Bolero M. 81

The following day, Lady Fitzroy discovered Ana seated, reading, on a wooden bench in the town’s idyllic public garden beside the river.

This was most unusual, and, uncertain of the true intent behind Ana’s current choice of reading location, she paused to observe her for a moment.

Ana was dressed as if she were on an outing with others, yet there was no one else around. After some time, however, her gaze shifted to the carpenter’s shop.

Following her line of sight, Lady Fitzroy found Captain Clifton in conversation with Mr Cartwright. When she turned back to Ana, it became apparent that she knew she had been noticed. She had attempted to blend into the scenery by moving around the willow overlooking the river, but soon realised her attempt was fruitless.

Emerging somewhat sheepishly, Ana waved her book in greeting to Lady Fitzroy. The latter nodded in response but remained where she was, her expression one of inquiry as she cast a quick glance towards the carpenter’s shop.

Ana’s cheeks flushed, yet she nodded in welcome, and they settled on the bench, accompanied by the tranquil rush of the nearby Tyne.

Lady Fitzroy greeted her and remarked with a smile, “You are shining so brightly today. Would it be impertinent of me to presume that the lovely glow may have something to do with our gallant Captain Clifton?”

Ana turned the book over in her hands, her gaze drifting towards the river. “My attempts at concealment are futile in your perceptive presence.”

A gentle laugh slipped from Lady Fitzroy at her verbose nervousness. “My dear, one does not need to be a botanist to recognise the blossom of a beautiful flower. Especially when that flower is none other than a rose.”

Ana almost dropped the book. “A rose?”

“It appears you have taken root in his garden. I had a suspicion, but yesterday’s luncheon confirmed it,” said Lady Fitzroy with a knowing smile.

Realisation dawned upon Ana. “You orchestrated all of this.” A note of awe chimed in her voice. “He even has a rose garden.”

“I? Orchestrate something? I hardly know what you mean,” replied Lady Fitzroy, waving her fan with an air of nonchalance. “But pray tell, how did you come upon his garden?”

Familiar tendrils of fear wrapped about Ana’s throat. Without a suitor, there would be no inquiries about her future prospects. By remaining silent, she might yet navigate this perplexing situation with grace.

Beneath the roses, Jack’s arms enveloped her as she wept. In the steadfastness of his embrace, an unspoken assurance was conveyed; he cherished her for who she was, not for what she could offer him.

Aware that there was no retreat from this moment, she opened the book, stared at a page, closed it again, and turned to Lady Fitzroy.

“After the luncheon, he… he invited me to see his roses. We walked together to his house.”

Lady Fitzroy fanned herself with interest, watching Ana gather her thoughts while silence stretched between them.

“His garden,” continued Ana barely above the sound of the river, “is a medley of roses: red, orange, yellow… every shade one could possibly imagine. It is not merely a collection; it is a spiral of colours and scents.” She paused; the vibrant explosion of blossoms heady mixture of fragrances enveloped her for a moment. “In the heart of the garden there is a pillar rose of copper.”

Lady Fitzroy leaned forward, alight with the wonder that Ana’s description had kindled. “Copper? Such a hue is indeed rare.”

A fond smile touched Ana’s lips as she recalled the rose, and the time spent under it. Memories of his home followed, contrasting harshly with the idyllic garden.

Observing the subtle change in Ana’s demeanour, Lady Fitzroy prompted her onwards. “However?”

“His manor is not squalid, yet it has evidently seen better days. The place seemed as though it were the domain of two disparate people. The quarters Ja—Captain Clifton inhabited maintained impeccable tidiness, yet the remainder… It appeared as though he held little regard for it, as if it were an unwelcome obligation.” Ana’s gaze fell to the novel in her lap and she traced the raised lettering on its spine. “All his affection and time seemed reserved solely for the roses in that garden,” said she, glancing back at Lady Fitzroy with an earnest plea for understanding. “As he guided me through the manor, I perceived his apathy towards it; yet beneath it, there was a palpable discomfort.”

Lady Fitzroy listened with rapt attention as the young woman shared her observations. A thoughtful silence ensued before she finally spoke. “It is intriguing how empathy can uncover truths that remain hidden to most. Your sensitivity allowed you to perceive his embarrassment, an emotion he likely attempted to keep veiled beneath a guise of indifference.”

She raised her fan, hiding a playful smile, then tapped it lightly against her soft, round chin. “We often remain oblivious to our own vulnerabilities until they are reflected in the eyes of someone who cares. Perhaps he felt seen, truly seen for the first time in a considerable while, and that rendered him self-conscious about how he was presenting himself.

“Your insight is a gift, dear girl. And I believe it is one that he appreciates, even if it renders him uncomfortable. Therein lies the charm of growing close to someone: learning to navigate the labyrinth of their vulnerabilities while permitting them to explore ours.”

The subject of their discourse emerged from the carpenter’s shop. He pushed a wheelbarrow laden with timber and nails; at its bottom, several paint cans could be heard rattling about. Despite his proximity to the ladies, he seemed not to notice them; instead, he proceeded directly towards his house, wholly absorbed in his task.

Lady Fitzroy smiled softly. “He appears to be on an enterprise, does he not?”

“Indeed, I believe he is endeavouring to transform his house into a home,” remarked Ana thoughtfully, then started as she realised what she said, finally dropping her book.

Lady Fitzroy studied Ana as she gathered herself together. “A man of action is our Captain Clifton.”

“Indeed, however…” Ana’s hands turned white as she gripped the book, her gaze lingering on the gentleman now vanishing from sight.

“Oh! You must hurry if you are to catch him; he is not moving at a leisurely pace.”

“I have caught up to him once before, Your Grace; I am certain I can do so again,” responded Ana with a laugh, and bestowed a fond kiss upon her cheek in farewell.

Jack heard light footsteps behind him, and his heart quickened. The sound was reminiscent of that night when—

“Captain! May I… may I have a word?”

Leaping with joy within, he turned solemnly. “Of course, Miss Hartford. How may I be of service?”

The formal manner in which he addressed her gave her pause. She looked closer, and discerned the truth of his restraint in the tightness around his eyes, the subtle movement of his throat. He was exerting every effort to refrain from sweeping her off her feet and carrying her home, and she desired nothing more than to yield to him, regardless of those who might witness it.

“My… usual companions have excused themselves for the day. If it would not impose, might you care to join me by the river for afternoon tea?”

He looked down at the wheelbarrow, uncertain of his next course of action.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Captain, you are otherwise eng—”

“Not at all, Miss Ha—”

He set the wheelbarrow down properly, but did not let go, his white knuckles betraying his true desire.

“I… I have nothing prepared for… an outing at… beside… the river.”

“I have this novel… I… would you…” She extended it towards him, uncertain of her own motives for doing so, only that it might suffice to bridge this gap of propriety.

He released the wheelbarrow and regarded his palms. “I am unable to hold anything with my hands in such a state, Miss Hartford.”

“Not even me?” inquired she, a flash of shock coursing through her at her own audacity.

In response, she was met with a peculiar gargling noise from the back of his throat and an advance of half a step. A not insignificant part of her implored him to yield; merely two full steps would suffice.

To her vexation, years of ingrained discretion held sway over his actions and compelled him to retreat by a step. The dismay that descended upon her heart clearly called her towards him, yet she did nothing but remain stationary, incensed at herself for such restraint. “What I mean to say, Captain, is that perhaps we—that is, I could purcha—”

He burst out in a single breath, “Miss Hartford I would not dream of allowing you to pay for anything should we partake in afternoon tea!”

“I possess sufficient means to afford my own afternoon tea, Captain.”

“Of course,” said he, dismissing the matter with a shrug that clearly stated: Who would dare deny her anything? Ana felt a rush of warmth between her thighs as he carried on, clearly oblivious to what he had just done. “Yet I would find it… most gratifying to be afforded the opportunity to… prevent you from paying for your afternoon tea.”

She blinked at ‘prevent’, observed his lips twitch upwards, and responded with a giggle. “Very well, Captain. I would be delighted to afford you the opportunity to prevent me from paying for my afternoon tea.”

Acutely aware of the dip in conversations around them as they walked to the bakery; neither of them cared in the slightest, being even more cognisant of a connection that transcended idle chatter.

In the bakery, the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea and baked goods enveloped them. The interior was warm and inviting, with lace curtains, wooden tables and chairs, and shelves lined with an assortment of teapots and cups. Mrs Beatrice Lovell, the cherry-faced rotund proprietress of the establishment, welcomed them with warm curiosity.

“Anastasia, Captain Clifton, what a pleasant surprise!” said Beatrice, cleaning floury hands on her apron as she did so. “What brings you here this fine afternoon?”

“Good afternoon, Beatrice. We entertain the hope of having afternoon tea by the river’s edge. Might you be able to furnish us with a basket of tea and cakes?”

The eyebrows of the baker arched in surprise. “Indeed, my dear. I see you have chosen an… unconventional mode of transport.” She indicated the wheelbarrow outside.

Jack, looking over her shoulder at a rack of late loaves cooling, conceded, “The decision was… made on the spur of the… moment, Mrs Lovell. We had not… anticipated the necessity for… arrangements befitting a proper excursion.”

“I shall prepare a hamper for you with all the necessary items.” Mrs Lovell chuckled and started gathering items from the shelves, maintaining a stream of conversation. “A wicker one I possess will serve admirably.”

Ana and Jack shared a glance. He offered her a wink and she commenced to inquire, “And how much do we owe for—”

“Miss Hartford, I would not dream of allowing you to pay!” interjected Jack, his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

Anastasia’s giggle, light and melodic, accompanied her response. “Oh, I am most obliged for your generosity, Captain.”

Mrs Lovell observed the exchange with an indulgent smile, her mind wandering to reminisce about days filled with young love and her whimsical dalliances. Yet, thought she, Anastasia was the age of thirty come January, and though Captain Clifton was clearly younger by a few years, they were not truly ‘young lovers’.

Within a few moments, Mrs Lovell had assembled a delightful assortment of goods: a teapot filled with steaming tea, porcelain cups, and a selection of scones, sandwiches, and pastries, all neatly arranged in the basket. She handed it to Jack, her eyes twinkling as she accepted his payment.

“There you are. Enjoy your afternoon by the river.”

Jack accepted the basket, and, much to her surprise, he looked directly at her. “Thank you, Mrs Lovell. We will.”

Upon departing from the shop, Ana found herself enveloped by a surge of affection for the village. They had truly accepted her when she had insisted upon her situation, and yet it seemed they had not lost hope in her regardless.

They settled the basket into the wheelbarrow, with Jack attending to its secure placement, then made their way to the picnic green beside the river.

A lush expanse of grass extended to the river’s edge, where a pebbled beach met the running waters. A few other people were also enjoying the afternoon, and they both understood the necessity for decorum.

Leaving the wheelbarrow beside a bench, Jack took the basket a little closer to the river’s edge. Upon opening it he discovered Mrs Lovell had thoughtfully included a blanket. He spread it out on the grass, smoothing the corners.

Ana bent at the waist to begin taking out the tea, her busk preventing her from bending over fully.

“May I… Mi—Anastasia are you quite alright?”

Straightening, she nodded, slightly perturbed that he had observed her posture.

“I… my…” She indicated her stomach.

He was evidently at a loss regarding her allusion, and she pondered the propriety of offering an explanation. Summoning a rush of courage, she stated, “There is a piece of wood that ensures my posture remains straight.”

“There is a what keeping your posture upright?”

Astonished, he stepped forward and reached out. Her stomach somersaulted at the gesture. He blushed furiously and dropped his hand. Within her heart, she stormed and raged.

“It is called a busk.”

“Why?”

“Well it had to be named something.”

He closed his eyes and rolled them.

“I am aware of your actions, you know,” said Ana with a giggle.

He snorted with laughter, “I did not wish… to admit how splendid that jest was. I do not mind retrieving the items… if you would prefer to sit.”

“I am quite capable of—”

“Indeed, Miss Hartford, but I—I beg your pardon, I have interrupt—.”

“What is it that you are doing?”

“I—What do… you mean?”

“You are remarkably persistent in assuming all the tasks.”

“Well, it… I… I enjoy it.”

“You do?”

“Indeed, it feels… doing them for… you… it makes me…” Trailing off, he closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled slowly. “I apologise, Miss Hartf—”

“Jack,” said she, beginning to understand.

“Miss Hartford.”

“Do you recall when you referred to me as Ana.”

“Indeed, Miss Hartfor—”

“Jack.”

He did not respond, merely gazed at his shoes, almost as if he were about to be reprimanded.

“I would prefer it if you do so again.” Her huskily sensuous tone brooked no argument.

“As you wish, Ana.”

She could hear in the syllables that any request she might make would be fulfilled, even if it necessitated a circumnavigation of the globe.

The perilously reckless slap she had delivered to Thomas echoed in her ears. He could have chosen a darker path, overpowering her against her will. Despite the knowledge she would have fought with every shred of defiance—clawing, biting, screaming, and weeping—it would have availed nothing. Such a dreadful moment would be branded into her for eternity.

However, were she to request Jack’s departure, he would depart. Desolation would mark his every bone, yet he would comply with her wish.

He instinctively reached out to assist her as she began to sit. However, she had already commenced lowering herself onto the blanket, and he withdrew. Catching a glimpse of his retreating hand, she discerned his intention and gave him an apologetic nod in acknowledgment as he settled himself across from her on the blanket.

For a moment, they sat in silence, gazing upon the river, emphatically aware of each other’s presence, yet restrained from touching as their hearts desired.

Ana reached for the teapot. “Shall I pour us some tea, Jack?”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the pebbled beach. “Yes, please… Anastasia. That would be lovely.”

“Jack.”

“Anastasia.”

“Are you uttering my name in such a manner because you desire to hear me reiterate what I previously expressed?”

“Indeed, Anastasia.” The tiniest hint of mirthful supplication tinted the answer.

She glanced around, then turned back to him with a light smirk. “Utter my name, Jack.”

He pulled it from deep within his chest, the sound almost primal. “Ana.”

Blood rushed to her neck. Desiring nothing more than for him to lift her and ravish her against the willow, she poured the tea, convinced that its temperature could not rival the eager heat igniting within her.

Jack busied himself with the contents of the basket, exerting every ounce of his will to refrain from sweeping her up and carrying her to a secluded spot where he might worship her as she truly deserved.

He meticulously arranged the scones, sandwiches, and pastries on a plate, convinced that maintaining this precise order would help him steady his nerves.

The aroma of freshly baked goods mingled with the floral scent of the tea. Sitting back, he indicated that she should be the one to choose first, but when he looked up there was nothing but copper eyes shining at him.

Unbeknownst to the pair, Charlotte had come into town over the bridge, her steps decelerating as she espied the couple by the river. She nearly called out but halted, perceiving their deep absorption in one another’s company. They exchanged not a word, merely sitting and gazing at each other with tea and cakes cooling between them. With a knowing smile playing upon her lips, she elected to proceed on her path, leaving them undisturbed in their tranquil interlude.

Lord William Fitzroy peered at his wife through the dim glow of the flickering candle, his eyes reflecting a soft curiosity as she settled within the silken sheets. “Are you certain, my dear? Is that truly the best course of action?”

“I believe so, yes,” responded she, her fingertips tracing a reassuring path down his arm. “His brother is proving to be a disruptive influence. Mrs Cartwright had a word with me at tea this afternoon; George had an uncomfortable encounter with him yesterday. Moreover, he has been seen attending to Helena, who seems quite taken with him.”

His brow furrowed into a thoughtful crease as he extinguished the candle, surrendering their conversation to the realm of moon-scattered shadows. His lips found her neck, his kiss as soft as the silence of the night. “Very well, I trust your judgement. You will need it before the ball this weekend, will you not?”

“Indeed, it is of utmost importance for the welfare of Jack. And Ana.” Her head tilted in response to his gentle attentiveness. A soft push on his chest halted his advances; her hands found their way to the hem of his nightshirt.

“Ana?” echoed he, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

Amelia sighed; a tender sound filled with affectionate reproach for her husband’s bewilderment. “Yes, my love. Ana,” said she softly, beginning to slide off her own nightclothes.

His hands stilled, hovering in the middle of helping her undress. “Jack is involved with Ana?”

“It is… complicated, my love.” Her shift cascaded to the floor.

“Ah, I see. If it concerns Ana, we must ensure her peace, my sweet Indian flower. The last thing we want is to cause any disruption for her.”

“Your understanding warms my heart, my old billy goat.” She reached out to tug on his neat beard fondly to indicate her wishes. He smiled and slid under the blanket while she continued. “As always, you are right.”