“Very well, Mr Davidson,” he said after a while and rose slowly from his swivel chair to shake my hand in an almost fatherly gesture. “It seems like you have made up your mind. And, although I cannot see any reason for a bright, young man with good potential, such as yourself, to leave London due to slightly poor health, I do wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
“But are you quite sure?” he asked. “Dartmoor seems like a wild and rough country. Would not Bath suit you better? Or a town by the seaside? What on earth compelled you to go back to Dartmoor?”
“Oh,” I said and hesitated before I added, “I have my reasons…”
If only you knew, I thought and hid the small smile that threatened to form at the corner of my lips. However, I did not say anything more, but only replied politely and bowed before I left the older solicitor’s corner office for the last time.
*
~ Chapter Nineteen ~
“Mr Cedric Davidson, I presume?” Morgan greeted me as soon as I stepped down from the red-and-black post carriage at Moretonhampstead. A shadow of a small, mischievous smile crossed his face, which instantly made me yearn for him.
“That would be me,” I said politely, playing along with him.
He was waiting for me and stood leaning casually against the brick wall of the coach inn. His amber eyes seemed to draw me towards him, and my heart skipped several beats in the most alarming manner when I saw him.
“Mrs Lavinia Lydford was going to order a carriage for you, but I told her I could drive you instead. I hope you do not mind?”
“Thank you,” I replied and tried to sound as indifferent as I could; however, I had a hard time forcing myself not to smile broadly… or do something extremely rash.
I wonder if the coach inn has any available rooms? I could not help but think, although I knew, of course, that it would be quite impossible for us to steal a couple of hours together. But perhaps later…
“The carriage is this way,” Morgan said and led me around the corner.
He politely offered me his hand to climb up to the driver’s seat next to him. I hesitated for only a moment before I, with a smile, took it. His grip was strong and his fingers warm against my skin, and it felt like my hand was still tingling slightly for several minutes afterwards where he had touched me.
The same sturdy workhorse pulled the carriage, but two large sheepskins had been thrown over the driver’s seat. The old brown-and-white dog lay at the back of the carriage and gave a short bark when it saw me, as if to welcome me back, before it resolutely curled up and went back to sleep without any further ado.
“I thought that you might get cold on the way,” Morgan said with a nod towards the sheepskins. “Although I see that you have finally managed to achieve some level of common sense and have bought yourself a sensible coat at last.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said, slightly aloof, and raised my chin high. “I have always been a very sensible man.”
“Oh, is that so?” he said and arched an eyebrow at me.
“Absolutely,” I lied bravely; however, I felt the beginning of a small blush trying to climb up along my cheeks. “Shall we?”
Morgan clicked his tongue twice and the sturdy workhorse dutifully began to move forwards along the cobblestone streets, which soon gave way to the open country road. I wrapped my new woollen overcoat around me and quickly realised that I should have bought a pair of thick gloves as well.
We left Moretonhampstead and continued along the uneven country road, and after a while we left both fields and farms behind. Neither of us spoke until the rugged landscape of Dartmoor extended before us, covered in a thin layer of white snow. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but still bleak and unforgivingly eerie. The December sky was mostly clear, but a couple of wayward snowflakes were quietly falling towards the frozen ground.
Morgan pulled the reins to the horse and the carriage stopped.
“Well, are you going to say it, or shall I?” he said and leaned closer. His unshaved cheeks brushed against the side of my face as his lips searched for mine. “I have missed you, and I am glad that you came back,” he whispered.
“I have missed you, too,” I mumbled back. I lost myself in his kiss and warm embrace, and as we laced our fingers together, I could not help but pull him a little bit closer. Vaguely, I thought I heard him laugh softly under his breath in reply.
***
~ THE END ~
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Victorian Romance and Erotica
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An unlikely love story between an English violinist on tour and a very reserved gentleman
Ever since the opening night of Don Giovanni at Vienna Court Opera, someone is sending Hugo Farrell a dozen red roses anonymously after every performance, which leads to jealousy and speculative gossip among the rest of the orchestra. Hugo and his only friend Christian try to solve the mystery, but no one seems to know who is sending the roses or why.
However, Hugo never notices the tall and elegantly dressed gentleman who is watching him quietly from his private opera box as Hugo plays the violin.
And then one evening, the worst thing imaginable happens and everything changes…
~ Nights in Vienna ~
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~ About the author ~
Lady T. L. Jennings writes all her stories by hand into classic journals. (The picture was taken in Bath, where Jane Austen lived between 1801-1806.)
Lady T. L. Jennings is a shy writer who loves the Victorian era and afternoon tea. She lives on the outskirts of Oxford in England, and writes Victorian erotica and romance with a dash of gothic mystique in longhand with a fountain pen.
She collects books, corsets, and lovers (all with varying levels of success).
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~ About this story ~
I wrote “The Mystery of the Black Widow” since I am very fond of Victorian Gothic novels and I wanted to write a ghost and mystery story, set in Dartmoor.
While Lydford Hall and the Crown’s Inn do not exist in real life, several other places (and ghosts!) do, including Warren’s Inn, Kitty Jay’s grave,
and the powder mill at Cherrybrook Farm. I visited Postbridge, Two Bridges, and Tavistock last summer and I am in debt to the Legendary Dartmoor website (www.legendarydartmoor.co.uk). Furthermore, I can recommend the booklet “Haunted Dartmoor” by Margaret Caine and Alan Gorton for those who would like to read more about ghosts and legends at Dartmoor.
As always when it comes to my stories, I did quite a lot of different research (which is a perfect valid excuse to google Victorian gowns and desserts). I have changed a couple of details regarding the inheritance laws during the 19th century, but to compensate, I did quite a lot of extensive reading regarding Victorian mourning traditions, various local ghost stories, and the behaviour of crows.
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***
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