Truly, Madly, Deeply

by Romantic Novelist's Association

  Perfect: fast and lively, just the thing for getting her breathless and panting. ‘Another dance, Mrs Petersham?’

  ‘With pleasure.’ The gleam in her dark grey eyes belied the blush on her face and neck. Flushed with anticipation no doubt. He certainly was. He’d enjoy easing her gown off her shoulders, watching her breasts fall free, and touching her nipples until they hardened.

  As the music began, they worked their way around the room. When they neared the open double doors, he spun her out of the circle and whirled her into the corridor.

  She gasped but made no objection. Taking the advantage, he led her down the corridor and into an alcove. He pressed her against the wall, hiding her as best he could from any casual passerby.

  ‘So, madam.’ He rested his hands either side of her shoulders, his palms against the wall. ‘Would you care for a different sort of dance?’

  Eleanor swallowed and looked up at him. His hand moved from her gown to her arm and she couldn’t hold back the gasp. His touch heated her skin.

  ‘Are you content, Eleanor Petersham?’ His use of her Christian name shocked her. Why? She planned actions far more scandalous than the mere use of her baptismal name.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Certain, my dear?’ His hand stroked the side of her neck and a shiver of anticipation rippled down her body to her toes.

  Now was not the moment to hesitate. She rose on tiptoe and he responded. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips on hers.

  Need blazed in her. As if sensing her desire, he caressed the back of her neck, holding her head steady as he kissed her. Hard. She parted her lips and his tongue touched hers. Gently at first, but as she responded, his lips and tongue worked hers as she melted into his embrace.

  She was backed against the wall but she pressed forward, wanting to feel his body against hers. She needed more than a kiss. His hand touched her breast and a wildness engulfed her, as his hand came inside her bodice.

  She threw back her head and let out a slow moan, only half aware of her actions as her legs parted, her ankle wrapped around his and she rubbed her foot up and down his leg.

  ‘Sweetness,’ he muttered, running a line of kisses up her neck.

  She had never imagined anything could be like this. ‘Wondrous,’ she murmured, as he pulled down her bodice and her chest exposed. He kissed her breast and her mind flooded with sensation. All that mattered was his lips on her, his hand sliding down her leg and cool air on her skin as he raised her skirt.

  ‘Eleanor! How dare you!’

  Mr Holcombe muttered an oath under his breath and turned, blocking her from view as she pulled up her bodice.

  ‘Madam?’ he said, his voice almost harsh. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want to know what are you doing with my daughter!’

  ‘Mother!’ Shock and fear, then anger, engulfed Eleanor. ‘Good evening, Mother,’ she said evenly though she wanted to scream.

  ‘Madam.’ Mr Holcombe sounded more irked than embarrassed. She would follow his lead. If she could. ‘May I introduce myself. Thomas Holcombe at your service.’ He gave a little bow and Eleanor glanced over his shoulder at her mother. She was so red in the face, she must be close to apoplexy.

  ‘Thomas Holcombe!’ She could not have named Lucifer with less venom. ‘Your reputation is not forgotten and let me tell you, I have no desire to make your acquaintance, sir.’

  So Mother remembered him. It was to be expected but would not hamper Eleanor’s plans.

  ‘Mother, Mr Holcombe and I were discussing the pleasures of Scarborough.’ Oh dear, that did not come out as she’d hoped.

  Mother hissed. ‘Enough of this, Eleanor, come with me or I shall send for your father.’

  It was the old threat of her childhood but it would not shake her resolve. Not now, when need still burned across her skin and the memory of his touch heated deep inside her.

  ‘Mother, please leave us.’ She had little hope her mother would but she would not be dragged away like a disobedient child.

  ‘Eleanor! You forget yourself!’

  On the contrary, she was just beginning to find herself. Where the courage came from she’d never know but she said, ‘Mother, Mr Holcombe will be taking me into supper.’ If he refused, she would be mortified.

  He didn’t refuse.

  ‘If I may, Mrs Petersham,’ he said, offering his arm.

  Mother was close to livid as she glared. ‘So be it, Eleanor, I shall speak to your father.’ She turned on her heel and strode off.

  ‘Do you really want supper, Mrs Petersham?’

  Thomas Holcombe was beyond curious. She was a young widow. Ardent and passionate and, unless he was much mistaken, a fair way past girlhood, but the threat of her father visibly agitated her. However, despite her obvious fear, she defied her mother and as good as demanded he take her into supper when he judged her hunger to be in a different direction altogether.

  Yes, he was intrigued and wanted to get the measure of the interesting Mrs Petersham.

  He awaited her reply.

  ‘Supper?’ She shook her head. ‘In truth, no, Mr Holcombe.’

  He’d thought not. ‘What do you want of me, madam?’

  It was only a tiny frown, but suggested she was thinking. Deciding. Had she not already made up her mind?

  ‘What I would most like is to sit quietly somewhere my father will not burst in.’

  Intriguing. He almost suggested his rooms. ‘I believe I know the very place, Mrs Petersham. Come.’ As he reached for her hand, she closed her fingers over his and followed. He stopped at the corner of the corridor and took a candle from the sconce in the wall. ‘This way.’

  She made no comment until he stopped at a door on the right and held it open.

  ‘Where is this?’

  ‘The residents’ smoking room. I believe we will be undisturbed.’

  She entered and, as he set the candle in a candlestick on the mantlepiece, said, ‘You must think me a silly goose, Mr Petersham.’

  ‘On the contrary, I find you intriguing. Since we are alone and undisturbed, may I call you Eleanor?’

  She hesitated but at last nodded assent. ‘Should I call you Thomas?’ She did not sound too certain.

  ‘If you choose to, it would please me.’ They were not idle words. He wanted to hear his given name from her lips.

  She nodded. By the light from a single candle he thought she looked calmer now. ‘Tell me, Eleanor, have you been widowed long?’

  ‘Two years –almost. I am just out of mourning. This visit to Scarborough is my first social appearance beyond my family.’

  ‘Had you been married long?’

  She looked up at him directly. ‘You are curious about my marriage?’

  He wouldn’t deny it. ‘Does that seem impertinent?’

  ‘After what passed between us a short while ago?’ She smiled. ‘No.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘I was married twelve years. Jeremiah and I were engaged when I was seventeen and married three months later. I did not choose him as a husband, my parents insisted. Jeremiah and my father had business connections.’

  Poor child! That was all she’d been at seventeen. ‘You were unhappy in the marriage?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘For all of a week. It did not take me long to discover Jeremiah was a truly kind and generous man. He knew I had been pushed into marrying him and did everything in his power to ensure I had no regrets. He gave me freedoms I’d never know at home: I could join any circulating library I fancied. Go out with friends of my own choosing. He set me up accounts at milliners and drapers and urged me to buy whatever I needed. He often travelled and took me with him. We visited London as well as Edinburgh and Bristol. He always regretted the present situation in Europe as it precluded us going to Paris,’ she paused. ‘Do I bore you, Thomas?’

  His name came easily and that pleased him. ‘On the contrary, Eleanor, you fascinate me.’ And yes, he would take her upstairs in a very short while. ‘So, you were happy with your
kind husband and then he died.’

  ‘Yes. He died, and my situation was not as I’d hoped so my parents took me home with them.’

  ‘And now you are out of mourning and ready for adventure.’

  She did not appear overly enthused by that suggestion. ‘I think, Thomas, that what I need is –’

  She never finished the sentence, the door burst open and a voice called, ‘Thank heavens I found you, Eleanor.’

  ‘Peter?’ They both spoke his name at once.

  ‘Yes, thank God!’ Peter looked at him. ‘Tom! What the hades –?’ He broke off. ‘Pardon me, Eleanor.’

  ‘Peter, what in heaven is going on?’ she enquired.

  ‘Trouble plain and simple. Eleanor your father is threatening to call out the watch to find you.’ He crossed the room. ‘For pity’s sake, Eleanor. If you come now, we can say you got lost.’ Peter looked Tom in the eye. ‘You stay here and I’ll come back when the coast is clear. Honestly you two…’ He shook his head as he grabbed Eleanor’s hand.

  ‘Seems I must go,’ she said, looking up at him with eyes so bright, Tom suspected she was holding back tears. ‘I am so sorry…’

  Sorry for what? Their being disturbed or her having to leave?

  She was gone and the door closed behind them. Well, if Peter truly was trying to avoid gossip, best stay put.

  ‘What is happening?’ Eleanor whispered, as she followed Peter Abbot along the darkened hallways.

  ‘Your mother claims a strange man dragged you away against your will.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’

  ‘So it appears, but between the pair of them they are about to create a stir of unprecedented dimensions. What were you thinking going off like that with Tommy?’

  She took that as rhetorical. ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘I didn’t. It was luck finding you. What in heaven were you thinking?’

  ‘We were talking, that’s all!’ All she had a chance for apart for that one embrace, not that she could ever forget the press of his lips on hers.

  ‘Just as well, I say!’

  ‘You sound like my father!’

  ‘Believe me, Eleanor, I do not! You did not hear him carrying on.’

  She would concede that point. They were now at the top of a stairway that she recognised was near the main entrance.

  As they reached the ground, Peter called, ‘Mr Ogley, sir. I found her. She was looking for a sitting parlour and lost her way.’

  Her parents did not appear reassured or even believing.

  Her father barely thanked Peter for his efforts, merely nodded. ‘We will leave now.’

  Not a word was spoken as they followed the link boy the short distance to their rented apartments and Eleanor was ordered into the morning room.

  ‘Are you not ashamed of yourself?’ her father demanded. She wasn’t and, perhaps unwisely, said so.

  ‘Then you are truly shameless,’ her mother said. ‘There will be talk.’

  ‘Whatever is said, we will repair.’ Her father spoke as if a reputation could be repaired like a hole in a kettle. ‘If Fordham won’t have her now, we’ll find someone who will forget she’s damaged goods.’

  ‘Father –’ She might as well have not spoken.

  ‘Insolent hussy!’ her mother said. ‘Ungrateful child!’

  ‘Mother, I am nine and twenty and a widow. “Child” I am not.’

  ‘You are as dependent as one,’ her father said. ‘Your husband proved useless.’

  That she would not let pass. ‘Jeremiah was a good husband and I was happy with him.’

  ‘What good did that do? He left you nothing.’ So they had told her many times, as if it were her fault. ‘And your actions tonight will make you harder to marry again.’

  She should have made more effort for total ruin. Why had she not refused to leave with Peter? That was past now. ‘Father, Mother, I am weary, may I go to bed?’ Why was she asking permission?

  Because they expected it.

  ‘We will speak further in the morning. Do not think this is over, Eleanor. Jeremiah indulged you too much. I told him that a score of times. But now things will be different. You have danced your last dance and you will from now on sit with your mother at all social occasions until we find you a new husband.’

  Eleanor did not sleep. She did not even prepare for bed. Just sat by the window, thinking. They would make her a prisoner until they found another man to marry her and what was the likelihood of another as generous and thoughtful as Jeremiah? And why should she submit to them?

  Because she was penniless.

  If only Jeremiah had fulfilled his promise. Or Mr Thomas Holcombe succeeded in ruining her. If it had been the latter, she could have gone into quiet retirement with Cousin Jane in Ossett.

  If only she could do that now?

  If only Jeremiah had…

  As she blinked back a tear. She remembered. In her workbox was a secret drawer where Jeremiah had placed two guineas, saying, ‘Every woman needs a little secret security.’

  That would be more than enough to pay her fare to Ossett and leave enough over to help with expenses until she could earn money by painting or sewing.

  She emptied the spools and threads onto the bed and fumbled for the hidden catch. She found the two golden coins but they were wrapped in a paper that had not been there before.

  Curious, she took it to the window, where the breaking dawn gave just enough light to read by. An unexpected shiver ran down her spine as she recognised Jeremiah’s hand.

  Dear wife,

  I only hope this is enough for your immediate emergency. If not, speak to Fortescue again, he knows never to let you want.

  Your most loving spouse,

  Jeremiah.

  Shaking, she stared at the paper in one hand and the two golden coins in the other.

  But it was ‘speak to Fortescue again’ that reverberated in her mind. She had never spoken to him. Her father had and she’d never questioned his account but had Jeremiah done as promised after all? If so, why had her father told her she was dependent on them? She had one sure way to discover the truth: speak to Jeremiah’s solicitor herself.

  Getting out of the house hadn’t been easy. But her father’s objections to an early morning stroll –she was, apparently, to be punished for her disgraceful behaviour last night –would be nothing compared to his reaction if he’d suspected her ‘stroll’ was to the Bell Inn. She hurried along, her heart and hopes buoyed up by Jeremiah’s note in her reticule.

  Thomas Holcombe left his rooms early, after a restless night that followed a long talk with his cousin. To say he was confused was an understatement. Eleanor had approached him, and seemed willing and ready for a delightful rapprochement but if Peter was to be believed she a widow of impeccable reputation.

  His decision –made in the sleepless wee hours –was to call on her father and ask permission to visit her. Then he’d be free to meet with Eleanor and ascertain where things stood between them.

  He was only a short distance from their lodging house, when he noticed Eleanor coming towards him at a brisk pace.

  It was a moment or two before she recognised him and stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with surprise.

  ‘Mr Holcombe!’

  He remembered just in time to raise his hat. ‘Mrs Petersham, what brings you out so early? I was on my way to see on your father.’

  Surprise turned to shock. ‘Why?’

  ‘To ask permission to call on you.’ There, he was committed.

  She shook her head. ‘Please, do not. I beg of you.’

  Now was his turn to be amazed. ‘Why not? Last night we were companionable together. I hoped to continue our acquaintance. Was there difficulty when you got home?’

  At that she laughed. And did not sound the least amused. ‘Enraged is the best word to describe my father’s reaction. But, I pray you, the blame is on my head, not yours. I compounded my crimes by leaving the house this morning after being told to stay in m
y room.’

  He wasn’t sure whether to admire her independence or profess shock at her father treating her as a recalcitrant child.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Surely she hadn’t run away from her home?

  She hesitated a moment or two, before replying, ‘I have urgent business in Whitby.’

  ‘I see. How are you getting there?’ She couldn’t walk all the way.

  ‘Taking the coach. I must hurry.’

  ‘May I walk with you?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes, if you would be so kind, but we must make haste.’

  After an anxious glance over her shoulder, hurry they did as she set a quick pace.

  Eleanor had fears of being chased by her father and dragged back home –something she would have resisted with all her might. But nothing happened apart from a very brisk walk with her hand on Mr Holcombe’s arm. Her haste paid off, she obtained an inside seat some minutes before departure.

  ‘Is there nothing else I can do for you?’ Mr Holcombe asked, as they stood in the inn yard.

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ A thought struck her. ‘I hope you had no difficulties after yesterday.’

  His smile was truly appealing. ‘Peter reamed me out but I survived. But what about you? You faced unpleasantness by your account.’

  ‘My father was angry but that is nothing unusual. I have been disappointing him all my life. In truth, Mr Holcombe, I enjoyed the evening and regret I did not refuse to leave with Peter.’ Shameless, but the heady taste of freedom made her reckless.

  She astounded him. Pleased him too.

  ‘Indeed.’ He paused as if thinking over her words. ‘Perhaps I should call on your father nonetheless.’

  ‘Please don’t! It can only mean more trouble.’ She shuddered at the thought of her father’s reaction.

  ‘Then should I accompany you?’

  She was tempted by the prospect of his company but instead said, ‘Thank you but, no. I have made this journey many times.’ Although with Jeremiah it had been in a post-chaise.

  ‘As you wish. Is there no other service I can perform for you, Eleanor?’