes were open, staring at her, a little smile playing around his lips. “I love you too. So much. I think perhaps I have since the first time I met you. I was just too stupid to recognise it.”
“You are not stupid. Never say that.” She fought to untangle herself. “How do you feel?” She let go his hand and reached to his cheek, finding it comfortably warm to her touch.
“Well,” he lifted a hand to his forehead. “I gather I had a bit of a bump. Which would account for the headache I seem to have developed…”
“Mowbray. You’ve been unconscious for what seems like hours,” she remonstrated. “It was more than a bit of a bump, and I’m not surprised you have a headache.” Ignoring her wrappings, she slid onto the couch beside him, sitting as close as she could. “Wait.” She pulled the quilt over her lap and onto him. “To keep you warm.”
“I want you to keep me warm, Lydia.” His fingertips drifted over her face. “Marry me.”
She stared at him, then smiled. “Yes. Yes, yes and yes.”
“It won’t hurt if you kiss me, you know,” he commented. “In fact, I expect it will make the headache disappear.”
“Good, because I’m going to anyway.”
The first touch of his lips made her sigh with joy, and within moments they were lying together cuddled up beneath the blanket and the quilt.
“Are you absolutely sure you want to get married, love?” Mowbray held her snugly against his chest.
“Yes. I choose you, Mowbray. And I don’t want to be an independent woman anymore. I have come to understand that loving you and depending on you doesn’t take away anything of who I am. It adds to it.” She sighed. “I don’t give a fig for any gossip, of course. I had to work so many other things out in my mind. Being isolated and facing death on some rocks gives one time to think.”
“I imagine so,” he answered. “But you’d probably have come to the same conclusion even if imminent death and dangerous rocks weren’t involved.”
“I know. It was a foolish thing to do.” She paused. “But…oh for God’s sake, I forgot…please tell me you brought my fossil? It was in my…”
“In your bag, yes, I know. And yes it’s here.”
She sagged against him once more. “And that is why I love you. That, and for so many more reasons, Mowbray.”
“You’ll have a lifetime to tell me all about them, sweetheart.”
“Mmm.” She murmured as he moved her head onto his shoulder and they rested for a few minutes, warm, silent, together at last and content to be so.
Then she shifted and looked at him. “About my fossil…do you think we can have it framed?”
Epilogue
“They make a charming couple, don’t they?”
Prudence watched Mowbray and Lydia as they moved around the room, chatting to the Stauntons, to the Sydenhams and to their friends.
An informal gathering, a subtle way of spreading the news of the engagement that had been announced between Mr Miles Linfield, brother of Lord Linfield, and Miss Lydia Davenport, notable member of London Society.
The Times would have a slightly more formal version of the announcement, but anyone watching this couple would immediately see that this was no alliance arranged by families, but a love match.
“I believe they bring out the best in each other,” continued Prudence. “She helps Mowbray be more comfortable at this sort of thing, and he makes her feel…protected.”
“Interesting,” said Sir Ronan O’Malley, his eyes on the young woman beside him, rather than the happy couple. “You’ve a way of observing people, Prudence. It’s downright scary.”
Blue eyes met sea green. “How can a mere woman like me be scary, Ronan? You’re making no sense at all.” She blinked innocently.
He grinned at her. “You are much too clever to be that sort of woman. You know exactly what I mean.”
She pouted. “It seems that you’ve made a lot of decisions about me this summer,” she shot him a sideways glance from beneath her lashes. “I’m not at all sure I’m pleased with that.”
“You don’t have to be, mo stoirín,” he smiled. “It pleases me. And that’s enough. For now.”
“What does that mean? What you just called me?” She raised her eyebrows.
“It means dear lady,” he lied smoothly.
“Oh. Well then.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts and looked back at Lydia and Mowbray. “He’s looking well. That little scar on his forehead adds a certain maturity, don’t you think?”
“No, but I’ll take your word that it’s true.”
Prudence gave up, throwing her hands in the air. “Permit me to tell you Ronan, that sometimes you can be the most aggravating, annoying…”
Her tirade faded away as she looked at him and saw the heat building behind his beautiful eyes.
“It’s a gift, Prudence. I’ve worked hard at it.”
“Yes, you’ve worked hard, Ronan. I’m not sure at what, but sometimes I can see something in your expression. Something…almost melancholy?”
He scoffed. “Ye’re dreamin’, lass.”
“And there it is. That lovely Irish brogue designed to charm and distract anyone away from a topic you do not care to discuss.”
He sighed, took her arm and drew her out onto the terrace through the open doors. The storm had washed everything clean, the air was fresh with the first bite of autumn, and the sun shone in a cloudless sky.
“In all fairness, Prudence, you seem to have made a study of my poor self, this summer as well.” He steered her off to the side and around some tall shrubs to where a little table and chairs offered a quiet spot from which to look down the coastline.
He didn’t sit, though, surprising her. “I ask myself why that would be. Why such a lovely young lass, who should be dazzling the young men, finds herself watching an old Irishman instead of dancing
her slippers off.”
“I think you might be overstating the matter,” she replied carefully. “I have enjoyed this time here at Maiden Shore enormously, since everyone, including your old Irish self, has made this a summer to remember.”
His lips twitched. “I constantly underestimate you.”
“Perhaps.” She turned her head toward the sea. “People often confuse youth with a lack of intelligence.”
“A mistake I’ll not make with you, I can promise you.” He grasped her shoulder and turned her toward him. “But there are other mistakes I’m thinking that I’d like to make with you, Prudence.”
She let him put his arms around her, relishing his warmth. “Perhaps I might encourage some of them,” she answered, lifting her head and meeting his gaze.
“You’ll have to be sure to tell me which ones…” His eyes fixed on her lips.
“I’d be happy to.” She moved closer, anticipating his next move.
She was right.
He took a breath, shrugged and leaned in to kiss her. A soft and sweet moment, that was all well and good, but nowhere near enough for Prudence.
She raised her arms, locked them around his neck and opened her mouth to let him in.
Suddenly she was locked in bands of iron, crushed against his chest and discovering the pleasure of a man’s tongue duelling with hers.
The taste of him was wild and masculine, the feel of his hair against her hands a warm soft mass teasing her fingertips. Prudence let herself dive into the kiss, eager and willing, hungry for the experience and losing herself every time their bodies shifted against each other.
Finally, he let her go. “Oh, mo dhia,” he whispered. “I was right. You’re trouble wrapped up in silk and lace and a smile.”
That smile bloomed as she gazed at the handsome face so close to hers. “Am I the kind of trouble you like, then?”
He laughed then and released her. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”
She blinked. “And what does that mean, pray tell?”
“It means, sweet Prudence, that I’ve to go back to Ireland on business for a bit. I’m sailing from here around the coast and then across the channel.”
Her spirits fell. “When?”
“I’m leaving tonight. Catching the tide before the sun sets and making harbour west of here, as far as I can get before dark.”
“So it’s urgent then. This business of yours?”
“It’s my family, lass. So yes, it’s urgent.”
She nodded, her heart aching a little. “I can only wish you good luck then, Ronan, and hope you’ll be able to come back for a visit soon.”
“I could be persuaded,” he said, staring at her lips once more.
“If that kiss isn’t persuasion enough, I doubt there’s much more I could think of,” she answered, moving away.
“Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone,” he ordered.
“Such as?” She glanced at him, so tall and masculine, silhouetted by the afternoon sun.
“Don’t wed a nincompoop. When I come back there’ll be things to discuss. Matters for you and me to settle.”
“I don’t…”
He held up a hand. “Stop…you know what I mean. You’re both young and old, lass. It’s a dangerous combination. So enjoy your Little Season, or whatever yon Londoners are calling it. But save your magical kisses until Christmas. I’ll be back by then. I promise.”
“It seems a long time away,” she sighed. “But very well.” Straightening, she held out her hand. “I give you my word, Sir Ronan O’Malley. I’ll not kiss anyone or wed a nincompoop until Christmas.”
“A bargain, then.” He shook her offered hand. “And one that’ll keep me warm if the Irish nights turn cold, as they often do.”
“It’s time to toast the happy couple.” Ivy called out the doors. “Prudence? Are you out there?”
“Coming,” she answered, giving Ronan one last look as she hurried away.
“Have you seen Ronan anywhere?”
“Yes, he was outside a few minutes ago,” she said, her voice as steady as a rock. “I do know he’s supposed to be heading out tonight…”
“Oh that’s right. He’s probably doing sailing things. I hope he has chance to say goodbye before he leaves. It’s been so lovely having him with us, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed it has, Ivy. Indeed it has.”
Prudence followed her aunt back indoors to the party, but her mind was focussed on one question.
I wonder how many days there are between now and Christmas?
The End
Watch for “Mistletoe for Prudence”, a Wednesday Club Christmas Novella, coming in December.
In case you have missed any of the first three novels in this series, you’ll find the links to their Amazon pages below, and in the bibliography.
They are sequential, and characters from each book make regular appearances in the others. After all, friends need to stick together, especially in the madness of Regency London.
A Gentleman for Judith-Book One
A Melody for Rose
A Garden for Ivy
And if you have enjoyed this series, may I recommend my best-selling Regency series
The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington
About the Author
British born and bred, Sahara Kelly has enjoyed writing and reading Regency romances for many decades, beginning in her childhood with books by Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer and Barbara Cartland.
Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris’ Saint novels, all the original James Bonds, and a passion for Monty Python, Sahara’s new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, citizenship, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings.
She never quite managed to attain a level of comfort with the American way of spelling, however, and creating a Regency novel offers challenges in that regard. So, you’ll see words that British readers will recognise, but American readers might perhaps find unusual. It’s a choice… should one write an English romance using English spelling? Sahara has come around to that belief. She can now enjoy the extra “u” which has always seemed so colourful…
After more than two decades of writing, Sahara is now enjoying the greater freedom offered to authors by the rapidly expanding self-publishing scene, and looking forward to many more such experiences.
Being freed of external controlling restraints has opened doors—for Sahara and many other writers. There are now no impediments; no obstructions barring the path from writer to reader. Which is, in many ways, exactly as originally intended when that first storyteller sat on a rock outside her cave, tugged her bearskin around her shoulders and smiled at her kids across the open fire with the words “Once upon a time…” (or however it sounded several million years ago.)
To find out more about Sahara Kelly and her writing, please drop by her website and visit her at:
Sahara Kelly‘s website
This is where Sahara shares none of the intimate details of her life, but will present you with a list of books she’d like you to buy so that she can go do research on a tropical beach and be pampered with massages accompanied by drinks with umbrellas in them. She’ll send you a postcard. Thank you.
When not dreaming of lazing on sunkissed sands, Sahara has a modestly active social presence on the Internet. Take a look:
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Also By Sahara Kelly
(*- co-written with S.L. Carpenter)
A Garden for Ivy
The Wednesday Club, Book Three
A Melody for Rose
The Wednesday Club, Book Two
A Gentleman for Judith
The Wednesday Club, Book One
The Dowager Countess
The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor, Book Two
Lady Adalyn
The Saga
of Wolfbridge Manor, Book One
The Landlocked Baron
Book 1 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
St. Simon’s Sin
Book 2 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
Word of a Lady
Book 3 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
The Mistress Wager
Book 4 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
Blackmail and the Bride
Book 5 in the Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington series
Mistletoe Masquerade
A Ridlington Christmas Novella
Music and Mistletoe
A Ridlington Christmas Novella
~
The Mistletoe Marquess
Outrageous Ladies
~
Honor and Secrets
Book 1 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
Control and Compassion
Book 2 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
Endings and Beginnings
Book 3 in the Gypsy Gentlemen Series
~
Consent
Sword Play
~
Oh My Laird!
Book 4 in the Regency Rascals Series
Deverell’s Obsession
Book 3 in the Regency Rascals Series
The Fifth Wife
Book 2 in the Regency Rascals Series
Julia and the Devil
Book 1 in the Regency Rascals Series
~
Discreet Madness
A Little More Discreet Madness
The Viscount and the Witch
Feels So Right*
~
Whole Lotta Love Series