A Dance of Manners

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

  All eyes turned upon him.

  “You understood their song?” Megara asked. Her voice was near a whisper, but touched him like a caress. He nodded. “Oh, William!” she cried and jumped from her seat.

  Ardmoor hauled her back. “Is not safe yet.”

  Wickerdun arched his brows in question. The question of why his inquiry evoked such a response in Megara paled beside his yearning for her. He turned to Ardmoor when the man cleared his throat.

  “The fact you understood their song, and apparently liked what you heard, increased the suggestion. When they saw that, which they took as approval, they would have continued in a similar vein. Think of it as music to prepare a warrior before battle. It stimulated you.”

  Wickerdun rolled his eyes. An understatement if he ever heard one.

  “When did you begin understanding the wood nymphs?” Megara asked.

  “He understands wood nymphs?” Aunt Susan asked as she entered, looking at him in surprised approval. He and Ardmoor rose, although Wickerdun turned so his bulge wouldn't offend. She sat next to Megara.

  “Today,” he replied. “They informed me Lady Megara had arrived. That was the first time I understood them.”

  “You had been talking to them as well?” Megara said.

  Wickerdun inclined his head. “I had no one else to talk to.” Odd he no longer felt a fool for admitting he talked to wood nymphs.

  Megara turned a smug expression toward Ardmoor. “See? He needed me. And, as you are undoubtedly aware, Ardmoor, wood nymphs delight in being noticed. Although he could not understand them, they understood every word he said to them.” She turned to face him. “It would appear whatever you confided to them was the deciding factor in today's nymph-induced-lust.”

  “Mercy!” Aunt Susan cried and turned to look at her niece. “Are you—”

  “I am fine, aunt,” Megara replied. She turned back to him, her smile warm.

  Wickerdun's arousal was near painful. He returned her smile, his body clamoring for more. He ignored her aunt's glare. “Are you saying they meant for me to...?” He stopped, unsure how to phrase what couldn't be said in front of ladies.

  “Carry through to a natural conclusion,” Ardmoor said. “Yes, that is exactly what they meant for you to do.” He leaned close to whisper. “Later, I shall tell you the consequences of today's debacle.”

  Wickerdun wasn't reassured by the grim lines around Ardmoor's mouth. Had the same once happened to Ardmoor? As for the consequences, he believed he already knew; a constant arousal. Not necessarily a bad thing, but deuced awkward until he and Megara would marry. The thought of which brought images of them naked on a bed. He twisted in his seat, swallowing a moan. First things first. She had to agree to wed him.

  “Are you in pain?” Megara asked.

  Obviously, he hadn't stifled his moan. He gripped the chair seat to keep his hands off of her. “No pain.” Pain didn't begin to describe the agony he felt. The aunt's snigger drew his attention.

  “Well, Megara,” her aunt said, “it looks as if you will be wedding very soon.”

  Megara looked to her aunt. “Why?”

  “If you want to keep Wickerdun from suffering, you will marry post haste.”

  Her eyes were wide when she looked at him. “Oh, William, you are in pain!”

  He shook his head, tearing his gaze from her. “Not pain.” He jumped when Ardmoor slapped him on the back. It was difficult to keep his attention focused on something other than lying with Megara. He wanted to marry her, but didn't like the idea she might feel forced into accepting him. There had been a reason she hesitated, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what it was.

  “For the present,” Ardmoor said as he rose, “I believe the ladies should remove themselves so Wickerdun and I can talk.”

  Megara shook her head. “Oh, but I came here to—”

  “Come along, Megara,” her aunt said, “and I shall explain the ways of things.”

  Wickerdun scowled at the aunt's snigger. He truly hoped she wouldn't live with them.

  * * * *

  “You have evaded and danced around my questions, Ardmoor. Will I ever be normal? By Jupiter, a man cannot live like this without a serious hurt done to him!”

  He sat sprawled in a chair while Ardmoor stood by a window, looking out.

  “You are bloody well done for, Wickerdun.” Ardmoor turned. “Get used to your state until you and Megara wed. It should lessen after that, but you shall never be normal again. You can thank your wild blood for this bleeding gift."

  Lessen. It would lessen. Wickerdun nodded. “When will I be able to think clearly again?"

  Ardmoor cracked a smile. “Your faculties will return, slowly. Which brings me to the point of marriage.” Ardmoor sat near. “I know you want to be with Megara. I know it is constantly running through your mind. But are you able to separate your physical want and overwhelming desire for her from your thinking part? The question of marriage. Can you think clearly long enough to decide if that is what you want?”

  “Of course I want Megara. To marry her.” Wickerdun looked to the door. He should be talking to Megara, not Ardmoor. If Megara agreed, they could wed soon. He'd get a special license.

  “Concentrate, Wickerdun! You are still feeling the effects of the nymph-induced-lust, one of which is the desire to be with Megara. Think, man! You came here to do something. Did you succeed?”

  Wickerdun shut his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't pull his thoughts together long enough to remember. The face of his mother came suddenly to mind. The image of her bending over him, covering him. Protecting him. He was perhaps five years old. Her whispering in his ear, telling him to pretend he didn't have any gifts, because that would keep him safe from his father. She told him he'd remember his gifts one day, and when he did, for him to use them wisely.

  Wickerdun opened his eyes. “Bloody hell.”

  “What is it, Wickerdun? You look—”

  “I am not like my father.” Wickerdun turned to Ardmoor, noting the concern in the man's eyes. No, he could ... smell? Smell Ardmoor's concern. He grinned. What other talents might he have?

  “No, you bloody well are not. You never were,” Ardmoor agreed. “How do you feel?”

  Wickerdun took a deep breath. He felt wonderful! His head was clear, his body hummed with joy in being alive. His arousal was strong, but under control. How extraordinary! He'd not have thought it possible to have such control over his willy. He looked at Ardmoor and laughed. “I feel magnificent!”

  * * * *

  Megara looked up when Ardmoor entered the morning room alone. “Where is William? Is he—”

  “Wickerdun is magnificent. Those are his words, not mine. He looks as though he has come to terms with whatever devil was biting at his heels.”

  Just what she wanted to hear! Happiness filled her, but she wanted to know more details. “Where is he?”

  “Went for a long ride.”

  He went for a ride? “What? Does he not want to see me?”

  Ardmoor arched his brow at her. “After his ride, I suggested he swim. For the rest of the day.”

  Megara rose. Really! “Ardmoor, the water will be freezing! All I want to do is talk to him. If you recall, that was my purpose in coming here.”

  “If you care for Wickerdun, you will leave him alone today.”

  “I agree,” Aunt Susan said. “The wedding simply cannot be held sooner than six months, twelve would be best, what with—”

  Megara swallowed her anger and sat. “William and I shall choose the date for our wedding. If,"—she glared at both Ardmoor and her aunt—"he and I ever have an opportunity to be alone so he can ask me to marry him.”

  “You've decided?” Ardmoor asked.

  Megara nodded. “Mrs. Littlepond and Thomas were a font of information. Based on what they told me, what I knew, and William's acceptance of his blood, I decided to accept his offer. If we can ever be alone long enough—”

  “Did you get a look at
the housekeeper?” Aunt Susan asked Ardmoor.

  “Short, squat, flat nose and wide smile? Looks like a frog?”

  Her aunt nodded. “Littlepond.” She tapped her finger to her nose. “I would wager a small fortune her roots come from the water.”

  Megara smiled. Wonder what William would say to that.

  * * * *

  It wasn't a plume, but it would do. Wickerdun brushed the feather across Megara's lips. She turned her head slightly. He continued to graze the feather across her face, down her neck, and then across the nightrail over her breasts. When she didn't wake, he kissed her softly on her lips.

  Megara woke to find the object of her fancy kissing her—as he had been doing in her dream. His stare, so close, ignited flames to dance from her woman's core to her heart. She followed when he pulled away.

  “Do not tempt me,” he whispered. “I am barely hanging on here. Ardmoor threatened to unman me if I forced myself on you before our wedding. But I had to see you.”

  His words sent shivers of anticipation up her spine. “I am glad you came to me.” The heated look in his eyes drew her to his lips. Once again, he pulled away.

  “We need to talk, Megara,” he whispered, alternately sucking and kissing her fingers. “I want to marry you, you know that. But I do not want you to feel forced to accept me because of my condition. A condition only you can help. Will you marry me, Megara? I am ready to race with you. Look forward to racing with you. Running and racing.”

  Megara moaned each time his tongue threaded between her fingers. If she hadn't already made up her mind to say yes, and she could think clearly, she might have been annoyed with his use of lust as a deciding factor. As it was, she knew he couldn't help himself. “Yes, William, I will marry you. When?” She sat up when he moved toward the window. What was he doing? He was leaving? “Are you not going to kiss me?”

  “Shhh! If I kiss you I would not stop. Best wait until tomorrow.”

  He wanted to wait until tomorrow? Did he have one leg out her window? “Are you going out the window?”

  “Shhh! That is the way I came. I have discovered I have extraordinary climbing abilities. Among other things.”

  She caught a bit of his thought. Rather intriguing. “Like what?”

  “Shhh! We will talk tomorrow.”

  “But...” He disappeared into the night. Megara beat the bed with her fists.

  * * * *

  “It is settled then? September?” Wickerdun asked, rubbing his hands together. “Megara? You agree to a September wedding?”

  She turned and smiled at Wickerdun. “I agree to a September wedding.” Her heart ached whenever she looked at Wickerdun's blackened eyes.

  Her gaze narrowed on Ardmoor. “Provided my husband-to-be is hale and hearty.” I will get you for that!

  Ardmoor bowed to her and smirked. “I heard that."

  “However, I do not agree we need to be separated until then,” she said. “I want to enjoy the rest of the Season with William. It will look odd if his future countess is nowhere to be seen. It might cause talk and speculation.”

  “Pish posh, who cares what people think?” Aunt Susan exclaimed. “That is what you always said, is it not?”

  Megara glared at her aunt. “This is different. William has a seat in parliament. His reputation and influence could be ruined by gossip and speculation.”

  “And blue unicorns,” Ardmoor added to her aunt. “She is right, Wickerdun. You cannot announce your betrothal and have her vanish. Are you up ... er, can you handle the stress of her being near? For five months?”

  Megara rolled her gaze to the ceiling. Why had she involved Ardmoor and her aunt?

  Wickerdun smiled as he took in the scene. There was warmth here, and deep caring despite the irritation currently held by all. Ardmoor protective of Megara, yet also concerned about his political future. Aunt Susan, master tactician at saying just the right thing to get Megara to agree to what she wanted. And Megara, who just wanted to be with him. All of them concerned with his reputation, something that had mattered a great deal to him only a week ago. For the first time in decades, he felt he belonged, that he was part of a family that looked out for one another, who cared.

  Five months? God, yes!

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  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Song of the Wood Nymphs

  “The sound is deafening,” Megara said as she looked out the window to the wood. “I doubt any of the family will be able to sleep.” She turned and smiled at her husband of eight hours. “I have never heard them so happy. What is that chuckle for? And why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

  “After five months of waiting, you have to ask?”

  Megara tilted her head. “There is more to it than that.”

  Wickerdun pulled her into his arms, and kissed the top of her head. “You know me well, Meg. Yes, there is more. A surprise, one I hope you will like. Now that the time is upon me though, I am not sure. I had not considered our guests.” He didn't let her pull away. “But you will not hear my gift until we are in bed.”

  “In bed?”

  He chuckled at the strange notions floating out of her head. “I wrote a poem for you, my dearest Meg. The wood nymphs said they would sing it for us.”

  “But only when we are in bed?”

  “It is a bed song,” he whispered, kissing her ear. “Of course, it is primarily a love song. I tried to write about the love I have for you, the joy of knowing we will be together forever, my happiness every time I see you. My efforts seemed feeble, so the wood nymphs said they would sing it as a bed song. My hope is when you hear their song you will understand how much I love you.”

  Her sigh was all he needed to hear. He picked her up and carried her to his bed.

  * * * *

  “Sleep well?”

  Ardmoor arched his brow at Maddy, then turned his gaze to Spode. “My sister suffers the delusion of being a wit. Between the bloody singing all night, the bloody laughter coming from all the married couples, more bloody singing, no I did not sleep well!” He rose and marched from the room.

  Maddy and Spode looked at one another in surprise. “I have not seen Ardmoor like that since ... never,” Maddy said. “What do you think

  ...?”

  “He needs a woman,” Spode declared.

  “I do not need a woman,” Ardmoor said from the doorway. “Came back to apologize.” He pointed his finger at his sister and brother-in-law. “Do not start meddling in my life.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Royal Watercolors

  Susan Flanders

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Susan Flanders is a royal historian living with her husband and son in the quaint town of Plainsboro, New Jersey, which is near New York City. When she isn't writing, she enjoys studying the details of the lives of the royal families—or searching for the memoirs of their servants—and collecting more books for her royal library. She has a particular fondness for Queen Victoria and her descendants.

  You can reach her and find more of her writings at her blog called Writer of Queens at www.writerofqueens.blogspot.com/

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter One

  “Lady Kitty, I am so happy to see you,” Princess Victoria exclaimed as she preceded her governess, Baroness Lehzen, through the door. The princess seemed to glide across the floor. Even though she was young—only ten—already there was an innate regal manner about her.

  Kitty drew in a startled breath when she remembered she must first curtsy to the girl. She smiled, but quickly bent a knee, giving the Princess the respect she was due.

  Victoria giggled. “Oh, do get up, Lady Kitty. I am so happy you are here.”

  “Are you ready for your second art lesson, Your Royal Highness?”

  “I am! I have been thinking of it day and night since you left last week. Do you think that
soon ... if I am good enough, that I may paint all the time?”

  Kitty smiled. “Why certainly. I wanted to tell you how wonderfully I felt you did last week and what a natural artist you are. Your sketches are undoubtedly of the utmost quality and very detailed.”

  Young Victoria beamed with happiness. “Please, let us begin. Can we?”

  Kitty arranged their papers on the easels properly and picked up the tray of pencils. “This week we will use a soft lead, which shall be easy to draw with. Remember though, draw very lightly.”

  Victoria chose a pencil and looked at the paper in front of her. “What shall we paint today, Lady Kitty? Should we draw and then paint each other?”

  “That is something we may do in the future, but for today I think we should choose a still life such as a vase with some flowers or a plate of fruit.”

  “We have lots of fruit today. Lehzen, may we take some fruit? We can return it once we are finished.”

  “I will see to it,” Victoria's governess said, leaving the room.

  The silence was broken by a tremendous roar of thunder. Kitty cast an anxious glance at the window. Although early afternoon, it was dark outside. Rain continued to pound against the side of the building and she shivered. “This rainstorm is awful, horrible, very threatening.”

  “It came on so suddenly,” Victoria agreed.

  “I cannot imagine the carriage traveling in a storm like this.”

  “Dear Lady Kitty, do not worry about getting home. You can stay here at Kensington Palace until the rain stops.”

  “I may have to.” Kitty picked up a pencil and smoothed down her sheet of paper. There was no point in worrying about the weather. She would get home somehow. Surely the storm would pass. “Are you ready to draw? When the baroness gets back, I will arrange the fruit, and please remember the light source and which way it will be coming from so you can shadow properly. We will put in the shadows later, with the watercolors.”