Lakeland Lily

by Freda Lightfoot

  She tugged at the bell pull and when the maid answered, instructed her to fetch her best beige coat and scarf.

  ‘Where are you off to now?’ Edward snapped.

  Margot, comfortably ensconced in the window seat where she could work on her accounts and keep an eye on the comings and goings of boats on the lake, thereby discovering who was visiting whom, directed a knowing smile upon her offspring, and a less beneficent one upon her husband. ‘I reminded you at breakfast, dear, Selene is invited to dine with Marcus Kirkby this evening.’

  ‘Ah, forgot.’ Edward frowned, not quite easy in his mind as he recalled how attentive the man had been to her. Didn’t seem quite proper somehow, yet he hadn’t liked to object when he hoped for the fellow to put some business his way.

  ‘He’s sending his motor.’

  Edward scowled all the more. ‘Motor? Humph. You’ll not be late home I trust?’

  ‘I really wouldn’t know,’ Selene said, buttoning the glass bead buttons on her wrist-length gloves. ‘We’ll have to come back the long way, around the lake by road. Now I must hurry. Mrs Kirkby likes her guests to be punctual.’

  ‘And I’ll check the state of my shares, to make sure I can afford this damned wedding of yours. If it ever happens,’ said Edward sourly

  ‘Oh, it will happen, darling Papa. Do not fear.’ Popping another kiss on her father’s frowning brow, she flounced off to her dinner party.

  When she had gone he turned the glower upon his wife. ‘What’s this all about? What’s she doing spending time with Kirkby? He’s married, for God’s sake, and she’s engaged to wed that Nathan Monroe.’

  Margot managed to give every impression of innocence. ‘It’s all perfectly proper and above board. You did hear her say that his wife would be present?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well there you are then. Though I agree he does seem quite smitten with our darling daughter.’ Margot sniffed, implying she could say more had she a mind to but, showing unusual fortitude, confined herself to facts rather than speculation. ‘The wife is not at all well, poor creature.’ A significant pause. ‘And he is exceedingly rich.’

  Edward had opened his mouth to protest as a good father should. Then closed it again. Money talks, as they always said. And who knew what could happen, in a war?

  The dinner party, so far as Selene was concerned, proved to be an outstanding success.

  There were two other couples present, both of whom were known to her. The vicar, the Reverend John Warcop, and his wife, and the Gowdrys, accompanied by their daughter Millicent who, in Selene’s opinion, grew more and more like the horses she apparently doted upon.

  ‘Poor Millicent’s last hope of matrimony was lost in the trenches,’ her fond mama whispered to Selene as they sipped their sherry. ‘Such a tragedy. But at least she did have the pleasure of being engaged. Better to have loved and lost, as they say.’

  A sop to sad womanhood, if ever there was one. Selene managed to offer appropriate words of condolence and while Mrs Gowdry bumbled on about how at least they would not now be denied the pleasure of their darling daughter’s company, Selene compared poor Millicent’s dilemma with her own situation. Finding it uncomfortably similar rather took the edge off her own contentment. To devote her life to spinsterhood? To live forever as a daughter? A chaste daughter? Could that be the fate in store for her?

  If Nathan Monroe did not survive the trenches, she too would be spoken of as a woman who had loved and lost. She too would be the recipient of pitying glances. The very idea was intolerable. All that trouble to catch herself a rich husband only to be robbed of him by war! It simply wasn’t fair. There must surely be other compensations, ways of achieving the same goal. A rich man to shower her with the attention she deserved.

  Selene cast her glance around the assembled company and let it rest thoughtfully upon her host. Marcus Kirkby was some years older than herself, of course, perhaps in his late-thirties, but what did that signify?

  If he no longer had the charismatic energy of youth, at least he possessed the essential attributes of middle age. He was not unhandsome. Some might even call him a fine-looking man. Straight-backed, firm of stomach, a neat head of hair only slightly receding, and clearly with access to a first-class tailor. She had never seen him anything but impeccably dressed. The double-breasted grey suit he wore this evening must be of the finest wool, the trousers sharply creased. His navy silk neck tie was the very last word in elegant understatement beneath a very proper stiff collar.

  As if sensing her interest he raised his glance above the head of the vicar’s wife who was busily explaining her war work to him, and smiled at Selene across the room. There was everything she could have wished for in that glance. A shiver of anticipation ran through her as she returned the smile with a coquettish tilt of her head.

  The highlight of Selene’s evening was when Catherine Kirkby, a whey-faced creature who found life generally, and her husband in particular, somewhat overwhelming, sat her next to Marcus during dinner.

  ‘You can entertain him with your youthful chatter, my dear. He has heard all of my tales a dozen times over.’

  Which perfectly suited Selene’s plan. She spent the entire meal being utterly attentive to her charming host. She quite surprised herself, in fact, by her own generosity. A suitably modest air of complete absorption and gentle encouragement brought forth his entire life story, exactly as the best magazines decreed. Certainly the most pertinent details.

  ‘I made my first fortune in shipping and am now seeking my second in munitions.’

  ‘How terribly clever you must be,’ she purred. ‘I do so admire a man who knows what he wants in life and makes sure he gets it.’

  Marcus Kirkby’s grey eyes rested upon her flushed face with interest. Selene Clermont-Read was an enigma. The pouting sulkiness of her pale face only added to her beauty, in his opinion. But while she sent him languishing looks, she wore her dresses buttoned to the chin. It was a most delightful chin, but he rather regretted missing the delights of a firm throat and breast, such as only a young woman possesses.

  He leaned closer, his breath lightly brushing her ear. ‘What do you think I am wanting right now?’

  It was perfectly outrageous of him to make such a remark to any young woman, let alone one seated at his own wife’s dinner table. But such niceties had never troubled Marcus Kirkby. He hadn’t become rich by worrying over what other people might think of him. Quite the reverse. While others dithered, hindered by morality, Marcus took what he wanted without hesitation.

  To his great delight Selene did not gasp or faint or reach for her sal volatile as many young ladies might have done. She rested her eyes upon her folded hands and smiled, very quietly and secretly, to herself. It was the most sensual reply he could have hoped for, bringing the throb of his desire to a delicious hardness.

  Beneath the drape of his wife’s very best damask cloth he gently squeezed her hand, and then her knee, and watched with delight how the flush deepened.

  Selene did not let him have what he clearly wanted that evening. It was far too soon, and he too much the gentleman to ask. But she readily accepted his offer to drive her home in place of the chauffeur, and as he kissed her hand at her door, left him with the distinct promise of more. In fact, Selene was so aroused by the whole episode that she didn’t even trouble to call her maid to help her prepare for bed that night. She tore off her clothes herself and lay shivering with excitement in her cold bed, visualising how she could put an end to this depressing state of chastity.

  The following Sunday Lily took Thomas to lunch with Hannah and Arnie. It was a much more modest repast than the one at the Marina Hotel but Lily had brought a plate of mince tarts which Betty had made specially.

  ‘You didn’t make them yourself then?’ Hannah instantly asked, and Lily was forced to admit that she had not.

  Arnie said, ‘Different world, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lily agreed. ‘Different world.’ Hoping her mother wasn’
t going to start on her. Not now they were friends again.

  The family spent a delightful afternoon together before Lily left at three o’clock, anxious to have Thomas home before dusk. The ferry wasn’t running because of the uncertain weather so she took the omnibus as far along the lane as she could. After that there was nothing for it but to walk the last mile. Almost at once, soft thick flakes of snow began to fall. Lily loved snow, but chiefly on a Christmas card, and not when she was wheeling her baby out in it. Thomas at first played with the flakes, trying to catch them and sucking them noisily on to his lips, but then, as his cheeks grew wet and the cold penetrated, he began to cry.

  ‘Oh, lordy, I shouldn’t have brought you out today. Margot will have my guts for garters.’ Then came the clip-clop of hoofbeats and the unmistakable roll of the gig’s wheels. ‘Selene! Oh, thank goodness.’

  She was, as usual, driving at a cracking pace but Lily didn’t hesitate to step into the road and flag her down, for all she was heading in the opposite direction.

  ‘Stop, please!’ Lily’s breath made puffs of steam in the cold air as the snow swirled about her, casting a cape of white over the shoulders of her Christmas red coat. ‘Where on earth are you off to in such weather?’

  ‘Out to tea, if it’s any concern of yours.’

  ‘You’ll never make it. It’s coming down thick and fast. Turn round, Selene, and take us home please? We’re frozen to the skin.’

  Selene shrugged. ‘It’s hardly my fault, sister dear. Really, you should be more responsible with that child.’ And with a flick of the reins she put the horse to a trot and left Lily with her crying baby in the empty road.

  ‘Drat you!’ Lily shouted after her. Her words were instantly lost in the swirl of snow, but it made her feel much better to have said them.

  No one was surprised when Selene did not return home that night. It would have been quite irresponsible for her to even attempt it, since all the lanes were rapidly filling up with snow. Edward grumbled it had been foolish of her to set off in the first place, while Margot vigorously defended her daughter, saying she’d behaved with perfect good sense.

  ‘One does not risk offending people like the Kirkbys by simply not turning up when invited. It was perfectly proper for them to put her up. Lily should have done likewise and stayed at home with her parents instead of risking Thomas catching cold. Besides, it could prove most propitious. With their connections who knows where it might lead?’

  ‘Where can it lead?’ Edward wanted to know, feeling peevish and slightly bilious after a large lunch, and because nothing had yet come of this new business acquaintance. ‘One fiancé is surely enough for anyone, I would’ve thought. Even for our Selene. By heck, my stomach’s bad. I reckon that duck must’ve been off.’

  ‘Oh, do stop being so common,’ Margot chided him. ‘Take a powder and go to bed.’

  When he had willingly obeyed her instructions, Margot sat on in the window seat and watched the swirling of the snow in the darkness, a small smile upon her face. Darling child, a daughter after her own heart. Nathan Monroe had been well enough at the time. The man had money and charm, was undoubtedly attractive and on his way up. But Selene deserved a better husband. By which Margot meant richer. If Catherine Kirkby could introduce her to the right circles, she might very well discover one. So, all in all, the snow had proved to be a Godsend, for once.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tea had passed pleasantly enough, and when the state of the weather had been noted and remarked upon, the decision was made that Selene should stay and a room prepared for her. After dinner the three enjoyed a game of bridge with a dummy hand in place of the fourth, though this proved less than satisfactory and finally Marcus called an end to the game and offered the ladies a glass of Madeira by way of a nightcap.

  ‘If you will excuse me,’ Catherine said, ‘I shall decline, but do please pour a glass for Selene.’ She explained how she liked to retire early whenever possible. ‘I have had three miscarriages, I’m afraid, and never quite been myself since.’

  Marcus, very much the solicitous husband, escorted his wife to the foot of the stairs and remained there until she reached the landing. ‘I shall be no more than half an hour, my dear.’

  Catherine smiled. ‘No need to hurry. Entertain our guest. I shall read for a little, until I am sleepy.’

  They had drunk two glasses of Madeira and talked in a companionable if desultory fashion when Selene judged it time to make her move. She stretched delicately, stifled a pretend yawn and rose. ‘Thank you so much for your kind hospitality, Marcus. I shall sleep like a top tonight.’

  He was sprawled in a wing-back chair, one foot propped on the brass fender, clearly warm and mellow and with no inclination to move. Yet Selene hoped he would do so. Her head felt muzzy with the wine, her chest tight with anticipation and excitement. If he didn’t take this opportunity she felt sure she would die.

  When he still made no move to rise, she tried again.

  ‘I’d best go.’ As she brushed past his chair, as near as she dared, he put out a hand and caught her wrist. Selene looked down into his eyes, in shadow from the lamp behind him.

  ‘My wife will be asleep by now.’

  ‘Very sensible of her. I should be too.’

  ‘You don’t look tired.’

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘You look - quite beautiful.’

  Selene could scarcely breathe. She stood as if paralysed while every part of her pulsated with this new and dangerous desire.

  Marcus said, ‘I would like to touch you.’

  She’d planned this scene a thousand times. She would be in the guest bedchamber with her hair loose and spread over her shoulders. Marcus would come to her by candlelight and, enraptured by her beauty, would stroke her pale hair and delicately kiss her before slowly removing her garments. Then he would initiate her gently into the art of love-making, and she would learn what every woman longed for. What her harlot of a sister-in-law enjoyed through the dull respectability of marriage. Only this would be far more salacious.

  Selene waited. She yearned for this man with every fibre of her being, curiosity making her almost want to screech at him to get on with it.

  She closed her eyes in ecstasy as his fingers smoothed her cheek and traced the line of her lips. The heat from the dying fire as the logs fell into clouds of hot ash made her feel warm and languorous with desire. His hand slid down the column of her throat, unbuttoning as he went. Selene put up one hand as if in protest, and gently he removed it.

  ‘What is it? Are you afraid?’

  Would the crescent-shaped scar repel him? Hesitantly she allowed him to inspect it. Then, smiling, he leaned closer and gently licked the scar with his tongue. Fire shot through her and with her own hands Selene ripped the remaining buttons apart, revealing the twin peaks of her breasts beneath the chiffon frills.

  ‘You are a temptress.’

  ‘Am I?’ She wanted to be. Oh, indeed she did.

  His hands slid over the silky skin, fingers probing every soft curve, hardening the buds to a painful sensitivity Selene could barely tolerate. Then they moved on to her hips, and he was lifting the layered skirts of her sensible afternoon costume. Selene could feel the roughness of his wool trousers against her silk-stockings as he cupped one hand on the cushioned warmth of her. Her eyes shot open, looking straight into his as riotous shafts of desire ran through places she had never revealed to anyone, even herself.

  ‘Marcus?’ She whispered his name in surprise, wanting him to know that it was all right, that anything he wished her to do, she would do it, and gladly. He saw the promise in her eyes and, smiling, removed his hand, brushed down her skirts, pulled her bodice closed and stepped away from her.

  ‘Dear, dear, what am I thinking of? And me a happily married man. You are young and far too tempting. I trust you will forgive my weakness? I am a mere male, after all, with needs unquenched by an invalid wife.’

  ‘O-Of course.’ She was disappo
inted, shaking with emotion, the pain in her belly so unbearable that she could hardly bring herself to speak. ‘Really, there’s nothing to forgive.’

  ‘I would hate it if you were angry with me.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Good.’ The backs of his fingers caressed her bare throat through which no breath moved. ‘I’ve an idea you and I could be good friends. Friends are so important, do you not think?’

  ‘Marcus?’ Selene felt giddy, so utterly out of control that she swayed, almost fell.

  A breathless pause and then words no longer seemed necessary. In seconds she was lying beneath him on the rug, and in the wake of gentility came savage demand. An animal need that must be sated. When he entered her, the fierceness of his thrusts robbed her of her innocence as well as her maidenhead. Selene had to bite down hard on her lip, in order to stop herself from crying out against the pain of it. But as he too quickly reached a grunting climax, she was already begging him to do it again.

  So far as Edward was concerned the ill winds of war were at last blowing him some good. He’d never felt more grateful than for the business put his way by Marcus Kirkby. The man certainly hadn’t proved easy to deal with, driving a hard bargain on price. Germany had invaded Russia, turning it red with politics and blood as the Tsar and his family were slaughtered. The war might last for another three years. Edward was expanding fast, had leased another warehouse, ordered the building of a new ship, even told Margot she could have the new curtains she’d been asking for. Things were looking up. And he had every reason to believe that when the war did eventually end, his arrangement with Kirkby would go from strength to strength.

  For once his family seemed content. Bertie had fully recovered from his injuries, even managed to get himself cited for a medal apparently by capturing a group of Germans and taking them prisoner. This had put Margot in a good frame of mind and he had to confess to a touch of pride in the boy himself. At last.