He nodded. “It seems ages ago that we entered the poorhouse.”
Melina stopped at the door and accepted a note from a footman. A smile lit her face as she turned to the dozen guests. “Mrs. Aubrey will join us for lunch tomorrow. She’s staying a week.” Melina laughed as she finished reading the letter. “She’s secured a ride with Giles.” She looked up and caught Julian’s eye. “She does love the Ahlquist coaches.”
And the Ahlquist men, Cathryn thought with a shudder.
Julian squeezed her hand and whispered, “Her personal maid is Giles’ niece—they’re quite close.”
This was not calming her down. Fiona was deep in his life, and that was disconcerting.
Charles Burns came to their side as his wife left the room. “This will be an early evening, and I advise you sleep in, as well. Aubrey’s first night here is always a late one.” He was a fine-looking man in his late forties, small in stature but a perfect match for his wife’s petite build. “I’ll give you the full tour in the late morning. Melina normally writes until three, although I suspect she will stop when Fiona arrives.” He chuckled. “All hell breaks loose when the woman walks through our door. It’s a damned fine time.”
Following the other ladies out to the greenhouse, Cathryn sifted through her mixed emotions about Fiona. It still stung that she had sought to entice Julian, but as Cathryn came to understand the couple’s long history, the attempt at seduction played more in her favor. Julian had denied the temptress, even under the influence of laudanum. Her marriage might have lasted years before it encountered such a test, and Julian had passed.
The lessons she’d learned from the fencing master were valuable ones—be prepared to defend yourself and your man. If she hadn’t shown initiative and gone to Fiona’s house at midnight, Julian might have done something terrible. Instead, she’d impressed him with her bold maneuvers—and impressing him was very important to her.
In some sense, she owed Fiona her life, and she respected the woman’s skills and business acumen. Financial insecurity was a terrible drain on a person’s spirit. Fiona showed what a woman could do for herself; such reassurance eased Cathryn’s mind. She struggled with the concept of Fiona’s sexual deviance, and a large piece of her still thought the two women only dear friends, misunderstood in their sisterhood. This afternoon’s activities at the poorhouse had gone beyond endearing to full-fledged heartwarming, a further testament to the woman’s compassionate nature.
In part due to Fiona, Julian’s character was being rapidly revealed in layers, and Cathryn liked every one, except perhaps his temper. She gave his outbursts little credence, as the circumstances of the past weeks were extraordinary. Even she had been pressed to violence. His innate kindness was evident to all, and she wanted a man who would defend her, if needed.
Oil lamps lit the entrance to the indoor citrus grove, and the sweet scent of orange blossoms quieted her tumultuous thoughts. A quartet of violinists began to play softly when the ladies entered—Cathryn recognized the dulcet strains of Mendelssohn. The other four women descended on a card table and fell into a game of whist. They had seemed a vapid lot at dinner, and she had no desire to join them.
Melina linked arms with Cathryn. “Would you care to walk with me?”
In ten steps, they could no longer hear the women murmuring, and Melina asked, “What are your plans with Ahlquist?”
“We thought to stay a week.”
“And after that?”
“I have a previous marriage contract I’m seeking to annul…then we plan to marry later this winter.” After I conceive.
“No grand wedding?” Melina inhaled deeply of the thick greenhouse air. “I pictured Julian being married in Westminster Abbey. He’s a favorite of the new queen’s, after all.” The older woman chuckled. “That man could charm the pantaloons off anyone.”
Shock froze her. “Are you suggesting he’s been intimate with Queen Victoria?”
“No, of course not,” Melina scoffed, releasing Cathryn’s arm to reach for an orange blossom. “Only that she paid him notice at her coronation and danced with him twice during the evening. They share the same charitable interests.”
That was a relief. “Oh, I see.” What a ridiculous notion. Cathryn chastised herself for her lapse of faith.
Inhaling deeply, Melina closed her eyes for a moment to savor the floral scent. “Well, in any case, you’ve done very well to land him.”
Cathryn thought the same thing but hearing it said aloud made it sound a bit self-serving. “He sought me.”
“Of course.”
She leaned forward to smell the fruity blossom Melina held. The beauty of the bloom restored her calm. “Marvelous.”
The violins shifted to a new tune, and Melina bobbed her head in time with the beat for a few moments. She turned to Cathryn with a smile. “Does he know about our correspondence?”
“Yes.” No need to discuss the unpleasantries.
“I confess. If I’d known Fiona and Noel were so volatile, I never would have set this all in motion.”
Cathryn froze again. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’d read your articles in the Oxfordshire press, and you echoed Julian’s sentiments on universal education and public aid for the poor. When I heard you attended the Philological Society meetings, I sent both of you letters with my outrageous request.”
“Murr?” Ahh, the mystery of Melina’s motivation was about to be solved. They walked on slowly.
“Yes.”
Cathryn spoke absently as she considered this new information. “I rather like the word.”
“I’m glad to see it has a champion. Does Julian favor it as well?”
“Yes. I believe so.” How deeply had Melina been involved in pushing her and Julian?
“Excellent.”
“Are you saying that you intentionally acted as matchmaker?”
A tinkling laugh joined the violins. Melina’s small face appeared elfin as it spread into a wide smile. “It’s my favorite sport, after crafting a memorable scene that rests with people long after they’ve closed my book.”
Melina Burns playing Cupid; another incredible story to tell their children. Cathryn smiled back. “What if we had not suited?”
“Have you?”
Her spirits soared. “Yes. Rather spectacularly.”
“He is a spectacular man. And Fiona spoke of your beauty.” There was no response to that, but the compliment nourished Cathryn’s spirit. “I’ve long favored him over Noel.”
Cathryn glanced around to be certain no one was about. “Were they lovers?”
Dark hair shook. “Noel beat him to her.”
She was glad she’d asked, but her curiosity was running rampant, and Melina had answers.
They linked arms again and proceeded down the stone walkway. “Fiona fears marriage, and Noel will never ask that of her.”
They walked several steps in silence as Cathryn digested all this news. Another burning question slipped out. “Was it you with her in Paris?” Too much wine had loosened her tongue.
“Oh, yes. The summer of twenty-two. We were wonderfully scandalous.” Her proud chuckle rose above the violins. “Fiona made a fortune that summer besting aristocrats in her studio overlooking the Seine. She rivals Le Maupin in technique and surpasses her in every other element.”
“Le Maupin?”
“Fiona’s exemplar. A French woman from the last century who took Paris and the fencing masters across Europe on a wild romp. I have her biography—you must read it if you plan to keep Fiona in your circle.”
“I should like to read it.” Tears sprang unexpectedly to her eyes. “Fiona has proven to be a valuable ally this week, and she is part of his…family, I suppose.”
“Noel is old. He will retire to York soon with his anchor of a wife. Fiona is better off with a younger man who fills all her needs.”
Such as Julian.
Melina continued as if she didn’t sense Cathryn’s discomfort. “For
a decade, she’s wanted a child.”
“Is Noel unable…?”
“She uses the herbs, so anything is possible.”
That took a moment to sink in. “The herbs?”
“Tansy and such. I’ll provide you the recipe, it’s a fine alternative to the sponge.”
“No, thank you.” She spoke in haste, but a vision of herself surrounded by a dozen children quickly taunted her. It took only a few steps before she saw what freedom such a recipe could provide when she grew weary of bearing babies, but not weary of making love with Julian. Five children would be lovely, and enough. “Although…perhaps…for the future.” And what of the sponge? This was new to Cathryn but quite enlightening. How odd to think of stopping conception, when what I want most today is a child.
“Ask Alouette for the fertile women’s remedy.”
“Oh, dear, yes, well…thank you.” Julian will be most interested to know about this, which brings me back to my concern. “Do you want Julian for Fiona now?”
“She’s lost her advantage.” A hint of distaste laced Melina’s melodic voice. “No, Cathryn, you have bested her.”
“By a week,” Cathryn muttered, amazed once again at her good fortune.
“The nearest-run thing you ever did see.”
The men were discussing the upcoming horse races when a weary Julian wandered away from the group to peruse the Burns’ literary collection. Perhaps he would read some love poems to Cathryn later. If he remembered correctly, the romantic poets were in the southern alcove.
Charles followed and asked Julian in a low voice, “Has she broken off with Noel for good this time?”
He was too tired to care about Fiona tonight. “I doubt it. He loves her, and he’ll take her back unless she bears another man’s child.”
“Is she talking about having children again?”
Julian nodded and took a thin volume from a low shelf. Blake—no, not tonight. Something lighter.
“She’ll be a good mother.”
He remembered Fiona’s concern for Jimmy and the others after the reenactment. “Yes, I think you’re correct.” He returned the book and moved on, looking for a female author. Christine de Pisan—excellent. I can impress Cathryn with my French.
“Damned shame you missed your timing on her.”
Julian’s hand stopped en route to pick up the rare volume. “I beg your pardon?”
“Everyone knows you wanted Fiona.” Charles laughed quietly. “Everyone wants Fiona, on some level.”
There was truth in that, but Julian realized he wanted her less now than ever before. “She does let her guard down while she’s here. In London, she’s a terror—all fencing master and a marquis’ mistress.” He retrieved the Pisan. “I’ve found a better mate. Cathryn is…fascinating.”
“That’s a good choice,” Charles said with a nod to the book. “If you want to make her feel important.”
“She is important. To me, at the least.” He opened the text, relieved to see modern French. Cathryn probably spoke middle French as well, but he didn’t.
“Of course, and one of the secrets to a successful marriage is to always make her feel she is your first priority.”
Happy with his choice, Julian leaned against the bookshelf. “Any other secrets to share?”
Charles rubbed his chin as he thought. “I love nothing more than to make Melina laugh. Sometimes I believe that’s why she keeps me around. So, strive to amuse her,” he nodded with a knowing smile. “And laugh at her jokes—that’s just as vital. If you don’t, she’ll stop laughing at yours, and that’s a slippery slope to boredom. That’s what kills most loving marriages—boredom. Don’t let it in your house.”
“I’ll do my best to keep tedium at bay. That reminds me, do you have any Aristophanes?”
“We have your translation.” Charles headed for the ladder. “I keep it up high so it won’t grow legs. Sometimes it seems that everyone in the district uses our library.” He rolled the wooden steps away from Julian. “Over here.”
Julian followed, very glad at this twist. Cathryn would certainly be impressed by his work, and they would share some grand laughs over the plays. He could take her on a picnic to the Burns’ folly and read aloud the next sunny afternoon. “Laughter. I shall remember that when we need diversion.”
“Too many noblemen think they need to spend all their time in serious pursuits, but it makes them dreadfully dull companions. They could benefit from reading one of Melina’s novels every few months.” Charles chuckled. “Rather self-serving of me to say, but it’s the truth.”
“Yes, I’ve found that my whole being takes on the shell of whatever I’m reading at the time.” Just as Cathryn said in her article on reading. “I have to admit, Melina’s novels make me smile afterwards.”
“I’ll tell her you said so, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course you may. I’ve told her the same myself.”
“Well, she says she can judge the success of her novel by the depth of the sigh I give at the end of the first reading.” He pulled the thick volume off the shelf and handed it down to Julian, who took it with a swell of pride. “I much prefer my own company when I read novels filled with intrigue and frivolity. If I learn something in the process, that’s a bonus.”
“I chose to translate Aristophanes because of his comedic aspects, and Giles said I had a smile on my face all the time I worked on it.”
“Then you should do more.” He climbed down and joined Julian. “The same can be said of music. A German opera can depress my spirits for days, but a Mozart concerto will bring a smile as I hum in my bath.”
“Quite true, old man. I resolve to pay attention to what I feed my soul, and to keep Cathryn’s spirits light as well. Life has more than its share of tragedy, why seek it in one’s leisure?”
“Quite. I often wondered the same thing. Laughter is one of the best ways to stay together through the rough times, and surviving life’s many trials together makes the good times all the sweeter.”
“You’re very wise, Charles. Cathryn and I have survived more than our share of trials already, and I suspect we’ve just begun.” Julian glanced at the other men, who were rising slowly from their seats. “Any other nuggets before we join the ladies?”
“Just one. Accept her as she is, but work to improve your own character. That helps during the tough times, as well.” Charles faced away from the other men and dropped his voice. “Fiona takes you back to your childhood, and she brings out the worst in you sometimes. I’ve seen it, even if your father never noticed.”
That stung a bit, but Julian saw the truth in it. He’d drunk too many bottles in her honor, and fought a dozen fistfights. Those days were best left in the past.
“I’d keep her away from your bride, as much as possible.”
“We planned to stay the week, and it will be hard to avoid her. Perhaps we should leave in a few days.”
“That might be wise. You don’t want them getting too cozy.”
“Thanks for the advice, old man. I believe we shall take you up on your offer and retire early.”
Cathryn and Julian wound their way to their suite of rooms, and both were done in by the time they finished preparing for bed. Julian crawled in beside her in the enormous canopy bed, relieved they’d retired early. All he wanted was to be naked with the woman he was coming to love. “I can’t fathom my fatigue,” he said as she settled into his side. “it’s barely ten.”
“You spent the morning at Waterloo,” she teased, stroking his bare torso, inciting havoc wherever she touched. “And you’re still recovering—it’s been less than a week.” A small bandage covered the wound, which barely pained him at all.
“You healed me today, Cathryn, when you returned my affections.” He kissed her deeply and the flames of desire grew stronger.
“We should sleep, my love.”
“I always have the means to show you the depth of my devotion.” He stroked her breasts and kissed her again, his erection
growing. “Unless you’re too fatigued.” He hoped not.
Her roaming hands signaled her interest. “I think you will always be able to capture my attention.”
And she had captured his. He wanted to see her. All of her.
The bedchamber was warm and the covers heavy, but she was gloriously naked underneath. Dual candles lit her perfect form to artistic levels. Full breasts he adored already, full thighs he had just begun to explore. He kissed and suckled both her nipples, kneading her as he savored the woman he was going to marry. Appreciative moans rewarded him, but curiosity drove him lower.
He loved looking at a woman’s sex, toying with slick lips, fingering in preparation for the main event. But now he wanted to taste her and not just on his fingers. He moved lower on her, kissing her belly until he reached her navel. She had a perfect shape for him, supple and round, full but firm. His hand trailed lower, and he gasped as he reached her wetness. He loved how she felt, how she signaled her desire, how she matched his needs.
She was ready now, and from her moans, she wanted him. He flicked across her hard nub and her pelvis raised up into his hand, her whimpers quickly turning into pants. He knew this path—she was close to completion. “Yes, yes.” Urging him to stay the course. He gladly complied.
His hand was busy, and the reward was quick to come. Watching her climax in the candlelight, a wave of desire overcame him and he nudged her knees apart with his. Next time they were together he would taste her, and take on the happy task his fingers had just accomplished. She was very responsive. Next time.
“Open for me, my love.”
And she did. Still breathless from her own pleasure, she spread herself for him. He edged himself inside her tightness, reveling in every inch achieved. Once inside her, he was driven by a primal force. Strokes long and hard, then slow and easy. Every tempo had its place in the dance of love. The perfect woman. The perfect cunt. Perfect.
His climax began at the top of his spine, as if it had erupted from his brain. Moving its way south, it rattled every bit of him, until the ultimate explosion within her reached his very core and shook loose all previous conceptions of intimacy.
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