Moondrops (Love Letters)

by Sarita Leone

  “He took them back the night he left.” Genevieve closed her hand around the earrings, then dropped her hand onto her lap. “He said I didn’t deserve to keep them, that they were given as a token to seal a pact that he’d been tricked into being a part of, so he took them with him. The other two pairs he left on our dressing table, with instructions that they were for his daughters.”

  “How did he know I wouldn’t be a son?” Louise rose, taking the teapot with her. She filled it with water from the steaming kettle, added tealeaves and, holding the hot pot between two tea towels, made her way back to the table. She set the pot down near the velvet pouch, where the aroma of Ceylon tea wafted into the air. “I could just have easily been a boy. I am shocked he didn’t take two sets with him, leaving just the one set for Elise.”

  “I’m not. We knew you were a girl, my dear. We had a sense about it, just by the way you made me feel and by how—” She giggled, sounding almost like a young bride again. Fond memories erased lines from her face. “Well, I carried you high, just like I’d done with Elise. A bubble belly, that’s what we called my new shape, so we had an inkling you were a second daughter. We hoped for another sweet girl, and were rewarded when our hopes became reality. Not that your father was here when you were born…”

  Elise exchanged glances with Louise. Their mother seemed on the verge of a new crying wave, so they spoke concurrently.

  “What about—” Louise began.

  “About the legend—” Elise abruptly stopped, then shook her head and smiled. “Can you tell we’re anxious to hear more, Mother? Please, tell us again about the pearls. I fear we were all too upset with the first telling to have listened properly.”

  Louise poured tea with enough dexterity to flabbergast Elise. When her sister pushed the sugar bowl her way, Elise gave a polite nod. The transformation left her speechless.

  Fortunately, Genevieve had no such issue. She took a deep breath, blew a ribbon of steam away from the top of her mug, and then leaned forward. That she relished the telling of the tale this time was no secret, and both sisters gave her their full attention.

  “Your grandfather bought the earrings from an elderly Arabian gentleman. The earrings were in his family for generations, and he only sold them because his family had fallen on hard times.”

  “So sad,” Elise said.

  “Very. But fortunate for your grandfather, who purchased the four sets of earrings as soon as he heard the legend surrounding them. The Arabian gentleman said that the pearls in the earrings were magical, the product of a ruse the moon played on the oysters in the sea. It is said that the moon over the seashore is so brilliant, so alluring, it is capable of luring all sorts of creatures—oysters included—from the water. Once on land, the dewdrops from the moon’s descent as the sun wakes are delicious beyond imagining. The oysters cannot help but open their mouths, hoping to catch a precious dewdrop. Of course, the drop of moisture from the moon is magical, and once it’s taken in it becomes something even more precious.”

  “A pearl.” Louise fingered one earring with her left hand, raising the tea to her mouth with the other. She sipped, swallowed, then said, “Or in this case, eight pearls.”

  “Exactly.” Genevieve sat back, looked from one daughter to the other with a solemn expression on her weary face. “So you see, my dear girls, this gift from your father is priceless. And while I made plenty of mistakes where he was concerned, he did not let either of you down during his lifetime. I am inclined to think he held you close in his heart. Otherwise, why would it mean so much to this Emmaline Byrd that the earrings be returned and his disposition learned?”

  Elise had been wondering the exact same thing. Why now, after their father had passed on, had Emmaline contacted her? What was her motivation? More importantly, what did she hope to accomplish?

  ****

  “She is not coming back.”

  Emmaline’s needlework hit the sewing basket, threads flying, tangling and finally fluttering into a jumbled mess. For the past hour, she had pretended to work on the piece, absently filling in a stitch or two before looking expectantly at the sitting room doorway. The effort required for the charade had taken its toll.

  Now she made no pretense, and when she muttered the statement still again, Hugh swallowed a retort.

  She is old, and expects the moon, he reminded himself. Have patience.

  “Did you hear what I said, Hugh?” She did not wait for him to reply. “I said she is not—”

  “Yes, yes, I heard you. You’ve said it so many times I swear I will hear you in my sleep, Emmaline.”

  Annoyed that he had given in to his bad mood, Hugh scrubbed a hand across his chin. The day’s stubble rasped against his palm, scratchy and satisfying all at once. The fact that his whiskers still grew was a testament to the fact that he’d lived through the day…the day filled with idle hours, waiting and listening to Emmaline’s overused refrain.

  The ormolu clock struck eight. The day felt twice as long as any other.

  It was embarrassing, the miles he’d paced these past eight hours. Shortly after noon, his confidence in Elise’s return began to waver. Sometime later impatience replaced confidence. Then, his footsteps grew heavy with annoyance. He wouldn’t be shocked to learn that his boots had worn a rut in the hardwood flooring, with a parallel line beside it from Emmaline’s black shoes. Her footsteps sounded regretful rather than annoyed, but even water wore a groove when allowed freedom.

  Emmaline sniffed, reminding him she was still present.

  “Perhaps I should retire upstairs,” she said in a wretched tone. “I would not wish to inflict my tedious remarks upon you.” She made no effort to rise, however.

  A patting of her hurt feelings, then.

  “Please, dear cousin, don’t do that. I apologize for my annoyance. It is not directed toward you, although you got the brunt of it.”

  It did not take much to calm his cousin. She sat back in her chair, looked down at the discarded needlework as if shocked by its dishevelment, then turned her attention back to him.

  Their gazes connected. Held. They knew each other well enough there was no need for words. Yet, there was nothing else to do besides converse, seeing as their guest hadn’t returned.

  “What, then? Tell me, Hugh…and tell me true, don’t lie to me. I’m in no mood for masquerades or falsehoods. There have already been too many of those in this household, and for far too long. What—no, it’s not a what, is it? Who—although I already know—has you in such a bad humor? Confess. I am quite sure you will feel relief at hearing the confession aloud.”

  He grunted.

  Confess? What good could it do, to declare his mind had fallen prey to the wiles of a common seamstress?

  Confess? Tell what he knew to be true, that every woman was the same, no matter where she started?

  Confess? Admit that his body betrayed him as readily as any of the shilling-a-tumble women who had so recently peppered the hallways and bedrooms of this mansion with giggles, groans and gossip?

  Damn the confession. And damn the woman who made him feel as unsteady as a newborn colt.

  Furthermore, he’d be damned if he was just going to sit around like a love struck schoolboy and wait for her to return—or not.

  Chapter 8

  Eighteen hands high meant a giant of a horse but the huge steed beneath Hugh fit him perfectly. The animal was so well trained just a slight tug on the reins or a quick squeeze from his rider’s thighs brought a response. It was good that Huge and the horse fit like hand and glove, because the man paid substantially less attention to the journey between London and Essex than the steed did.

  The sky had been purple when he’d left the city. No one stirred as he saddled the horse himself, leaving the stable boy sleeping in a corner of the stall. There hadn’t been any questions about where he was off to, or why, which suited him just fine. He didn’t have answers and was too disgruntled to lie.

  While he would have preferred to thunder th
rough the darkness, he forced the horse to walk. The hour was so early, the sky just beginning to break its nighttime cover and take on the first steely grays and glimmering periwinkles of the day, that if he rode pell-mell he would likely arrive before the household began to stir.

  The element of surprise—that he wanted. But to disrupt the other women before they’d had the opportunity to knuckle sleep from their eyes? A bad idea, especially when he might just need to rally the support of the mother and sister.

  For what? That was the heart of the matter. What, precisely, did he want from the charming, infuriating, lovely Miss Fulbright?

  Hugh’s trousers tightened at the memory of her. The physical response was overwhelming but he wanted more than a tumble with the woman.

  What, then? Two tumbles?

  Even as the thought inched its way into his mind, he discarded it. No, he wished for more than a night’s pleasure with the elusive seamstress.

  Impatience overcame good sense. His heels dug into the horse’s sides and they went from walk to canter immediately.

  “Who cares if I wake all of Essex? You and I have some serious talking to do, Miss Elise Fulbright. And I don’t care who I have to roust from beneath the covers to get your attention,” he said between gritted teeth.

  He had been so sure she’d return to London. There had been no doubt in his mind.

  He’d waited all night, strained to hear the sound of a carriage or even hurrying footsteps. But nothing! No sign of the woman not even a whisper of her imminent arrival.

  If he was wrong about her returning to Emmaline’s, what else about her could he have mistaken?

  The notion he judged the lady incorrectly spurred him to heel the horse again, sending it into a gallop. If he was wrong about Elise on this point, it was possible she might surprise him in other areas—more important ones—as well.

  If so, she would be the first woman—aside from Emmaline, who didn’t count as they were cousins—he’d ever met who wasn’t like his mother. The first

  and, perhaps, the only.

  ****

  Lingering in the kitchen garden only put her further behind schedule—and she was already woefully behind due to two days’ absence from the shop but Elise couldn’t help herself. The day in London had kept her in a stuffy coach, then confined in the Byrd mansion, and yesterday had been lost in catching up on laundry, explaining to Louise time and again what the mansion looked like and contemplating the moon drop legend. The rest of the day would be spent sewing but these precious few moments were hers alone.

  Her worn nightdress caught the breeze, sticking to her body like a second skin. It was so thin the air cooled her. Lifting her hair, which she had already undone from its long night braid, off her neck she sighed as the air touched her there, too.

  The kitchen door creaked behind her but she did not turn around. Surely Louise could allow her this one bit of peace before the mad dash began, couldn’t she?

  “You look like a garden nymph,” Louise said softly. “Surrounded by mint and sage, you smell divine, as well. You must be crushing some of the herbs beneath your knees.”

  “Just a few when I knelt down. How nice that you are so observant this morning.”

  “I am trying, Elise. It is not easy to change, but I am giving it a go. Mother and I had a long talk while you were gone.” A hesitation, during which Elise did not turn around. It seemed revelations would come more freely if she didn’t stare directly at her sister—her sister, who was evidently doing her best to grow up a bit. Overdue, but at least it was happening.

  Louse went on, a touch of defiance in her tone, “I suppose I have been a little bit…ah, that is, I may not have been pulling my weight around here. It is—well, it is something that is going to change.”

  “I would dare say you are already changed, my dear. And for the better, too. It is a noteworthy event, this character change. I commend you, Louise. Change doesn’t come easily, and often requires losing old beliefs to form new ones. Good for you.”

  “Everyone grows up sometime, don’t you think?” Louise sounded more confident now.

  “I do,” Elise agreed. She dropped her hair onto her neck and turned her head to face her sister. Louise stood on the stoop, a white rectangle dangling from her hand. Elise nearly jumped up and snatched it. “What have you got there?”

  Louise held up a letter. “It was in the postbox. I saw it as I came down the stairs.”

  “From London? Is it from London, Louise?”

  “Bath. A letter from Cornelia, I believe.” Louise came down one step, held the letter out and asked, “I wonder what she is up to there? Care to see if she’s caught a bachelor at the waters yet?”

  Elise waved her away. She didn’t care about Cornelia or the bachelors—if there were, in fact, any in Bath.

  Retreating as quietly as she had come, Louise went back to the kitchen door. As she went in, she said over her shoulder, “I made tea. Toast, too. I am not skilled enough yet to make eggs the way you and Mother do, or scones, but there is toast and marmalade if you’re interested.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in shortly.”

  The door closed with another creak. Elise released the sigh she’d been holding, her breath stirring the nose-high stalks of peppermint beside her.

  What had she been expecting? Another letter from Emmaline Byrd?

  She didn’t know.

  That was a lie.

  Was it so unreasonable to hope—if not expect—that the man who claimed her interest reciprocate in some way? Hadn’t she made even the teeniest impression on Hugh?

  As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Hugh had made an impression on her. A big one.

  The thought sent a wave of embarrassment at her behaving stupidly enough to be deeply affected by a man she barely knew.

  Who was she trying to fool? She didn’t know him at all. Not really.

  Elise lifted her hair off her neck again, holding it so tightly against her scalp that her fingers ached from the tension. It was a miracle she didn’t pull her hair from her own head.

  “So this is how you spend your time when you aren’t in London?”

  The voice caught her by surprise, and she gave a sharp tug to the locks she held before dropping them.

  “Ouch!”

  “Careful there. You wouldn’t want to lose all those thick curls, would you?”

  She turned, feeling her hair tangle around her shoulders. Hugh stood so casually beside the kitchen stoop, one dusty booted foot propped on the redbrick bottom step, that if she didn’t know better she would assume he owned the building.

  Handsomer in person than memory, he appeared rugged, sweaty and tousled. Taking in his outfit, she guessed he’d ridden from London.

  An absurd question popped into her head, then flew past her lips.

  “Where is your horse?”

  Hugh threw his head back and laughed. His eyes sparkled when he asked, “All you are concerned about is my horse? I have ridden all the way from the city to see you, yet your biggest worry is for an animal? Perhaps I have ridden too hastily…”

  He’d come to see her? The words echoed in her mind. Beneath the filmy fabric that, truthfully, provided a less-than-decent covering for her body, her heart skipped a beat.

  He’s here to see me.

  “I…” She what?

  Hugh studied her for a moment. His gaze met hers, then traveled down her body.

  She watched him peruse her shawl-less shoulders, the deep open vee of her nightdress and the tight-fitting bodice whose lace embellishments had long since frayed. Elise wondered what his thoughts were as he looked upon her so boldly, wondered if his heart stuttered or if he felt twice as hot as the sun’s rays should make them, they way she did.

  He’d come to see her. Nothing else mattered. Or did it?

  The upper hand. She must learn more, and quickly, before either Louise or their mother came looking for her.

  “You are audacious, arriving unannounced at
this hour.” She scrambled to her feet but instead of it being a graceful motion, her bare toes caught on the hem of her gown and she stumbled forward. It was precisely the same awkward tumble Louise had taken less than twenty-four hours earlier. Once again, it seemed like the younger sister got the last word in.

  Hugh leapt over the basil faster than a cat. He grabbed her upper arms and for the third time their bodies touched.

  Instantly Elise’s nipples responded, their peaks pressing hard against the insubstantial cotton gown. Her breath caught as her arms instinctively went to his shoulders. She lifted her gaze, found him staring down at her with intensity that melted her.

  “I…” again, speechless. Closing her mouth with a snap, she met his stare, emboldened by the pulse that beat so hard against her skin. Was it hers? Or his? She didn’t know—and she didn’t care.

  A slow grin crept across Hugh’s lips. His face was just inches from hers, his warm breath washing across her cheeks and the woodsy scent wafting off him filling her nostrils.

  She inhaled deeply, pulling the essence of the moment into her. It was like no other she had ever experienced.

  “Are you all right?”

  Elise nodded. Tilting her head to see him properly, she opened her mouth to answer but no words came out. Time stood still as they stared at each other.

  Hugh brought his head down. His lips claimed hers, although there was no struggle. Elise went willingly, losing herself in the sensation of his warm mouth. A shiver shook her when he pulled her tight, pressing her body fully against his hard planes and contours.

  His tongue touched her lips, then explored the secrets of her mouth. She let him have his way, trying to match his probing with her own inquisitive touches.

  A groan escaped from Hugh’s throat, rumbling into her mouth and shocking her with its primal intensity.

  His hand traveled down her back, tracing a hot path along her backbone through the nightdress. Warmth pooled at her apex, liquid fire that burned hot and fast. When his hand didn’t stop moving she trembled, knowing he had little expanse between spine and buttocks.