His thoughts—his easily aroused excitement—remained squarely with his mistress. She’d sent round a note early this morning by way of Swift John. For once, instead of lingering for a reply, the servant had delivered the letter along with a message that reached Daniel via his butler: “I’ve a number of errands to run for Miss Thea and will return for any response by nuncheon. Better yet, send John later; his lazy legs could use the jaunt.”
Though the sibling jibe had lightened his mood, it hadn’t helped his concentration. The neatly folded and wax-sealed square beckoned hordes more than his speech notes.
Notes he’d studiously avoided all morning.
He tapped the edge of Thea’s letter against his desktop, sorely tempted to tear into it. “Nay. Use it for incentive.”
That was it! He’d review his planned phrasing three times more, the last out loud, before reading her note.
How he wished the day’s events were done and over. But it was hours still until the damn meeting. Until his part in it was complete and he could visit her again.
“Enthusiasm,” he muttered, reluctantly relinquishing her missive, “need t-to garner some.”
“Woof!”
He patted Cy’s head, scratched the dog’s chin. Wiped the drool on his handkerchief and decided to go about it another way. He located the sheet Everson had written. He’d practice two letters aloud (no sense in overdoing), then apply himself to the business of reviewing his speech.
Paul was a pea-goose, a pink of the ton, yet his profound penis promised pleasure to every pudding-headed puss and Pocket Venus on the planet.
Willie had a wee little weedle, but when he grew into Walt, the girls were in alt, for what once was wee could now wiggle and wow!
After reciting the pair of ribald selections, instead of studying the compelling reasons Wylde had so passionately set forth, Daniel couldn’t stop his pen from doing a little composing of its own:
There once was a pebble in my shoe.
Cows go moooooooooooooo.
I once knew a cat,
with a sniveling nose,
“What now?” Testing options, he scratched out hedgerows, pose, close, grows and sews, frowned, and then chose to move on to more colorful pastures.
Roses are red,
Mr. Freshley was a snoacher
then a poacher and
“Deplorable, D-Daniel! Wretched, sodding po-poetry.”
But then inspiration struck.
Roses are red,
Your name is Dorothea.
It pains me to say it,
so I changed it to Thea.
“Nay. Too pat.” Thinking aloud, he rewrote the last line. “…Name is D-Dorothea. It p-pains me to say it, so I chopped it in half.”
There. That brought a smile, and at the man’s third knock, Daniel finally allowed his valet to enter and begin the task of outfitting him properly. This included a fresh scrape of any whiskers that dared emerge since yesterday’s “sculpting” (why Crowley didn’t just call it shaving, Daniel didn’t know), complaints about the missing jar of Lady Wylde’s latest concoction—known officially as The Miraculous Bruise Vanishing Cream (this nomenclature too from his valet)—and a neckcloth arrangement so intricate, it could hold its own in a contest against Brummell’s.
A quick glance in the mirror and Daniel was set.
Still rather pleased with himself for his poetic (if pathetic) turn of phrase where Thea was concerned, feeling lighter than he had all morning, he dismissed Crowley and whisked through his speech notes with nary a slip (shouldn’t be too surprising as he’d eliminated most anything likely to incite a stammer).
Relieved at the sense of accomplishment, he reached for Thea’s letter.
My dear Lord Tremayne,
He really needed to tell her to call him Daniel.
There stands so much I’d like to say but as I know you have commitments today, I shall endeavor to brevity (do stop laughing at me, if you please; I mean it this time—for yours is valuable).
Let me just convey my sincere appreciation for what proved to be a most exceptional evening. (Though I do tend to find myself thinking the same following every incidence of spending time together.)
I confess, when Sarah first suggested our illicit arrangement, I could never have anticipated that I would find such a valued and cherished companion in the bargain.
I knew I’d been lonely and that things were becoming more dire than I wanted to admit (even to myself). But you, why… Well, having you in my life has made what I thought was my last, most reluctantly agreed to (and dare I admit it, desperate) option into one of the most freeing and splendorous experiences of my life. (I blush, but ’tis true, and so I have admitted it. Dear me, where is a fresh breeze when a girl needs to cool her cheeks?)
Your well-pleasured mistress, Thea
PS. Despite your apparent dread last evening pertaining to today’s events—
That gave him pause. Dread. Had his disinclination been so very apparent? For one used to masking their inner selves, ’twas a sobering revelation.
Or was it just Thea who could read him so?
Eager to escape his thoughts, he turned to the remaining lines.
…apparent dread…today’s events, I have every confidence in you. I know you’ll succeed in your efforts and look forward to your realization of the same.
PS. Once Again—I have a full day planned as well and a most peculiar appeal: If you’ll indulge me, and forgive me for being so impertinent, please stay at your residence tonight. Possibly tomorrow night as well. Something your sister mentioned inclines me to think she’s engaged in arranging a surprise for you, one that can only come to successful fruition if you remain home-bound in the evening.
Though “peculiar” didn’t begin to describe her last request, it was the paragraph before that commanded his attention: I have every confidence in you. I know you’ll succeed…
Her blind faith in him pulled the scales from his eyes. Light so painfully bright shone into his being and illuminated the truth bursting from his heart. He loved her.
He utterly and totally loved her, by damn.
Doubt, nausea and nooses aside, by all that was holy and hellacious, he’d fallen in love with his mistress.
Long before the sun rose that
