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Coral couldn’t read French and she was vexed. The flowers were gorgeous and quite fragrant. She didn’t know what kind of flowers they were but if a gentleman sent them to her, it would cause her to swoon. This was no small gesture and surely no small cost. The vase looked antique and was filled to the brim with the white and yellow flowers. Her lady would smell them before she even saw them.
Lady Danbury had a pep in her step lately, but it also came and went like the summer storms. Coral couldn’t quite tell what her mood would be one day to the next, something that had never been a problem between the two women. It wasn’t mourning; the Lady didn’t miss her husband. He wasn’t cruel, thank God, but he was old and concerned primarily with his status and upward mobility. His young wife was arm candy and a brood mare; he’d won the lottery.
But he never listened to her. He barely acknowledged her full presence unless he wanted to fuck her. No one was very sad he was gone, and that was sad in itself. The Lady appropriately “mourned” through the late winter and early spring. The heavy black frocks were as much a hindrance as the man they represented.
“What is that smell, Coral? Its heavenly.”
Lady Danbury descended the staircase looking breathtaking in a cornflower blue dress and a yellow spring dress. She wore a corset, she always wore a corset, but her body was not bogged down with all the accoutrements of titled ladies in an effort to get dressed. The weather had turned warm; the lady wanted a little relief.
“You’ve got flowers, miss. Perhaps they are from Master Everleigh, he’s been around for tea twice.”
“Yes, and bored me to tears.” Agatha rolled her eyes as she approached the vase and inhaled. Just the scent seduced her; reminded her of forbidden things. For the first time in her life, Agatha didn’t have control of her emotions.
Her body was so warm. Under the crinoline of her dress her most private places bloomed. She was sure she let out an exhale of ecstasy. Clearing her throat, Agatha came back to reality. “He was handsome, from good stock, but I will never be with a boring man again.”
“Perhaps Master Smythe-Smith.” Coral opined. “He’s been visiting his cousin for three weeks and shared two dances with you at the Smythe-Smith’s ball.”
“How do you know that?” Agatha asked, her fingers moving through the soft flesh of the flowers. She was looking for a card but perhaps there wasn’t one. That’s why Coral was playing guessing games of the widowers and lifelong bachelors who’d been on her doorstep since not five minutes after her mourning dress went in the back of the closet.
“What kind of flowers are these, Lady? The scent is something you can carry the whole day through.”
“I believe they’re gardenias.” Agatha replied. “I’ve seen them in pictures but never experienced the fragrance. Was there no card? Id rather not play games with the many widowers desiring a visit in this ton.”
“Oh yes, Lady,” Coral held the white envelope in her hand. “There was a card.”
“And you were going to mention that when?” Agatha took the card assuming her curious maid had already read it.
She could’ve been feigning ignorance in not knowing who they were from. Pulling the card form the envelope, for a moment she just stared at it. It was in French. It took a moment for her brain to catch up. Like most girls of means, she had French and Latin lessons growing up. Most of it stuck with Agatha because she had French nannies and spoke the language with them.
‘One day,’ she mouthed the words as the language came back to her tongue. ‘One day, one walk, one ramble, one smile, one touch, one forbidden thought, one dance, one kiss, one woman, one man, one encounter. Two bodies becoming one. One mind can’t stop thinking of it.’ A. She recognized the handwriting. The condolence card she received from his family was written in his hand. This card was absolutely written in his hand.
“It’s Master Smythe-Smith, isn’t it?” Coral opined. “I think he would do something like this. I don’t like gossip, but there is talk he has 20 acres and a castle in Cornwall.”
“Its not Master Smythe-Smith.” Agatha put the card back in the envelope. “And don’t be silly, Coral, you love gossip.”
The maid raised an eyebrow and Lady Danbury managed a smile.
“I’m going to take my afternoon walk. Please display the flowers in the sitting room; I think that’s the perfect place for everyone to admire them.”
“Are you sure you want to go out, Lady? I’m not superstitious but Cook said she smelled rain not 45 minutes ago. She said a storm was certainly coming.”
“I have noticed clouds gathering.” Agatha said. “But I’d like to take a walk. I’ll take an umbrella if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Fetch the lady an umbrella.” Coral told the footman by the door. “She requires it for her walk.”
“Coral, take two of the flowers and press them. I’d like to keep them.”
Agatha took the umbrella from the footman. She looked at Coral and the maid didn’t have a happy look on her face. She was pretending to but it wasn’t as if Coral had much cunning. Actually, she likely had cunning but her face would give her away to someone who had more.
“The card is unsigned.” She lied. “Hopefully the gentleman will reveal himself soon.”
“Suspense!” Coral exclaimed. “I change my mind; it has to be Lord Gregory. He loves games; he’d do something like this for sure.”
Lady Danbury smiled, hoping she looked like she gave a damn about the fake suitor. She made her way to the door, which was opened for her, and into the fresh air. After a deep inhale and exhale, she started down the walk. There was a lovely fragrance in the air, though Agatha didn’t know if it was rain or not. Her mind was unable to focus on anything other than the card she slipped into her small satchel.
‘Two bodies become one. One mind can’t stop thinking about it.’ That afternoon with him was mind blowing. It wasn’t just about the sex being blissful and not a chore. The way they communicated, with their bodies and their words, was something Agatha didn’t think was possible. He made her laugh. He made her climax so many times she stopped counting at four. Her body ached for him, to this day, to this moment, many weeks after their encounter.
Many weeks after he said in so few words that it could never happen again. It was unfair for him to use his unwitting daughter as a shield, and Agatha would tell him so. She liked young Violet very much. The idea that she would think of Agatha as anything other than a friend and mentor turned her stomach. She also knew that even that wouldn’t stop her from surrendering to Lord Ledger given even a quarter of a chance.
***
Cook was correct. Whatever she smelled in the air this morning turned into a steady rain. It wasn’t a deluge like a few days ago. Agatha was sure it would wash away the entire ton. This afternoon it was steady, enough to make her umbrella, purely decorative and perfect for a drizzle, useless. Her riding boots did well, but her dress dragging through the mud, wet gravel, and grass would make her dressmaker begin cursing in her native tongue again.
She rushed into the wooden shack that was on the Ledger property and not hers. There was a hole in the roof but it was on the other side from where she stood. The hole in the floor below meant that rain would not flood the space. There was really nowhere to sit. The few wooden benches, they looked as if they were work benches, were old and splintery. Agatha was afraid if she put her weight on one it would crack in half. Its likely they’d been there from the time of the Normans. Her umbrella and hat were light enough to rest there.
Small spaces were something Agatha tended to avoid. She’d been accidentally trapped in an antique toy chest when she was barely five years old. She screamed until her throat was raw, but no one heard her. She cried, banged on the sides, and tried to push the heavy lid open.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when one of her father’s guards finally found her. She’d urinated on herself and passed out. For the next 3 days her mother and nannies insisted she stay in bed to rest and recover from the experience. Since that time, something even resembling a small space made Agatha’s palms sweat, her throat dry, and her heart beat so fast she was sure she would faint.
Her instinct told her to pace but the cracked wood all over made her nervous. She could fall through the floorboards and drown in a pool of muddy water. They would likely never find her body. Agatha Danbury would become a cautionary tale for young women to fear walking alone. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered just thinking about it. As soon as this rain even appeared to let up, she would likely run home.
The floorboards creaking made her turn so fast she nearly lost her footing. She was no longer alone; a man was in her presence. He was wet; his chest rising and falling in heavy breathing. It looked as if the rain had caught him off guard as well. Of all the creaky wooden shacks in all the ton, he had to walk into hers.
“Lady Danbury.” He bowed in her presence.
“Lord Ledger.” She did a small curtsy.
The pageantry was unnecessary but it was something they always did. It was a sign of respect and friendship in a sometimes tense and unfriendly environment. The Great Experiment definitely had its winners and losers.
“Cook said it would rain today.” Agatha said casually, as if they had talked every day leading up to this one. “She said she smelled it in the air. I can’t say that I ever have.”
“Petrichor.”
“I’m sorry?” she shook her head as if he were speaking a foreign language. French. The card with the flowers was written in French.
“Petrichor. It’s the smell in the air and the soil that rain creates. Any water really, but particularly rain.”
“Antony…” she took a few steps forward. He didn’t move from his spot.
“I read. It is a balm for my loneliness. Earth sciences have always been fascinating to me and there is so much more to learn. It is so important to me that Violet gets a good education. Her mother just wants her to marry aa rich man, perhaps get a higher title. I want her, need her, to be well rounded and happy.”
“And what of your happiness?”
A clap of thunder startled them both. Well, that was an indication that this rain didn’t intend to go gently.
“I read.” He said. “I walk. I ramble. Sometimes I impress exceptional women, but I cannot be made to believe that is more than dumb luck.”
“Nothing about you is dumb, Lord Ledger.”
“And everything about you is exceptional, Lady Danbury.”
He walked toward her and she didn’t move. She wanted to hold up her hands, ask him to leave, but she didn’t move. Agatha didn’t move because she wanted to do nothing of the sort.
He took hold of her hands. Gently, he held them in his, caressed them, let his fingers touch and then slide against hers. He brought their joined hands to his cheek and then her hand to his lips. It was impossible for his body, soaking wet from the storm, not to respond when she fluttered as his lips brushed her knuckles. How had he ever thought that once would be enough?
It was why he’d run the first time; the time they almost kissed. Antony Ledger was no fool…in her arms he’d be gone from this place. Her lips on his and he would belong to her. His cock so deep inside of her that one couldn’t tell where he ended and she began would be a collision of heaven and hell that any rational man would fear. With her there was no fear. For the first time in too long to remember, there was no fucking fear.
“My French was a little rusty.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. He’d let go of her hands; his arms snaked around her slim waist. Agatha’s hand went up, not to hold him back but to stroke his wet cravat. He was soaking wet; his clothes clung to him and his boots sloshed when he walked.
“Shall I translate, my lady?” the gentle kiss he placed on her right cheek and then her left made her tremble. She was trying to hide it but he felt it as deeply as he did. She had to know.
“I managed. It came back to me from my many childhood lessons and I think I managed.”
He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Un jour,”
“Antony,”
“Une promenade, une balade, un sourire, un toucher, une pensée interdite.”
He stopped, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply. Her hand grazed his groin, causing him to come alive. The lightest of touches, but only from her. She gently grabbed it…how does one gently grab a man’s cock? His knees were weak and he gripped her waist tighter as her name tumbled off his lips.
“Agatha, Agatha.”
“You said never again.” She loosened her grip but stroked the material that separated him from her. He was surely wet in more place than one.
“No,” Antony shook his head. “No, I never said that. Such a thing would never cross my lips.”
He was so close, breathing on her, and his pipe tobacco was in his clothes as well as his wet skin. Today it was a peppermint scent, fragrant enough to almost taste. The night they first danced it was a woodsy scent like the logs on a crackling fire. The afternoon she rode him like a stallion, unbridled and free, it was black cherry. As poisonous as the leaves from a black cherry tree can be, Lady Danbury could overindulge in the fruit it produced.
“What crosses your lips today, my lord?”
The question was hardly from her lips when he kissed her. All of his intentions were in the kiss. There was little hesitation but all the longing in the world. Agatha wrapped her arms around his neck. Who needed to breathe when there was such passion to be had? Even his kisses were like nothing she ever experienced before.
Herman hardly kissed her, and for that she was grateful. He climbed on and did his business. She either stared at the ceiling if he was on top or tried to keep her brains from getting bashed in on the heavy wooden headboard if he was behind her. There was no kissing; no passion. When it was blessedly over, Agatha bathed in the hottest water she could stand and always had a glass of guava juice. Guava was a fruit from her home in Sierra Leone.
It was also a contraceptive, at least that’s what Agatha had been told. The seeds were crushed into the sweet, pulpy juice and they helped to keep a woman’s womb empty. They could also send you to the chamber pot for hours with a sick stomach. But after birthing 5 babies, one stillborn and pulled from her as she screamed, Agatha would rather live next to the chamber pot for life than to ever conceive, carry, or birth another child. Her eldest son’s head was so large she was sure she’d go home to the ancestors before they could extract him from her. Never, ever again.
But she couldn’t think about babies and unhappiness as they pulled away from each other, panting and heaving trying to catch their breath.
“Don’t you ever again use Violet as a shield.” She ran her hand up the nape of his neck and through his hair. “She is a wonderful child and should never have reason to think less of me. Or you for that matter.”
“Violet adores you, as a matter of fact.” He stroked her face. “I shall never do it again. I was scared, my lady, and made the wrong decision. Never again, I promise.”
After that kiss she could’ve asked him to jump in the lake and drown, he would’ve. That’s what not having her felt like, drowning. Antony was not being dramatic. He yearned for her. His body twisted and changed when he thought of her.
He could conjure her voice, her laugh, lying in the bath doing sinful things. Panting like a dog or biting his lip to keep from screaming as he spilt his seed all over himself just fantasizing about her. Once. Once was all it took for Antony to know the taste of the sweetest fruit of all; lapping the juices with his tongue and committing the taste to memory.
“I want to take you.” He nipped at her neck. “I could take you right here.” The bravado in his voice did not betray his terror. To be terrified of someone and want them so much at the same time. Terror wasn’t going to stop him.
“I believe it was I who took you, my lord. A fine ride it was.”
“Fine?” he cocked his head and eyebrow looking so cute she could barely stand it.
“Mmm.” She nodded. “The finest thoroughbred I’ve encountered thus far, I should say.”
“The quality of the ride is measured by the skill of the rider.”
She kissed him again, remembering the look of bewilderment and curiosity in his face when she pushed him off and he scrambled into a sitting position. He surely thought she would kick him from the bedchamber.
No woman had ever sat on him before, not that there were many to count. The way he said ‘there?’ he was really curious. The look on her face said it all. And when she sank down on all of his hardness and he filled her, they both knew ecstasy. He gripped her waist, the sheets, her waist again, and when she moved his hands to caress her smooth, bare ass, Antony nearly came.
Good god, he was desperate to touch her skin again. He wished she were wet from the rain as he was. How would their skin feel rubbing against each other then? He was getting so hard that all reason was flying out of the open windows of the little shack. Another clap of thunder; the collision of heaven and hell was coming down on him fast.
Agatha whimpered when her back roughly hit the wall. Well damn, the foundation of this place was stronger than she thought. He gasped, stopped, gently took her face in his hands. He asked if he hurt her; if she was alright. He had not hurt her, but if she asked him to, would he?
“Desire it, speak it, my lady, and I shall obey.”
Her dress pushed up, her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms above her head, Lady Agatha Danbury was full of words. She could write a book with all the words inside her. Even now, in the midst of illicit rapture, words rolled around in her belly forming thoughts, sentences, whole paragraphs of purple prose. Or perhaps they were the color of black cherries.
***