Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

The Fruits of Insomnia (3 of 3)

Alas, with most of the night gone, she only succeeded in flipping to one side, then to another, as uncomfortable as if she were lying on the firm ground in an open field, not on a mattress and a featherbed.

The events of the longest day in her life flooded her memory, overlapping until her heart throbbed in sweet pain. Everett's profile blended with the starry skies, and her fingers itched to capture the proud line of his forehead and the crinkle of his eyes on paper. Next Miss Carter laughed, kneeding Amelia's shoulders. Her lips transformed into Hazel's sucking on a strawberry. And there was Everett again, his etched lips parting to take a bite out of the fruit held between her sister's thumb and forefinger.

Mabel gasped, biting her own lip.

Who, who can sleep on a night like this?! And, regardless, it wasn't even a little bit dark. The grey light filtered through the curtains, gaining warmth and intensity with every passing moment. The night went and gone. She couldn't stay prostrated in bed a moment longer, ignoring the new day.

Her feet landed on the floor with a thump, the dress rustled, pulled overhead and straightened by a rushed hand. She slipped down the staircase quieter than any mouse.

The desire to sketch Everett's likeness while his features were fresh in her memory—not that she would ever forget them!—drove her. Nay, it tormented her. Sang to her. Overwhelmed...

She rooted through the living room like a pig searching for truffles, but Miss Carter didn't have any drawing paper or sketching charcoal out in the open. Plenty of books and musical sheets, to complement her accomplishments... with all those talents, why couldn't she take interest in drawing as well?

With a sigh, she picked up a book, read the first paragraph and dropped it immediately. Everett was right. Modern English novel was all fustian and fantasy!

A peal of laughter drifted through the window, opened wide by a maid taking advantage of the early summer light, to do the cleaning.

Smiling, Mabel dashed into the garden and down the gravel path, attracted by the murmur of the distant conversation like a moth to the lamplight. She couldn't make out the words, yet the sound was so lighthearted, she was sure it was friendship, not business being discussed.

Lighthearted? Is it...?

Though she couldn't hear the words, the undercurrent shifted, as if a new theme appeared in a musical composition. A strange tension weighed after each gap, and what had been said lost the sparkling quality of Miss Carter's banter.

It wasn't lighthearted; it was... seductive.

She huffed her dismay. It was Everett's fault that she sensed romance in the air, as if it was a scent. Whom would Miss Carter flirt with, anyway?

'Caliban perhaps?' Hazel's imaginary whisper weaved between the real voices. She shooed it away like a wasp. Lord Chesterton stayed in London, a few days' travel from the Lake District. He couldn't appear on a drop of a dime.

Short of other candidates for Miss Carter's secret lover, Mabel still froze in the shelter of an apple tree already in the fullness of summer leaf. Carefully, she peeked around its trunk, for civility cannot fend off curiosity indefinitely.

Miss Carter and Amelia shared a picnic blanket, though instead of food, it was littered with combs and ribbons. Amelia's freed hair ran down her back all the way to the waist in waves. This supported the theory that the ladies were amusing themselves with their coiffures.

But no! Instead of reclining to allow Miss Carter to brush out her tresses, Amelia mounted into her lap, facing her lady, yet arching backward, opening her pale throat to the nuzzle of Miss Carter's lips. The flicks of the tongue and the delicate smooching reminded Mabel of how Hazel had savoured the strawberry.