One Enchanted Summer

by Jane Erickson

  “Rape.”

  Dominic was astounded that she could even say the word – something so terrible would never pass any female of his acquaintance’s lips. He was quite sure he must have misheard her, especially since she was now staring at him as if that was a thorough explanation, her own arms crossed.

  “What?”

  “Rapeseed.” Mia looked at Dominic as if he must be obtuse. “Randolph King has acres of rapeseed and I need rapeseed oil. He knew I’d be delighted that his crop is nearly ready.”

  At his uncomprehending expression, Mia gave a dramatic sigh and clasped his hand as if she would pull him forward and then immediately released it like it was a hot poker. She blushed even as she motioned him to look inside the barrel himself.

  The barrel was nearly full of ash, pearly gray and powdery.

  “I separate the ash from the fire, tossing out the black and placing the white ash in here. When it’s full nearly to the top – which can take quite a long time,” she added with a rueful smile, “I pour rainwater over them and drain the excess out the bottom. There’s a cork at the bottom. Do you see it there? And after a few days, I have lye. You must be careful. The acid is dangerous.”

  She displayed her left hand and the summer sun’s rays reflected pale scars on the back of her knuckles.

  Dominic was still confused since she just claimed she needed rapeseed oil but then regaled him with how she made lye. His bafflement must have been obvious because Mia blew out her breath in a huff, making the few short strands of hair that escaped her bun blow about her face.

  “I take that lye and combine it with tallow, lime, a bit of beeswax, and Randolph King’s rapeseed oil to make soap. And in that soap, I combine oils and fragrances from various plants and sell it at the market or at a fair. Some people even come to the cottage to purchase a few bars. And my father always takes dozens of bars with him to sell for me throughout the year. Mrs. Newcombe, my previous employer, taught me the process. It’s a great deal of work but over the years, I’ve saved a few pennies.”

  Hardly worth the time for so little gain in his opinion, but Dominic could see Mia was proud of her accomplishment.

  “When I began to work for Granny Newcombe, she taught me her secrets. I suppose I inherited not only her recipes but her clients when she died,” Mia explained further.

  “And rapeseed oil is the preferred ingredient for soap?” Dominic asked, still chafing at the thought of the stupid grin on that farmer’s face as he had buoyantly exited the cottage.

  “Actually, the fat of a hanged man is the best, but we haven’t had many hangings lately.” Mia laughed at Dominic’s grimace. “No, rapeseed covers the Lincolnshire hills and Randolph King gave me a very good price for it.”

  I just bet he did.

  “That’s very industrious of you, Mia.” Dominic chose to resist criticizing that bumpkin again and was gratified when she flushed at his praise. After considering her business venture, Dominic was inspired to make some suggestions of his own.

  “You could expand beyond soap and make perfume. Women love perfume. I shudder just thinking about much pin money my sisters spend on just a tiny vial of the liquid.”

  “Rich women buy perfume, but everyone needs soap,” Mia interrupted with a shake of her head. “And if the soap happens to smell of flowers, all the better.”

  And Dominic wondered if she made soap merely because her old employer had taught her such a skill or if there was something more, some little girl who rode along in the cloud of dirt and dust of her father’s wagon. A woman who now could sell cleanliness and some self-respect for a penny to the poorest of people.

  “I’ve never met another woman like you,” he surprised himself by saying aloud.

  “There’s a million women like me,” Mia countered with a soft smile as she picked up the barrel’s lid and set it firmly back into place. “You’ve just never noticed us before.”

  “What flowers are best?” Dominic asked as Mia started walking back towards the front of the cottage and Dominic fell in step beside her. As they walked, he took a deep breath, trying again to distinguish what scent he barely detected when she was close.

  “I sold the last of the chamomile just before you came here. I have the lavender oil already prepared so that should be the next batch.”

  “That’s not what you use,” Dominic said with a shake of his head.

  “Yes, I do,” Mia insisted with a laugh. “I have the jars in my room. I’ll go and fetch one so you can smell it for yourself.”

  “No, I mean, that’s not the soap you use. When you walk by, you don’t smell of lavender.”

  “Oh, I don’t really care for the scent of lavender myself,” Mia admitted as she awkwardly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m hoping to have the rose oil prepared by the end of the month. Rose and lavender are the most popular.”

  “Not me. Lavender is too cloying and rose too common,” Dominic said in all seriousness and took an unconscious step forward so that she had to tilt her chin to look up at him. “Mia, I’d wager you could sell your soap to the queen. You smell more intriguing than any woman I’ve ever known.”

  It was not the most flattering compliment he had ever uttered, but she smiled, the blue in her eyes brightening for a split second before the dimples flashed in her cheek. And that’s what caused his momentary insanity. He couldn’t stop himself though he knew this broke every unwritten law in any employment agreement and flouted every rule that bound society together. He leaned down and kissed her, intending to barely brush his lips against hers, to give approval and encouragement instead of passion but she tilted her head obligingly upwards and the kiss quickly changed into something far more than he expected.

  His mouth slanted across hers and he pulled her closer, his hands settling on the flare of her hips while hers rested a moment on his shoulders before curling around the back of his neck, her fingertips barely brushing the ends of his hair but the slight touch sent shivers down his spine.

  Afterwards, he wasn’t certain if he had pushed her backwards or she had pulled him towards her but somehow her back was against the cottage wall and her hands were clutching his shoulders. His mouth slanted across hers, desire coursing through him when Mia answered his unspoken request and opened her mouth just enough to let his tongue slide along hers.

  Her hands fluttered against his shoulders; the warmth of her skin easily felt through the thin material of his shirt. He briefly thought of how glad he was that he’d left the majority of his clothes hanging on a limb by that tree he felled because her fingers were brushing against the nape of his neck and down his chest. He’d have been cursing all those layers of necktie, vest, and frock coat to eternal damnation.

  Though she herself was still bond up properly – chemise, corset, stockings, gown, apron. A million layers of propriety between them. His left hand pulled at her skirt, intent on feeling the silk of those pink stockings he had seen hanging on the wash line on more than one occasion and once glimpsed for a moment as he had smothered the apron fire weeks ago. He refused to admit even to himself how often those cherry blossom stockings – and the long legs they encased – had danced through his dreams.

  Her surprised gasp when his hand reached the small strip of warm flesh between her stockings and her drawers was what pulled him back to the reality of what they were doing. They both froze, his fingers still clenched on her lower thigh and her hands tangled in his hair, their faces only a breath from each other. He took a step back, averting his eyes as her skirts fell back to their proper place.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It was very poorly done of me,” he apologized automatically since he truly wasn’t sorry for kissing her. He was sorry for kissing his servant, a woman who should feel completely assured she would never be accosted in his home or just outside its door.

  “Yes,” she agreed, her now rosy lower lip caught briefly between in her teeth and her round blue eyes staring at him solemnly before giving a
quick shake of her head and turning back towards to cottage door. She gave a small, understanding smile, as if he had just let a door slip shut instead of holding it politely open when she was just about to walk through…a momentary lapse that was completely forgivable. “We should never do that again.”

  Chapter 11

  Staring at the low-timbered ceiling of her bedroom, Mia recalled that kiss for the thousandth time in the past week. It had been a terrible mistake and one her body kept begging to repeat. Her cooler good sense had prevailed though, and, in any case, it seemed that Dominic agreed with her. For seven full days, she saw him only at breakfast. On Tuesday and Wednesday, he had left for the entire day and only returned just as Mrs. Marwood had delivered supper. On Thursday, a delivery of planks arrived at the house. When she asked their purpose, he cordially explained he had begun building a new stable since the old one was about to tumble about Monaco’s delicate ears. The project was still not finished. He hadn’t joined her at church on Sunday – something that had not gone unnoticed by her fellow parishioners.

  The past week had been torturous for Mia. Both of them had made every effort to ignore the fiery kiss they shared, but it seemed almost impossible to return to the almost familial comfort they had recently found in the snug cottage. Returning to the professional coolness they had treated each other in the first week now seemed ridiculous so they had both settled on stiff politeness, accompanied by fake smiles and almost numbing agreeability.

  When Dominic – no, he again had to be referred to as Mr. Attwood, even in her inner thoughts – had suggested going to the Grantham fair weeks ago, Mia had enthusiastically agreed. Now it appeared he would go by himself or they would ignore the event altogether.

  With a disappointed sigh, Mia pushed the bedcovers aside and rose from the narrow servant’s bed. She pulled on her oldest gown and pulled her hair back into its usual tidy bun. A day of cooking lye was the only item on her schedule.

  She left her bedroom, irritated at the day and even more irritated at herself. It should be a pleasure to spend the whole day alone – again. Who would want to walk all the way to Grantham for a fair? Solitude was far preferable to spending an entire day with someone who was pure temptation. And how many boys had she kissed and never thought of again after a day or a week? Truthfully, there hadn’t been that many and none had impressed her even at the time.

  But Dominic was not some fumbling, acne-prone boy and that kiss still burned brightly in her mind. He would go to the fair or continue building his stable and she would continue to keep the house tidy and prepare for Randolph King’s rapeseed delivery. And both would pretend she had never pressed herself against the broad expanse of his chest, never sucked his perfectly shaped lower lip into her mouth, never wished that his hands had been a bit more curious…

  Mia yelped with surprise and jumped back. She was so lost in blush producing memories that she hadn’t noticed a curious hedgehog until she had brushed against it with her shoe. As she calmed her racing heart, the poor little thing curled up in a trembling ball and Dominic’s bedroom door opened with a bang.

  He stood there, a bedsheet wrapped hastily around his obviously nude form, pistol in hand. His normally perfectly coiffed hair stuck up on one side like a rooster’s comb and his dark eyes looked wild and fierce.

  Mia was at a complete loss for words. She didn’t know which one had disconcerted her more – the hedgehog intruder or Dominic’s dramatic entrance.

  “You screamed?” Dominic’s eyes searched the room, his pistol pointed at the ceiling but obviously prepped and ready.

  Terrified, Mia pointed mutely at the hedgehog whose shaking bristles made little rustling sounds in the following awkward silence.

  “I thought you were in danger,” Dominic explained, an uncharacteristic flush heating the harsh planes of his face and his unarmed hand securing his bedsheet a bit tighter.

  “I’ll just shoo it out with a broom,” Mia assured him, a smile threatening to escape. “There is no need to shoot it.”

  “You screamed,” Dominic repeated, his annoyance with her obvious.

  “I was just startled. It brushed my foot. I cried out.” Mia walked to the door, unlatched it, and swung it wide, hoping the hedgehog would merely make a dash for freedom instead of needing to be chased out. The silly thing continued to quiver. She glared at it, mostly so she wouldn’t stare at her employer. As if she needed to ever look at him again – the image of Dominic’s standing in a sheet and likely nothing else was burned into her mind for all eternity. The span of his biceps, the long cord of his throat, unhampered by neckties and high shirt collars. He had wrapped the sheet around one shoulder, obviously to leave his armed hand unhampered. But his attire had left a good portion of his torso bare

  “No, it was a shriek. Maybe even a screech,” Dominic insisted. “Actresses performing Lady MacDuff are less histrionic.”

  Mia purposefully approached the tiny interloper. “I’m unfamiliar with the word ‘histrionic.’ And your acquaintance, Lady MacDuff.”

  “She is brutally murdered offstage in Shakepeare’s MacBeth. Since the audience doesn’t witness her death, the actress usually makes quite a vocal fuss so we all can imagine her grisly demise. You outshined them all with that scream. Half the village will be here soon to defend your honor. They likely heard you even in London. And why are you wearing that sackcloth of a gown? I thought we were going to Grantham fair today.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t certain…” Mia stammered as her eyes flew to his stern face and she paused in her persistent nudging of their prickly intruder. She hoped her face didn’t betray the joy immediately coursing through her body. “I’ll change as soon as we’ve breakfasted. Is that your chosen attire or will you be needing something ironed?”

  He raised a supercilious eyebrow at her, refusing to be baited, before returning to the bedroom, the sheet trailing after him.

  ∞∞∞

  “And all the trolls burst. And the prince and his bride took all the treasure and left the castle forever.”

  “And that’s your favorite tale? There’s no dragon to slay or a villain to conquer,” Dominic said skeptically. “Is it because she saves the prince? My sister, Edith, would approve of it then. She always insisted on being the knight in the nursery plays. I always had to be a kindly but negligent king.”

  Mia laughed. “She did ride the four winds. And trolls burst! That would be comical on stage.”

  “Yes, but the trolls were only defeated by a laundress’s weeping. Hardly a noble or daring deed.”

  They walked in companionable silence for a few yards, their feet not even making a sound on the dirt road.

  “Is it because she’s a maid?” Dominic asked. “Because there are a great many stories about maids. Snow White cleans for dwarves. Cinderella is a drudge who sleeps on the hearth. Sleeping Beauty...”

  “Sleeping Beauty was a peasant, not a maid,” Mia corrected him. She thought for a moment and realized what the distinction was between her favorite tale’s heroine and the characters he just mentioned. “In your examples, their rightful place is stolen from them by evil stepmothers and witches. We feel pity for them because they lost their station and their pampered lives. At the end of the tales, everyone is back where they should be. It’s noble blood and destiny that designates who shall prevail, not…oh, there’s the fair!”

  With a start, Mia realized they had already reached the fairgrounds and the seven-mile walk to Grantham had passed surprisingly quickly probably because Dominic had made every effort to keep their conversations focused on favorite books. He also regaled her with amusing stories of his childhood, usually at his sisters’ expense.

  But his hand never brushed against hers as it had that day that he revealed his hatred for his father’s other family. And he certainly hadn’t attempted to kiss her again.

  The farther they strode away from the cottage the more that society’s trappings seemed to slough from their clothes. This far from gossiping neighbors’
eyes, no one would know that she was a maid and Dominic her employer…though her own plain clothes and his obviously expensive ones would certainly raise an eyebrow or two. They would likely think he was taking advantage of her and she, no longer a blushing, fresh-faced girl, would be foolishly flattered by his attentions.

  And she was. She enjoyed walking beside him, even if he wasn’t meant to be hers, only if he was being courteous. She caught the envious glances and outright longing of other women as they passed through the milling crowd of the fair and she thrilled at the knowledge that he chose to stand beside her, that she could bask in the bright reflection of, as Lettice would say, ‘his glorious self.’

  “Perhaps some flowers to brighten your bonnet,” Dominic suggested as he slowed beside a cart overflowing with sweet peas and lavender, roses and delphiniums, sunflowers and the last of the summer’s lilies. “I noticed you tossed our kitchen table’s arrangement of dangerous clippings. Perhaps we could replace them.”

  She breathed in deeply, trying to discern each type of flower’s individual scent before mentally trying to decide which two or three would blend well together.

  “No, they’d all wilt before we returned home,” Mia replied disappointedly, realizing a second too late that she too had called the cottage “home.” Both of them had fallen into a pattern of thinking their summer lodging was an indefinite or even permanent abode. Or maybe she was the only one so foolish.

  But Dominic didn’t seem to notice her humiliated cringe, and he picked up a pot of bright pink sweet peas in one hand and turned it back and forth as he examined the plant from all sides.

  “You should plant these around the cottage. The house could certainly use some color. We need to improve its appearance or burn it down all together. What?” Dominic demanded curiously when she laughed. “Don’t you like flowers?”