A Dance of Manners

by Cynthia Breeding, Kristi Ahlers, Erin E. M. Hatton

  “Not all,” he said, then he rolled so his whole weight lay upon her. “My Nelly, my sweet Nelly. I swear I will never do any such thing to you. Those London dandies, those courtiers, they might run around after harlots. But we farmers—we know the value of a day's work, and the value of a warm bed at the end of it.” He kissed her soundly then, quite taking away her breath. “And the love of the woman in it.”

  “I defy anyone,” said Ellen, stroking Roderick's face, “to find a man who could outdo a farmer's son.”

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  * * *

  The Passage to Summer

  Gerri Bowen

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  * * *

  Gerri Bowen loves to read and loves to write. She lives happily in Pennsylvania with her family. In addition to The Passage to Summer, Gerri has stories in the following Highland Press anthologies: Blue Moon Enchantment, Christmas Wishes, Love Under the Mistletoe and Recipe for Love. If you enjoy her stories, she would like to hear from you at www.gerribowenauthor@gmail.com.

  Visit her website at www.gerribowen.com

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  * * *

  Chapter One

  The Passage to Summer

  “Mark my words, Wickerdun, these next few weeks will bloody well change your life,” the Earl of Ardmoor had said. Wickerdun pulled firmly on his beaver hat before urging his horse forward. He didn't feel any different. Two days he'd been at Ardmoor's country estate; regret for his impulsive acceptance of Ardmoor's invitation was all he felt.

  “Any man would feel lower than a bloody snake's arse if his prospective bride chose his brother instead of him as husband.” Wickerdun certainly didn't feel lower than a snake's arse. He was happy for Lady Emily and Geoffrey. Really.

  “A new perspective is what you need, Wickerdun. Ride out to the woods—they are enchanted, by the way—and when you see the two old, gnarled oaks that look like sentry points, enter. Ha! You will think you have entered a passage to summer. That is where you need to be, Wickerdun. Remove your coat—bloody hell! Go down to your shirtsleeves and bare feet! Lie on the grass and bray your bloody troubles to the sky. You will be amazed at what happens.”

  * * * *

  Wickerdun found the two gnarled oaks. He shivered as cold rain beat sideways against his face. A passage to summer? Ardmoor was doubtless having fun at his expense. He turned his horse to return, but hesitated. Ardmoor wasn't one to make a man look a fool. To reappear and explain to his host that he never entered the wood would seem churlish. Wickerdun turned and rode past the oaks.

  He stopped a few feet into the wood, and looked back. Yes, it was dark and raining where he'd come from, yet in the wood ... He smiled. There was light. There was sunshine! There was warmth. How was this possible? Who cared? After dismounting and tethering his horse, he pulled off his jacket, flung it aside, and sat to remove his boots. He would greatly appreciate all the light and warmth he could get.

  Soon Wickerdun lay on the warm, grassy ground with his hands under his head. When was the last time he felt so ... what was the word? Ah, felt so free? He puckered his brow and lips. Never? “Bah! Bah, I say!” he shouted. He smiled at his inanity, closed his eyes, and dreamed.

  Pleasant dreams departed. Questions, endless questions. He opened his eyes when he heard singing, only to see an angel staring down at him. No, a faery. Ardmoor said the woods were enchanted, so the vision above him must be a faery. Her eyes were a green-blue, aqua like the sea. Large, lovely eyes. Her lips smiled and he smiled back. The faery laughed and pushed stray strands of blondish hair from her face. Odd, I would not think faeries pinned back their hair.

  "Hello, good sir."

  Aware of his duty as gentleman to rise and apologize for his intrusion, Wickerdun fought years of upbringing. The woods are enchanted, so I needn't act as I normally would. Besides, she might disappear if I rise. “Hello. Are you a faery?”

  She laughed and the sound made Wickerdun smile. When was the last time I heard genuinely happy laughter?

  “A faery? No, although the wildness of what some call faery runs through my veins.” She cocked her head and looked intently into his eyes. Wickerdun held his breath. Never had a woman looked so keenly at him. “I believe you also have a dram or two of that blood running in your veins.”

  A niggle of memory tapped Wickerdun, but he ignored all but the vision above him. “Do I?”

  “Oh, aye.” She laughed, then sat back on her heels. “Your presence was noted at once, the subject of much discussion.”

  Wickerdun thought he might like to hear from her lips what had been said, but not now. “And so you came.”

  She smiled. “I walk these woods every day. When I heard of your presence, I came to investigate.”

  Wickerdun's gaze flicked to the trees, from whence he believed the singing came. “The singing...?”

  “You can hear the wood nymphs?”

  The pleasure derived from her bright smile diminished as his mind grappled with her reply. Wood nymphs? I shall have to ponder that later. “What is your name?” He frowned when she pulled back. “Forgive me, but I am not familiar with faery custom.”

  “Courtesy is the same the world over, sir.”

  I should have known that. I do know that!

  She smiled again, and Wickerdun's heart thumped when two dimples appeared on her cheeks. By Jupiter, but she was uncommonly pretty!

  “But since we are in the country, in my enchanted wood, perhaps propriety can be eased. My name is Megara. Do you have a name?”

  Megara. It suited her. “Wickerdun.”

  She frowned. “No, your given name. I told you mine.”

  Wickerdun blinked at such forwardness, then was quick to forgive her. “William.” Her one arched brow showed he'd not fooled her. He was impressed. “Clarence William Marshall DeBohun is my name, but I prefer William.”

  “William.” She nodded and smiled. “I like that. What causes you such pain, William?”

  “I am not—”

  “Oh, but you are.” She nodded again, her gaze traveling his body, lingering on his chest before resting on his eyes. He hoped she'd continue to look into his eyes—while remaining silent. “Your body is fairly shrieking with pain. ‘Tis most disconcerting to those who can hear.”

  He chuckled, then caught himself. By Jupiter! When was the last time I felt like laughing? “Forgive my shrieking. If I knew how, I would stop.”

  She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Ardmoor sent you here.”

  “How—”

  “How is the peg-legged fool these days?”

  Wickerdun rose to a sitting position. Enchanting faery she might be, beautiful, dimples, a smile to melt a man's heart, but Ardmoor was a hero and friend. “I believe calling a man a peg-legged fool—”

  “I warned him, you know. I told him he would get the thing shot off if he was not careful. He did not listen, did he? The man is a stubborn fool. Always has been, and now has a wooden leg to show for it.”

  It was but a moment before Wickerdun realized by sitting how close his face was to hers. She had a few freckles on her nose. Odd, but instead of inspiring distaste, he wanted to kiss them. His gaze flew to her eyes when she touched her freckles.

  “I apologize if I offended you,” she said. “Ardmoor is a dear friend of mine, too.”

  Wickerdun frowned. “Are you able to read people's minds?” Deuced uncomfortable if she could.

  She laughed. “I certainly would not do so without permission. That would be unconscionable. I do have the ability to see things, as I did with Ardmoor. The Sight. Not all the time, mind you.”

  Wickerdun breathed his relief. “And you hear bodies when they shriek.”

  His breath caught when she winked at him and wagged a finger inches from his face. He overcame the urge to wrap his lips around her finger.

  “You are twigging me, William. And yes, I do hear bodies when they scream. One of my abilities. Speaking of which .
.. did that hurt? You look surprised.”

  Wickerdun looked up. She'd pushed him down! What was she about? Would she join him? “I am not hurt, no, but as you say, surprised. What are you planning?”

  “To help you, William,” she said with a smile.

  * * * *

  “You looked improved, Wickerdun. Your bloody scowl is gone. Believe I see what could be termed a smile. Found the passage to summer, eh?”

  Wickerdun knew his smile was broad. How to describe the freedom experienced, joy at laughing at nothing, at everything, the pleasure in having a beautiful faery listen, enthralled by his every word as if they foretold her future happiness? How to describe all that to a man like Ardmoor? “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  “I said, Ardmoor is back, Megara.”

  Megara blinked and set aside her thoughts about this afternoon. William. She wasn't positive, but she believed she'd found her future husband. Time would tell. She sipped her wine and nodded at her aunt. “Yes, I met one of his guests today.”

  Her aunt raised her brows.

  “Wickerdun. Ardmoor sent him to the wood.”

  “Wickerdun? The Earl of Wickerdun?”

  “I believe so. Quite pleasant.”

  “Is he? Pity you are to marry Shelton.”

  Megara cleared her throat. “We have not exactly—”

  Her aunt tapped her finger on the table before motioning the servants from the room. “Megara, you are four and twenty. Shelton is the third man with whom you have formed an understanding. Do not tell me he will be the third man to discover you have introduced him to the perfect woman for him!”

  “Is it not best to wed the one perfect for you? I speak not only of love, for I realize how fleeting love can be. But what of similar likes and dislikes, opinions, taste in music, travel, food, books?”

  “What do you think women friends are for?”

  “Remember I can see things, Aunt Susan. Trust me when I say I have seen the future with the three men involved, and what I have seen leaves me near tears. It would kill my soul were I to be bound for life to those men. Good men that they are, they are not meant for me.”

  Her aunt sat rigid, her lips thinned, her nostrils flaring. Megara waited, not sure the extent of her aunt's displeasure.

  “I personally chose those men for you, Megara. Are you saying your ability to see is better than mine?”

  “For me, yes.” Megara shuddered when her aunt's eyes narrowed.

  “I tell you what I see, missy. I see you wed and with child this time next year.”

  Megara leaned forward. “Who do you see as my husband?” She pulled back at sight of her aunt's sly smile. “Who?”

  * * * *

  “Check,” Ardmoor said.

  Wickerdun rubbed his chin and nodded.

  “I have you in check, Wickerdun. I bloody well want it acknowledged.”

  Wickerdun looked up. “Check?” He looked at the board and scowled. “I have not been put in check in years.”

  Ardmoor laughed. “Doubtless the long conversations with our Lady Meg has your mind turned inside out.”

  Lady Meg. Wickerdun snorted and shook his head. His extraordinary outburst from earlier today came to mind.

  "I have never heard such drivel in my life!” He'd grabbed his clothes and pointed his boot at Megara. “You are but a child of the forest, a cipher, a faery woman, for God's sake, who probably reads Mary Shelly!"

  "Well, yes, but—"

  “I knew it! How dare you insinuate I have no emotions? Can you not hear me shouting? By Jupiter, I never shout! Gentlemen do not shout! Good day!”

  “You have got the right of it. She says the most outrageous things to me, about me, yet after I have time to reflect, I realize she is correct.”

  “She has the Sight. It is in her blood.”

  “That may be, but how that faery became so wise in understanding the human nature, I cannot fathom.”

  Ardmoor leaned forward. “She did not tell you she was a bloody faery, did she?”

  “No. It is how I think of her. A faery.”

  Ardmoor nodded. “So you and she are still on speaking terms?”

  Wickerdun laughed aloud. “Yes, we are. But it is a near thing each and every day. Why do you ask?”

  Ardmoor shook his head. “Curious. Never known her to take such a bleeding interest in someone. Says most men bore her after the second or third conversation.” He winked at him. “The lady faery must see something about you that intrigues her.”

  Ardmoor couldn't stop himself from laughing. “Well, Wickerdun, so after the time you have spent here, was I right?”

  Wickerdun's gaze turned from the game he'd just lost to Ardmoor and he smiled. “You were right, Ardmoor. This trip was just what I needed.”

  “'Course it was. Wouldn't have invited you otherwise. Changed you for the better.”

  * * * *

  “I love April in the park,” Wickerdun said as he lay on the grass, his head resting on his hands.

  “Your park at home? Fairhills?”

  “No, Hyde Park in London.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do not begin questioning me why I am not speaking of my home.”

  “William! I was clarifying your answer. I know people enjoy the Season in London, and being seen in the park is part of that. I wanted to make sure which park you were referring to. My, but you are quarrelsome today.”

  Wickerdun turned to face Megara as she sat nearby. He arched a brow. “Insolent faery.”

  Megara leaned forward and stuck out her tongue before leaning back. “Tell me what you love about April in the park, William. If your description is accurate enough, it will transport the both of us there.”

  William's lips easily formed a smile. He hadn't known he liked whimsy before meeting Megara. He gazed appreciatively at her, admired her beauty, admired her quicksilver mind and way with words. Her wit he appreciated, but didn't always enjoy; not when it was aimed in his direction. If he could find a woman like Megara to take as wife ... “Just the two of us?” His gaze traveled to the blue unicorn grazing nearby. He never pictured a unicorn having such a hairy coat. Her laughter caught his attention.

  “Yes, the two of us. Ricco might draw unwanted attention.”

  “Ricco? Sounds rather unusual for a unicorn to be named Ricco.”

  “Well, he is from Spain.”

  Wickerdun nodded. Of course.

  “So Lady Emily didn't break your heart?”

  Wickerdun smiled, more at himself than the question. He lay on the warm grass, eyes closed, listening to the soft song of wood nymphs, enjoying Megara's company. “I daresay Lady Emily wondered if I had a heart. And no to your question, she did not break my heart.”

  “Of course she knew you had a heart, William,” Megara said. “You said throughout your school days you spent every holiday with your friend, Lady Emily's brother, and Lady Emily knew you as well as she knew her own brother. Were you disappointed when she chose your brother to wed?”

  Wickerdun turned to glare at Megara. “Obviously I would be disappointed. I believed it was all worked out.” He turned his attention back to the leaves in the trees. “Now I have to begin the process of selecting a wife all over again. You have no idea how time consuming, how delicate in nature the inquiries, the—”

  “Did you love her?”

  Wickerdun laughed shortly, but kept his gaze skyward. “I was fond of her, and I believe she of me. Perhaps in time we would have developed a marital love.”

  “Sounds rather boring. Like keeping a horse in a fixed trot, never galloping or jumping. Trot, trot, trot.”

  Wickerdun smiled. “Far safer, my little faery.”

  “Safer, yes, but ... Oh, William! Would you settle for trotting the rest of your life?”

  The anguish in her voice turned Wickerdun's attention. “I know you mean well, but I am used to trotting.” He chuckled at her expression.

  “You were born to race, William, not trot!”<
br />
  * * * *

  “Have you seen Wickerdun again?”

  Megara turned her attention to her aunt. You know I have. “Yes. He's visited the wood daily since his arrival three weeks ago. A remarkable man.” She stared past her aunt. “Considering what I have seen of his past, and what he's deemed proper enough to mention, he is a most remarkable man.”

  “Is he? How long will he be visiting?”

  Megara's gaze swung back to her aunt. “You aren't inviting—”

  Her aunt waved her question aside. “I extended an invitation to Ardmoor and his guest. That butler of his, Larkwing, brought back my invitation. It was crumpled into a ball!”

  Megara laughed. “Well, Aunt, I told you it would be a long while before Ardmoor forgave you for turning that lovely Andalusian he presented to you into a pretend unicorn. Dyed blue, no less.”

  * * * *

  Megara clutched the letter from cousin Catherine and smiled. She was free once again. William immediately came to mind. Lightly touching him with her mind as he and Ardmoor traveled toward London, she wished him a pleasant, safe journey. As she had ever since meeting him, she resisted the urge to enter and read his mind concerning her. Oh, the strong feelings would slip by, and those she grabbed. She knew he admired her, and had manly, physical thoughts concerning her. But every male had those ideas about any woman who passed their sight. No, William had wanted to kiss her freckles. That was so sweet. No man, ever, had wanted to kiss her freckles.

  She frowned. William was headed for London. In search of a wife. Suppose he found one before she arrived? Which was likely after all their conversations. He hadn't revealed all his past to her, so she hadn't been able to talk to him about that. She wasn't at ease over those memories he kept so tightly bound. But unless he brought them up first, she had to remain silent. On a positive note, the man finally began to see he didn't have to turn into his father, something that had kept him closed to all the world had to offer. Realizing he could decide his own future, William had begun to open, blossoming as it were, like a manly flower. He was uncommonly handsome, too. Dark hair and grey eyes she'd stared into whenever she had the chance. Down to the bone polite. Intelligent, considerate. Lord! She'd done too good a job. She had to get there and begin her pursuit before some other woman snatched him away from her!