by Janet Woods
Mamma prays hysterically in the background, accompanied by Mario Lanza singing Ave Maria. The late tenor’s voice slowly winds down to become a wavering baritone, then his voice ceases completely. The player cants sideways and the needle scratches grittily back over the record. It will never be the same again. ‘Sorry Grandpa.’
I feel a bit shaky now, and I know I’ll never eat spaghetti again. As the world turns to the color of ashes I chastise myself. I should have known better than take on a couple of Scorpions!
When I wake it’s to see red all over again. It’s a fire engine. I can see it through the pile of beams I’m trapped under.
Guided by Tigger, a fireman digs me out. His name is Eddie, he says, brushing a long string of spaghetti from his helmet. ‘Most people call me Red. He has blue eyes and reddish hair, and is a real hero.
‘I’m a Sagittarian,’ he tells me when I ask, and he laughs. ‘A fire sign.’
Tigger decides to goes home with him while the hospital carries out the repairs on me. Eddie rescues my belongings and places them in a storage unit. He visits every day with ‘get well’ messages from Tigger and he brought me a bunch of red roses today.
Eddie is a perfect man with a perfect star sign, one in a perfect job.
You could say I’m warming to him.
*****
ROGUE OF HEARTS – historical romance novella
England 1880
The feud between former childhood friends, Charlotte Featherby and the dashing Adam Denby began with two cups of punch.
Dizzy from dancing the polka and almost dying from thirst, Charlotte, having swallowed down her first cup rather too quickly, was being urged to start on a second by her dancing partner, the local squire.
Because it was pleasantly fruity and refreshing she savored the refill more slowly, mindful of the condensation gathering into drips on the cold silver surface of the punch cup – one that was etched with the Denby coat of arms. She didn’t want liquid to drip on her gown, which was fashioned from delicate pink gossamer chiffon over cream silk. She beat time with the orchestra with her foot, her cream kid slippers tapping to the music as she watched the dancers twirl.
‘I’ll go and fetch us some supper, then afterwards we’ll go to the stables and I’ll show you my new hunter,’ the squire suggested. ‘You can name him if you want.’
‘I’d be honored. You may show me your hunter after the church service on Sunday, since the stable and yards will be crowded with horses now, and a ball gown and slippers is not suitable attire to visit the stables in. I imagine my family would like to inspect your new hunter, too.
Adam Denby must have slid up behind them as silently as a cat, for she was unaware of his presence until he breathed into her ear, ‘Ah, so this is where you are hiding, my Lottie.’
She turned to smile at the viscount, feeling genuine pleasure. ‘Adam, how lovely to see you.’
‘Is it . . . so why do I get the feeling you’ve been avoiding me all evening?’
‘That’s nonsense. Every time I approached you somebody else managed to intercept, and claim your attention first.’ He could have reached her side earlier had he shown a little more purpose in getting to her, she thought.
But it was usually women who detained him - women who simpered, fluffed their fine feathers and displayed their fluttering eyelashes above their fans. They were disgustingly obvious, but what was worse, Adam gave every appearance of being enamored by such female flattery. How shallow he was.
She tried not to scowl at him for being so easily led, for he hadn’t even booked a dance with her, but had taken it for granted that she’d be available, when required. ‘You remember the squire, of course.’
‘Lord Denby, it’s been a long time.’ The squire nodded, looking none too pleased by the interruption. ‘I was about to take Miss Featherby to see my new hunter.’
‘I’m aware of your intention since I was close enough to overhear your conversation. The lady refused. Leave us, would you please, Robert.’
The squire looked as though he might argue until Adam reminded him, ‘You are a guest in my home, sir. So is Miss Featherby and her parents.’
‘Of course.’ Robert kissed her hand and muttered, as he turned away, ‘Some other time perhaps, Miss Featherby.’
‘That was naughty of you, Adam.’ Charlotte smiled with unbridled pleasure at the sight of her childhood playmate. Over the past few years she’d only met up with him occasionally. After he’d rounded off his education at Cambridge he’d taken the grand tour with several of his friends to gain a practical education in the classical arts.
He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Naughty? The last person to call me that was my nursery maid, and I escaped from her clutches a long time ago.’
Indeed, Adam had changed a great deal since she’d last set her eyes on him. There was nothing of the boy left in him. In his early youth he’d been sallow faced and rather thin. Now he was tall and well-muscled and his face had a slight, but interesting gauntness to it. His eyes were the same, grey like winter clouds, and almost enigmatic, for they gave so very little of his thoughts away. His smile was warm, and Charlotte’s heart soared as her gaze soaked him up. ‘You look well, Adam.’
He looked more than well - wonderfully handsome in fact. She had always loved him as a child, for his sense of mischief as well as his innate gentleness towards her. And he’d led her on many an exciting adventure that a female companion probably wouldn’t have been encouraged to indulge in, had she a mother to raise her into womanhood.
Now her childish feelings of affection towards him were invaded by a strong nudge of feminine adoration that settled in her throat and nearly choked her. He’d laugh if he knew, so she sighed, and took in a large gulp of the remaining punch, to enable herself to breathe properly.
Giving her rapidly emptying cup a quizzical glance, he plucked it from her fingers and set it back on the table. ‘That’s enough punch, Lottie. It’s meant to be sipped, and is too strong for a young lady like you.’ He beckoned to a maid. ‘Bring Miss Featherby a glass of lemonade to quench her thirst with. After that, Lottie my dear, we’ll take a turn around the garden so you can get some fresh air and clear your head before I escort you back to your mama, as your former partner should have done. I must have words with the squire. He was too energetic, and he nearly lost his grip on you in one of the turns.’
‘I’m surprised that you noticed.’
‘Are you? I had the feeling you wanted to be noticed. If you did, you chose the right partner.’
They both glanced at the widower. The squire’s face was red with the effort he’d put in, and he was trying to get his wind back. He’d been light on his feet though and the dance had been tremendous fun, even though slightly reckless.
Feeling decidedly light-headed, Charlotte gave a little laugh. She’d practically grown up with Adam as a playmate, though he was three years older. She could relax in his company, even when he was being overbearing, as he was now.
‘Don’t be too hard on him, Adam. Besides, we were dancing the polka. It’s an energetic dance.’
‘It’s undignified for a man in his middle years to lumber about the dance floor at a gallop too fast for his partner to keep up. He swung you off your feet on at least two occasions, and you might have fallen. You shouldn’t have encouraged him. It made you look foolish.’
‘Foolish? It was just fun, Adam. Robert Hill is good company.’
‘You’re seventeen, Lottie, hardly out of the cradle. He is in his forties. Worse, your encouragement has probably given the squire ideas in your direction. He needs a woman to look after his three daughters and to bear him a son, so is looking to marry again - and marry well. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and place you in a compromising position, where you’d be obliged to wed him.’
‘Seventeen? Really Adam . . . I happen to be twenty.’
He appeared quite surprised by that piece of information. ‘Really? Yes, I suppose you must be quite grown up by now.�
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‘I’m also not quite so brainless as to have gone to the stables with Robert Hill, alone. And under no circumstances will I marry a man I do not love and respect, whether I’m considered compromised or not.’
‘You were always a stubborn little creature,’ he said, a smile flirting around his mouth, as though he was proud of the fact.
‘As for you, Lord Denby. For a young man you display signs of becoming a disapproving old codger before your time, and without any encouragement from me at all. Have you forgotten we used to climb trees together and sneak in to farmer Jones’ yard to set his pigs free. We used to laugh when he stomped about in the mud swearing at them.’
He huffed with laughter. ‘Crafty varmints,’ he used to shout and whack out at them with his stick while they squealed. My uncle gave me a good hiding when he found out what we were up to.’
At least he’d not lost the ability to savor the funny side of life, she thought, and it was no good feeling sorry for the pigs now, since they’d been eaten long ago.
‘Goodness, Adam, we used to have so much fun together before you went off to pursue your education. How pompous you’ve become now you’ve grown into your adult skin - and to think I wasted a two minute portion of my prayers on you every night, earnestly imploring the almighty to keep you safe and hoping you were not being led astray by your fast friends.’
Adam grinned at that. ‘I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but it’s women who lead gentlemen astray, not their friends.’
‘You are incorrigible. Whether you believe this or not, I thought of you every day and I have missed you. Which is more than you did with regards to me, and obviously so, because you still imagine me to be the same age now as I was when you left. Even I can add three years to seventeen and come up with the right answer.’
‘True. But why would a young man who has the whole world at his feet, give a second thought to the nursery companion he’d left behind? Especially when his heart is feasting on past glories and his mind firmly set on future conquests.’
He could wound her without even trying. ‘So it’s true what they’ve been saying.’
‘Ah . . . the ubiquitous they. Tell me the worse of the gossip then! Cover me with scorn and berate me. After which I will apologize for my misdeeds and you will forgive me like you always used to. Then . . . I’ll throw you over my saddle and we’ll run away together.
The heat rising to her cheeks was mostly embarrassment, so she covered her face with her hands to hide it. She’d overheard it said that Adam was popular with the ladies, and spent his nights in the fleshpots and gambling halls.
He associated with a group of his peers who were considered to be fast. Being fast was not beyond her understanding - but too scandalous to be speculated on at any length. She was aware that certain facets of male behavior were considered normal, if a little risqué. In short, men who were not safely married could not be trusted one inch, as her governess used to say.
When being fast was applied to a female it meant she’d had one glass of punch too many, laughed loudly in public, or shown a clean pair of heels when dancing the polka with a lively gentleman. Thus she needed to be reprimanded - however nicely - by a childhood friend, who’d just happened to notice her transgression. The friend, being male, then considered it his duty to either encourage her in her folly, in case there was a kiss in it for him, or put a stop to it altogether in case another man did the same.
The thought miffed her. ‘Indeed, I don’t listen or believe the worst about you and your fast friends, Adam. If I did, I wouldn’t be associating with you now.’
‘I thank you for that, at least. However, my fast friends would be flattered by your description of them, no doubt.’
She was disappointed that he didn’t reciprocate with some flattery on his own behalf with her, since she’d heard from several sources that Adam had a way with him where women were concerned. But obviously he did not think about her in that way, so perhaps he considered her too young to be singled out for his attention yet. After all, he had thought she was still seventeen.
Yet, when once their friendship had placed little value on a comradely hug, now, it would be interpreted as an immodest liberty, and was fraught with peril.
He placed the lemonade in her hand and she tried not to make a face when she sipped it. It needed more honey stirred in.
‘This is more suitable for a girl your age to drink. It will quench your thirst and leave your wits intact at the same time.
Charlotte was feeling rather light-headed, but she wasn’t going to admit it to Adam.
‘They are my wits, to scatter where I will.’ He gazed at her when she giggled, and appeared amused when she said, ‘You haven’t noticed, but I am grown up.’
When he turned to exchange a few pleasantries with an elderly man, she poured most of the lemonade into another glass and filled the empty space with more of the punch. After all, Adam had no right to dictate to her what she could, and could not drink, and the punch was pleasant.
He turned back to her to continue with the conversation. ‘On the contrary, I have noticed you, and so has every other man at the ball . . . especially those who are aware of your fortune. Good Lord, Lottie, I could have sworn you were only fourteen when I left.’
‘You are mistaking me for my step-sister, Josephine.’
‘Ah yes, of course. I’d forgotten young Miss Josephine. Now it has been pointed out I see that the skinny child I once knew has been exchanged for a ravishingly exquisite example of womanhood. You are a prize on both counts.’
Charlotte admitted to feeling a deep pleasure at his words. If only he meant them. ‘You’re teasing me, as usual, as well as being horribly glib. And now I’m grown up you must call me Charlotte instead of Lottie, which sounds as though I’m still in the nursery.’ She laughed at his frown. ‘Don’t look so fierce, Adam.’
He ran a finger down her face. ‘The punch has gone to your head already, I’m afraid, my sweet Lottie.’
‘That’s nonsense Adam. It’s just made me feel relaxed and happy. I’m not in the least bit inebriated and it’s horrid of you to suggest such a thing. Nobody could make me do anything against my will, not even a visit to the squire’s new hunter. I have heard he’s magnificent, but difficult to handle. I’m looking forward to inspecting him. The squire has asked me to name him.’
‘I was after the hunter myself, but the squire outbid me.’ He offered her a gleam of a smile and changed the subject. ‘So . . . you imagine your will couldn’t be influenced by that of another.’
She laughed and took a sip of her drink, being careful to keep her hands around the glass in case he noticed the difference in color.
He hardly gave it a glance, just said as he picked up her wrap from the chair, ‘Come, Lottie, drink it down, then we will go for our walk and you can tell me all you’ve been up too while I was away.’
Not as much as he’d been up to if the gossip was to be believed, and although she tried not to believe it she couldn’t just cast it off. She did as she was told, though, and then placed the glass back on the table.
He tucked her hand into his arm and his smile was wide. ‘We’ll follow the lanterns. The path goes down the lime tree walk to the arbor, before circling around the lake to the boathouse. There will be an orchestra on the island in the middle and we can take a punt out and listen to the music of Bach without interruption, if we wish.’
‘If a punt is available.’
‘One will be available. I’ve asked the servant to keep my craft reserved, and it’s furnished with cushions for your comfort.’
‘I must tell my parents first.’
‘I’ve already gained their permission.’
‘And they didn’t mind?’
‘Of course not, since they trust me with you. After all, we’ve been friends for a long time, and no harm has come to you before, when you were in my company. There are several people about, and the boats are a diversion popular with young and old alike
.’
She gazed at him, wondering whether to be vexed by his presumption, or not.
His smile came, dazzling her with her brilliance. ‘You do trust me, don’t you, Lottie?’
She gazed at him, feeling relaxed and happy. How could she not trust him when they’d practically grown up together? Nobody who knew them would believe they were anything but the friends they’d always been.
He took her hand in his and they slipped out through the French windows. The night was lit by a pearlescent moon that made the landscape appear ethereal.
‘It’s a pretty night, Adam.’
‘I arranged it just for you. I have brought you a gift from Italy.’
So he had thought of her on his travels. Excitement fluttered through her. ‘What is it?’
The soft chuckle he offered her lifted the downy hairs at the nape of her neck. ‘Wait and see. With your permission I’ll call on you the day after tomorrow. Perhaps we could ride out together.’
‘You have never needed my permission before, Adam. You’ve always been welcome in my parents’ home. You know that.’
‘We’re grown up now. Matters are different between us.’
‘Why must they be? I feel exactly the same about you now as I did when we were children.’
He lifted her hand and brushed a kiss over the knuckles. ‘We have different expectations now. I understand you have many admirers, so you’ll be expected to marriage advantageously.’
‘I do not admire any of the men who’ve professed to be suitors . . . at least, not enough to take one for a husband. I have no desire to wed yet, Adam. My stepmother is aware of this, and we argue. She tells me I’m too pert, and threatens to send me to be a companion to my Great Aunt Maude in Cornwall, who is a widow, and whose nature is dreadfully grim. Cornwall is not that far away from Dorset, so I have warned her that I’ll simply walk home again.’
Adam laughed. ‘My dear, Lottie, you are being quite talkative. I’m beginning to think you drank more of that punch than you should have.’