The Secret Heart, page 22
She clung to him with growing wonder, stroking the hot, smooth skin of his back as she burrowed beneath his shirt. It all happened so naturally, and yet so quickly, that she didn’t fully grasp his intention until the full weight of his body stretched out on hers. Almost at once, he eased up on his elbows, but the shock of urgent, thrilling need caused her to press up against him.
He gazed down at her, his breath labored, his eyes clouded and wild. “Now?” he whispered.
She tightened her arms around him. “Now,” she pleaded.
And there, in the privacy of the woods, with sunlight dappling through the trees, he made her his. She wanted to close her eyes in awe and bliss, and yet she could not bring herself to look away from his face as he concentrated on her every pleasure, shaking with the effort of holding back his own lust to care for hers. And the ecstasy, when it swept her up in a tangle of cries and kisses and gasped out words of love, belonged to them both.
*
Afterward, when they had refastened clothing and brushed each other off, they picked the grass out of each other’s hair, and he helped her replace her pins. Then they began to walk slowly back to the inn.
“I hope you didn’t mind my impatience,” he said, watching her.
She smiled. “Did I appear to mind?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Actually, I’m glad. I could not imagine retiring with you at the inn under the eyes of my parents. And my bedchamber is tiny.”
He considered, “I would like to see your bedchamber, but we might be more comfortable in mine for tonight. Then we can decide where you would like to go for your wedding trip.”
This was something she had not even thought of. “Oh goodness,” she breathed. “What does one do on a wedding trip?”
“Go somewhere new, get to know one another better, stroll around seeing the sights, eat, drink, and be merry. And make endless love.”
Blood rushed into her face, more desire than embarrassment. “Endless?” she murmured unsteadily.
He smiled and kissed her. “Endless.”
Epilogue
Four months later, mid-way through August, the Marquess and Marchioness of Hay held their first party at Hayleigh House.
It was not a huge event like the one at Pennington Place. For one thing, much of the house was still under renovation and redecoration. For another, Lily wasn’t quite ready to receive vast numbers of the ton with whom she was not well acquainted. Instead, she invited friends: Lord and Lady Verne, Sydney and Henrietta Cromarty, Sir Marcus and Lady Dain, Millie and Sir George, Lord and Lady Barham, Mrs. Bradwell, and Lord and Lady Carborough. Lily had also invited the Duke and Duchess of Alvan but had received only a very kind note in return, for the duchess had just given birth to a son.
The Dowager Marchioness, Randolph’s mother, had received an invitation at her new abode in Bath but had declined on the grounds of being in mourning.
“Mourning, my foot,” Randolph had said amused.
And in fact, the dowager came anyway, looking around her with astonishment. She was, of course, the last to arrive.
“What have you done with the place?” she demanded in the great hall.
“An excellent job, I believe,” Randolph said mildly. “Maintaining a little old-world grandeur while being rid of the mausoleum look. We like it.”
The dowager sniffed.
“What’s she going to think of the drawing room?” Lily murmured.
“Who cares?” Randolph replied.
In fact, Lily didn’t mind greatly whether or not her mother-in-law approved. She had worked hard with Randolph’s full support to lighten and brighten the great house, gradually making each apartment warmer and more welcoming in appearance. She had enjoyed herself hugely in the process, in between learning about her duties as a great lady, not just of the house but of the surrounding estate and all the people who depended upon them. Her upbringing had made her an excellent housekeeper, and her nature made her both an empathetic and practical help to those who were now her inferiors. It seemed very strange when she troubled to think about it, but she loved her new life.
And the cold emptiness of the house had already receded, drowned in the liveliness, and the sheer gladness of its new owners at being together. The servants, even Chives, the lugubrious butler, now moved around the house cheerfully, talking to each other and greeting their lord and lady without fear.
This party, however, made Lily distinctly nervous, for nearly everyone knew her true origins. And she was half-convinced the dowager had come merely to see her set-down.
Tea was being served in the bright, redecorated drawing room, where the dowager was greeted with courtesy and presented with tea and cake.
“This cake is delightful,” Captain Cromarty observed. “I’m about to ask Lily for another slice.”
“No need,” Lily said at once, offering it to him. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”
The dowager choked on her tea and had to be patted on the back by a solicitous Lady Dain.
From the window, sitting in the sunshine, Lady Verne said, “I love that little garden just below us. Can we walk there?”
“Whenever you wish,” Lily said at once. “It opens from Randolph’s study downstairs so that he can enjoy a little beauty while he works.”
“Works?” the duchess repeated. “Randolph?”
Everyone laughed, as though it were an excellent joke instead of a sneer, and the dowager looked thoroughly bewildered.
After tea, the older members of the party retired to their chambers, as did Millie and Sir George, for Millie, glowing with health and happiness, was at last expecting a child, and her husband was most solicitous.
The younger people went down to admire Lily’s new garden. Lady Verne, who was quite heavy with child, eased herself onto a bench with some relief and lifted her face into the breeze.
“I’m so glad you came,” Lily murmured. “Surprised you could face the journey but delighted you did.”
Lady Verne laughed. “I’m restless if you want the truth! I know my little mite will not enter the world for a few weeks yet—no, don’t ask me how I know, I just do—and coming to see you is the perfect antidote to simply waiting.”
The aged butler appeared with a tray bearing a decanter and several glasses. While Lily and the other ladies walked around, Randolph poured sherry for anyone who wanted it. Lily began to feel contented.
“When do you expect your baby?” she asked Henrietta Cromarty, for whom she held a special place in her heart. Henrietta had once saved her life.
“Not until November.”
“I believe I shall have a baby, too, in the spring,” Lady Dain said, blushing faintly. Once the governess to Henrietta’s family who lived near the Hart, she seemed newly vibrant and contented.
Henrietta hugged her with delight, and Lily blurted, “As shall I, God willing.”
“Oh, my dear, I am so pleased for you, too!” Henrietta cried. “It seems we are all contributing mightily to the population!” She smiled. “Truly, Lily, I’m delighted to see you so happy. You deserve it.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Lily said deprecatingly. She moved toward the lemonade, which had been placed on the table next to the brandy decanter.
“I am,” Lady Verne said. “I hold you and the Hart personally responsible for all our marriages—and my brother’s!”
Lily blushed but smiled. She was proud of anything she had done in that respect. “Well, the Hart is a lucky house, but it was Randolph who was responsible for our marriage. I never thought it was actually possible.” She began pouring lemonade from the jug for the ladies.
“None of us were possible by society’s standards,” Captain Cromarty said wryly. “I was a smuggler and a banker. Verne had the reputation of Beelzebub.”
“I was merely a penniless governess,” Lady Dain added.
“And don’t forget Isabelle de Renard and her dashing Frenchman,” Sir Marcus added. “I know you were responsible for that, too, Lily, despite the supposed impossibility.”
“I remember when no one thought my sister Charlotte would marry at all,” Henrietta mused, referring to the Duchess of Alvan. “She was meant to be the unmarriageable one of my sisters and cosigned to look after my parents in their old age! Until she went to the Hart and met Alvan. Believe me, Lily, you are not alone!”
Randolph raised his glass to all, though his eyes came to rest warmly on Lily, who slipped under his free arm. “To the unmarriageable. May they always find happiness despite their lot.”
“The unmarriageable!” echoed several fervent voices. And everyone drank.
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster lives in Scotland with her husband, three mostly grown-up kids and a small, crazy dog.
Her first literary love was historical fiction, a genre which she relishes mixing up with romance and adventure in her own writing. Her most recent books are light, fun Regency romances written for Dragonblade Publishing: The Imperial Season series set at the Congress of Vienna; and the popular Blackhaven Brides series, which is set in a fashionable English spa town frequented by the great and the bad of Regency society.
Connect with Mary on-line – she loves to hear from readers:
Email Mary:
Mary@MaryLancaster.com
Website:
www.MaryLancaster.com
Newsletter sign-up:
http://eepurl.com/b4Xoif
Facebook:
facebook.com/mary.lancaster.1656
Facebook Author Page:
facebook.com/MaryLancasterNovelist
Twitter:
@MaryLancNovels
Amazon Author Page:
amazon.com/Mary-Lancaster/e/B00DJ5IACI
Bookbub:
bookbub.com/profile/mary-lancaster
Lancaster, Mary, The Secret Heart
