Moss Manor, page 27
“I did not.”
She snickers. “I witnessed a kiss to her hand.”
His jaw clenches. “I was in the wrong.”
“No man lowers himself to a woman unless to reveal his—“
William and Mr. Warren run past them, heading in the opposite direction from where they were. Mrs. Warren and Mr. Jackson wait for them to move further in the field.
“She was rambling and not making any sense.“
“None whatsoever?” she inquires with a wry grin.
“She turned her irritation on me.”
“Can you blame her? She was offended on your behalf more than her own,” Mrs. Warren shares.
“You would have done the same,” Mr. Jackson claims.
“I am much like my friend. You are right, Mr. Jackson,” she agrees. “However, in our circles, what she did is frowned upon. She is lucky that the men present have not spoken ill of her…at least, not to my knowledge.”
Mr. Jackson’s brow raises with concern.
“Her Aunt hasn’t dared utter a word,” Mrs. Warren continues. “The woman doesn’t know how to spin the story to be in her favor. Her husband and the men in attendance have acted distant toward her since then.”
“That is a shame,” he replies.
“Is it?”
“No one deserves—“
“She brought it upon herself,” Mrs. Warren reminds. “She could easily remedy the situation, but she chooses not to. To make amends with Mr. Jenning, all she’d have to do is honestly apologize to Abigail.”
“She may need time to admit her wrongdoing,” Mr. Jackson states.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Warren sighs. “Hopefully, she will see the error of her ways.” She touches his arm and they both stop walking. She turns to face him head-on. “You are a man of little words, Mr. Jackson, so I will do the remainder of the speaking for the both of us. My friend defended you most fervently. My friend did not resist your embrace that night. And, my friend was torn inside, not because of the abhorrent actions of her Aunt, but because of the mixed feelings clamoring inside her.” She waits a moment to see if Mr. Jackson comprehends her message. “Your gesture and kiss caused emotions she has been suppressing.”
His brows furrow. “What feelings?”
She giggles. “That, my dear Mr. Jackson, you must figure out. But, I have the utmost confidence in you for they are the very same emotions that made you lower yourself, request her forgiveness and kiss her, are they not?” Mrs. Warren walks away, pleased with her opportunity to intervene and hopeful that the love she’s seen in the way both Lady Moss and Mr. Jackson look at each other will blossom rather than be suppressed any further.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I love weddings,” Mrs. Stevens says with a whimper.
“Mama,” Adelaide scolds gently. “Why are you crying?”
“Because, I am happy, my dear child.”
“It’s not every day a woman gets to see her daughter marry for love,” Mrs. Warren says.
“Most are too eager to be rid of them,” Lady Moss chuckles. She looks up when no one comments.
“Your Aunt does not count, Abbie,” Mrs. Warren reprimands. “Your mother would have been the same as Mrs. Stevens. Mine was.”
Lady Moss shrugs. “My sincerest apologies. I didn’t mean to dampen the mood.”
“Who is your escort today, Lady Moss?” asks Adelaide.
“William,” she replies.
“Mr. Jackson is to attend with you as well, is he not?” Mrs. Warren quips.
“Why would he attend?”
“That man has traveled more with you than any known husband has with his own wife,” she teases.
“Hold your tongue, dear Elizabeth,” Lady Moss warns. “I have the ear of Baron Hasworthy. One wrong word and you and Mr. Warren will be stripped of your duties.”
“You wouldn’t?” she replies playfully.
“I would,” Lady Moss challenges.
“I would say I have his ear more than you, Lady Moss,” Adelaide goads.
“Hold your tongue, Adelaide. You aren’t a Baroness yet,” Lady Moss retorts playfully.
“I think Mr. Jackson is handsome,” Adelaide states with a widening smile.
“Indeed,” agrees her mother.
Lady Moss fidgets with her dress. “I have admitted on several occasions, even to Mr. Jackson himself, that he is quite handsome.”
“He is much more your….”
“My what, Elizabeth?” she asks when her friend doesn’t continue.
Mrs. Warren shrugs. “You both have much in common is all.”
“You and I have much in common, dear friend. Who is to say that we shouldn’t marry on the same accord?”
The ladies giggle in reply.
“You know what I mean, Abigail,” Mrs. Warren states firmly.
“Do I?” Lady Moss lets out a sigh.
The women smirk as they glance at one another.
“I think he’s quite fond of you,” Mrs. Warren adds.
“Most men, who aren’t married, are most fond of you,” Mrs. Stevens adds.
“Most men are fond of my appearance,” Lady Moss declares. “That or my fortune that comes from unexpected circumstances.”
“What are you saying, Lady Moss?” Adelaide asks.
“That a man will marry a woman such as myself for desire,” she states. “Desire to fulfill a man’s physical needs and the desires he can obtain from my money.”
“Come now, Lady Moss,” Mrs. Stevens says. “I think you underestimate men.”
“Do I?” She makes eye contact with each of the women in the room. “Mr. Alcott is just one example. Most men, when presented an opportunity, are no different than us when it comes to wealth.”
“She’s quite right,” Adelaide agrees. “We are taught to seek to marry for stature which is by a husband’s wealth. Many men consider what dowry they’d inherit once his wife’s father passes.”
“Then, what of Baron Hasworthy?” asks Mrs. Warren. “I mean no disrespect, Mrs. Stevens.”
Mrs. Stevens nods. “Fortunately, for Adelaide, he is marrying her for love.”
“Something most women are not afforded,” Lady Moss reminds.
“What if love did present itself to you, Abigail?” Mrs. Warren inquires. “Take away the wealth. Take away all the things of society that constrain us. If love was before you, would you marry the man?”
“If he loved me and William, and I loved him as well…yes,” she confirms. “I would and do not care if he has money.”
“Perhaps love is closer than you think, Lady Moss,” Adelaide states hopefully.
Lady Moss offers a forced smile as the thought of a particular man pops into her head. “Perhaps.”
“It is time,” Mr. Stevens announces entering the room. His eyes brighten at the sight of his daughter. “You look truly angelic.”
“It’s hard to believe that today is happening, is it not, Mr. Stevens?” his wife inquires.
“It feels as if it were only yesterday when you were born,” he says.
Adelaide blushes. “Can…can I have a moment with Lady Moss?”
Everyone glances around, shocked at her request.
“Of course, darling,” her mother replies. She escorts everyone out of the room and closes the door behind her.
“I would like to ask you something,” Adelaide states. “I do not know how to ask it and do not wish to offend you.”
“What is it?” Lady Moss asks sweetly.
Adelaide glances away as her cheeks redden. “I dare not ask Mother and you’re the closest friend I have at the moment. Particularly, one who has been married.”
“I’ll do my best,” she replies.
“It…it pertains to….” Adelaide glances down at her fingers. “My…my wifely duties.”
Lady Moss lets out a nervous giggle. “My…my apologies. I mean no disrespect.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I’m merely shocked that you are asking me.”
“Mother…” Adelaide sighs. “Mother said that I must do as my husband says, but I do not know what that means when it pertains to sharing a bed.”
“No woman knows what that means until her wedding night,” Lady Moss assures. “Even after that, it is not an easy subject to bring up even with close friends.”
“Do you and Mrs. Warren speak of it?” she asks eagerly.
“We have,” she confirms. “She was married not long after I.”
“Was your mother helpful?”
Lady Moss shifts closer to Adelaide. “My Mother passed when I was little.”
“My apologies.”
“No need,” Lady Moss says. “My Aunt was of no use on the subject.”
“I’m certain you can do far better,” Adelaide says encouragingly.
“It is a night you will never forget. I can assure you,” Lady Moss states with a snort.
Adelaide offers an expression of contention.
She steps toward the young woman and lightly grasps her hands. “If Baron Hasworthy ever hears of this, I will deny it ever happened.”
Adelaide’s head bobs rapidly. “I swear I shan’t tell him nor anyone.”
“Good,” Lady Moss replies. She thinks for a moment as they lower to a chair closest to them. “It is a duty to consummate the marriage upon the first night and we’re instructed to do so whenever our husbands request it of us.”
“What exactly?” she asks nervously.
Lady Moss taps the woman’s hand. “To lay with them without any clothing on our body.”
Adelaide lets out a nervous giggle.
“It is a most prevalent notion, I think, that every woman should be informed that it can be and should be pleasurable for her as well and not just the man.”
“Pleasurable?”
Lady Moss nods. “It takes time to know what you like. I’m sure the Baron will be gentle, loving, and compassionate.”
“Could he not be?” Adelaide inquires timidly.
“Some men,” she admits. “I’ve only heard of things…when women speak in private.”
The woman nods as she tries to comprehend.
“Do not be afraid to request it from him, should you be in the mood?”
“In the mood?” Adelaide repeats.
“You’ll understand in time,” she sighs. “Your body will tell you.”
“How?”
Lady Moss snickers and squeezes her hand. “You’ll know.” She lets out a breath as she tries to think of what is left to share.
“Do you miss it?” Adelaide asks shyly. “The touch of a man in that manner?”
Lady Moss’ lip twitches as the memories surface of all the times Mr. Jackson and she had touched. “Yes.”
“So, perhaps you did love your husband?”
“Perhaps in a way of sorts,” Lady Moss agrees.
“What do you miss the most?”
Lady Moss’ smile grows as a particular moment presents itself. “The touch of his hand on mine. The way he looked at me. The tickle of his breath along my skin.”
Adelaide grins. “It sounds like poetry.”
Lady Moss lifts her gaze. “It can feel like that.”
“What does it feel like, you know, inside?”
Lady Moss snickers. “The physical or the emotional?”
“There’s a difference?” Adelaide asks.
“Very much so,” she confirms.
Adelaide thinks for a moment. “The emotional. I don’t dare ask you to be descriptive for the physical.”
Warmth rises to Lady Moss’ face as she peers down at the floor. “There is a heat that will rise under your skin that is the most pleasant burn you will ever experience. His touch can be cooling like a summer’s breeze, yet warm you as the sun shines on your body. You’ll feel as if butterflies have been trapped inside your belly each time as if it’s the first. You’ll feel it even when he looks at you in a room full of people and cause you to desire for the crowd to leave so you can experience the physical once more.”
“I get that butterfly feeling when I am with the Baron,” Adelaide shares.
“Then, that is love, my dear.”
Adelaide beams with excitement. “That sounds wonderful.”
Lady Moss smiles from ear to ear. “It is…it’s intoxicating.”
“Thank you, Lady Moss.”
It takes a moment for her to look at the bride. “You are most welcome, my dear.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Are you excited, William?” Lady Moss inquires. “It is getting closer to your birthday. You’re almost eleven.”
William’s head sways. “I am more excited that yours is coming up.”
“Who told you?” she asks with her hand on her hips.
Her birthday is today, but she isn’t about to correct the boy. Lady Moss dares not reveal it. To her, the boy is too young to be expected to remember nor does she expect anything from the staff since she had never revealed the date to them.
“Mrs. Doyle and Mrs. Sheldon,” he shares.
“What do they have planned?”
William shrugs. “Nothing that I am aware of.”
“Liar,” she teases.
“I do not lie,” he replies. “They refuse to tell me anything.”
Lady Moss looks beyond the doorway. “They are smart women.”
“What am I learning today?” he asks.
Her attention gets pulled to the window. “Well…sadly…we must remain inside.”
“Do you think the rain will stop soon?”
“Best to ask Mr. Joel,” she replies. “He has a knack for it.”
“I hope it ends soon,” Willam says with a huff.
“Shall we find something to take apart?” she asks.
“I’ve done everything in the house already,” he reminds.
“Well, when the weather is better, we’ll go into town to find something.”
“Okay,” he agrees.
Seeing the boy’s need for something physical, Lady Moss suggests, “Why don’t we help the ladies in the kitchen. There’s always something that can be chopped, minced, tenderized, or kneaded.”
“Do men cook?”
“There are many fine cooks who are men,” she states. “Some even work for the King and Queen.”
“Really?”
“Really,” she affirms.
“Okay,” William says, jumping up.
They head to the kitchen and Mrs. Doyle and the other ladies are more than happy to welcome their assistance. William eagerly attempts any task given to him and is more than willing to assist carrying or moving anything heavy. Lady Moss lovingly watches on, adding to some of the conversations that occur spontaneously.
“Miss,” Minerva calls from the doorway.
“Yes?”
“The mail has arrived. Would you like it now or shall I put it in the study?”
“In the study, please,” she replies. “I’ll tend to it shortly.”
“Yes, Miss,” Minvera says, disappearing a moment later.
“No business to attend to, Abigail?” Mrs. Doyle inquires.
“There’s always business to attend to,” she replies. “I just want to enjoy this moment.” A smile pops on her face when she sees how much flour William has accumulated on his body. “You’re supposed to cook with it, William, not wear it.”
The boy looks down at himself and shrugs, unbothered by the mess.
“The Pirate Prince is in disguise, Miss,” Britney states playfully.
“No,” counters Mrs. Sheldon. “The Pirate Prince is wading through a sandstorm for he’s been tricked by the Greek Gods into sailing to the edge of the Earth. His ship flipped over into the abyss which is a grand desert, one most never get out of alive.”
“I like that twist,” giggles Lady Moss.
“How will he ever trick the tricksters?” William cries out dramatically.
Lady Moss watches them, but her mind wanders, not paying attention to what’s being said. In time, her thoughts return to the mail being delivered and she quietly excuses herself, hoping for a letter from her family or Mrs. Warren.
She leans back in her chair as she opens the first letter which is from Uncle John. Things are well and he sends birthday wishes along with a box filled with her favorite chocolates. There’s an extra gift for William which is a monocular telescope. Her second letter is from her father which is also signed by everyone in the family, including the nephews, and the only photograph of her mother. He requests that she keep it safe until the oil painting she wishes to have done is complete with the promise to visit to see it and retrieve the picture. Before tending to the rest of her letters, Lady Moss writes a quick letter to one of the women in town who is particularly good at painting, requesting her to visit the manor at her earliest convenience.
“Miss?” Mr. Jackson says, clearing his throat.
“What is it, Mr. Jackson?”
He enters the room slowly but confidently with a hand behind his back. Nervously, he reveals his hand which contains a handful of fresh flowers. Lady Moss’ mouth gapes open.
“Happy Birthday, Miss,” he says with an awkward grin.
“How…how did you know?”
“Your family,” he reveals. “Asked the last time we visited since it had been well over a year since you arrived.”
“You’ve kept track?” she replies, a little shocked.
He nods. “Not hard to with what happened the day we first met.”
“And, what’s that?” she inquires, rising slowly. She takes a few steps to round her desk.
Mr. Jackson extends his hand toward her and she happily takes the flowers. “Your foul temper.”
She snickers. “You started it.”
“You lied about who you were,” he rebuts.
“I did nothing of the sort,” she counters, smelling the flowers. “I withheld information.”
“Made me look like a fool with Mrs. Doyle and yourself,” he quips.
Her head lowers a little. “Served you right.”
He lets out a grunt. “I suppose.”
“Was this your intention, Mr. Jackson? To remind me of a horrid day where a man knocked me off my horse and tossed me in the mud?”
“You knocked yourself,” he replies with a wicked gleam in his eye.
“I should have docked your pay,” she returns.
