Wildblossom (45 page)

"But you have no control over outside forces—like your mother." Her tone was still careful, as if she were gingerly ice-skating through the conversation. "How could I blame you? And, it's been a lovely day. I am overjoyed and relieved to know that we'll be married after all."

"But?" Geoff's mouth grazed the baby curls along her hairline. When she didn't reply, he said, "Perhaps you feel that you are being left out of decisions concerning our wedding and your life...?"

"It's very difficult for me to be subservient, even when I'm aware of my own ignorance." Shelby tipped her head back to look up at him, her face animated at last. "I long to be so perfect as Duchess of Aylesbury that everyone who doubted will recant—but I want to be
myself,
too! Our wedding day should be for us, not for your mother, or—"

"I don't care about the other nonsense. We'll rise above it. I only want to make your dreams come true on the day we marry."

"Would you laugh if I said that I always dreamed of a fairy-tale wedding? A grand church and a sumptuous gown...?"

"Of course not." Geoff was amused by the thought of his little cowgirl from the ranch wanting to wear pounds of satin and pearls, but he bit back the smile that threatened. "I'll see to it that you have your storybook wedding, at Westminster Abbey if that's what you want. In return, will you do something to make my life a bit easier?"

"Of course. Name it!" Shelby turned to face him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Will you leave the Wild West Show? I'll never hear the end of it if my bride-to-be is performing daily at Earl's Court."

Shelby blinked. It felt as if he'd hit her square in the center of her breastbone. "No. No! I can't do that. Geoff, you know how I feel about this! It isn't just my own feelings and reputation that are at stake; my real concern is for Colonel Cody. He is in trouble financially! I cannot go back on my word."

She was trying to wriggle away from him, but Geoff held on tight. "Stop it. Look, we both must learn the art of compromise, and you have to accept some of the reality of my position as a duke. London nobility will make the wedding you want a nightmare if you try to have it both ways: shooting glass balls and clowning for the audience, yet expecting Society to take you seriously the next day at Westminster Abbey when you become a Duchess of Aylesbury. It's too outrageous, even for you."

"All right. I'll do anything as long as you let me stay at the camp village and perform with the troupe until we're married."

"Let's marry away from London, at Sandhurst Manor. I actually think it would be a happier atmosphere. You can have all the trimmings and flowers and food and guests you'd like, yet we'll start off our marriage in surroundings we love and trust. Also, it will look better, given my father's death just months ago. Too many people would condemn us for having a grand, splashy wedding."

"Yes! I agree! In fact, when you put it that way, it's the best idea of all."

His lips traced the line of her throat. "Compromise can be enjoyable." He sat down on the wicker sofa, taking her with him.

Shelby nestled into his lap and traced the sculpted lines of his face with her fingers. "Oh, Geoff, I've missed you so much. It's heaven just to have time together like this, away from the world. We're going to make a terrific marriage, won't we!"

"I haven't a doubt in the world, my beautiful scamp."

"Because—" She pulled at his starched collar. "—we're learning the art of compromise!"

"But practice is essential."

"Yes." When his hands firmly cupped her breasts, sensations seemed to explode inside Shelby and she arched her back. "Ohh... yes! Lots of practice."

Like adolescents, they fell over on the sofa, panting, and the wicker creaked in protest. The pins slipped from Shelby's hair, and Geoff plunged his fingers into the long, silky waves, kissing her ear, the pulse under her jawline, her open, hungry mouth.

"I despise all these cursed female garments!" he muttered, his tone spiced with self-deprecating amusement. "Why can't we just go upstairs?"

"Because that would be behavior unbefitting a duchess-to-be." Shelby tried to muffle her giggles. Meanwhile, that feverish ache was blossoming between her legs. "Geoff, this is crazy. Someone could come in—or see us from the river!"

"Shh."

Suddenly Shelby was gripped by a wild, joyous madness. Everything rolled away into the distance except Geoff and the reality of their love and their shared, burning desire.

When Shelby scrambled out from under him, Geoff feared that she was about to dash cold water on the fire. He felt sixteen again, alive and hard and burning in a way he hadn't known until Shelby. Christ, what a marriage it will be! he thought wryly.

"Darling—" he protested, sitting up, but then Shelby was straddling his legs, her swishing skirts billowing around them. Her breasts, alluring but well-covered, touched his face. Geoff seized the moment and molded one hand to a breast while his other hand found its way under the layers of taffeta petticoats and silk and lace gown. "Shelby!"

He'd encountered her beautiful leg, extravagantly clad in a silk stocking and a frilly garter. Geoff's own trousers felt two sizes too small. When his fingers explored higher on Shelby's thigh, he discovered that she wasn't wearing drawers with her corset. "Oh, God... what are you doing to me?" he moaned, dropping his head back on the cushion. "This is cruel, you know."

"Let's compromise." She reached between them and unfastened the front of his trousers. Since he was conveniently wearing braces, she didn't have to bother with a belt. "Poor darling."

"Yes," he managed to agree, dying at the touch of her hands caressing each throbbing inch of him. "You're killing me."

"Is that good?"

"You're a vixen."

His fingers roved into the cleft between her legs and she instinctively thrust against the heel of his hand, again and again. She was slick and so warm that his own shaft pulsed in reaction. Leaning down, Shelby put her tongue into his mouth and they kissed voraciously. Geoff's deft fingers explored inside her, her muscles tightened around him, teasing, tempting.

"Someone could come," she repeated.

"Yes. No time to waste." His grin flashed in the moonlight.

Audaciously, Shelby moved her skirts over him. They were both panting and giddy and the heat of their arousal mingled with the other pungent scents in the air. Closing her hand around him, Shelby bent him back just enough and sat over him, poised, until Geoff pressed for entry.

"I'm in charge," she asserted.

He laughed softly. "I surrender."

Inch by inch, with excruciating slowness, she took him in to the hilt. They were both holding their breaths, their eyes locked, and then Geoff clasped her bare bottom with both hands and she braced her own palms on his hard shoulders. When Shelby was filled with him, she rose back up on her knees, then the pace increased.

"I love you," he and she said together.

The wicker sofa crackled and groaned, Shelby's skirts rustled, the lovers moaned, and the gaggle of servants standing next to the downstairs chimney shook their heads and muttered about sin and depravity and American commoners.

* * *

March turned to April just as Shelby and Geoff's romance burst into full flower. Quiet announcements were made regarding the broken engagement between the Duke of Aylesbury and Lady Clementine Beech. Lady Clem told friends that Geoffrey had changed in America, and it wasn't fair to hold him to an old bargain. By April she had left for Italy, insisting that she was eager for new adventures. Rumors had already circulated about Lady Clem's riding instructor, so news of the broken engagement came as less of a shock. An oft-heard comment was, "Everyone knew Geoff never cared to marry Clemmie, so who can blame either of them for having the good sense to call it off?"

Besides, London had other concerns. The aristocracy was looking forward to the spring and summer of 1903 with a new sense of anticipation. Queen Victoria's court had been shrouded, and even stodgy, especially during the forty years of her widowhood. When the queen herself had died, her subjects had needed time to adjust to the loss of their symbolic mother, and then King Edward's coronation had been postponed over the summer of 1902 due to his appendicitis. Only now did it seem that Society might be going to enjoy a Season replete with gaiety and grandeur.

The new monarchs had set the tone from the start. Queen Alexandra was beautiful, tasteful, and kind. When she and King Edward decided to make Buckingham Palace their principal royal residence, he had looked at it and proclaimed, "Get this tomb cleaned up!" That might have been the credo for all of Britain. The people were feeling lighthearted and even the dark old Victorian styles were being replaced by the fresh, younger influence of the Edwardians.

As Shelby adapted to her new world, she learned that on Sundays, London rested. Chimneys weren't swept, street vendors were absent from their usual corners, and the morning parade in Hyde Park was abandoned in favor of a visit to church... or, for many, extra sleep after a night of revelry.

The first Sunday in April, Geoff surprised Shelby by taking her to Sandhurst Manor in his automobile. They paused in Oxford for luncheon, and she had a glimpse of the mellow, golden towers of his Magdalen College. "We'll come back another day and I'll show you everything," he promised, then drove on into the pastoral Cotswolds hills, a region nearly too lovely for words.

They motored through the sunshine in the open Mercedes, Shelby's driving scarf spiraling behind her in the soft, fragrant breeze. There were masses of daffodils and violets and wild thyme splashed over green meadows. The hills rolled gently, and the valleys were threaded with glistening streams and pollard willows.

"It's nearly as beautiful as the Loire Valley," Shelby decided, "or even the Black Hills."

"I gather that's strong praise," he replied, a smile playing over his mouth.

"Do you know, you get handsomer every day. When you smile like that, I could just gobble you up."

"Would you like to try later this afternoon? I'm not quite certain what it would entail, but it sounds quite promising."

Sharp, clear joy rushed over Shelby and she almost had to close her eyes to contain it. "Oh, Geoff, I am so happy."

"Just as you should be, scamp." He gave her an intense look that made her tingle inside. "I long for nothing else. When you are happy, the entire world is aglow."

It was a splendid day, a preview of the life that awaited her as not only Geoff's wife, but as Duchess of Aylesbury. No matter how spellbound Shelby might have been by her first sight of the salmon brick towers of Sandhurst Manor, she reacted with a measure of dignity. She tried to view it from the first as the home she would share with Geoff.

The staff had been informed in advance of the duke's visit, and they were immediately taken with Shelby. Sometimes servants could be more rigidly class-conscious than the nobles themselves, but Meg Floss and rotund old Parmenter both recognized the innate quality of Shelby's character, just as Manypenny had, and their warm greeting cued the rest of the staff.

Already the afternoon was waning, and after the briefest of tours, and tea and biscuits, Geoff and Shelby had to start back to London. Meg seemed particularly reluctant to see them go, for she sensed that the next duchess would also become her friend. When the servants lined up again to say good-bye, Meg Floss dared to tell the duke, "You've done the right thing, Your Grace. None of us fancied that other one a bit."

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he grinned. "Has anyone told you that you're a brilliant woman, Meg?"

"Just you, Your Grace. That's enough."

Laughing, Geoff took Shelby's arm and they went down the stone steps to the waiting Mercedes. In the distance, twilight gathered over the ancient yew trees and the lily pond, and Shelby sensed that she was already becoming part of history.

* * *

On Tuesday morning Vivian rode over to the arena on her Josephine bicycle to show Shelby the latest edition of the
Daily News.

"You almost had it that time, Shel!" Ben shouted. His niece was working on the trick in which she pulled the trap herself, then grabbed for her rifle and shot at the clay pigeon she'd released. It seemed that Shelby had only missed the last one by a split second. "Don't go talk to Viv; it'll wreck your concentration!"

"You mustn't yell at me that way," she teased. "I'm going to be a duchess!"

The irony of this sally was not lost on Viv as she watched her friend walk over to join her. "I thought you ought to see this before someone else mentions it," she said, then opened the newspaper.

Shelby looked. There was a large engraving of her in full Wild West Show regalia, from fringed skirt to Stetson. Propped beside her was her favorite rifle, which she was regarding with a jaunty grin, one hand on her hip. Under the illustration was a bold, italicized caution that read:
THE NEXT DUCHESS OF AYLESBURY?

"Oh, no," she whispered miserably. "Just when everything was going so well...."

Just then Colonel Cody rounded the corner, carrying the very same newspaper and beaming happily. "There you are, little girl! Congratulations on your engagement! I have to admit that I'm pleased for selfish reasons, too, because this news is guaranteed to double our business between now and June!" He wrapped an arm around her, eyes twinkling. "Why, I bet that folks who have already come once will come back just to see you shoot with your engagement ring on!"