Lisa Cach - Wish List

It was not a pleasant thought.

Neither was it an undigestible thought. There was much she could swallow if it meant becoming Mrs. Brent, and she was almost embarrassed to admit that a fair deal of the persuasion had been done by Richard's mouth on her hand.

She had relived a dozen times his seduction of her hand, and with each remembrance her body flushed anew with pleasure, her blood warming and tingling in intimate places. She schemed in her mind for how they might next find a private moment together, when he could again take her hand and ravish it.

Or ravish all of her. Let him have her! Then they would have to marry, and she would rush to the prize without having to play all the steps in the game. Only the prize was no longer marriage for the sake of marriage, but was Richard himself.

She saw his tenderness for his children; she saw his vulnerability that he hid behind his blunt words; she saw that his scandalous decisions regarding his children were the only choices that had true honor to them, not the false honor of society. He was a good man, with a true and gentle heart.

And he made her body feel things she would not speak of to Penelope or Mrs. Twitchen for all the cakes in France.

She was so consumed with thoughts of Richard that she had eaten only half the gingerbread on her plate. It sat now in a pool of lemon sauce on the small table with her cold cup of tea.

"Is something amiss?" she asked Mrs. Twitchen, as the woman sat next to her in the window seat. She pulled up her feet to make more space.

"Nothing so far, I do hope, and it is my duty to prevent what I may. Only this is so very awkward and embarrassing, Mr. Brent being a relative of sorts. And from such a good family! One hesitates to say anything against him, yet I feel I must, I simply must warn you away from him."

"Is it the mother of his children that distresses you?"

"You know about that, then?" the lady asked, surprised.

"He told me himself."

"Then he told you as well about the other woman, the young lady of good family whom he jilted?"

Vivian sucked in a breath, taken by the same surprise with which one slips and falls on the ice.

"I see he did not," Mrs. Twitchen said. "Dear me, I do hate telling such tales, and about one almost in my own family! It was a horrible scandal. They were engaged, and he broke it off without explanation. The girl's father sued for breach of contract, and besides for paying her a settlement Mr. Brent was forced to put an apology accepting all blame in the Gazette. Of course, no one will have anything to do with him now."

"Surely he had some reason?"

"If he did, he never spoke publicly of it. And who would dare to ask?"

"I can hardly warrant that he is guilty of such a thing," Vivian said, willing herself to disbelieve.

"Mr. Brent may have kind places in his heart, but that does not mean you can trust him. Men are not always what they seem when they have their eye on a young woman and are pursuing her. Remember, even a tyrant like Napoleon probably had one or two good traits amidst all the rest, and I imagine he could be as charming as any other when he pleased."

"Mr. Brent does not seem like such a man," Vivian said faintly, her view of him turned upside down, tumbling away from the image she had built, all her growing affections now in peril of destruction.

"Be careful, my dear," Mrs. Twitchen said. "My husband and I are in agreement. We don't want to see you hurt, or what chances you have at making a match ruined."

"Thank you," Vivian said.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon staring out the window at nothing. And eating gingerbread.

December 28

The Feast of the Holy Innocents

The great hall at Haverton rang with the excited shouts and laughter of children. The puppet show had just finished, and now the thirty or so children were going at the sweets and the games. Adults milled among them, imposing the barest sense of order.

"It's a Sudley tradition on Innocents' Day," Penelope said, standing beside Vivian as they observed the chaos. "I remember coming here as a child, myself. All the children of the parish are invited, no matter who their parents might be. Mama never liked me playing with the common children, but it didn't bother me overmuch that they were present, and really, it was easy enough to stay away from them."

Watching the children, Vivian thought they showed far less snobbishness than Penelope. The well- and poorly dressed played games and ran around with the same shrieking joy, and those who stuck to their own kind seemed to do so only because they were known friends.

Her eye lit upon Richard keeping an eye on William, who was trying to play with boys larger than himself. Her heart contracted, and she felt suddenly wistful, wondering what it would have been like to grow up protected by such a loving hand. She had never met a man like Richard Brent, who was so closely involved in the rearing of his children.

Mrs. Twitchen had tried to warn her away from him, and the tale of the jilting preyed upon her mind, adding its weight to the mistress and the children as things she would have to accept, but she had to believe that once she heard Richard's side, he would prove to have had good reason for his actions.

Surely there must have been good reason? She could not have been so wrong about him, could she?

The tables of sweets beckoned to her, and she excused herself from Penelope and wound her way toward them.

Three or four women guarded the tables, ensuring that greedy fingers did not wreak havoc. They talked among themselves, and nodded their greetings to Vivian as she looked over the goods on offer.

"They're darlings, but it's a bit of a madhouse, don't you think?" someone said beside her.

She turned to see Lady Sudley. "It's a lovely idea," she said, feeling a little shy.

"And no doubt every child will go home sick from overeating and excitement." And then to Sara Brent, who had appeared at her side, reaching for a jam tart, "Sara! Little elf, what are you up to?"

"Papa said I could have some," Sara said, her hand hovering over the prize.

"Did he? Well, I suppose that's all right then," Lady Sudley consented. "Miss Ambrose, this is Sara Brent."

"Hello, Miss Brent," Vivian said, waggling her fingers at the girl.

Sara said nothing.

"Sara, Miss Ambrose is going to watch after you for a bit. Do be good for her," Lady Sudley said. And then to Vivian: "You don't mind, do you? There is so much for me to oversee…" She trailed off, looking at Vivian expectantly.

"No, not at all," Vivian agreed.

"Splendid," Lady Sudley said, and with that the woman glided off.

Sara looked up at her, then grabbed the jam tart and took a bite.

"Is it good?" Vivian asked. If it had been anyone's child but Richard's, she would have been at ease, for it would not have mattered if they did or did not like each other. But with this child it did matter, and in consequence she was tense.

Sara nodded.

"Then maybe I'll have one." She picked up one of the small plates and put a tart on it. It looked small and alone on the plate. She put another beside it.

Sara watched her with interest.

"What about those things with the sugar on them, do they look good to you?"

Sara chewed her tart and nodded again.

"I think so, too." She added one to her plate. "The bits with the sausage?"

Sara made a face.

"No, no good, I agree. Who wants sausage when they can have… lemon!"

"I like marchpane," Sara said.

"So do I! Oh, marchpane is an excellent choice. Will you choose a piece for me?"

Sara complied. "The little cakes are pretty."

"So they are," Vivian said. "Which do you think is prettiest?"

They went down the length of two tables, Vivian grabbing a second plate to hold all the treats that Sara chose. The overseeing women gave her questioning looks that she tried to ignore.

"Are you going to eat all that?" Sara asked her in amazement when both small plates were piled high.

"Yes, I believe I will."

"Papa won't let me eat so many."

"I'm a big girl, and I can eat as many as I wish, but maybe I need some help. Would you like to help me?"

Sara nodded and followed her over to some empty chairs. There the girl soon began directing Vivian in which to eat when, and nibbled two or three treats herself.

The plates were nearly empty, and she and the little girl, she thought, were on fine and comfortable terms when Richard found them.

"Papa! Miss A'brose ate this many!" Sara said, holding her two hands out, the fingers spread. "She ate more than Stinky!"

"Stinky?" Vivian asked.

"Our old greedy dog at my house in Wiltshire," Richard explained.

"Stinky ate my supper, and he ate Willie's pudding, and he runs around the floor going snort snort snort," Sara said, imitating the grunting dog. "He'll eat anything, even green meat-"

"I think Miss Ambrose understands," Richard interrupted, biting his lip.

"Cook yells at Stinky. He goes to the kitchen and steals things. He's a very bad dog. He eats horse poo."

"Oh. Ah. I see," Vivian said.

"Then he licks my face," Sara said. "Ewww!"

"But you love Stinky, don't you?" Richard asked his daughter.

"He smells bad. Can we go home now, Papa?"

"Soon, sweeting. In another week."

"I'm going to go play now," Sara said, and slid off her chair.

"Excuse yourself," Richard reminded the girl.

"Your pardon," Sara said to Vivian, then the child gave her a quick curtsy and ran off.

"Horse poo?" Vivian said faintly. She had thought she and Sara were getting along so well, and here the girl had been wondering if she would eat horse manure off the ground, given the chance.