Moonstone Obsession

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Selina accepted James' offer to carry her kit, easel, and folding stool which he slung effortlessly across one broad shoulder. A travelling box of paints, pencils, and painting boards he held in his left hand, and he held out his right hand for Selina to take.

  She hesitated for a moment and James’ head tilted in mute enquiry.

  “Aren’t you concerned about being seen?” she asked.

  “Are you?”

  “Not for my sake, but what about Abigail?”

  “I stopped dancing to her tune a long time ago, and you shouldn’t start.”

  She took his hand, revelling in the feel of its strength and warmth in hers; strong capable hands that had brought her to the peak of passion last night. She blushed at the memory.

  A glance up at him told her that he remembered too. He leaned close, his breath tickling her neck and ear. She closed her eyes in anticipation.

  “At midnight, meet me in the hall, I have something special to show you,” he whispered.

  ***

  James stood at the back of the room, a glass of champagne in his hand, and watched his guests.

  All-in-all, it was a very pleasant dinner. For all of his mother’s faults, she was an excellent hostess.

  James had had to endure escorting Abigail to dinner and taking his place at the end of the table as master of the house, but it was a small price to pay to see Selina happy. At one stage, he had even seen her enjoying an animated conversation with Alexandre and Catherine, of all people.

  His mother had made good on her invitation and Colonel Martin Pickering and Lieutenant Roger Walsh were in attendance as well, much to the delight of young Edith.

  And Lady Christina’s suggestion that, weather permitting, a day next week be spent exploring the beach and headland with keen amateur geologist the Reverend Ian Kirk, rector of St Petroc’s as guide, was particularly well received—especially by Edgar, who now was playing a game of chess with young Roger.

  Unfortunately the young Lieutenant was having a difficult time of it.

  Edith sat at the piano and played prettily as accompaniment to Lady Catherine’s warm contralto singing voice.

  In a semi circle of chairs around the piano was an audience comprising Selina, Comte Alexandre, Colonel Pickering, Lady Abigail, Edith’s grandmother Lady Mary, and James' mother Lady Christina. At the back of the room, close to the low-burning fireplace, was his grandmother Lady Margaret.

  “Are you enjoying your summer, grandmother?” he asked.

  “It’s been pleasant enough, although I don’t understand why you require me to travel all the way from my home to suffer the presence of your mother.”

  “I thought you’d like to at least spend some time with your grandson.”

  “You could have easily paid me a visit instead,” she sniffed, but the sternness of her words were softened by an affectionate pat on his arm. “I’d like to know the real reason why I’m here, young man. It’s not to enjoy the sea air. I could do that as easily in Wales.”

  James smiled slowly and watched the older woman’s face for her reaction as he spoke. “I’m getting married.”

  The look of surprise on Lady Margaret’s face bordered on shock, but the expression didn’t last long before it was replaced by a shrewd stare and an exaggerated sweeping glance across the room.

  “The young woman must be here, otherwise why bring me all this way?”

  James' smile broadened to a grin and he allowed the old lady to continue.

  “It’s not little Edith at the piano, she’s far too young and too flighty to make a good match,” Lady Margaret decided. “Catherine there is a beauty, but there is a stubborn streak in her character that will require her husband take a firm hand with her.

  “Besides, you’ve shown no interest in these women before now.”

  James raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Lady Margaret chastised, “I may live in Cheshire but I still have news of London. Your name is associated with only two women in two months and they are Abigail and Selina.”

  “Bravo madam!” He leaned in and kissed her wrinkled cheek.

  Lady Margaret harrumphed in pretend annoyance.

  “Don’t get beyond yourself young man. It has yet to be established whether you have more brains than your father in the choice of a wife.”

  “Now then,” James chided, with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “That’s hardly the way to speak of your own daughter.”

  “After what she did to your father, that woman is no daughter of mine. She can go to the devil for all I care. I hope I’ve been a better influence on you than that hell cat.”

  “Let’s pretend I haven’t already made up my mind.”

  “Well while we’re playing pretend, we’ll just make believe that you might heed my advice. Is that the game we’re playing?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Very well… If you marry Abigail, I’ll disinherit you as the idiot wastrel progeny of your easily-led father and your avaricious, vacuous social climbing mother.”

  Lady Margaret finished her observation and set her mouth in a tight line.

  “Now, put an old woman out of her misery and tell me that it’s that sensible Rosewall girl.”

  James nodded.

  “Then you do have some brains after all,” she said with affection before her expression firmed again. “Now tell me why your fiancée is under the impression she’s started a new life as a poor lady’s companion instead of the bride-to-be of one of the most sought after society bachelors.”

  “That would be because I haven’t asked her yet.”

  Lady Margaret snorted. “Don’t you think that might be a good idea? Were you planning on keeping her in the dark until your wedding day? She might go up even further in my estimation and refuse you.”

  The levity in James’ eyes dimmed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated? Tosh! She’s pretty and sensible and, for some unaccountable reason, she appears to be in love with you. You have means and seem to be fond for her, so there’s no reason why you couldn’t be married by the end of summer if you chose.”

  James shook his head and murmured his dissent low.

  “I’m obliged to do a favour for a friend first.”

  * * *

  The last chime of midnight struck as Selina’s foot reached the final step. She didn’t know why James would want to meet her here, so she changed after dinner into a simple cotton dress in dove grey, and a black shawl across her shoulders against the evening chill.

  For a moment she thought she was alone until she saw James’ silhouette pass a moonlit window as he crossed from the drawing room to meet her.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “Shhhh...” was his only reply as he took her hand and led her to the conservatory and through the French windows to the lawn.

  The full moon cast deep shadows over the trees and shrubs, making it difficult to identify the features in the garden.

  James didn’t stop to inform her of their destination so Selina allowed herself to trust his sense of direction as they walked further away from the house and towards the line of trees that marked the north-western boundary of the grounds.

  About twenty yards into the wood, a figure emerged from the gloom to meet them.

  Jackson nodded to James and greeted Selina by wishing her a good evening. Then he walked away in the direction in which they had come.

  “Only a few yards further,” James said and continued leading her through to a clearing illuminated by the moon over the Atlantic. The roar of the surf could be heard pounding the rocks somewhere below the cliff.

  There were few clouds this night, nothing to obscure the spray of stars that sparkled like diamonds across the inky blackness. The moon itself was bright, big and full, almost close enough to reach out and touch. Lines of liquid gold shimmered hypnotically on the waves falling toward the shore.

  Selina stepped forward mesmer
ised by the sight. James’ grip on her hand firmed.

  “Be careful, the cliff edge is only a couple of yards away,” he said softly.

  Selina turned to face him and then noticed to her right, two tin lamps on the ground casting a weak light on a blanket and a wicker basket.

  “Oh, this is beautiful!” Selina breathed, squeezing his hand.

  James led her to the blanket. In the basket was a bottle of wine, biscuits, cheese, apples and grapes—a midnight feast prepared by Jackson.

  Selina sipped her wine, her back against James’ chest revelling in the smell and the warmth of him.

  “I spent a lot of time here as a boy,” explained James, his arm around her to protect her from the light breeze. “The view during the day is lovely, but it’s at night that I really feel the power of the ocean and the draw of the cliffs. I spent clear nights like this one searching out the constellations and wondering about what life is like on the other side of that ocean.

  “If there was one thing I missed about England, it was this spot. It’s home.”

  “Penventen Hall is beautiful, I understand why it means a lot to you,” she said thoughtfully.

  “No, I don’t mean the Hall,” he corrected. “That hasn’t been a home to me for a very long time.

  “Life here was a pendulum of bitter arguments between my mother and father on one swing and frosty weeks of silence on the other.

  “Here though—right here in the wood and this clearing—there was adventure and also solitude when I needed it.”

  James had not spoken much of his childhood but Selina knew Lady Margaret disliked James’ mother and she suspected that his childhood had not truly been a happy one. She turned in his arms to examine his face in profile, but his attention was fixed out on the horizon.

  Then he turned and kissed her sweetly.

  “I’ve never shared this with anyone else,” he confessed hoarsely. “I want to give this to you. Do you understand? I want to give you something of myself that no one else has ever had.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and Selina nodded. She did understand and loved him even more for it.

  James’ arms wrapped around her tightly and a low thrum of desire infused through her.

  She wanted him to touch her again, make her feel the explosive surge of pleasure he had given her the night before.

  Selina touched his cheek tenderly before following it with kisses she trailed across his cheek to his slightly parted lips waiting for her. She took her time exploring his mouth while her hands skimmed across his head, his neck, across his shoulders, and down his back. Her hair had become loose from its ties and spread like a halo across the dark grey of the blanket. Her sapphire blue eyes glittered with desire. One arm was flung over her head and with her other beckoned him to join her.

  He propped himself on one elbow, using his free hand to explore her face, drifting down her neck across each breast and then seemed content for the moment to just watch her respond to him.

  Selina was not content with this; little sighs turned to groans as he teased her.

  She rolled to her side and touched him as and where he touched her, delighted to hear his breath catch. Through the linen of his trousers she stroked his hardening length and murmured her approval as his hand found the place between her legs.

  “Please,” she whispered, not knowing how else to articulate her need.

  “Soon,” he replied, his hand now bunching up her skirt and drawing it up her leg. “Let me pleasure you like this tonight, but soon, I’ll take you completely.”

  * * *

  Selina lay on her back, her head pillowed in James’ arm as they watched the night sky together.

  “I still remember the first time I went out on my father’s ship,” she said. “I was five and supposed to be asleep but I snuck up on deck and listened to one of the sailors play a mouth organ. I watched the stars for what seemed like hours before Papa found me.

  “I thought he’d scold me for being up but he lay down on the deck beside me and explained how to the find the North Star and told me the legends behind the constellations and how I came to be named Selina for the full moon he saw on the night I was born. I’ve always treasured that memory.

  “Did you know the moon is how sailors find their way at sea?”

  “I didn’t.”

  James stroked Selina’s arm softly and urged her to continue.

  “Papa described the moon as being the hands of a celestial clock. To tell the longitude the navigator just has to know the position of the moon, the time and the location of the evening star.

  “After maman passed away,” Selina swallowed at the revived memory, “I would cry whenever he had to leave us. One night he took me outside and pointed to the moon saying ‘as long the moon hangs in the sky, I will always find my way home to you’.

  “When he was very sick, not long before he died, we went outside one evening and lay on a blanket and he told me all over again the Greek stories of the constellations.

  “He’ll never see the ocean again but I feel I am experiencing this for him, which means he’s alive again.

  “And for the first time since his death, I feel like I’m alive again too.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  17 July

  Selina was glad to have worn one of her shorter walking dresses, a sky blue one which rose an inch or so above the ankle. Walking along the shore in anything longer would have left her waterlogged. She held a hand to her head to secure her brimmed straw hat from the sea breeze and looked back at the rest of the party.

  Edith had been less wise and the hem of her pretty pale pink walking dress was dark with sand and brine. Its length also made walking a slow-going affair, although Lieutenant Roger didn’t seem to mind being a constant companion.

  Bringing up the rear were James and Abigail. The woman had latched onto his arm like a limpet the moment they had left the Hall.

  Comte Alexandre and James’ valet, Jackson, kept Selina company. The satchel over Jackson's shoulder was Selina's which he had offered to carry for her. It contained a few basic drawing materials.

  A handful of yards ahead, Catherine and Colonel Pickering were taking an interest in a geological discussion between Edgar and Reverend Kirk. The clergyman was, true to Lady Christina’s promise, a wealth of information about the local area.

  The Reverend surprised Edith by not wearing his vestments or a dog collar but a simple grey shirt and trousers. When she had remarked on it, “Only when I’m on official business, dear,” he told her.

  Kirk appeared to be in his late 40s; his grey hair matched his shirt. While older and a good few inches shorter than Edgar, who was also informally dressed in practical walking attire and sturdy shoes, the Reverend matched the younger man in stride, enthusiasm, and vigour.

  He pointed to the outcrop of green and purple-banded slate that had been quarried for use in Penventen Hall, and to the north-facing recumbent folds in the cliffs that rose from the sand along the mouth of the River Camel.

  Selina only half listened to the discussion up ahead, consciously aware that James and Abigail had slipped further away from them.

  She warred with herself. While Selina was growing to believe that James might actually be in love with her, jealousy and insecurity whispered doubts that pricked at her confidence. She tried to silence the voices by reminding herself that he had gone out of his way each time they had been together to reassure her of his feelings, and she understood the need for a pretence to continue at least a while longer.

  So why should the sight of them, Abigail and James, walking along the sand together fill her with such unease?

  Perhaps because James had told her that he had informed Abigail their affair was at an end—and Abigail had refused to accept it.

  That much Selina could see for herself; there was something in the way Abigail looked at her over dinner two nights in a row—a look of triumph—that made her wonder if she had something over James that might hold him in check.<
br />
  And if it was large enough that his influence and wealth couldn’t dismiss it, then to Selina's mind that left only one thing.

  Honour.

  Selina knew well enough what women did to capture honourable men.

  “Miss Selina?”

  Edgar called her forward. “While we’re waiting for the others to catch up with us, the Reverend and I would be most indebted if we could impose on you to sketch these formations for us.”

  Selina was happy to oblige. Even more so because it forced her out of the unpleasant reverie. Jackson held open the satchel and she quickly extracted her sketch pad and charcoals.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” wondered Catherine with none of the cynical archness that so frequently marked her conversation. “How can rock so hard be made to bend like fabric?”

  “They are remarkable,” agreed the Colonel. “What caused those folds?”

  “No one is certain,” admitted Edgar.

  “Certainly a great geological upheaval, perhaps because of or in the aftermath of Noah’s Flood,” answered Reverend Kirk.

  “I find it hard to believe water could be responsible for all of this,” said Pickering doubtfully.

  “Well, over a great deal of time water can carve very vast swathes. Most river estuaries are formed this way,” explained Edgar to the Colonel, then nodding to Kirk, “although I do have to say, Reverend, that a flood couldn’t be responsible for all of this.”

  “I do not believe a Noah’s flood covered the world,” offered the Comte. “It is one of those exaggerated tales. A large flood somewhere in the East perhaps, but there’s not enough water in the world to have covered all the land. The flood of Noah is an interesting tale, but one to be discussed as philosophy, not as science.”

  “I see I’m outnumbered by doubters,” responded the Reverend with ease. “However, I don’t see belief in the holy word of God as being inconsistent with science. In fact some of the greatest men of science were very devout.”

  He gestured back towards the folded strata.

  “We look at the same feature and you see a gradual wearing away over eons while I see the result of a singular, violent event where rock not yet set was still pliable.”