Dangerous to Know

by Christina Boyd (ed)

  The butler then opened the doors to signal it was time to join the ladies in the parlor. The gentle music of female voices summoned us, and I was reminded of Homer’s Odysseus, as I found myself, as always, lured by that sirens’ song.

  Inside the sirens’ realm, otherwise known as the salon, Miss Fairfax sat at the pianoforte, conversing with Miss Campbell. Candlelight bathed her in a warm glow that surrounded her head like a halo. I nearly stumbled, caught by her beauty and grace. The drama of her circumstances as told by Dixon captured my imagination. An unwanted vision of Aunt Churchill appeared, warning me of the dangers of pretty but impoverished women, but my aunt’s haughty voice receded from my mind until only her stern expression remained, mouthing words I could no longer hear.

  Then Miss Fairfax opened her mouth to sing and Aunt Churchill disappeared completely from my consciousness, along with every other thought. The sweet soprano floated across the room and seized me by the throat. Her face, when singing, was transformed as it was when she smiled but three-fold. She seemed to ascend into a world all her own: eyes unseeing, unaware of the room before her, complexion glowing with health, creamy bosom rising with each breath.

  “‘Robin Adair’ is my favorite,” Dixon whispered in my ear. “Miss Campbell must have asked her to play it just for me.”

  I had to stop myself from vehemently shushing him.

  I think perhaps my fate was sealed at that moment, because I felt the strangest compulsion; I wanted to put that look on her face. I wanted to be the man who could transport Miss Fairfax to whatever paradise she inhabited while she sang.

  * * *

  As July turned to August, I contrived to be in the presence of Miss Fairfax as much as possible. Dinners, dances, promenades around Weymouth, walks along the shore—I saw her almost every day in some capacity or another, and each encounter made me hunger for just one more. Hayward asked me once if I had intentions in her direction, and the question stunned me so much, I stammered out the often-played response.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “She has nothing but her charm to recommend her. My aunt would never allow such a thing.”

  His comment had me thinking, however, and it occurred to me that, perhaps, if I could win my uncle to my side, my aunt might be persuaded to accept a girl like Miss Fairfax as my wife. I was to be master of Enscombe one day. Miss Fairfax would make an excellent mistress of the estate. She had observed enough of the ways of gentry and was bright enough to learn her duties quickly. She was kind and benevolent to all who knew her. My aunt and uncle should trust my judgment in this matter; I had never given them reason not to. I began to contemplate how to approach Colonel Campbell with my request to court the lovely lady, although I could not gather the courage yet to attempt it.

  When the invitation arrived for me to join Dixon and the Campbells at a month-long house party a few miles inland, I leapt at the chance. Aydersham had the appeal of being quietly isolated from the prying eyes in Weymouth, was picturesque, and delightfully scattered with quaint cottages.

  The morning after our arrival, I learned of Miss Fairfax’s penchant for solitary, early morning walks. Unable to sleep, I had dressed early and was standing at my window with a cup of tea. I saw her venture out away from the house and toward the gardens. I set my teacup in its saucer with a clatter and hurried downstairs, forgetting that I was in but a waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

  I strode toward the gardens by a different route, taking a couple of guilty looks back at the house, and thankful that I was far enough behind her to decrease the possibility that someone might observe my clandestine chase.

  A swish of muslin skirt alerted me as she entered the boxwood maze. I let her take several steps in before I called out her name.

  “Hullo there, Miss Fairfax!”

  She stopped, turning slowly around to face me. “Good morning, sir.”

  “No sirs, begging your pardon. No sirs. We are friends now, are we not?”

  “I suppose.”

  Her shawl slipped off one arm, and I bent to retrieve it, allowing myself the luxury of brushing my fingers across the bend of her elbow. “Where are your gloves, milady?”

  “If I am not to call you sir, surely it is unacceptable for you to call me milady.”

  “Where are your gloves then, Miss Fairfax?”

  I took her bare hand in mine and ran a finger down the center of her palm. Then I closed her fingers and covered them with my hand. I took a step nearer to her and lowered my voice. “Jane Fairfax. Such a plain name for such a fair lady.”

  She looked up at me, hope and disbelief warring in her expression. I had an overwhelming impulse to kiss those lips, barely parted in surprise.

  But I did not. I released her hand, stepped back, and gave her my most charming smile accompanied by a deep bow. “We will walk and talk again. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “Mm—perhaps.”

  “Until tomorrow morning just after sunrise, O, fair Miss Fairfax.”

  We met most every day that first week, sometimes in the maze, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in the orangery or the gardens. No one noticed us—it was well-known that Miss Fairfax valued her private strolls through nature’s bounty. And since Hayward had been unexpectedly called to London, no one was around to notice me at all.

  A few days after our arrival, the party took a seaside trip to the bay near Weymouth and out on the water. It was a glorious day, white cotton-like clouds sped across the bluest sky, driven by a wind that was stronger than usual for that time of year.

  Aware that I needed to curb my public attention to Miss Fairfax, I stood across the boat from her, chatting with another young lady, a Miss Parker. My eyes always found the object of my…affection? Infatuation? Whatever it was, I was aware I did not give Miss Parker the attention she deserved. My heart leapt each time I caught Miss Fairfax’s gaze sweeping toward me, and I struggled to not observe how the wind pulled several tendrils of her hair out of their trappings—and I also struggled to avoid imagining doing such a mischief myself.

  I heard Miss Fairfax’s laugh, an unusual sound, and whipped my head around just in time to see her in animated discussion with Dixon—and Miss Campbell nowhere to be seen. The sound of his voice, so jovial, so…loud made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned my back to them, only to be assaulted the next moment with gasps, screams, and bellows of fright. Miss Parker and I both turned then, and I saw a fearsome vision of my lady as she teetered precariously close to the edge of the boat. She was going overboard! I ran toward her, breath backed up into my lungs, and watched as Dixon grabbed at the skirt about her waist and pulled her from a certain death under the ocean’s waves. She clung to him, pale and frightened, and his arms came around her for the few seconds it took for Miss Campbell to rush to her side. He relinquished Miss Fairfax, and as the future Mr. and Mrs. Dixon fussed over her, a red haze descended before my eyes. To see Dixon and my Jane entwined thus, though I knew it was for her safety, set off a jealous rage inside me that I never knew could be ignited. I should have been the one standing next to her. I should have been the one who made her laugh. I should have been the knight in shining armor who saved her.

  The rest of the outing was more subdued, and I noticed very few young ladies standing at the edges of the boat. We were a quiet crew on the way back to Aydersham House, and I stewed all during dinner, into the evening’s activities, and overnight. I burned with jealousy, with despair, with the injustice of not being able to freely choose my partner in life. I thought about my parents: my mother, who gave her position, her family, maybe even her life for the man she loved. I thought of my father, settled in his modest estate in Surrey, and yet content. And somewhere in the middle of that night, I made my decision. I was Fate’s Fortunate Child, and Fate would not fail me now, for I would not let it. I would find a way to have both Enscombe and the woman I loved.

  * * *

  I woke early, and although there was a drizzle in the gray morning sky, it was warm enoug
h to walk out. I waited on the veranda outside the breakfast room until I saw Jane leave the house by way of the servants’ quarters. Determined, I returned my cup to the sideboard and descended the stairs out into the wilds of the forest, following my wood nymph, my muse, into the line of trees.

  “Miss Fairfax!” I called, hurrying my pace to catch her. “Jane!”

  She whirled around, sharp gray light shooting from her eyes like daggers. “Hush! You foolish man! Someone will hear you!” She turned around and kept walking. “And leave me alone! You do not have leave to call me by my Christian name, sir! Besides, I’ve had enough embarrassment for one fortnight.”

  I stopped calling to her but broke into a run. I caught her arm and whirled her around to face me. Her bonnet slipped down her back, and those lips slipped open for me, so I took them with my own.

  The clouds darkened; I heard the crack of thunder and felt the whip of the wind. I did not know if they were real or just an artifact of the storm of emotion between us.

  I had certainly kissed women before—exquisite, young widows, well-heeled courtesans, even a few luscious milkmaids on the continent during my tour—but no woman had made me want to devour her quite like this one—this lady with the sad smile, this daughter of Fate, this kindred spirit. At first, she melted into my embrace, but then I felt her struggle, and reluctantly, I let her go.

  She put her face in her hands and began to cry. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m on a path to ruin. You must go.”

  “I can’t leave you, Jane. I won’t.” I stood there, hipshot, arms akimbo, as I considered. “I’ve compromised you, have I not? You are a lady, and I am a gentleman. We must marry.”

  She stopped, her face rising out of her hands, cheeks covered with tears and staring at me with abject shock.

  “I do not want to be married out of some misguided duty. No one saw you, and I will certainly never tell a soul.” Her voice broke again. “Go.”

  “I will not go. I love you, Jane Fairfax. I want to marry you.”

  “But…” The confusion on her face told me her resolve was weakening by the second, so I pressed my point.

  “And you love me too, do you not?” I stepped close to her again. “Jane? I will call on Colonel Campbell and ask to court you.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course.” I grinned. “I promise.”

  “But what will your family say?”

  My grin faded somewhat, but I put on a brave face. “I will convince them that this is a good match. It will not be too difficult. You will see.”

  The sky opened with a deluge of rain, just like in a novel. I seized her hand, and we ran, laughing, for an abandoned cotter’s cottage just down the path. Inside, I shut the door behind us and pinned her against it.

  “Jane, dearest—for dearest you will always be. Say you’ll marry me.”

  Her smile returned—that little piece of paradise that was a promise of a bigger ecstasy to come. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “Yes, I will marry you, Mr. Frank Churchill.”

  “Of course, you will,” I murmured, my lips brushing her cheek. “For I love you. I will love you forever.”

  I knew that my plans for the rest of the morning were not gentlemanly. I knew I was wrong to make love to an unmarried young lady. But the freedom from Enscombe, from Weymouth, from everything that had always reined me in—well, it made me reckless, daring, and careless—like a panther on the prowl.

  I trailed lips from her cheek to the soft, delicate spot behind her ear, reveling in the scent of lavender in her hair and rose water on her skin. I hooked my fingers in that damnable fichu and tore it from her neck. She gasped and closed her eyes while my lips descended the magnificent ivory of her neck on one side, and my fingertips slipped under her neckline on the other side. The backs of my fingers swept across her breast, drawing another gasp, followed by a soft moan that made me wild with wanting her. I pressed kisses over her tantalizing flesh as I tugged the bodice down to expose more of her generous bosom that blossomed from below the muslin.

  I had not deflowered a virgin before, although my courtesans in London had given me plenty of lessons on the technique. It was expected that a gentleman would be required, upon his marriage, to discharge this duty upon his new wife. It appeared my time had come. Jane Fairfax was to be my bride, so I set about this new carnal assignment with the giddy enthusiasm of a student who was first in his class.

  I led her to the chaise that sat in front of an empty hearth.

  “Frank?” she asked, her eyes round and gray as the clouds in the sky, bosom flushed and undulating in a most fetching manner.

  “Yes, my love?”

  “What is this place?”

  I thought it bad form to tell her she was about to become my mistress in a lowly cotter’s cottage. “It is our escape from the ties that bind us.” I pinned her arms to her sides while I ravaged her mouth and then came up for air. “This is our respite from the walls that others force between us.” I leaned over her, taking her mouth with mine once again. “Try to imagine, my dearest, the cold winds blowing outside while we dwell within these walls,” and here I knelt in front of her, lifting her skirt as I skillfully removed her shoes and drew down her stockings. “Can you feel the chill of it?”

  “Yes,” she gasped her answer.

  “The fire before us burns hot and fierce.” I nudged her knees apart and brought her hips forward. “Hot and fierce, like my love for you.” I slid my hands up her thighs and pushed the dress back.

  By the time my hands had finished their work underneath her petticoat, it was a simple business to switch places with her and settle her over me. Taking her slowly was excruciating, but I was rewarded, not once, but twice, with that same expression of pure ecstasy I beheld when she sang.

  * * *

  For the rest of our time at Aydersham House, we stole away into the forest, to the cotter’s cottage, by the lake—wherever we could find the privacy to meet. Reflecting on it now, I am amazed that we were never caught. But I was often alone, with only my loyal man servant to help me dress. Miss Campbell and her family were wholly absorbed by Dixon and the upcoming nuptials. I suppose that is the sort of situation meant when society refers to an “unprotected young girl,” but no matter, I would protect her. I would convince my aunt and uncle to bless our marriage, and then I would formally request to court Miss Fairfax—as soon as we returned to Weymouth.

  A letter from Enscombe awaited me on my return to that seaside town. A letter that had been sitting there for a fortnight already, along with another and another—most likely a result of my not answering the first one. I opened them in order, dreading the scolding that Aunt Churchill was almost certainly about to apply, but the contents were not at all what I expected:

  Dear Frank,

  A most unusual communique from an unlikely source has reached me this morning.

  I had a moment of panic. Had someone seen me cavorting with Jane and reported back to my aunt? If so, who could it have been? Everyone in Weymouth and at Aydersham had seemed so oblivious to what was developing between the two of us.

  Yes, it is from your father. It seems he is to marry again, and despite his newly found respectability—I refer, of course, to his purchase of that estate in Surrey—his choice of wife has reflected his lowly origins, for she is none other than a neighbor’s governess. A governess! I am appalled that he would shame you, his only son, in such a way. While I am sure that she would be good enough for some man or other, she is hardly cut out to be the mistress of his home. I am eternally grateful that you, Frank, do not seem to have your father’s penchant for this abominable blurring of the classes!

  I could safely assume that she would not be receptive of any request I made to wed the orphaned daughter of a military man, a governess-to-be.

  In any case, I suppose at some point you should communicate with him and this new wife, out of respect and duty. Nothing less would be expected of the young master of Enscombe, although I think a formal le
tter of congratulations will be sufficient.

  She then went on with a litany of her aches and pains, and the apothecary’s attempts to remedy them, which I glossed over. The second letter was a bit more frantic, wondering why I had not responded to her first:

  You know of my maternal feelings for you, my nephew, and I hope you are considering your actions as you entertain yourself in that den of iniquity by the sea. I remind your uncle daily that the temptations of Weymouth may prove too much for you to overcome. Please temper your behavior, and remember what you owe your family here at Enscombe!

  The third letter was from my uncle.

  Dear Frank,

  I write, instead of your aunt, because she is too unwell to put pen to paper. We continue to await correspondence from you and worry for your well-being, although there has been no indication from any of our friends in Weymouth that you have been unwell. The Thompsons have written that you are visiting Aydersham House for a month. If that is the case, I wonder that you did not inform us of your visit. It would have eased your poor aunt’s mind and heart considerably.

  Well, blast and damn it all! This was a disastrous start to my attempts at winning over the relatives to my cause. Even my uncle was put out with me. I would have to leave my darling Jane and make a pilgrimage to Yorkshire to smooth things over.

  * * *

  As we walked along the sand at Weymouth, I explained my predicament to Jane.

  “I do not wish to be the means of coming between you and your family,” she protested.

  “They will love you, if I can convince them to give you a chance, my dear. I promise. You will be mistress of Enscombe one day, I warrant.” I tried to placate her with my most charming grin, but she shook her head.

  “I think”—she closed her eyes as if to strengthen her resolve—“I think we should reconsider our betrothal.”