ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories)

by Jane Prescott

  The maid arrived to take her tray away and looked at her in surprise, “Is my Lady not hungry this lovely sunny morning?” she asked. Not that she had the right to ask, but she knew her Ladyship would not mind her forwardness.

  “No, I crave the sunshine on this glorious day, Sally,” she almost sang. “Where is Jayne, to dress me? Is she late?”

  “No, my Lady, she would have been expecting you to still be eating your breakfast,” the maid Sally, replied with a curtsy. “She’s cleaning your brown leather shoes. I’ll go down and send her up here,”

  Bridget thought no more about it; she simply stretched her body and slowly climbed from her bed. Walking over to the full length window, she peeked through the white net curtaining, but there was nothing interesting to see. This did not dampen her mood, she felt young and happy and intended on staying in this mood for the whole day. Even though Mathias would be home later, she would not allow that thought to dampen her pleasant feelings. This was going to be a good day.

  A knock at the door and Jayne, her personal maid, entered, when commanded. “I’m sorry, my Lady, a mark would not come from your shoe, so I was delayed. Which garments would you like to wear today, my Lady?”

  “I think something white, with perhaps a little yellow, I want to feel like the sunshine today,” Bridget replied.

  Jayne brought out the perfect dress, with an empire line. That would be comfortable for her walk in the garden today, but she frowned at the low bust line.

  “Is this not to you satisfaction my lady?” Jayne queried, the mistress of the house usually approves her choices. “I thought the yellow flowers in this garment match your yellow hair, my Lady.”

  “No, I mean yes, it’s perfect, Jayne. Bright and summery. Could you do something nice with my hair today, I want it up off my neck,” Bridget told her maid.

  “You have the neck of a slender swan, my Lady, you do right to show it off,” the maid agreed.

  Once Jayne had pampered her mistress and dressed her as requested, she asked if she wanted to wear any jewelry today. Bridget wanted something small, nothing that shouted out wealth, just a little something feminine. Jayne chose a small amber shaped pendant, finishing off the look for today.

  The morning seemed to drag on forever and although Bridget tried to keep herself busy, her mind constantly strayed to her meeting with the gardener’s son. She was aware that her husband was due to return today, but it would probably be around dinner time. He never rushed home.

  At last, it was time for her meeting with the handsome Tristan. The wind had picked up a little and blew strands of hair from the beautiful arrangement that Jayne had done that morning. She did not mind, she felt too excited to care for such details.

  When she arrived on the verandah, she was surprised to find Tristan already there.

  “Thank you for coming to speak with me, Tristan,” she greeted him by holding out her slender fingers.

  “I don’t like to keep a lady waiting, so I arrived here early,” he explained. “As much as it disappoints me, I can’t shake your hand because mine are very grubby,” he grinned at her cheekily.

  Bridget had not realized that she still held her hand out; her mind was most definitely elsewhere.

  “Oh, of course,” she smiled, and moved her hand away.

  “How long are you staying with your father?” she asked, hoping he would not be leaving too soon.

  “I’ve arranged to do my convalescing here, the army has agreed, so I don’t need to be going to Scotland now. Helping my father in these gardens will help to build up my strength. I have a few months before I should, hopefully, get my marching orders once again,” he informed her.

  “It will be good to have you around,” she smiled, a little nervously, “for your father, I mean. He will be happy to have his son home and helping him.”

  “I’m going to enjoy being in your employ, my Lady,” he smiled at her, and she noticed a definite twinkle in his eye.

  Bridget could tell that there was something between them, a chemistry, even though she had only just met Tristan, she felt totally at ease with him. This was difficult and complicated, not only was she a married woman, but he was a different social class to her. Her stomach was once again a quiver with butterflies, seemingly a common condition when she was in his company. Despite all the risks and difficulties she had to get to know Tristan better, her whole body desired him to be close to her.

  Making the effort to discuss the work on the pond, she chose an area that was quite secluded. Standing as close to him as she dare risk, she could feel the heat emanating from his body. His smell was masculine, the odor of a manual laborer, but it was not unpleasant, despite the smell of perspiration, there was a cleanness to him. As she leant forward to point something out, the skin on his bare arm brushed against her, the contact caused her to swallow audibly and draw in a quivering breath.

  “Is my Lady well?” Tristan asked, a little mischievously, “She seems a little flushed.”

  Bridget felt that he was teasing her, was she so obvious. Her face flushed a deep red, and she stepped away from him.

  “I am fine thank you,” she said coldly. “Can we finish the business at hand?”

  “Of course, my Lady. I’m sorry to have been so presumptuous.”

  She felt that he was probably mocking her again, but this time he did a better job of hiding it. Damn him for his insolence, she should be angry with him, but his cheek only attracted her more.

  “Will you benefit from it here, my Lady?” he asked her, his eyes staring into hers, as if trying to penetrate her very thoughts. “Will you be able to look upon it often, I mean, it’s a bit of a lonely place?”

  “I will see it from the library window, when I look out on a gloomy winter’s day, and it will be a serene spot, when I need to be alone.” She also wanted to add that every time she looked at it, it would remind her of him, but she kept those thoughts to herself.

  Chapter 4

  Lord Hexley arrived in the court yard, riding his horse. He had not taken a carriage on this occasion as he liked to ride when he could. He had left his destination earlier than expected as he wished to discuss a matter with his wife. A stable boy came out to greet him and take the horse back to the stables, so Mathias entered the house by the kitchens; he was too muddy to go in the front entrance.

  “Oh, your Lordship, we did not expect you back until early evening,” the butler said as he saw Mathias entering the doorway. “Shall I arrange to draw a bath for you, my Lord?” he asked.

  “That would be splendid, Mason, and get my valet to lay out some fresh clothes?” Mathias ordered, eager to shed his dusty clothes from the ride. “I’ll take some lunch in the library while I’m waiting,” he added, his growling stomach reminded him he had eaten only a light breakfast.

  Heading straight for the library, he was keen to go through some plans for one of the farms. They were going to try pigs on this particular farm, and he was unsure on which type of pens to erect. The butler followed him through the house and into the library, opening up any closed curtains and going to the drinks cabinet to pour his Lordship his favorite spirit. Setting up the tray, Mason poured and carried the tray over to the desk, where his Lordship was rummaging through some papers.

  “Ah, splendid, Mason, just what I need,” Mathias said as he reached out for the crystal tumbler of rich amber whisky.

  As he touched his mouth with the glass and felt the warmth of the liquid, he happened to look out of the window that faced the south verandah. There he could see his wife, by the old pond, and she was in the company of a young man.

  “Who is that boy?” he asked Mason.

  “He is Tristan Scott, my Lord, the gardener’s son,” Mason informed him.

  “Yes, yes, but what is he doing on my verandah?” Mathias enquired.

  “Lady Hexley is planning a water feature, my Lord. As the boy is helping his father while he visits, she has arranged for him to do some of the larger tasks that old Malcolm might
struggle with,” the butler finished.

  “That will be all, for now, Mason,” Mathias said, sharply, wondering why his wife had not mentioned any of this.

  The butler bowed his head and left the room, “I’ll send word when your bath is drawn, Sir,” he said before shutting the door.

  Mathias stayed out of view, hidden by the curtain. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was spying on his wife, but her over familiarity with the young man was causing him some consternation, Bridget and the young man seemed to be completely engrossed in something.

  He watched as they both kneeled on the floor as if looking at something on the ground. As they leaned in closer, their heads touched. His wife did not seem to pull away, as she should have done. Instead she allowed the young man to touch her hair as his hand went out to rub her head, obviously touching a tender spot where their heads had clashed. His lordship was totally shocked at her behaviour, it was completely inappropriate for a lady to be in the company of a man, unchaperoned. Even worse was this overly familiarity, it bordered on scandalous. He considered tapping on the window to let her know of his presence, or strolling out on to the verandah to meet this newcomer, but he was transfixed by his wife’s behaviour.

  As she looked over to the house, he froze, hoping she could not see him, but she gave no sign that she had. He breathed a sigh of relief, although he wondered why it should be him that felt guilty. At this moment he was too shocked to deal with her. He walked out of the library backwards, just as he was about to reach for the door handle, the maid knocked to inform him that his bath was ready.

  * * *

  Bridget thought the young man utterly charming, as well as handsome. As their heads had banged together, he had reached to touch her head where they had clashed, and he rubbed at it gently. She knew she should not allow him to do this, but his touch was most thrilling.

  “I cannot decide on a bird bath or a sun dial feature,” she told him. “I want it in this particular spot so I can look upon it from the library window,” she said, pointing to the building. She thought she could see someone watching them, but realized it must be the way the curtain had been drawn back. However, it served to bring her to her senses and she knew she could not linger here much longer, chattering to this handsome young man.

  “I will let Malcolm know what I finally decide upon and perhaps you can arrange to go pick it up, once I’ve purchased the feature?” she suggested.

  “I’ll be happy to ma’am, er… I mean, your Ladyship,” he stuttered, clearly not sure of the proper title.

  “Very well, Tristan, I look forward to seeing it when completed,” she said, holding out her hand once again.

  He took it and shook it gently, “I will get on to it as soon as you command, Lady Hexley.”

  Bridget thought she heard an undertone to the word command, but his face revealed nothing, so she assumed it was simply her heightened sensitivity that she had, when around him.

  “I just need to speak to Lord Hexley, and then I will get back to you,” she added.

  With that she turned and left him, walking towards the house. It may have been her imagination but she felt he watched her all the way, until she entered the house.

  * * *

  Tristan was glad that the meeting was over; he did not know how much longer he could keep his hands off the beautiful woman who stood before him. He was a popular lad where the girls were concerned, but this was a married woman, not only that but the wife of the Lord of the manor. He would need to tread very carefully, or it could all turn out badly. Still, he was sure she was giving off signals that she liked him too. Nothing would have pleased him more than to have swept her into his arms and kiss her soft lips, they looked so succulent.

  It also took all his willpower not to be looking at her breasts. He was sure that was why she had knelt down on the floor, so he could get a full view of her cleavage. How he longed to put his hand inside that dress.

  Would a Ladyship consider an affair with a soldier, he wondered? He could be discreet and no one would ever know. How was he to let her know this? He’d think of something, he had to.

  Chapter 5

  On a Tuesday afternoon, once a month, Bridget held tea for the local ladies, unfortunately that also including her dreaded sister-in-law, Lady Gertrude Blake.

  “Has my brother discussed a trip to France, with you yet, Bridget?” Gertrude asked her, spooning a forkful of coconut cake into her mouth.

  “No, he has not, sister,” she replied, sipping her weak tea, she much preferred the bitter taste of coffee, that was considered a little too avant-garde for present company, so tea it was.

  “I am to go with my husband, on business, and I thought of taking the children. That was when I had the idea of perhaps you coming along also. I am surprised he has not mentioned it,” she said, as if it were Bridget’s fault that he had not brought the subject up.

  The last thing she wanted was a trip with that family; she simply had to find an excuse not to go. She would love to visit France, just not with Gertrude. The thought made her feel positively ill. She quickly rose and stood by the window, hoping that Gertrude had not seen her look of disgust.

  Sipping her tea, very slowly, she looked out upon the garden, only to spot Tristan at work. He was helping to prune some of the branches on one of the huge oaks that adorned the gardens. His shirt was removed and tied around his waist as he worked. The light chatter of her guests was soon distant in her mind, as she imagined what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around her waist, burying her head in those strong shoulders and kissing that thick neck.

  “What are you doing, over there?” Gertrude shouted, a clear aggrieved tone to her voice as usually she expected Bridget’s full attention on her visits.

  “I’m getting a little sun on my face, sister, we really should have had tea outside, the air is stifling in here,” and indeed, it was, almost to the point of dizziness. She really must turn away from the handsome young man, but she was captivated.

  His whole body stretched upwards to grab a hold of a large branch and gently lift it down. His torso was slender, yet his well-defined muscles rippled at the effort. In her eyes he had the body of a Greek god, and shamelessly she wished to worship it.

  “What is through this window that has taken all your attention and distracted you from your guests, Bridget dear?” the voice said from directly behind her, for a large woman, Gertrude could sneak up on one, almost silently.

  “Who on earth is that?” she asked, pointing through the window.

  “”Who is what?” Bridget asked. “I’m watching a swallow, would you believe it. He was over there on the rockery. You seem to have frightened him away with your voice.”

  “Nonsense,” Gertrude retorted. “I want to know who that servant is, over there,” now she pointed with her wagging, podgy finger.

  “Oh, you mean the people pruning the tree?” she asked, acting as if she had not noticed them. “Let me see, it’s probably just Scotty, our gardener.”

  “Nonsense, I know what Malcolm Scott looks like, he’s an old man. Why my brother keeps him on, I have no idea. Perhaps he’s seen sense and employed a fitter gardener, though I think he takes liberties by going almost naked at his work. It is positively disgusting,” Gertrude finished, still staring at the young man through the window. Gertrude’s apparent disgust attracted the attention of the other ladies; they all quickly made their way to the window to see what all fuss was about.

  “Really, Gertrude, I think you go a little too far,” Bridget used her stern tone, hoping to misdirect the conversation. “Malcolm is a wonderful gardener; Mathias would not get rid of him, ever.”

  Bridget walked away from the window while the giggling ladies all spied upon Tristan. She would have loved to stay with them and giggle along, but she knew Gertrude would speak to Mathias about this.

  “Call the butler, what’s his name, Mason,” Gertrude was now the only one still stood looking out of the window, “and have that vulgar p
erson removed,” she complained, from the window.

  “Would it not be better simply to draw the curtains, sister?” Bridget smiled, calmly, hoping to make Gertrude look a fool. “After all, we do need the tree pruning and it is a very heavy task. A task we ladies certainly could never consider doing, so who do you suggest we get for the manual labor?”

  “Do not mock me, young lady; I know very well that it is man’s work. But, he should act more respectful of his betters and not walk around flaunting himself,” she continued to complain, but she still stood by the window.

  “Shocking!” she said, finally pulling herself away from the window. “Call the maid to close the curtains, at the very least,” she demanded.