Man Candy

by Tia Siren

  Standing before the looking glass, I found myself staring at a handsome woman whose cheeks had reddened with emotion. I looked more vital than I ever had. Love will, I had discovered, make even the most deathly pallor beam with vibrant life; and my pallor had always been on the youthful side of the scale.

  Just after I finished dressing, Charlotte came charging into my room. “Sorry, Miss,” she breathed. “It’s just that I walked into the Duke by accident, and he has asked to see you. You see, I was with some of the servants who were setting up the dining room. It is beautiful, Miss, and I was wondering who the Duke was dining with, and then he asked me to fetch you. Not fetch, Miss. I didn’t mean fetch.”

  “Relax,” I said, trying to soothe the girl. “I will go to him at once. That will be all, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte left, and I made my way through the Castle to the dining room. The chandelier glittered with the light of the torches that burned in sconces along the walls. The curtains were drawn, and the Duke sat at the end of the long dining table. He stood upon my entrance, and I walked over to his end of the table. He pulled a seat out for me, and together we sat.

  We said nothing to each other until the servants had brought our food, which they did soon after I sat down. When the food and the drink was brought, the Duke dismissed the servants so that we could be alone. The wine was a magnificent red; I felt as though Spain was on my tongue. The Duke held up his glass, and we clinked them.

  “Do you like it?” he said.

  “I do,” I replied. “It is beautiful to behold.”

  “You are beautiful to behold,” he said impulsively.

  I thought about chastising him for his hasty speech, but we had long since passed the point of proper etiquette, and so I took the compliment striding. The Duke was wearing his most elegant and becoming finery, which accentuated his handsomeness. The Duke stared down at his hands for a moment, and then looked swiftly into my eyes.

  “Do you believe in attachment, Sarah?”

  “How do you mean?” I said.

  “Do you believe that it is possible to form strong attachments – the kind of attachment that exists between man and wife, say – without actually having gone through the traditional routes? What I am saying is, do you think it is possible for a man to love a woman without having properly and openly courted her? Many men and not a few women would have us think that it is impossible, that it cannot be done. And yet I sit here and look at you, and I know that I love you. If the word ‘love’ means anything, then it must apply to how I feel about you. I am struck with anxiety oftentimes. My heart beats frantically, and a cold sweat comes upon me, and I never know why. Most times there is nothing to be overly anxious about. But with you I do not feel that way. With you I feel as though a vital part of myself has been restored. I am like an amputee who has had his arm restored after a long absence; or a blind man who has regained the ability to see. Ah!” He slapped his hand down on the table. “If only I could make you feel what I feel, Sarah, so you could know!”

  Seeing that dear Francis was in quite a state, I laid my hand upon his arm. He clasped his hand over mine and looked at me gratefully. “Don’t you see, Francis?” I said. “You do not need to make me feel anything; I already feel as you do. I care not that we do not do things the proper way. I have lost all meaning of what ‘proper’ means, anymore. All I know is that when you took me into the library, into the gardens, into the woods, when we were together in my bedroom I was happier and more content than I have been in all my days.” I stopped, breathless. My words were far too forward to be ladylike. Any man would shun me after such openness.

  But not Francis.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a glistening ring. It winked at me in the torchlight. “I had to estimate your measurements,” he said. “I hope it fits.” He took my hand and slid the ring onto the third finger of my left hand. “There we go,” he beamed happily. “I knew it would fit!”

  I stared down at the ring, bemused. “Look how the light catches it,” I muttered. “But Francis, what ever is it for? You do not need to buy me gifts.”

  “It is no simply a gift, my love,” the Duke said, his hand upon my shoulder. “It is a symbol. A symbol of my love for you. A symbol of my commitment to you. We are to be married, if you will have me. My family will hate it, but to hell with them! I love you more than I have ever loved a single thing on this earth, and if the sky were to fall now I would have you, and no other, in my arms. Marry me, Sarah.”

  Perhaps a nobler woman would have contemplated the position he was putting himself in. Perhaps a nobler woman would have sincerely thought about declining his proposal, to save the regard others had for him. But I was, and I am, a love-driven woman.

  I said yes, and he jumped across the table and brought me into his arms, cradling me like a child.

  Postscript

  It is the night before we tell our families and friends and associates as I write this: tell them of mine and the Duke’s love. I have written this account so those who find it – whoever they turn out to be – will know the story of the unusual courtship of Sarah Archer and Francis Seymour, the Duke of Somerset. Undoubtedly there are those among you who would have him discredited. All I can say to that is, why? Why discredit a man who married a woman he loves? Far more deserving of discredit are the men who marry women they despise, and spend the rest of their lives making her miserable.

  Only the Duke and I know of our marriage; tomorrow that shall all change. He has arranged a meeting. Father is to be there. I wish I could say the meeting gladdens me, but in truth the only gladness I feel is at the thought of Francis visiting me in my rooms tonight. I have worn this quill out completely and I do not think I can write anymore. When I began the sun was rising; now it is deep in the night.

  I would write more, but there is a knocking at my door.

  He whispers my name. It is Francis.

  I must go.

  I must be with my love.

  *****

  THE END

  The Devil’s Dance – A Regency Romance

  Bertrand Collins Margrave- Bertie to his friends- looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror and was quite pleased with the image that looked back at him. His official title was Lord Haverbrook, and he had reluctantly made the unpleasant journey from London to his stately pile in Derbyshire. Bertie preferred life in London by a long chalk and was happy that his elderly aunt resided in the Haverbrook estate. She looked upon it as her own and Bertie was happy to let her believe that as it kept her acid tongue under control. His London town house was elegant and close to everything he loved. Bertie loved theatre, art and most of all everything fashionable and the latest crazes. Aunt Agatha had sent word that she was ill and he needs must come to visit immediately. When Bertie arrived at the large and resplendent residence, it was to find his aunt in robust good health and she desired him to make changes to the house in accordance with her wishes. Bertrand Collins Margrave was not amused in the least and had gone to bed in a fine old mood wondering how soon he could return to London.

  The next morning he twirled in front of the mirror and took in the elegant riding clothes that he wore. Tight-fitting trousers and a short jacket with a smooth line across the waist and elegant tails behind. The waistcoat was blue brocade and the white cravat elegantly tied. The narrow riding boots accented his well-muscled legs, and he thought to himself that Badger Tomkins would not look half as fashionable. “Still be good to see the old boy again.” He thought and smiled as he thought about the surprise on Badger’s face when he rode up to the door. Bertie was, in fact, a handsome young man and much pursued by young ladies in London who had their eye on becoming Lady Haverbrook. He was tall for the times and stood at about five feet ten inches with dark, slightly curly hair that was currently cut in the latest style with sideburns and a great deal of hair on the top of his head. He actually didn’t need to make himself look taller, but that was what had driven that particular fashion. He had dar
k brown eyes that could look meltingly appealing and surprisingly, the man was toned and fit.

  Bertie left his manservant to sort out his wardrobe and went to visit his stables. He still kept a fine collection of horseflesh despite being away such a lot of the time. For that matter, he kept a fine selection in London as well. He had sent word ahead for his favourite mount to be ready and the stable hand was waiting with reins in hand. Haverbrook slid into the saddle with easy grace and slipped a top hat onto his head. He knew he was riding through the woods and fields but still fashion was fashion, and he donned the hat. Then set off at an easy walk until he was clear of the gates and urged the stallion to a gentle jog. Bertie enjoyed riding and settled to enjoy the ride to visit Badger. The way to his friend’s rather beautiful residence was through the land belonging to Lady Tupperham. The old lady had always let Bertie treat the land as if it was his own and he knew the way through her estate well. The track passed through woodland and then came out at some paddocks behind the stables. It was not far until he would enter Badger’s gates but suddenly he saw in the stable yard a young woman. She saw him at the same time and stalked, yes that was the word, stalked to the gate and shouted at him. “I say who are you riding through here? This is private land.”

  Bertie steered the horse in her direction and stopped in front of the obviously annoyed young woman. “I might ask you the same, young woman. This is the land of Lady Tupperham. You appear to be trespassing.” She put her hands on her hips and observed the newcomer with a look that told him she was not the least impressed by what she saw. “Lady Tupperham was my aunt. This is my estate, and you still have not told me your name.” She almost but not quite, stamped her foot. Bertie slid from the horse and found himself face to face with the woman. It was not lost upon him that she was wearing a most up to date riding outfit in light grey. She was about five feet four inches high and did not step back as he stood in front of her. “Did you say ‘was’?” He asked. “Lady Tupperham. Did you say was?” He demanded again, and the girl nodded.

  “Yes, sadly, my aunt passed away three months ago.”

  Bertie was taken aback. “Nobody let me know,” he said almost to himself and then remembered his manners. “I am so sorry to hear that,” he told her. “I am Lord Haverbrook from the next estate. I am on my way to visit at the Tomkins residence. Lady Tupperham always allowed us passage across her land.” The girl was not impressed and said that maybe he should ask permission in the future. Bertie was not used to treatment of this sort and felt a sudden rush of anger which was most unusual.

  “I most certainly will not,” he answered. “I will simply go the long way round- Miss?”

  “Caroline Carstairs,” she told him and held out a hand. “Aunt Mary left me the estate.” Bertie took the hand to shake and was unprepared for the jolt of lightning that shot up his arm and through his veins. He went on shaking the hand for some seconds and looked quite dreamlike. Caroline smiled for the first time and extricated her hand from his. “I have to go,” she told him and walked away leaving him still wondering what he had just experienced. At the same time though she rubbed at her own hand as if the same sensation had happened when they touched. Bertie shook himself into activity and mounted his horse. The he watched the rather elegant riding outfit with the delightful decoration on the rear of the jacket disappear into the stable yard.

  *****

  The beautiful façade of Badger’s house appeared in front of Bertie, and the manicured gardens were as trim and smart as ever. Badger was a traditionalist and liked his place to look well groomed. The two men had been friends since childhood even though they were as unlike each other as it was possible to be. Bertie rode around to the yard at the rear, and a man came out at a run to take the horse. Bertie took his tall top hat in his hand and strode around to the garden door where he knew he would find his old friend. The staff looked on in horror as he should have been announced but the man simply pushed open the door and announced himself. Badger looked up from the paper on his desk and took a second to realise who had appeared, and then he leaped to his feet and rushed across. The two men threw arms around each other and jigged around the room like a couple of ten-year-olds. “Oh, Bertie. What a delight. I did so need you to cheer me up.”

  “Me too, old man. My aunt had me trail up here on a wild goose chase.” Bertie answered, and Badger pulled the cord that brought a man servant rushing to see what was required. Relieved that the master was not furious that his guest was unannounced the servant retreated to find food and drink and the two friends sat down to catch up.

  “I must say,” Badger commented eyeing Bertie’s extremely tight trousers. “Those are not pantaloons. They are very revealing.” Bertie stood up and did a sort of twirl around to display his up to the minute fashion. “You really do have to get up to date, Badge. These are all the rage in town.” Badger was not impressed because he was a fan of country pursuits and tradition. He laughed off his friend’s suggestion and asked if Aunt Agnes was well.

  “In rude good health,” Bertie answered “And as annoying as ever.” He paused “But she never told me that Lady Tupperham had passed away. She was a great old girl, and I never knew she had gone.” Badger nodded and said that it was sad. “The estate now belongs to her only living relative.”

  “I met her this morning. Caroline Carstairs she said her name was and told me I was trespassing.” Bertie said with a wave of his hand and his friend laughed out loud. “Indeed, the woman can be bold, and she is unusual. “He smiled “But is exceedingly pretty.”

  “I never noticed,” Bertie said dismissively and Badger laughed it off.

  “That I do not believe, and you two should get on well. She is the most fashion conscious and up to date person, you will ever meet.” Bertie looked at him incredulously and brushed the assertion aside. “How could she possibly be up to date stuck up here away from everything?”

  “Ah, but she has lived in London all of her life up till now. She has made some amazing changes to the house already.” Bertie was sceptical and said so, but Badger was not to be changed. “I have been very nice to her, but I know she thinks I am old fashioned.” Badger smiled at himself, and Bertie said “Well you are old fashioned. You were old fashioned when you were ten years old.” He clapped his friend on the back and went on to say that as he had come all this way on a wild goose chase, he would make some modernisations to the house. “There are some new items for the kitchens but- And he paused dramatically. “Have you seen the new flush away waste systems?” Badger Tomkins gave a grin that threatened to split his face in two. “Well yes, actually, I have.” He was rewarded by the stunned look on the face of Bertie Collins Margrave and he laughed out loud with glee. “You see,” he added with a sort of flourish. “The young lady who has taken over Lady Tupperham’s house has installed not one but two in The Grange.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Bertie replied and sat down into a nearby chair with a sudden thump. Badger told him that Caroline had made other changes, but it had only been three months and some things were taking more time. “She apparently wants the decoration to be like the top houses in London. Her clothes have come down specially and I hear that some of them come from Italy and France.” Bertie could find no suitable reply. Badger was pleased to have the better of his friend for once and told him that Caroline was an excellent horse woman. “No doubt you noticed that she is also extremely pretty.” He finished and Bertie realised that he had indeed noticed that the dark blonde hair and blue grey eyes were part of a slender and rather delicious package. He thought to himself but did not say to Badger that he also noticed that the riding clothes were very similar to the choicest apparel worn around the city. It was a lot to take on board and then he reminded himself that she was also arrogant and had ordered him off her land. “Hmph.” Was all he managed in reply and Badger was delighted. They sat and talked about other things that interested young men of the time and Bertie made an arrangement to go riding the following day. Badger had tho
ught to include friends and make the occasion a bit more of a social occasion. His own sister would have been furious if he had not told her that Bertie was back in the area. Bertrand himself, took his leave and rode back to his stately home by the road. This took considerably more time, but he had no notion to be caught trespassing again.

  *****

  Bertie arrived home and left the horse to be tended, threw the top hat on a chair and strode through the house to find his aunt in the sitting room that she used the most because it let out onto the garden. The garden was a source of delight to Agatha and Bertie wisely left her to make all decisions in that regard. He knew she would be there but stopped short in the doorway when he realised she was not alone. Sitting taking tea with his normally grumpy old relative was the new neighbour- Caroline Carstairs.

  “Ahh Bertie.” Aunt Agatha said. “Come and meet out new neighbour.” Bertie walked inside and said that they had already met. His aunt wanted to know how and Caroline stood up to meet Lord Haverbrook. “She held out a hand in greeting and said “We may have got off on the wrong foot, Lord Haverbrook. It is lovely to meet you” Bertie knew his manners and came across, took her outstretched hand and raised it to his lips. Once again he felt the jolt of excitement through his body at the touch of her hand, but nothing showed on his face. “Good day, Miss Carstairs. Let us start again.” She rewarded him with a radiant smile that lit up her features like a shaft of summer sunlight, and Bertie Collins Margrave was stunned. For once he was lost for words and his aunt saved the day by telling them both to sit and take some tea. “Caroline has two wonderful attributes that you could do well to learn from,” she told him severely, and he waited to be instructed with a good grace and kept his eyes on the visitor. His London eye told him that the afternoon dress she was wearing was straight from the capital city, and she wore it with confidence and style.