Ariadne's Diadem (30 page)

Kitty Longton and the luckless Sir Thomas had been arrested at Bristol and now languished in that city’s jail. The trunk of gold had been returned to Lady Fanhope, who was vociferously affronted by her husband’s betrayal. One gentleman obliged to sit beside her at a dinner party was afterward heard to remark that her nasal voice put him in mind of an outraged nanny goat.

Gervase glanced at Anne again. She had been at his side throughout the furore. They had arrived in London just before the royal wedding, on the very day Lord Byron was forced into exile in Europe, so that it seemed the Wroxford story might after all slip by without much attention, but that hope had soon been dashed. As more and more details emerged, so interest increased.

Mr. and Mrs. Willowby returned hastily from Ireland on receiving a letter from Anne in which she told them the full story of her betrothal and all that had happened since their departure. She made no mention of things supernatural. The Willowbys were horrified to hear of Hugh’s despicable deeds, but delighted to find that their daughter’s marriage was to be a love match after all.

The wedding took place on a hot day in late July at fashionable St. George’s in Hanover Square, and in social importance had ranked second only to the royal wedding. At first the
beau monde
had been condescending toward the new duchess, for she was hardly the sort of bride the
ton
desired for an aristocrat like the Duke of Wroxford, but as the days passed, with few exceptions they were all won around by her gentle ways, quiet humor, and lack of affectation. She was a fragrant country rose in a hothouse of exotic blooms. His rose. His incomparable Anne.

He smiled as he recalled how on the day after the wedding they had danced a waltz at Almack’s Assembly Rooms. White, cream, or oyster had become the depressingly uniform colors for ladies at the subscription balls, vouchers for which had been fought over before now, but Anne had worn lavender. She put matching ribbons in her hair, and her face had been so alight with happiness and fulfillment that she had drawn all eyes. Those who had been prepared to condemn her for failing to conform were grudgingly obliged to admit that she looked exquisite. The younger ladies had long chafed at the dullness of attire, and the next ball had seen a veritable rainbow of color, with lavender being by far the most popular choice. That had been the beginning of Anne’ s reign.

Her parents had now returned to Ballynarray, taking Mrs. Jenkins and Joseph with them, but Martin had elected to stay behind with his family. Llandower had been Anne’s wedding gift from her adoring bridegroom and now had new staff to keep it aired and ready for any whim she might have to stay there. Plans for visits to Ballynarray and Naples were already very much in hand, and there had been so much to do here on this their first visit to Wroxford Park, that Monmouthshire would have to wait just a little while.

All these things were far from Anne’s mind now as she savored the summer countryside, which was so very welcome after the heat and bustle of London. She glanced up at the skylarks. “Oh, what a lovely day this is,” she murmured.

“Quite perfect,” he replied, reining in and dismounting by the open gate of a golden wheat field. Honeysuckle hung down from the hedges, and he brushed against it as he tethered his horse.

She reined in as well and smiled down at him. “I did not think I would like Wiltshire as much as Monmouthshire, but it will do.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he replied, tethering her horse also, then reaching up to help her dismount.

She slid down easily into his arms, and then turned to look toward Wroxford Park, so magnificent against the soaring background of Salisbury Plain. “I confess I expected to find Wroxford Park soulless.”

“And is it?” he asked, taking off his neckcloth and letting it drop among the poppies that grew so profusely at the edge of this particular wheat field.

“Soulless? No, indeed it has much to commend it.”

“Is that the best you can say?” He took off his navy blue riding coat and mustard waistcoat and tossed them idly over the gate.

She laughed and turned. “I reserve judgment. After all, we’ve only been here a few days.”

“So we have,” he murmured, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

She watched him in surprise. “What are you doing?”

He placed the shirt on the gate as well, then went to her and tilted her mouth to kiss her very gently, dwelling upon the moment with complete tenderness before drawing away and whispering softly, “Do you remember telling me something interesting about wheat fields and honeysuckle?”

Her green eyes widened a little. “Yes, of course, but—”

“No buts,” he said softly, starting upon the silver buttons of her riding habit. “Some fantasies can come true, Anne. This one certainly can.”

“But what if we’re seen?”

“No one will see. I’ve issued instructions that no one is to come near this spot today. We are at liberty to do as we please.” He slid the jacket back from her shoulders and bent his head to kiss her throat.

As her arms slid around his waist, he deftly removed her hat, which soon joined his neckcloth among the poppies. Next he discarded the pins in her hair so that the willful dark golden curls tumbled down warmly over his hands. He kissed her for a long moment, his tongue toying with hers, and then he undid the ties of her riding skirt so that it slithered down to the ground.

She smiled and stepped back, removing her underthings and footwear until at last she was as naked as that other lady had been all those years before.

Gervase’s appreciative gaze moved warmly over her, dwelling upon her firm breast, slender waist, and shapely legs. “You are very desirable. Your Grace.”

“And so are you, Your Grace,” she replied, and then smiled again. “We must reenact my fantasy properly.” Taking his hand, she led him into the wheat, and then drew him down. The golden ears swayed as she knelt beside him. Her green eyes shone as she began slowly upon his buttons.

The scent of honeysuckle was heady as the Duchess of Wroxford made love to her duke, and neither of them noticed the sudden breeze that stirred through the corn or heard panpipes in the distance.

Copyright © 1998 by Sandra Wilson

Originally published by Signet (0451186516)

Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.