Page 23 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
His recollections of what they’d done together astonished her. “Blake—”
“I heard us, hell, saw us as we were children, too young to know the savagery that lay before us. I wanted the sounds of notes. Little songs that only children play. And we were good, so good our families applauded us at Christmases and May Days. Please. Sit down. And be my partner.”
She sat. She began, stopped, nibbled her lip and started once more.
He followed.
They played. Picked was really what they did, but then a flow began. Together, they were good, not expert. Their camaraderie brought solace…and curiosity.
At the end in the silence, she was determined to ask for clarity about his feelings for her. “You imply you value what we were as friends. When we danced in London and kissed, I thought we’d become more than friends. Yet you stopped writing to me. Why?”
He met her gaze frankly, but he frowned.“I cannot address this issue in a few minutes. Nor even here among all these people.”
“But you must give me an idea. I cannot continue to enjoy you as I do and not know what you think we are to each other.”
“Yes. I owe you that.” He inhaled as he looked around marking that no one came too close to overhear. “After my brothers died,I knew that when I came home I would have to decide what to do about my future. If I lived that long.”
She grabbed his hand and wrung it. Blast what those in the room might say about her forwardness. “But you are here, hearty and whole.”
“There was no guarantee of that. Not then. Even after Napoleon abdicated in ‘fourteen, we had much to do to administer the land we won. War is grisly work on a battlefield. Restoring it is just as hard.”
“I wanted to hear from you,” she blurted. “What you did. How you did. I missed your letters.”
“I could not write. Not to anyone.” He broke off and gazed toward the garden. “As well as losing my brothers, I had also recently lost a friend. He was severely wounded and was sent home. Grief ate me alive. I didn’t wish to speak, nor write. Only after I heard your parents died. I apologize that I failed you.”
He turned toward her, his face a panoply of sorrow and demand. “I need to talk to you more privately. Not in a drawing room where others will overhear.”
“Name the hour.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Before we go to the village?”
“Yes. Here. Ten o’clock. Bring your maid. We’ll say we practice our musical talents and I will explain more fully why I did not write.”
“Thank you.”
He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers with such ardor that her doubts he cared for her fled.
“Come, you two!” Ivy appeared at her side. “We are to do charades!”
“Tomorrow,” he said to her after they got to their feet to join the others.
“I’ll be here.”
Chapter 7
The next day at ten, Mary sailed into the salon alone. “Good morning,” she greeted him with a wide and winning smile. “Welles arrives soon. She does a few tasks for Fifi.”
Blake stood by the garden doors and took her in as she walked toward him. Aglow in the sunshine, she seemed to have blossomed in the past day. Had their kisses brought out her radiance? God knew, it brought out a lust in him. “You still like lace, I see.”
She cocked a brow. “Mama always said I looked like a doily.”
“Your mother was built differently. Tall and robust. Lace marks you as intricate.” His sentiments were no fluff. She was lovely in her delicate sky blue gown with tiny white lace adornments. He particularly liked the tiny frills at her full and very appealing bodice. “I think you should continue and wear what you wish.”
“One good thing is that at this rate, I keep the lacemakers of Honiton well employed.”
He tugged her along to the piano. Most of the night, he’d thought of playing this piano with her. The endless blather at this event irritated him and he was not certain why save to say he thought it pointless noise. He was most used to men barking orders, roar and thunder that had purpose, destructive of towns and castles and civilians. Drawing room niceties, polite as they seemed, bored him. More than dispensing with the chatter—he wanted to court Mary as she deserved. That meant he had to discuss his uncertain future and confront her about what had happened with his friend Langdon.
