I need air. Summoning Marie, my maid, I donned a burgundy riding habit, my brown hair tightly wrapped in a bun. Marie was a stout woman, ruddy faced and tolerated no nonsense. She saw no reason for me to ever complain as I was the lady and she the servant. No confidence was shared between us. She merely dressed me, emptied my chamber pots and moved to the next task.
My riding coat was heavy and formed a wide skirt over my legs so I could ride properly. Even so it was a warm autumn day, knowing there were no visitors intended I undid the top two buttons, allowing the air to my chest.
Side saddle when guests were here, keeping my legs demurely together. I ride like a man whenever I get the chance. Easier to take on the jumps over the streams and backs.
I walk briskly, my boots crunching into the gravel drive. Heading into the stables, the warm scent of hay is comforting, a world away from the musty rooms of Tarrick Hall. Amber, my pretty honey-coloured mare whinnied merrily to see me. As I petted her nose and enjoyed her nuzzles I heard a gruff voice.
"Excuse me ma'am are you allowed in here?"
I spun round and found my eyes meeting the greenest glare I'd ever seen. Almost as green as my husband's eyes narrowed as we quickly sized each other up.
"I think you should be introducing yourself seeing you are the stranger here."
"How am I the stranger, I've never met you before!" he replied with a smirk, his eyes not leaving mine for a second.
"I'm the Duchess of Tarrick," I said archly, waiting for her to apologise and offer his hand.
"No first name then?" seemingly unfazed as he turned around to the saddle rack grabbing one of the black leathers.
"Not to you there isn't no. My saddle is the brown embroidered one at the top by the way."
Not breaking stride he continued carrying the saddle and headed towards Figaro, a huge black stallion few dared to ride.
"I never said this saddle was for you petal," unable to stop a rumble of amusement escaping his chest as my mouth hung open at his rudeness. His voice was gruff and masculine yet he had yet to say a serious word to me.
"Petal? I swear I shall grab my riding crop!"
"Now now your ladyship, you're one for striking the staff then?"
"You aren't staff. You should address me as Your Grace. Not that it will matter for long anyway, when I have you removed!" I snapped back. Irritated as I was, the usually impatient Figaro accepted his bridle and bit from this man’s hands.
Under his beige, cotton work shirt his wide shoulders were twice that of Edmund. Tall, with shoulders displaying muscles I didn't know possible, he lifted the heavy saddle like a sheet of paper.
In silence he completed the saddling. Brushing Figaro’s coat thoroughly between each hitching, giving occasional soft approving clicks with his tongue, I was mesmerised. His hair was light brown, smartly cropped with a square jaw. His face seemed to be permanently set in a grin as his eyes flicked back to mine. Green, more like jewels than the grass. A deep emerald sheen that refused to break away.
"Well? Is it to be a flogging or an apology?"
"An apology! Are you mad?" I spluttered, feeling the heat rising on my face. He rolled up his shirt sleeves. Thick leather braces held up his pants, a gap where they rode up over his huge chest muscles to his trim waist. His forearms were tanned and solid.
"Not at all. You appear flustered though, and your coat" he coolly replied, unfazed as he rolled the second sleeve whilst I hurriedly fixed the bosom I was accidentally displaying.
My honeymoon flashed before me. The limp, insipid pale husband I travelled with versus the marble statue of muscle before me. I'd seen so many masculine figures in galleries, yet in the flesh this strange, baffling man made my heart race with frustration as I failed to land a blow in this verbal sparring.
“I am not flustered,” I replied, adding an extra haughty tone, my head tipping up in superiority. “I merely wish for you to do your job and saddle my horse this instant.”
"I would be delighted to saddle your horse. But you never said please, as a well mannered lady should, you know," and this time his green-eyed smirk was unbearable. His lilting voice was laced with mockery. "Unless you really are intending to give me a flogging," he added, his eyebrow cocked, daring me to respond.
Not knowing what else to do I strode past him and grabbed my heavy saddle from the wall myself. Fuming with rage, my pulse racing, I knew now the tables had turned. His eyes bore into my shape as I bent and fastened buckles.
My bare neck prickles. I've never been spoken to so rudely in my life. How dare he!
"I can tell you're unimpressed with my manner," he drawled. Walking around Amber, checking the stirrups as her hooves clipped the stone floor. A horse between us our eyes met again as I rose to standing.
"Utterly. Who are you even saddling Figaro for? My husband doesn't ride."
"Me," he chirped merrily as I gasped in surprise.
"I assure you, I do not give permission for that at all!"
As I mounted Amber, hooking my foot into the stirrups before swinging my other leg over, I watched incredulously as he followed suit. He swiftly sat atop the huge, tempestuous Figaro, his black coat shining proudly.
"Good job your husband did then isn’t it, your Grace," and with that he trotted smugly out of the stable. I watched his direction before ensuring I took a completely different path.
Even after an hour of galloping and jumping my frustration remained. I never even heard his name! Jeremiah the currently injured stablehand was the epitome of politeness. Did being a Duchess count for nothing? What a man!
Every action of mine was quicker, more decisive. As if arguing with the foolish clot had ignited a fire beneath me. I was no longer content to sit in the parlour and watch the afternoon sun change the colours of my walls. I replayed his words, wondering what responses I should have delivered instead.
I was so tormented that for the first time in years I was early for the evening dinner. I couldn’t stand Marie’s fidgeting with my hair, her thick fingers irritating me with every tug. Changed from my riding habit back into my sweeping navy blue, low cut dress I walked into our dining room.
The semi-corset dug in painfully to ensure I displayed the right shape as I was announced into the room. Everything appeared the same as normal. The usual miserable tapestries on the wall. Bleak scenes of battles. Dark wooden dining table with its legs as thick as oak trees. Silver platters and glass decanters covered the table as I noticed a third place setting.
“Ah, what a surprise,” Edmund declared, using a silver topped cane to support his figure. I walked towards him and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, “your Grace, have you had a pleasant day?”
“I have indeed. Have you given more thought to what I said this morning.”
“To…to the means of me producing an heir?” my voice dropped to a whisper, afraid that even through the walls servants would somehow hear. “With another?”
“Exactly that. I expect you to agree, you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway but for the sake of good manners let me introduce you to our Mr James Fitzwilliam.”
With a tap of his cane the door to the side opened again and the sandy-haired, green eyed lout from this morning sauntered into the room. He wore a dark brown formal jacket over the top of his shirt, a smile barely concealed on his face as my mouth dropped in shock. Edmund stood quietly, clearly enjoying my confusion and humiliation.
I stood silently as the strangers eyes quickly locked on mine, I felt my world collapsing upon itself. The man is to dine with us, has Edmund no shame!
He quickly approached Edmund, his huge, solid hand taking Edmund's greyer, wrinklier fingers in a firm handshake. “Good evening, Your Grace. If it is acceptable, I generally go by Fitz, James is my fathers and older brothers' names in society.”
“Of course. Fitz, I would like to introduce you to the Duchess of Tarrick. Vanessa?”
“Your Grace,” he responded, offering me his hand with the slightest bow. Clearly he had manners and some polish behind him, he just chose not to use them earlier today.
I won’t be made a fool of. Maybe a few days ago I would have dolefully submitted and accepted Edmund’s plan, but that hateful row has awoken a side of me I thought banished after marriage. I want to resist, I want to challenge for my life. For a kernel of happiness that is mine to enjoy outside of this wretched manor.
“Excuse me,” I whispered, backing slowly away from the two confused men, both staring at me with their perfectly green eyes. He wasn’t here for the horses. James Fitzwilliam is here to take me to bed and take my honour.
His emerald eyes are Edmunds guarantee nobody will question any heir such a vile act may produce.
The next morning at breakfast I was relieved to find Edmund alone. As soon as the servants poured tea and left, his china cup rattled down into the saucer and he spoke.It was not often he took pains to converse with me. Usually I watched his grey face, limp strands of fading grey hair nodding along with the newspaper and gossip rags he devoured. The paper remained crisply folded, he stared at me with his fingers steepled.“I believe I need to remind you of your duties as a wife, Vanessa.”“In three years I believe I have never caused you displeasure sir?”“I have never asked you for anything. There is a difference. This request is for your security as well as the estates. You know that if I were to die now, you would be in a poorhouse within six months unless your family rescues you.”“My family would never see me struggle,” I replied quickly, a flush of panic rising.“Until a child is born, my will contains a letter. A letter addressed to every gutter press in London, and your mothe
Finally my mother and Kitty, sated with sweet tea and biscuits to kill a horse, were placed back into their carriage. With firm promises to write with our intentions for the season I waved, standing on the gravel driveway.To my left were the stables, where no doubt the irritating Fitz was smugly anticipating tonight. He declared he was doing it for his own amusement, as though I was to be some sordid tale he could brag about in a gentleman’s club in later years.So casual, so easy-going. I was wound tightly, fit to explode. The mechanism inside me, the one that kept me stationary and suspended in boredom for so long had broken it’s catch and now I itched, ached to be active. I weighed up going to the stables, if only to trade barbs with him again. Maybe I would win this encounter. Currently I believe we are even. My slap for his trickery of yesterday.Knowing this would be unwise I walked the other way. Down the driveway, the same way my mothers dark, gilded carriage with two horses
To my surprise the room is warm, lit by a roaring fire and surprisingly inviting. Edmund must have arranged this, to make the experience less miserably cold. The first thing my vision landed on was the huge bed. Unwrinkled, perfectly starched white sheets beaming at me.The images of lewd women, eyes rolling, breasts exposed rose up in my memory. Was this to be my fate tonight? “Good evening Your Graces,” and I realised Fitz was standing behind us, leaning against the wall. He had his sleeves rolled up, his white work shirt unbuttoned by one to reveal a hint of light brown chest hair on his broad chest.He had one foot up, resting on the wall. So impossibly casual I wanted to throttle him. Had he no idea how much torment I had been through to even be standing here tonight?“When you have completed breeding, knock on the door twice. I shall then come through and inspect. I won’t be fooled Fitz.”“I assure you, I have absolutely no intentions of fooling you, Your Grace,” Fitz replied,
***FITZ POINT OF VIEW*** That husband of hers is a piece of work. I knew he was peculiar when he first approached me, all shambling limbs and angry venom. I put that down to his illness. Now I know he is furious that he cannot enjoy the beauty he has under his roof. What a beauty she is. I doubt she has any idea she is one of the rarest women in England. I have done my share of Seasons, balls and grand houses but she is spectacular. Those eyes are so blue, never have I met someone whose blue eyes are warm. They are sea-coloured, as are a thousand other women of virtue, but there is a depth, a warmth paired with the deep blue hue. It is why I was such a buffoon to her. Truth be told she completely took me by surprise when she turned around. I had expected her to be a dim, insipid creature. The typical Duchess, all teeth and no chin. She turned around and I found myself resorting to childish mockery. Of course I didn't have permission to ride Figaro. In fact the bastard nag threw me
Laying still on the bed I watch the last embers die in the black metal grate. The last sparks of orange and red were extinguished. How is this the same room that a few hours ago held a heat, a gaze so powerful it took my breath away. Green eyes, a low emerald glow that thrilled me to my core. I should hate what happened to me tonight. I'm lying here with another man's seed inside me. He'd rubbed, glided inside my most private of places. The panic I felt at my own slickness washed away when I realised its natural purpose. The delicious sensation of his touch was only heightened by what my body produced. The mystery behind the expressions and contortions of the women in the gossip rags was explained. Much more of Fitz manoeuvring, gently twisting inside me and I could have found myself doing exactly the same poses. Even my nipples were stiff. Before he even touched me I could feel them brushing the cotton fabric. It felt as though my mind was catching up to what my body already knew
He is in his usual white shirt, leather braces and tan working pants. His work boots are muddied and wet from the horse fields. I slowly walk towards him, unsure of what on earth I am meant to say. I want Jeremiah to return, yet at the same time I would give anything for a moment alone with this green-eyed oaf who mocks me so. “Good morning. Those are not for you.” “Are they not!” he exclaimed before continuing to take another bite. “Shame on you, those are for poor Jeremiah,” I added, stepping ever closer to him down the long corridor of stables. He stood up and leaned against the wall, continuing to enjoy his stolen snack. “Shame on you, he doesn’t even have the teeth for eating an apple. Where is the jam, the soft honey that would suit a man of his age?” he replied, throwing the apple core into one of the horse feed bags. “I…” losing my words as his white teeth bared in a triumphant smile of victory. “Where is your compassion, he is out there fetching Amber now with his poor
I was forced to dine with Edmund in the evening. My beautiful dusky pink dress was wasted on his pallid, disinterested expression. As a pudding of soft apple pie, a crumbling soft biscuits topping was served I couldn't help smiling to myself. "Pray tell me what is so amusing about a simple dessert?" Edmund asked, the spoon juddering in his hand. There was a vibrant vein of anger in his tone. I flushed in embarrassment, had it appeared I was mocking his frailty? "Oh, your Grace, it was a mistake of mine today. I took poor Jeremiah some treats from the kitchen as I mentioned at breakfast. Except I had not considered his age. The fresh, crunchy apples I brought were more appropriate for Amber. Almost nothing I gathered he could eat." He smirked and shook his head. "Ah my dear there is a lesson to be learnt there," stopping to slurp at his custard-coated spoon. His suit glittered with gold buttons and the navy jacket sung of expense and grandeur. His frame was not filling it with the sa
The fire is intense, much warmer than last night. Edmund must have realised that the one he ordered would not last the night. That is sweet of him. Yet the thought vanishes like snow on the wind as I see Fitz. I stood at the opposite side of the room today. He is immediately in both our eyelines. Stood tall and unsmiling, his strong, rounded jaw clenched the only emotion visible was in his green eyes. Those were fixed towards Edmund. “I don’t believe I need to repeat myself. Two loud knocks and I will enter for inspection.” Fitz merely nodded, "understood Your Grace," whilst I kept my gaze on the fire. Fitz wore the same white shirt, braces and breeches as this morning. Yet this man was so different to the joking, teasing chap. Every move seemed calculated and deliberate. Edmund took his leave and I kept my eyes on the fire until I heard the lock turn in the door. The clunk of the key in the door was paired with the thudding of my heart. Like the tightrope walker, a fantastical