Lady Bess

“Right then. I am curious about two things—Bold Tim and this merry widow.” Bess smiled.

Donna sighed. “He is very adept at flirting, your Dunkirk. I wish Robby would flirt with me.”

“He is not my Dunkirk, and what the deuce does that mean, you wish Robby would flirt with you?”

“Come on—I am starving. Take me in for breakfast before I go home to pack and never mind my silliness,” Donna answered.

Bess fell in step beside her friend but wouldn’t let go. “Donna, why did you say that? Robby adores you.”

“I suppose he does,” Donna replied.

Bess eyed her but said, “After breakfast, let’s take the gig and drive over to the parish. I have some clothing I would like to donate for the fair the new minister is arranging.”

“Oh, splendid,” Donna agreed immediately. “I had a look at the new minister when I was in town the other day—have you seen him?”

“Mr. Wenhurst?” Bess answered absently, “Yes I have.”

“He is quite beautiful, is he not?”

Bess sighed. “He is rather good looking.” She turned wide-open eyes at her friend. “I have never heard you speak like that about any man but Robby!”

“Yes, well, I am married, not blind,” Donna teased and then added. “We should have your cook fix us some tarts to take with us for him.”

“Devil you say.” Bess laughed. “You are a strumpet. A married strumpet. I shall tell Robby!” she teased.

Donna shrugged. “Please, please do. Perhaps he may be roused enough to pay me a little court … like he used to do.”

“Brat,” Bess said, shaking her head, “you have already been courted, engaged, and wed. Do you think he must go on forever courting? He has settled into comfortable.”

“I don’t want him comfortable. I mean, yes, comfortable is nice, but I want him to flirt with me, and I have tried to get him to do so—” She flung her hands in the air. “—but he goes on in his happy, merry way, so there you are, and, yes, I find the minister quite beautiful.”

This worried Bess for a moment, and she said gently, “You know, some men, like your Robby, well, they are more apt to rave about hunting than romance. That is the way of it, but in his heart you are all he thinks of. You both enjoy the same things, so you know that about him.”

“Yes, but I want him to pay me more court, flirt with me … talk about more than sport with me.”

“Then show him what you need.”

“I don’t wish to show him. He should know.”

“What kind of an answer is that? How should he know if you don’t tell him?”

“I have hinted enough,” said Donna impatiently.

“Some men, sporting men, like Robby, need more than a hint. They need to be led by their ear,” Bess said on a laugh.

“Well, I don’t like it. I am too young to be cast aside like an old boot!”

“Donna!” Bess objected. “That isn’t the case at all.” However, she saw from the set of her friend’s mouth that ‘talk’ would not improve this situation. Perhaps Donna was right, and Robby needed to take notice of something more than horses, hunting, and sport. “And what would it hurt to flirt him up and show him how you feel and what you need?”

Donna eyed her and sighed. “I suppose.”

* * *

Searington House was a modest estate that sat on eleven acres of groomed and richly designed parkland. It boasted a stable of twenty stalls, all polished oak and brass. Flanking and behind the immediate house grounds were another one hundred acres of woodlands and green open fields.

A beautiful driveway, with old and regal oaks whose branches met and created a tunnel of green, led to the front courtyard. Exquisite horses in their various fenced paddocks grazed leisurely and presented a picture that was lovely and quite riveting.

Late afternoon brought a graying sky, and the earl glanced up for a moment as he strolled with Lady Sonhurst’s kid-gloved fingers on his arm. She had remained for lunch, and it had been all he could do to keep her from leading him to his bedroom.