Finding Bliss (7 page)

“Trust me, Lem. Just because the frosting doesn’t appeal to
you, does not mean the cake isn’t the sweetest underneath! And believe me when
I tell you, that is the only cake you will ever want once you’ve had a nibble,”
she teased.

“Are you implying that Lettie Bradshaw is willing, at some
point in the future, to let me sample her
hidden layers
? Can’t you at
least give me a hint as to when the cake will be ready?” Lem’s eyes took on a
new sparkle as he arched a brow in wicked intent.

Bliss rolled her eyes. She began pulling on the line, which
she often did to reposition his lie in the water. But her efforts this time
were taking the line all the way in. Her tone grew more heated as she coiled
the line beneath their feet on the floor of the fishing skiff.

“You are such a boy! I’m not telling you anything other than
what I already have. If I did, it wouldn’t make the end result go nearly as
smoothly as it will if you keep to the path I’ve indicated. I have given you
enough information for you not to completely shun the opportunity when it
eventually presents itself,” Bliss finished her statement and task by tipping
her chin so that her nose was up, her air of superiority firmly in place.

“Fine, but I’m almost sixteen! Cyril had already tupped at
least one gal by this age! I’m ready to know a woman that way, don’t you know?”
Lem complained.

“You will. Remember, patience is a virtue,” Bliss told him
with a small amount of compassion.

“Yeah, but patience won’t ease the pain of not getting to …”

“Anyway, I’ve got to go back to the house. You aren’t going
to catch any more fish today, so row us back to shore,” Bliss told him firmly.

“I think you just say that when you’re done fishing. I bet
if I stayed I’d catch at least a couple more in the sweet spots,” Lem grumbled
as he wrapped his line around the end of his pole and secured the hook.

In her room, Bliss wrote her first official
letter to Eric Benchley. She could bribe Lem easily into the task of posting
her letters for her by giving him tips to hurry his courtship with Lettie
along. There really wasn’t any reason why the two hadn’t already become more
intimately acquainted anyway.

Aside from Lem’s reluctance to trust her that Lettie was the
right girl, there really wasn’t any reason her handsome young friend couldn’t
already be getting a liberty now and then if he put forth the slightest effort.
Lettie’s sourness was just frustration projecting into her mood. Once she knew
someone was interested in her, the rest of it would dissolve into eager
confidence.

Bliss considered her task at hand. Knowing that too much
information to someone like Eric, someone who still doubted her ability, would
likely cause the effort to have a negative effect, Bliss searched her memories
of the visions to come up with the right detail to give him.

It had to be something little and hardly significant to the
casual observer, but important enough not to be ignored. The visions didn’t let
her down. Bliss tried to keep her emotions neutral as she wrote in order to
protect the outcome she desired.

When she finished writing, she re-read her efforts carefully
and decided that since the visions hadn’t altered, a lot still depended on how
Eric received the message and its hidden warnings. She sealed the wax and put
the letter in her box until morning.

The next day was Bliss and
Merryann’s usual riding day. Having hidden the letter conveniently in her
riding boot, she summoned Lem over on the pretense of needing to have him
adjust her stirrup.

Taking the letter in her palm, she tucked it under his vest
while whispering, “If you post this letter for me, and keep it a secret, I’ll
tell you what to do to get a healthy amount of gratitude from Lettie.”

Lem whispered back, “What sort of gratitude are we talking
about?”

“At
least
one kiss,” she replied, leaving her tone to
imply that a kiss was the minimum he could expect from the situation. Lem
nodded and tugged the stirrup firmly a few times to mask her information.

In a low voice, Bliss informed Lem that Lettie would be
hanging out the washing for her mother later. She also pointed out that Lettie
was terrified of bees and that several would come along, tempted by the smell
of the lilac water rinse.

Bliss whispered as she leaned down pretending to adjust her boot’s
position in the stirrup.

“Use the red table runner to wave the bees off. And be
prepared to ask her if she suffered any bites or stings in the process. She’ll
let you check because she’ll be preoccupied with the possibility of more bees.

“While you’re checking, you should lean in very close! And
make sure you don’t eat anything offensive at lunch. Have something sweet— a
piece of summer fruit or a cookie just before you go. And if you’re later than
noon, you’ll miss the opportunity. So don’t forget,” Bliss added gravely.

“I’ll eat nothing but fresh peaches until then, and I’ll
hover near the lines from eleven-forty-five until twelve-fifteen!” Lem said
with a waggling brow.

Bliss gave him a nod of acknowledgment while whispering her
reminder about the letter. She patted his shoulder and offered him a hand with
the post amount, tucked between her middle and ring fingers. Lem took the coin
surreptitiously and tugged the brim of his cap to signal the exchange before
Bliss clicked her tongue and nudged the horse’s flank with her heel.

Eric, age eighteen, London, October
1803

The thing Eric never expected about
being away from his childhood home was how much he would miss the normal
occurrences. After being accepted to St. Thomas’s College of Medicine, he dove
into his studies with enthusiasm.

But after nearly a month away from Cardiff, he found himself
wishing to be home more than at school. This was unusual given the
opportunities his studies offered. Eric showed greater skill and nerve than
most students.

Eric was a talented student who never lacked praise by his
teachers, but it didn’t combat the loneliness. It wasn’t until the morning
after a terrific storm that his time at school became somehow more bearable.

All during the previous night the thundering rain had pounded
on the building housing the first year students. Instead of being bothered by
the noise of the weather, Eric slept through it all. While he slept, he dreamt
of a woman.

Surprisingly beautiful, the woman featured in his dream did
nothing more exciting than look over at him from the corner of a room. It
appeared that she was seeking his medical advice, her attire simply a chemise
and stockings, but the intoxicating arousal he felt while dreaming of her
carried over into his waking hours.

Eric was one of the many boys at St. Thomas’s who had grown
up more scholarly than socially. As a result he’d yet to be able to meet women
or know what to say to them exactly. Many of his friends had taken the advice
of their upper classmates or even their fathers and gone to seek the pleasures
of a brothel. But being tight with his funds, Eric could never bring himself to
do that yet.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have women to choose from. But
matrimony was far from his mind, and he wasn’t so confident in his abilities or
knowledge that he would dare propose anything headier than kissing with a woman
he’d just met. Being a handsome young medical scholar was a pretty good lure
for willing women, but his shyness and uncertainty somehow held him back.

But in his dreams, the opposite was true. He was very
skilled with the woman there. And she was no less clever with the art of
bringing him pleasure either. And the weird part was how familiar it all
seemed.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the woman. Her
golden hair shimmered in his dreamy memory. The curls dancing across the border
of her lace-edged undergarment made him long to pluck up the longest strand and
bring it to his cheek. Even the smell of her, hints of lavender and mint,
permeated his subconscious.

The dreary morning didn’t detract from his state either. He
always woke aroused and wanting. Contrarily anything he did to alleviate the
symptoms seemed only to enhance his desires.

On this particular morning, Eric woke early and relieved his
ache before he sought further distraction in his lecture notes. It was his
usual practice to study in the early morning quiet. He was about to begin his
study preparations for the next round of examinations when he came across a
message from his roommate. It indicated that a letter waited for him.

Eric hurried to dress for his day, feeling inexplicably
drawn to the post to find out who had written to him. His father wrote only
once a month. Eric remembered that his most recent letter lay in his trunk
already. So the fact that an additional letter waited was too curious.

As soon as the office opened, Eric went to the postmaster
and requested the letter. It was a heavy-paper document, sealed with dark
bronze wax. That signified that the sender was wealthy.

The design pressed into the wax seal was unusual. If you
turned it upside down, it resembled an elaborate capital P. But in its upright
position, it was curiously a lowercase letter d.

Eric broke the seal and unfolded the heavy parchment. The
greeting gave nothing to the author’s identity, so he was obliged to turn to
the end page to see who sent the note. At the end there was no signature
either.

He returned his attention to the opening lines and began to
read the message.

“Master Eric Benchley—As I am sure this letter finds
you in good health and spirits overall, I’ll skip the inquiries. I realize it
is unusual to receive a note from an unknown author, but I believe my lack of
signature will not detract or deceive you once you have read my words. I have a
few things of importance that I must share with you.

“Firstly, there is the subject of your nighttime
entertainments. I wish to remind you that as a budding barber-surgeon it is
your duty to model the best practices of health in your own life. That being
said, I feel it imperative to give you a warning.

“On the evening of the week prior to Easter you will
be presented with a choice. I only hope that you will heed this warning and
take my advice as to the proper decision. I won’t frighten you with the
particulars. Instead I’ll only offer you two words: red gown.

“Secondly, I have a few things to offer you in pursuit
of your career. The study of in-depth anatomy is very vital, as you are aware.
But it is important to remember things you already know when dealing with
particularly pesky problems.

“Examinations will rely on textbook knowledge.
However, there is a certain professor who loves to use real experiences to
throw in unusual difficulties that only common sense and practice can remedy.
You are more than capable of handling anything he puts forth as an obstacle, so
trust yourself, Eric.

“I should like to continue writing to you, if that is
alright. You aren’t around anymore, and when Dr. Benchley comes out to visit us
or responds to my notes it isn’t the same when you’re not with him.

“I know this cannot be avoided, but it still doesn’t
make the long periods of your absence any easier to bear. You were always a
source of wit and amusement for me, you see. And I feel certain our paths are
destined to cross again.

“I hope that my letters will not prove troublesome to
you. Keep them a secret if you wish. No one in my family is privileged to know
that I am corresponding with you.

“Lucky for me I have a loyal friend in my secrecy who
assists me in getting notes to their intended recipients. I am fully aware that
he is only going to be available for such tasks for the next two years. I will
deal with the loss of his company when the time arises.

“At any rate, expect to hear from me fairly often.
That is, if you do not object to my correspondence. I’ll continue to write
unless you say otherwise.

“There is one more thing you should probably know, and
it is of vital importance to your future, so pay attention! You cannot trust
just anyone concerning your personal life with regard to your money, your
relationships or your academic progress. To do this would be immediate disaster
for you.

“Keep anything you value a secret just for you, and
use care when revealing even the most miniature details to supposed friends.
There are too many people in this world that will take advantage of you in your
weakest moments. Always remember that.

Your dear friend, --“

The letter was three small pages long and written in a
careful hand. Eric smiled to himself when he realized, around the second
paragraph, that he knew the author.

Lady Bliss was probably about thirteen years old if his
memory served him correctly. How could a thirteen year old girl know so much
information about anything so remotely connected to her?

Eric laughed at her peculiar warnings concerning his
personal life and nighttime entertainments. Red gown, in particular, was a
subtly put clue that made him shudder involuntarily when he realized what that
might mean. Was he supposed to choose a woman in a red gown or avoid one?

It made him curious now for the ball he would attend the weekend
prior to the Easter holiday. In his mind Eric envisioned a roomful of women all
wearing brilliant red gowns. He actually laughed out loud at the preposterous
inconclusiveness of the clue.

His humor left him when he considered her information about
writing to him regularly. Her loyal friend, whom she wrote about keeping her
secrets, was a male. The pronoun didn’t lie. Somehow this information made Eric
feel surly for no reason he could figure.