Where Destiny Plays, page 7
Lavinia smiled to herself. Helena was going to be quite a force amongst the ton after putting a few Seasons behind her. And to think Nicholas had once worked so hard to distance himself from such a life.
“Lavinia!” Helena came running from the entrance porch.
Or rather, she had the impetus to run but was held back by her very pregnant state. She stepped quickly and carefully, one palm spread across her belly, waving with the other hand. Lavinia strode forward swiftly to meet her more than halfway.
She kissed Helena’s cheeks. “Helena, you look fabulous. Motherhood suits you.”
Helena clasped her hands. “Oh, Lavinia! I’m so happy you’re here.” She linked their arms together for the stroll back to the house. “How was the journey? It’s really not so far from London, is it?”
“Not really, no. I was worried Nicholas would find life out here a bit boring and rustic.” She gazed around. “But I can see the attractions of the country.”
“Vinny!” Nicholas stood in the entrance porch with a familiar—and very handsome—man.
She leaned in to Helena. “Is that the Earl of Petersham?” She hoped Petersham did not see her blush.
“Yes. You and Uncle Arthur are our special guests for the week before my birthday party.”
“Really?” What she and Petersham had in common was anyone’s guess. Unless Sophia had charged her daughter with a bit of matchmaking.
Nicholas met them. He kissed Lavinia’s cheeks. “Darling, it’s so wonderful to see you.” He put an arm around Helena as they walked to the entrance.
“Nicky, you’ve done wonders. Your father would be proud. Louisa, as well.”
Nicholas grinned behind a blush. “Thank you, Vinny. I just wish they were still alive to see.”
Petersham leaned against a slim column of the stone arch of the portal. “Lady Foxley-Graham, what a pleasure.” His gaze swept over her and when he met her eyes, one corner of his mouth curled upward, an action that only augmented his devilishly good looks.
She offered her hand, ignoring the heat prickling her skin. “Lord Petersham, the pleasure is all mine.”
He took her hand and wrapped it around his arm. “I hardly think so,” he murmured as they fell in behind Nicolas and Helena to enter the foyer.
She shot him a glance of surprise then turned away to hide her burning cheeks. She could definitely use a distraction from Nicholas. And Petersham seemed up for a game. What harm could a little flirtation do?
As an attractive footman collected her hat, gloves, and coat, she took in the sight of the Great Hall. The clean lines of the Neoclassical checkerboard floor and smooth plaster walls clashed with the exuberance of the Gothic fan vaulting. Lavinia smiled. She had always liked that the distinctive aesthetic taste of each earl was so conspicuously displayed but hated that the discordant elements were a reminder of the family’s recent troubles. By restoring the building and grounds, Nicholas was restoring the family’s legacy almost destroyed by debt and tragedy. Nicholas was never meant to be earl but he proved he was more than suited for the task.
Helena pointed to a staircase on the left. “Since we are such an intimate group…”
Did she emphasize “intimate”?
”We’ll have tea in the solar.” She turned to Lavinia. “You might remember it as the countess’ summer morning room. Nicky’s been doing loads of research about the estate—”
Nicholas colored.
“And we’ve decided to use the historical names when we can,” Helena said.
Nicholas and Helena led the way up the stairs. Under the portraits of ancestors, the wood paneling glowed from recent waxing while the brass nameplates on the frames shone from recent polishing. Lavinia paused before the portrait of Robert Atherley, Nicholas’ father, painted when he was in his late forties, the same age as Julius now but not nearly as good-looking. She snorted. Why the hell was she having such thoughts?
Petersham sidled up alongside. “You knew him, did you not?”
The warmth of his body and the oaky base notes of his cologne calmed like a comfortable fire on a winter’s evening. “I did. There is some resemblance although it is difficult to tell from the late earl’s expression.” He wore that scowl far too often.
“I cannot imagine the current earl having anything but an expression of lovesick happiness.” Petersham chuckled. He leaned in. “Do you know what this is all about, my lady? Our invitation?”
His murmuring baritone was so seductive she would have disrobed before him had he asked. “Not at all, my lord. I was hoping you would be able to provide a clue.”
He offered his arm. “I’m sure we’ll discover soon enough.”
She smiled and laid her hand on his forearm to continue up the stairs to the solar. Lavinia gasped upon entering.
It was as if Louisa had never left or, rather, that she had never met her death and had continued to live in the space, rearranging furniture, adding and subtracting objets d’art as whim and fashions inspired her. The Neoclassical flavor persisted in the white plaster moldings but the furnishings added a touch of modernization with jewel-colored upholstery and drapes.
“Oh, Nicky,” Lavinia sighed as she sank down onto the crimson sofa. “It’s beautiful.”
Nicholas beamed. “It’s one of the rooms we’ve actually finished.” He sat opposite her in a gold-brocade armchair. “We restored several of the guest rooms in the southeast wing and the public dining and drawing rooms downstairs.” He gestured to indicate each location. “But this is the one private room we restored.”
Lavinia lifted a brow. “I would have thought your bedroom more important.”
Petersham chuckled and plopped down in the matching armchair next to Nicholas, crossing his legs casually, his gaze heavy in her direction.
Helena laughed out loud then quickly quieted as a handsome footman, carrying a silver tray laden with tea accouterments, glided in.
Nicholas cast a glance at his wife’s rounded belly. “We wanted to have a party for Helena’s birthday. So we concentrated on the public rooms.”
The footman set the tray on a table in front of Helena as she took her seat next to Lavinia.
“Thank you, Roger.”
Lavinia could swear Helena flashed the servant a look beyond simple gratitude. Or perhaps Petersham’s beguiling presence was making Lavinia imagine such naughtiness as rogering the attractive footman. “Where’s Mason?” she asked as Roger bowed and left.
“Didn’t Nicky tell you?” Helena turned her attention to pouring tea. “He’s been promoted to estate steward. He lives in the gatehouse, although there’s no longer any gate.” She handed a cup to Lavinia.
Nicholas watched as Helena poured. “And you should see it, Vinny. Mason’s made it rather his own masculine refuge, but the historical elements have been much restored.” He took his own cup. “The two of us have been exploring family records in the library—”
“And staying up very late some nights,” Helena scolded.
Nicholas grinned. “Did you know each level of the house increases in privacy as you go up? The ground floor once housed the stables and the audience hall, the first floor held the rooms for entertaining other nobles, and the second floor was for the family. This hierarchy was undermined when servants’ quarters were added in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.”
Lavinia wiped away a tear threatening to fall. “Louisa would be so proud of you, darling.”
He met her gaze. “Thank you, Vinny.”
She put down her tea and arranged her skirts. “Now, Nicky, Helena. What is this all about? Lord Petersham and I are bursting with curiosity.” She had to conceal her burgeoning suspicions. If the request for an early arrival was about her and Petersham, she wouldn’t mind so much. Just that it was daringly obvious. She glanced his direction.
Petersham raised a brow with a smirk, surely harboring some vaguely naughty notion.
She turned her attention to Nicholas. “Well? What are we doing here?”
Nicholas chuckled. “Yes she is always this direct when in close company,” he said to Petersham. “I will tell you after dinner, Vinny, dear.”
Lavinia took a sip of tea, trying not to be obvious as she flicked a glance at Petersham. She hoped Marie had been a discerning lady’s maid and packed some alluring gowns to wear at dinner.
* * * * *
Arthur had a difficult time of it during dinner. The food was superb and Nicholas and Helena were right to be proud of their polished silver setting and gilded porcelain. Nicholas had sent his steward around to pawnshops and auction houses looking for the St. Albans’ heirlooms.
“Fortunately dishes garner the highest price when sold as a complete set,” he said. “We found them in a shop in London. We’re still looking for some of the silver though. That is valuable just sold on a piece-by-piece basis.”
No it wasn’t the food or the enthusiasm of the St. Albanses for their heritage. It was Lady Foxley-Graham’s accursed dress.
She had dressed for dinner—they all had. But she had treated the occasion not as a country visit with old friends but as a fashionable retreat. Her fitted bodice, a shimmering shade of brown the likes of which he had never seen, was the perfect foil to her brown hair and brown eyes, and when she had met them all in the solar before dinner, Helena had effused over the riot of trim and tucks on her lavender skirts and bustle. The viscountess then proceeded to twist and pose for her hostess, unaware that the two earls present were held in thrall by the lady’s charms. Arthur had the pleasure of escorting her down to dinner, holding his arm as rigid as possible as she wrapped hers around it, attempting to breathe normally as her scent—a subtle lavender to match her skirts—filled his senses, trying desperately to keep himself from encircling her cinched waist and pulling her into a nearby corner for a passionate kiss.
Then, sitting across from her, he had a perfect view of her neckline, shaped in a sort of triangle, the base at her bosom, the apex joining demurely at her collar, an effect that could only be described as a window onto her chest. Her very abundant chest. A spray of sheer lace trim strategically obscured the shadow between her ample breasts yet really only drew attention to the temptations that lay beneath. He endeavored not to stare at the enticing feature, to instead take in other bits of her, only succeeding in landing his gaze on her mouth while she ate, opening slightly to insert her fork, her lips closing around the silver tines as she slipped the length of the utensil out.
He was hard most of dinner except when mortification descended as his niece chatted away, asking him about this and that. But then Lady Foxley-Graham would add interest to the conversation and he was back to his aroused state.
If Lady Foxley-Graham was anything, she was the most elegant, sophisticated woman Arthur had ever met. Perhaps if he had decided to forgo middle-class mistresses and high-priced courtesans and attended a ball or two he would have met such women as she. But mistresses and courtesans didn’t expect marriage proposals. Dance partners did.
Maybe marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Now they were in the drawing room, enjoying port, except Arthur was enjoying watching Lady Foxley-Graham sip her port, her lips on either side of the crystal, her tongue flicking ever so slightly along the edge to catch the liquor. Having studied her mouth intensely over the last few hours, something about it began to look familiar. Perhaps it was only because he had imagined her lips around his erection while he frigged himself—
He had to stop thinking about her.
He crossed one leg over the other to shield his crotch and gazed up at the painted octagonal coffers of the ceiling, the twin to that in the dining room, both superb examples of the English Renaissance—or so Nicholas had boasted. “Excellent port, Nicholas.”
“Thank you.” He blushed with pride.
“We almost didn’t have drink in this house,” Helena said. “Both the old earl and Nicky’s brother were terrible drunks. But Nicky’s quite abstemious when it comes to such matters. So I convinced him otherwise.”
“If you want a cigar, Arthur, we’ll have to do that outside. The smell bothers Helena.”
“Perhaps another time.” After his erection had completely slackened.
Lady Foxley-Graham straightened dramatically on the sofa across from him. “Nicky,” she began in her melodious voice, “I think you promised to tell us the secret of why Lord Petersham and I are here.”
“It’s not a secret, Vinny.”
The pet names were suggestive of something more than a mere friendship. But the lady had known his mother so most likely the names were remnants of a familial affection.
“All right then. It’s not a secret. So tell us.” She turned to Arthur. “Lord Petersham, surely you are on my side in the matter?” Her smile carried a touch of deviousness. Which made him think of her lips around his cock again.
He shifted in his chair. “Of course, my lady. I am positively eager to know why I have been summoned.”
Nicholas sat on the arm of the sofa next to Helena and placed a hand on her shoulder. “The Countess of St. Albans and I request the Earl of Petersham and the Viscountess Foxley-Graham serve as godparents to our child.”
Arthur gaped. Lady Foxley-Graham gasped.
“Oh, Nicky,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I’d be honored.” Her words were strained, as if stuck in her throat.
The manly thing would be to offer a handkerchief. Luckily the shock of the request had stunned Arthur into the present and out of his lewd fantasies. He went to the viscountess. “I would be honored, as well.” He offered her his handkerchief.
She smiled and squeezed his hand before she took the square of linen.
“Oh, Lavinia, don’t cry.” Helena reached over and patted her shoulder. “I want to explain why we came to this decision and why it is so important for us.” She rested her head against Nicholas’ hip in a daringly intimate move. “Each of you has been so important in our respective lives. Uncle Arthur, it was you who encouraged and protected Mama when she fell in love with Papa and when she was pregnant with me. You saw talent in Papa, seeing beyond the circumstances of his birth, and fostered his success.”
“And Vinny,” Nicholas said, “you never gave up on me. You kept in contact, being the intermediary between me and my family, being there for me when I returned to London.” He gazed at Helena. “And although at first you tried to keep us apart, ultimately it was you, Vinny, who ensured Helena and I were united.”
Helena smiled. “We want such family-oriented, honorable people to be there for our child. We want our child to have your good influences just like we had.”
Lady Foxley-Graham continued to wipe her tears.
Arthur wanted to cradle her in his arms, kiss her hair in shared joy. “Is there anything we need to do before the child is born?” he asked.
“The Bishop of St. Albans wants to meet whomever we choose as godparents,” said Nicholas. “Just a formality. He’s new, I’m new, the cathedral, like this house, is being restored.” He stood and paced slowly before the hearth. “I suppose you should meet with the bishop before everyone arrives for Helena’s birthday celebration later this week. And then after that it will be Easter and I’m sure the bishop will be far too busy.”
“Of course, Nicky.” Lady Foxley-Graham had recovered somewhat.
Arthur beamed at Helena. “I remember the day you were born.”
Her smile sent a pang of nostalgia to his heart. Her resemblance to a nineteen-year-old Sophia was striking. Despite all the heartache in their past he would not have acted differently.
He drew in a breath. “So, Lady Foxley-Graham, it appears the mystery of our presence has been solved. What say you to a stroll on the estate tomorrow to discuss this business of god-parenting? We can knock up Mason at the gatehouse.”
“I would enjoy that immensely, Lord Petersham, if you would deign to call me by my Christian name.”
He smiled. “Of course, Lavinia. And you must call me Arthur.” His heart was pounding already at the thought of spending time with her alone.
* * * * *
London
Grace stared through the peephole at Julius and his pretty blonde patient splayed immodestly before him. It was the girl’s third visit to his office. She had just turned eighteen and her mother had sent her to see Dr. Christopher, having heard about his “unusual and amazing” device at the teas and at-homes of Mayfair. And while the girl’s mother was rather forward-thinking in her views on women’s rights, she did not have the fortitude to teach her daughter about self-pleasuring. That, she had said in the initial consultation, she would leave to the good doctor, whose skills and knowledge were celebrated.
Grace had kept her proud amusement to herself at the last. Julius was most definitely skilled and now his reputation was legendary.
During the blonde girl’s first visit alone, Grace had been in attendance. With some of his young patients, Julius preferred Grace to be in the room, acting as if she were an older sister or best friend rather than a doctor’s medical assistant. She would claim she was nineteen, not much older than they, and would pull up a tall stool and sit at the head of the medical table and talk while Julius performed his expert ministrations, answering such questions as “Is it really supposed to feel like this?” and “Do you do it too?”, offering encouraging words as they built toward their crises then soothing words as they came down from the heights, later assuring them that no one would know if they did it alone in their beds at night.
And for some of the more reticent girls it would be Grace who introduced them to the powerful orgasm achieved with the device. Julius was not insulted. No. It afforded him the opportunity to sit in the little room and watch through the peephole.
But the pretty blonde girl had never really needed Grace’s support. In fact, it seemed the blonde ones always had a bit more self-assurance. This one, despite her fluttering lashes and large, innocent gray-green eyes, had no qualms about being alone with a man. She watched Julius with keen interest as he busied himself with the jar of oil on his medical cart.
