A Seven Year Hitch (4 page)

Once everyone had been given the opportunity to refresh themselves after their journeys, an alfresco tea was arranged on the terrace.

Throughout the two weeks, lunch and tea included all the family from the very youngest to the very oldest. So when the Marquis of Trevellyn stepped outside he was greeted with a great babble of noise and activity. Babies were being bounced on knees and cooed over before being passed on to other family members. Children were chasing each other around; in and out of the tables, snatching up food as they went and eating on the run. Others were playing ‘Piggy in the Middle’ on the grass and a few were skipping. Occasionally, adults would intercept by grabbing up the nearest child for a quick hug and swing through the air or by catching the ball and throwing it far for the children to chase.  Aunt Clara even joined in the skipping amidst delightful squeals, her ample bosom bouncing and her long beads swaying precariously.

“Didn’t think I could do it eh?” she said albeit breathlessly, after counting twenty skips in a row. “Thought the old girl was past it, didn’t you? Well there’s a challenge to you young’ uns. See if you can beat that!”

There was much teasing and laughter from everyone and the infrequent tear of a child who had fallen was quickly wiped away as magical kisses were administered.

It was a novel experience for Trevellyn whose own relatives, barring his immediate family, tended to be move reserved and definitely saw frivolity as a weakness. Children were only seen for half an hour after tea and were expect
ed to sit quietly. His parents thankfully, had not adhered to this format and had spent a great deal of time with him and his two older sisters, but by in large it had just been the five of them. 

He saw them amidst the
throng of Wilmshurst relatives; very much at ease and accepted as part of the family, and he knew that it was what he wanted also. His years abroad had been solitary, unable to trust any but his closest comrades and devoid of family life, children and laughter. This was what he wanted, a large and happy family where frivolity was the norm not the exception and where gatherings of this kind were a regular occurrence. 

Sinc
e his return from the continent his mother had been dropping subtle hints about marriage. He was twenty-eight and was himself beginning to think about taking a wife, especially as he had no brother to fulfil the role of heir and he could not stomach the thought of the title and responsibilities passing to his staid cousin, Bertram. Whilst in London recently, his mother had introduced him to several young ladies and he now realized that a number of them were present at this house party. Obviously she would be delighted to make the honorary family membership into an actuality.

Although his parents were deeply in love, their marriage had been arranged and initially they had not particularly liked one another. The favourite bedtime story for all three offspring had been about how Father had fallen in love with Mother when she had thrown a vase at his head with unerring accuracy and left a scar on his forehead. Trevellyn himself did not believe he could be so fortunate as to meet a soul mate as his parents had done, but he felt sure he would be content with a suitable woman with whom he could share a mutual affection and who would manage his house efficiently.

One young lady who appeared to fulfil all his criteria for a potential bride was at that moment he noticed, talking to their hostess.  He smiled to himself as he realized that the next two weeks would give him ample opportunity to pursue his acquaintance with Miss Charlotte Pearson. She was tall and elegant with artfully arranged golden curls that framed a classically beautiful face; large blue eyes, a patrician nose, finely sculpted lips and skin that was as smooth as alabaster. He was very aware of an air of serenity about her even now, amidst the lively gathering, and an inherent gracefulness in her movements.

Trevelly
n’s gaze then slid to Erica who by contrast, had a suppressed energy about her. She was over half a head shorter than her cousin and a riot of rich, chestnut hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Every so often she would raise a hand to sweep the locks from her face but other than that there was no attempt to restrain them with either clips or bands. She was he noted, pretty rather than beautiful with green eyes enhanced by sweeping long lashes that were much darker in colour than her hair, full lips and a pert nose dusted with freckles. Next to Charlotte, her complexion appeared bronzed and spoke of much time spent in outdoor pursuits.

His gaze then swept over her curvaceous figure and he was surprised by the jolt of desire that ran through him. He was still trying to gain control of the inappropriate thoughts he was having when she was enticed into playing ball with the children. Watching her chasing around, hips swaying and breasts straining against the fabric of her dress made him want to run his hands over those luscious curves and…

“Come and help yourself to food and drink,” Gerald interrupted his very pleasant revelry. “If you dally too long everything will be gone and it’s a long time until dinner.”

Trevellyn found himself being drawn into conversation with several of the gentlemen who had placed themselves around the food table. Some of them had seen active service and inevitably talk turned to the defeat of Napoleon and the peace talks.  Although he made relevant contributions to the discussion his attention kept wandering back to Erica who continued to play with the children.
After partaking of some refreshment, he excused himself and made his way onto the lawn just as the ball sailed over her head towards him. He caught it neatly in one hand and as she turned he held it out to her. She cupped her hands, waiting for him to throw it to her but he shook his head and said, “You’ll have to come and get it!” 

Erica moved towards him and reached her hand out but just as she went to take the ball he threw it to the children waiting behind. With whoops of delight the children scrambled for it and so began a game of boys against girls. Before long, several other adults joined in the fun but Trevellyn made sure he stayed close enough to Erica to foil any attempt by her to get the ball.

              It did not take long for her to work out his tactics and so the next time the ball came winging her way and he intercepted as expected, she shoved him hard with all her might.  Taken completely by surprise and caught off balance by the fact that he had leapt to make the catch, he stumbled forward, made a valiant effort to save himself but was thwarted by three-year-old Thomas who grabbed his leg. The inevitable happened and he fell, face down on the grass and Thomas, laughing gleefully, plonked down on top of him and cried,

“You’re my prisoner!!”

Erica bent over and said, “Don’t underestimate the enemy, My Lord. Did your mother never warn you about playing with the big girls?”

Raising her voice she turned to the younger children and incited them. “Thomas needs help, Quick, don’t let him escape!” She then precipitately moved a distance away as little bodies flew onto him with war c
ries amid much laughter. No boy of-course, whatever their age be it three or thirty, could resist and so, while the ladies retreated to the terrace for a glass of refreshing lemonade, they wrestled each other in an impressive brawl until all were hot, dishevelled and satisfyingly weary.

“Is the e
nemy vanquished do you think?” the Duke of Penkhill asked Erica as they sat together watching the combatants sprawled on the grass. She turned to him and noted the telling glimmer in his eye that proclaimed he was well aware of whom had started the fight.

“Oh most definitely, Simian
,” she replied with a smile. “I feel sure that in future the enemy will think twice before engaging in such underhand manoeuvres.”

“On the contrary my dear. Being the sire of the enemy, I am very much afraid you may have turned a skirmish into a war!”

“Then I rely on you sir to point out the dangers to him. I am a formidable opponent and on home ground.  I will not lose!” Erica said with confidence.

“Don’t be too sure of that!” h
e quipped.

Just then a servant claimed Erica’s attention so the Duke turned to his wife and smiled conspiratorially at her before murmuring,
“With any luck they will both be winners!”

“There is no reason we cannot give luck a helping hand. I do believe you are right, my love; Erica is just the wife for him. I had initially thought
Charlotte would be ideal but I agree with you, she is too tranquil and would let him have too much of his own way!”

Gradually, children were gathered up and people began to drift indoors in order to wash and dress for dinner. Erica, as she made her way inside, was startled when she felt a warm breath on her ear an
d felt a firm hand on her elbow; halting her progress.

“Well played
Miss Wilmshurst but beware, I will have my revenge,” His quietly spoken words tickled her neck and made her tingle.

She laughed as she replied,
“Promises. Promises. I don’t frighten that easily, My Lord. And you would do well to remember that I am a fearsome adversary!”

“But you’ve never had me as an opponent, have you?
You’re not playing with the boys now my dear and you may not like the consequences when you lose,” he murmured.

“Consequences?” s
he queried

“There are always consequences in war, Miss Wilmshurst, especially for the losing side
,” he smiled knowingly.

Erica was determined to win a small victory now by having the final word in this exchange. “Well then, you had better prepare yourself for I won’t be the one on the losing side. Until later, My Lord.”

But as she moved forward he restrained her by simply tightening his hold on her elbow. “I look forward to our next encounter, my dear.”

Before she could think of a suitable reply, he had turned away and
was conversing with his father the Duke, who raised his eyebrows at Erica as if to say ‘I warned you!’

The evening meal was expressly for the grown-ups but, although it was served in the formal dining room, it retained the informal ambience of the house party.  Seating plans according to rank and title were not in place and therefore, when dinner was announced by Boodle, everyone flowed in and sat anywhere available.

Trevellyn, having taken himself to task for being distracted by Erica who definitely did not fit into his idea of model Marchioness and future Duchess material, took the opportunity of seating himself beside Charlotte. He engaged her in small talk until the first course had been removed when, the rules of etiquette that demanded you spoke only to those either side of you, were ditched in favour of conversations that included anyone who had something to contribute; whether they be opposite or at the other end of the table.

“Did any of you hear about Lord Burton’s recent stay at The Poultney?” Gerald asked of those around him.

“No, but I’m sure you are eager to tell us,” Stephen; Charlotte’s brother replied.

“He booked into the hotel and of-course he had those two great big dogs with him”

“That isn’t gossip! Everyone knows they go everywhere with him!” Stephen interrupted.

“I’m sure there’s a r
eason Gerald mentioned the dogs isn’t there Gerald?” asked Great Uncle James. “I mean you wouldn’t mention them just to string out the story now would you my boy?”

“Of-course not Uncle. W
ould I do a thing like that? Anyway, he was shown to his suite by a young porter who was rather timid and seemed afraid of the dogs,” Gerald continued.

“I say” Stephen interrupted again, “How do you know he was afraid of the dogs? Did he say he was?”

“Hush Stephen and let Gerald get on with the story,” Charlotte told her brother.

“Actually he has a point
,” said Great Uncle James. “You just cannot surmise he was scared of dogs. He might actually like dogs but have been afraid of Burton; which would be quite understandable: He’s enough to frighten anybody!”

“Stop it, uncle. You’re as bad as Stephen
,” Erica cried. “Carry on Gerald, before I give up the will to live!”

“
Burton seeing the boy was uncomfortable, ordered the dogs to lie down but the porter thought he had been speaking to him and so when Burton looked up it was to find the poor lad lying on the floor; trembling like a leaf,” Gerald related.

“Oh no! The poor boy
!” Charlotte uttered.

“I don’t believe that
,” was Erica’s response.

“It’s tr
ue,” replied Gerald “Apparently Burton was so amused by the incident; he gave the lad a huge tip of some twenty guineas.”

“You made that story up!” Aunt Clara accused “That cannot possibly be true
.”

“Yes, Wilmshurst,” Stephen added, “That was almost as bad as one of Charlie’s anecdotes.”

“Oh steady on, old chap,” Stephen responded in outraged tones. “My anecdotes are all true. I have very trustworthy and accurate informants I’ll have you know.”

“So have any
of your informants told you about Lord Burton, Charlie?” asked Trevellyn. “Just to have the story corroborated, Gerald, you understand.”

“Afraid not. I have to say
Gerald; I feel you have been taken in by one of these town myths.”