The Fancy (37 page)

have visited?”

“Mother? A friend? Don’be daft!” Evan

answered.

“A lover?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Where does that leave us Evan?”

He had no answers and so, it left the brothers

with their hands tied.

“We wil give her more time, see if she final y

returns.”

“If she doesn’t?”

“We shal hope for the best, and prepare for the

worst.”

Evan didn’t like it, but he had no idea of where

to start looking if indeed she were missing.

“Stay for tea?” Quinton asked, “I never

understood your leaving to begin with.”

Evan stared at his brother and knew he could

never tel him the reason he left was to put as much

distance between himself and his wife as he could.

Lady Sarah Caine had done something to him. He

had spent too many days slipping off into daydreams

of her; daydreams of what it would be like to kiss her

lips, caress her skin, lie with her as his brother did.

His brother – she was his
brother’s
wife. His brother

the Earl. What was he compared to him? What could

he offer her that she didn’t already have and then

some? No, he knew that it was best that he leave his

brother’s home.

“Wel ?” Quinton urged.

“Aye, then I must get back.”

“Why?”

“Mother?”

Quinton nodded, stood and led the way from

the study; as they progressed through the massive

rooms of expensive art and French furnishings, they

encountered various servants gathered here and

there al a twitter. Joining up with his wife in the day

room, his brother at his side, he leaned over kissing

her brow.

She was sitting across from El en, both women

basking in the sun coming through the tal glass

windows with her smal son, Gerard playing at their

feet and of course lying at Sarah’s feet was Moose.

“And what are you two laughing about?” he

asked his wife, looking to El en as wel .

“Have you read, there is to be a bal ; a grand

affair, given by the Duke of Birchley-Keep. I was just

reading it to Lady Caine, tel ing her she needed to

start thinking of a gown…”

“And I told her, not to be ridiculous! I would not

even consider entertaining the notion of an invite, or

attending should such a miracle occur.”

Quinton stood giving his wife that look that she

was very familiar with. She cut him off saying, “Don’t

look at me that way! If your mother was not

acceptable to the aristocracy, what chance do I

have, no… leave it alone.”

“I wil not leave it alone! Should an invite arrive, I

would certainly hope that you would attend, that we –

Lord and Lady Caine, would attend together. And

incase ‘said’ miracle takes place, we wil resume our

dance lessons!” Quinton ordered.

“Have you forgotten, I am with child?” She

placed her hand upon her smal , expanding mid-

section. He turned to El en, “When is it?”

She read the article once more, a bright smile

spread upon her face, “She wil be in her fifth month,

barely showing, not so much that I cannot make a

fitting gown for her to look her best. I wil start on it

immediately! It wil have to be gorgeous, why – I

could end up sewing for others this way! Oh Lady

Caine, you simply must go!”

Sarah sighed, looking from El en to her

husband, and tilted her head to include Evan, who

remained quiet, once more however she found his

eyes plastered to her every word, turning from him

she ignored the things his eyes said to her; shaking

her head, “No invitation has yet, been sent.” She

reminded them.

“However, in the event that one arrives, we wil

attend, is that clear?” Quinton stated.

With little choice, Sarah nodded, “Hmmm,

since I am to expect another miracle, should one

occur, yes – Milord, we wil attend.”

He bent, tipped her head back by her chin and

kissed her lips, “Our mock bal shal take place

tonight, El en, dress yourself, and tel that spouse of

yours, the Lord has spoken, we are having a bal , al

servants are invited – we must prepare.” Sarah

sighed, but a smile spread across her face. The

servants of WhistHirst were becoming accustomed

to the impromptu bonfires, parties and now, a bal .

The affair ended up being a laughing matter; literal y

- more than anything. A night of wonderful fun, where

the Lord put on grand airs, teaching his Lady proper

steps and etiquette should something as miraculous

as an invitation show up for the Duke’s bal .

The season had begun for such things, with al

the other Marquis’, Earls, Countesses, Viscounts

and Barons fol owing the lead of their Duke – who

was one step below their Queen and King.

To receive an invitation from the Duchess of

Birchley-Keep was as much a stamp to say, you

were now not only welcome within the clique of the

elite but considered one of them. In the days that

fol owed, Quinton and Sarah had a fun time dancing

about their mansion. No matter what they were

doing, if they by chance ended up in the same room

together, one rushed to the other and as one, they

began dancing, from one room to another, down

long and broad hal ways.

Most of the servants viewed it with laughter,

smiles, and sighs as if watching the play of a

romantic fairytale. While it wasn’t intentional on

Sarah’s part, it happened anyway, she learned the

steps so fluidly that their movements began to flow

and glide as one. Often forgetting exactly what they

had been doing previously to the welcomed

encounter of being drawn as magnets, to dance.

It was enchanting and surprising, that they were

once more, fal ing even deeper in love.

Quinton’s reward for the enchantment he

showered upon his wife was the arrival of, one

miraculous
invite.

The house was in an uproar when the lone rider

came trotting up the drive, dressed in his smart

riding suit, clearly the messenger for the Duke.

riding suit, clearly the messenger for the Duke.

Dismounting from his horse, he was immediately

shown thru the massive manor, holding onto the

precious invite, every room that he passed, the

servants scattered to inform those who had not seen.

Reaching the opulent sun room where Lord and

Lady Caine sat in the company of El en in discussion

– they were both taken aback by Heathcote’s

announcement, “Milord, Milady, a messenger has

arrived from the Duchess of Birchley-Keep.” He

stepped back so that the messenger could step

forward to pass the invitation to Quinton, whose

smile could have easily lit up the deepest darkest

cave, turning to El en, who just remembered to close

her mouth, he passed the invite, “Wil you please –

do the honors?” He asked ever such a gentlemanly

manner.

Sarah sat with her hands covering her mouth

as El en stood shaking, trying not to hop up and

down as she read it out.

“
The Duke and Duchess of Birchley-Keep –

hereby request the pleasure of your presence, Lord

and Lady Quinton Thaddeus Caine’s company at

our formal, annual summer ball… at Birchley-

Keep… Saturday, 13th of July, 1831. We request

that your acceptance of this invitation be returned

with our messenger.”

El en looked up at Sarah, who sighed and

looked up at her husband, who turned to the

messenger stating, “We would be delighted – yes,

we accept.”

The invitation was passed to him, and he

passed it to his wife, “The honor is al yours.”

With the precision of a wel -oiled machine,

Heathcote was there, holding a tray with an ink wel

and quiver, “Milady.” He offered it to her. Sighing,

Sarah took out the empty square parchment

included, and penned their acceptance.

And just in case, she passed it to Quinton to

look over, making sure she’d done it correctly. With

a nod and a smile he passed it to the messenger,

who nodded to al as wel ; turning – he was shown to

the servant’s kitchen where he would be fed, given

refreshment and then sent on his way.

Outside, his horse was given the same

treatment – while in the parlor, Quinton stood with a

satisfied expression, arms crossed over his chest as

if he were king and of course, with head tilted, he

peered down at his wife as if he’d acquired a most

grand victory.

El en could only clap gleeful y, her mind

occupied with the gown she’d made for Sarah, she

must look it over to be sure – al was done to

perfection.

The Ball

With her hair twisted, twirled, curled and

teased, and delicate tendrils hanging at her temples,

little kiss curls here and there and accents of silk

thread throughout, she was lovely beyond words; her

gown of julep green silk, with its cream lace and

delicate orange flowers, green leaves and yel ow

edges, added to her beauty. The low v neckline

showed her gleaming, lustrous skin with a healthy

cleavage, – which Quinton had a hard time keeping

his eyes from, wondering how many other men would

enjoy the same, as an intense surge of

possessiveness reared its head. Standing next to

her, waiting in line to be introduced at the grand bal ,

was the first he’d seen of the gown, and certainly his

first seeing the very low décol etage that showed

how beautiful her breasts were.

He should have insisted to see her before

leaving home, but she’d worn a stunning shawl about

her shoulders, hiding what was no longer hidden, her

ample bosom.

He didn’t know what to say, or what to do. His

eyes would try to leave them, but he found them

eyes would try to leave them, but he found them

drawn to stare once more. This was his wife,

granted, she was with child, however, that smal

detail seemed to enhance them al the more.

He had to remind himself to move forward,

there were only three couples in the cue, who

introduced themselves to them and each other, and

he was not mistaken that both men, fought not to

look at his wife’s cleavage – Quinton found himself in

a quandary. After al he was the one who insisted

they attend the bal .

He was the one who insisted that she should

be her amazing best so that al could see her shine.

Wel , looking at her, too much was shining and

because of where they stood, there wasn’t a thing he

could do about it, but smile, greet and bear it. She

was smiling ever so lovely, like the perfect little lady,

and those eyes of hers, cut to him just enough to let

him know, she was wel aware of her charms and

how desirable they were.

“Grrrrrgh.” He growled under his breath.

She simpered and carried on.

It was their turn.

The groom took their card, reading it out in a

booming voice to the large audience attending, “Earl

of WhistHirst, Lord Quinton and Lady Sarah Caine”.

Sarah looked out upon a vast attendance, the

magnificence of it al almost took her breath away.

To be where she was then, knowing where she’d

come from, made her fight to keep her emotions in

check.

“Are you ready?” Her husband whispered in her

ear and taking her arm, they graceful y descended

the stairs to find that many in the room, were wishing

to see them, greet them; some out of curiosity,

others out of admiration over their hard work with the

Cholera epidemic. Some women rushed up to be

the first to know Sarah in hopes of being her friend,

other’s stood back and observed her from a

distance. The Duke and Duchess made their way to

them and stood speaking with her and Quinton for

longer than they had done with most other guests.

When it was time for the dinner to be served,

Sarah felt only a minor tickle of fear, running the

silverware arrangement over in her mind, she didn’t

wish to make a mistake and embarrass her

husband. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried

because everything he’d taught her, everything Lena

had taught her, al of it, snapped into place.