Bertrice Small - Deceived

Aurora closed her eyes. Her breath was coming in hard little pants, and she struggled to keep the sound low lest she awaken Martha. She imagined a dark head on her breast, and tugged suggestively at her nipple. Would his mouth feel like that, or would it be much more wonderful than she could even imagine? The index finger of her right hand found that sensitive spot hidden within her nether lips, and she teased at it. What would it be like to lay naked in a bed with the man you loved? To feel his weight on you? To have your bare breasts crushed against his hard chest? To have his member inside you? Aurora worked her finger fiercely against her pleasure nub, and suddenly the lovely melting feeling swept over her, leaving her almost breathless with her release. Tonight, however, it wasn't quite enough, and she didn't understand why. It had always been enough before.

Aurora couldn't sleep. What was the matter with her? It was probably the excitement of the ball. It had been a lovely time, made even more so by the knowledge that she had contributed so much to the preparation. She had very much enjoyed helping the dowager, and she had learned a great deal of what was expected of the wife of a well-to-do man with a big house. There had been no parties or balls on St. Timothy. Her father had taken his pleasure in Jamaica or Barbados prior to his marriage, and during the brief period between her mother's death and his remarriage to Oralia. Unless there were other families on an island, society was scant.

It was not so here in England. They were a very social people, and she had to admit that she frankly enjoyed it. Not London society, as Cally had, but this country life suited Aurora very well. In the weeks since she had first arrived, she had ridden with her brother and Betsy, gone on several picnics with the Bowen sisters and their friends, and played tennis on the grass. The country families were friendly, and while proud of their lineage, they were not snobbish like the London society folk she had met.

If I meet a man I can love, and marry him, I shall always live in the country, Aurora decided. If she met a man. Well, she had met several nice gentlemen this evening who appeared eager to know her better. Me, or my dowry? she considered suspiciously. Of course, Justin St. John didn't need her dowry or her income. He was, according to the dowager, comfortably off in his own right.

"Sheep," the dowager said. "The family has the largest flocks in the area. Always did. They sell the wool in the open market, and poor Valerian has to pay a higher price to get it for his mills than if St. John would make a private arrangement with him. Of course, the rogue does it deliberately to irritate my grandson." She chuckled. "I keep telling Valerian that the best way to outfox St. John is to increase the size of his own flocks so he wouldn't need his cousin's wool."

So St. John's motives could not be disputed. If he showed an interest in Aurora, it had to be because he found her attractive, she decided. And he was attractive. Not in the brooding, dark way that Valerian was, but in a prettier, no, that was not a word one should use when describing a man. Softer? He didn't have that fierce, be-damned-to-you look the duke had. St. John laughed easily, as the tiny lines about his eyes and mouth indicated. It would be interesting getting to know him better, provided, of course, that he pursued his interest in her, but the dowager seemed to believe he would.

Aurora shifted onto her left side. She was finally beginning to get sleepy. Outside her windows, for she had not let Martha draw the draperies, she could see the sky beginning to lighten with the dawn. She really was tired. Her eyelids were very heavy now, and she yawned deeply several times. She tried to think of Justin St. John, but every time she did, Valerian Hawkesworth's handsome face replaced his cousin's. It was disturbing, but she could no longer concentrate, and finally fell asleep, her breathing measured and relaxed.

She slept until well past the noon hour, finally awakening to the sound of a bird outside her windows, singing its heart out. She lay quietly, enjoying the thrilling song. Obviously someone had found his mate, and was ready to build a nest, she chuckled to herself. Languidly she reached for the bellpull and yanked upon it.

"So, you're awake at last," Martha said, bustling into the bedroom. "You're the first up. The old dowager is still snoring her head off, Jane tells me; and the young duchess ain't blinked an eye yet. Tell me about the ball, and that Mr. St. John you met. Is he nice?"

"He seems to be," Aurora said. Then, "I want tea, Martha, and something to eat. I am ravenous!"

"Right away, miss. They say that Mr. St. John is very rich, and he don't have anyone but his mother. She's real anxious he take a wife. A girl would be lucky to get a man like that. Big house, big estate, I'm told."

"It seems to me you've been told a lot more than I have." Aurora laughed. "Does he have a mistress?"

"Miss Aurora! What a shocking thing for you to say. Nice girls aren't supposed to know about such women, or such arrangements," Martha scolded her mistress. "Your mama would have a fit to hear you talk like that! I think the young duchess is having a bad effect on you."

"Cally? No, Martha, she isn't. I take everything Cally says with a very large grain of salt. I just wondered why a man as eligible as Mr. St. John hadn't taken a wife yet. It's a reasonable question, I believe. If there is some lady who has captured his heart hiding in the shadows, I would be foolish to waste my time, or allow my heart to be broken. While the dowager thinks him suitable, the duke thinks him a cad. Such divergent opinions pique my curiosity."

"I think I'd listen to the old lady, miss. She does favor you, even more than the young duchess, if you'll forgive my saying so. She wants what's best for you, and will see you ain't hurt."

Martha hurried from the room, returning about a half hour later with a large tray which she set upon the piecrust table by the windows. Helping Aurora into a pretty peach silk dressing gown, she seated her at the table and began removing the silver domes covering the dishes and plates. There was a dish of eggs poached in sherry and heavy cream, a thick slice of country ham, flaky little croissants, a crock of sweet butter, a dish of new peas, a honeycomb, a silver bowl of freshly picked strawberries with a companion bowl of clotted cream, and a pot of tea. Aurora fell upon the food as if she had been starving, and in short order had cleaned up all of the plates and dishes. Sitting back in her chair, she sipped her saucer of tea, a contented smile upon her beautiful face.

"Delicious," she pronounced, "and please tell Cook I said so when you return the tray to the kitchens."

"He'll be pleased to have a compliment, I can tell you, for the young duchess does nothing but complain 'cause he don't fix her fancy meals like in London. Never a word of thanks he gets from her. I don't know where Miss Calandra's manners got to since she's come home to England," Martha grumbled.

"She is just very impressed by what she considers high society," Aurora defended her sister. "Eventually she'll know better."

"Hmmph" was Martha's comment. "Ought to be grateful for what you have done for her, miss, and behave properly like she was taught to do instead of affecting all those la-di-da ways, and Sally as bad."

"I think I shall return to bed," Aurora said. "I am still very tired. Ask Peters if there will be dinner tonight, or if we are to eat on trays. I hope it's trays. It would be lovely not to have to get dressed, and just lay about. I want to finish reading the history of the Hawkesworth family. With all I've been doing these last weeks to help the dowager plan the ball, I have had no time to myself."

"Don't know why you're reading about this family, miss. You ain't going to be part of it," Martha remarked sharply.

"The duke and Mr. St. John are related through a greatgrandfather," Aurora said innocently. "I would like to understand the familial connection, Martha. Besides, you know how much I love history, and this family's history is really wonderful."

"I didn't know the duke and your Mr. St. John was related," Martha said, surprised.

"Well," Aurora teased her maid, "I cannot believe the belowstairs grapevine was so negligent that it didn't inform you of such a pertinent fact about Mr. St. John, who is certainly not mine."

"Not yet," Martha said with a grin. Then she picked up the tray with its empty dishes. "I'll take these down. Are you available for the duchess if Sally asks?"

"Not today, if I can avoid it, Martha. I do not think I can cope with Cally's discontent and whining. And now that she is with child, none of us will have any peace, I suspect, until that poor baby is born. You will remember that Cally has never been an easy patient."

Martha shook her head. "Gawd help us," she agreed as she departed the bedroom carrying the silver tray. "It's going to be as if she was the first and only woman who carried a child, and every little inconvenience will be magnified out of proportion." The door closed behind her.

Aurora chuckled at Martha's astute evaluation of the situation. It was going to be a very interesting few months to come, she decided.

"It isn't fair!" Calandra, Duchess of Farminster wailed. "It just isn’t isn't fair! I look like some shoat ready to be slaughtered. I can bear no more. I cannot! I want this child to be born!"

It was a glorious late September day, and Cally was sprawled in a chaise upon the lawns leading to the garden. She was one of those rare creatures that pregnancy did not become. Her alabaster skin had grown sallow. Her raven's-wing-black hair was lackluster. Her face and hands were puffy, and unless she remained reclining for a good part of the day, her feet had a tendency to swell. Worse, with almost three more months until she delivered, her belly was quite distended.

Restlessly, her fingers plucked at a small tray of sugar comfits, discarding one, then another, and finally popping the third choice into her mouth. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she watched her sister playing tennis with Justin St. John. Aurora looked absolutely beautiful in the simple Indian calico print gown. It was really a house dress, but equally suitable to such a rough-and-tumble game as tennis. When had Aurora's waist been so supple and slender as it was now? For a brief moment Cally hated her, and then she felt guilty.

Aurora had been so patient and kind all the summer long, and Cally was not so big a fool that she didn't realize it. Still, she found it irritating to watch her sister having such a good time when she could not. Not that it was the sort of good time Cally was truly envious of, for it was not. And the beaus! There had been any number of them Aurora had flirted with and then discarded. But those young men she refused always remained to become her friends. Cally didn't understand it. One thing remained constant, however. Justin St. John. He was not discarded, and Cally doubted he would have gone if he had been. It was becoming very obvious that he intended to make Aurora his wife.

Cally didn't blame her sister for playing the field, for taking her time, for holding back before agreeing to marriage. If only I had really known what was involved in being married, Cally thought, I should not have been so quick to jump. If I hadn't, it would be Aurora who would be lying here, her belly all blown up, while I flirted with all the gentlemen. But then, of course, I shouldn't be a duchess, Cally considered. Still, she was beginning to wonder if it was really worth it just to be the Duchess of Farminster. In retrospect, all she had needed was a rich, doting husband who would let her live in London and become one of its celebrated hostesses. A rich old husband. A man with grown, or half-grown children who would not make unpleasant demands upon her person, but would be satisfied that she was young, and beautiful, and desired by all his friends, who would, of course, envy him his young and beautiful wife. It would be easy to love a man like that, Cally decided. If only she hadn't listened to Aurora. Aurora was really to blame for all of this nastiness.

Cally's eyes narrowed again. Aurora would be sorry soon enough. Justin St. John looked to be very much the same sort of animal that her own husband was. He would make demands upon Aurora, and Aurora would surely suffer, hopefully, even more than Cally had. And, Cally knew, St. John would not take Aurora to London. He would keep her down here in the country, giving her child after child until her beauty was ruined. And I shall be up in London having a wonderful time, Cally thought. Yes! I shall have my revenge eventually. And St. John didn't even have a title! He was simply a wealthy man with good if nebulous connections to the Hawkesworth family, or so Aurora said.