Chapter Five

 

 

Because of the constant interruptions on her time, it wasn’t until a few days later that Letitia finally had the time to sit down in her small parlour and pull the manuscript from the drawer.

The birth of young Hugh had sparked Ridlington Chase into a frenzy of delighted activity, and with Rosaline still spending the majority of her day with the baby, Letitia found herself summoned to fill the gap.

It wasn’t that she was running the Chase—she had neither the intention nor the desire to do so. But she could, and did, lend a hand with menus, staff questions or problems…whatever routine chores needed approval from the lady of the house—well, Letitia happily acted as Rosaline’s proxy.

But an hour or two for herself was appreciated and she sat with a renewed sense of energy to go over Mr. Lesley’s suggestions.

Harriet was busy setting her own smaller quarters to rights with the small pieces of furniture Letitia had scrounged from the assortment of older, unused rooms. She declared herself more than content with the space and the chance to make it her own had been welcomed.

So in spite of the occasional bump as her not-quite-maid moved her furniture around to suit her preferences, Letitia was undisturbed.

Tentatively, she opened her book, turning the pages over and looking for the marks left by Mr. Lesley. They were soon evident, but not on every page. She continued her review, trying to get a sense of what he wanted and where.

Deciding to review the entire thing for her first pass through, she reached the final page, surprised at how few actual corrections there were. Many had been single word notations; ‘Here’ was written in red ink beside an arrow pointing—usually—at the end of a paragraph. Clearly, Mr. Lesley was asking more for additions than corrections.

Which was, mused Letitia, a little more acceptable.

She reached the end to find a couple of extra pages. She leaned back in her chair, picked them up, and began to read.

 

“Dear Lady Corinth,

 

Forgive my temerity, but having perused your manuscript with interest, I find myself both fascinated and entertained by the narrative. Your daring document is ground-breaking in its content and not a little scandalous, both of which will most likely guarantee a successful debut.

I use the term most likely with deliberation; and I hope you will permit me the opportunity to explain my thinking.

If you would reference my insertion points…they all occur during moments of great intimacy, which you describe with pleasurable accuracy. However…in this reader’s humble opinion, these episodes are singularly lacking in one crucially important feature. That of personal engagement.

As an example, (Ch.4). Lady Clarinda has selected the Earl of Wattlesby to be her escort for an evening of pleasure. Their engagement is most passionate and satisfactory.  However, it is described as if by an onlooker, not a participant.

If you find yourself able to add that certain touch, words that encourage the reader to become a part of the scene, not just a voyeur, then I anticipate that this book will easily go into a third, if not fourth edition within the year.”

 

Letitia put the page down, and settled into deep thought. What did he mean? What exactly did he want? Since nothing immediately leapt into her mind, she picked up the second page. Aha. Apparently he had clarified his requests with an example. Good man.

 

“Lady Clarinda approached the Earl with confidence, ‘her heart beating rapidly and her body ripening at the thought of his touch.’

The Earl thrust deep into the dark and welcoming (body) ‘furnace that teased his control with slick hunger. She was hotter than fire, her skin ablaze where he caressed it’.”

 

She frowned, reading the examples over twice. There were several more in the same vein.

A knock on the door made her jump, but she welcomed the interruption and beckoned Harriet into the room when she peeked inside to see if Letitia needed anything.

“Yes, I need you to help me make sense of this.” She gestured at the papers on her desk.

“Oh,” said Harriet with interest. “Is this about the publisher’s suggestions?”

“It is indeed. I would be grateful if you’d read his comments here, and examples, and give me your opinion.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to.”

She settled herself with the pages, and read, taking her time and—Letitia was pleased to see—making sure she understood, referring back to the first page once or twice.

Finally, she looked up. “Well.”

“Yes. Well.”

“It seems self-evident, Letitia.” Harriet rose, put the papers back on Letitia’s desk and then resumed her seat.

“Uh…it does?”

“Yes. Do you not see it?”

Letitia shook her head. “I must be quite scatter-brained today for I cannot grasp his point at all. I thought I had covered everything necessary to educate the reader in those scenes.”

“Do you have that particular scene, the one with Lady Clarinda, there in your pages?”

“I do. Wait just a moment…” Letitia rustled through her manuscript, easily locating the section in question. “Here.” She stood and walked to Harriet, handing her the pages.

“And you don’t mind if I…”

“Please do.”

Fifteen minutes later, during which time Letitia felt as if she’d lived several lifetimes, Harriet raised her head. “Oh my goodness.” She fanned herself with one hand. “This is quite…exhilarating, I will confess.”

“So what on earth is Lesley talking about, Harry?” Letitia spread her hands wide. “I simply don’t understand.

“Well, as far as I can tell, he is asking for the one thing that isn’t in this scene. Or any of the others as near as I can make out from his letter.”

“And what on earth is that?”

Harriet squared her shoulders and looked Letitia in the eye. “You need to write from experience, Letitia. There is no sense of personal involvement. Your descriptions are certainly erotic in nature, but they are in the abstract.”

Letitia sank down on the front of her desk, her mind whirling. “So, bluntly, you’re telling me he thinks I should go and fuck someone to be able to properly write about it?”

Harriet blushed, but bravely held her ground. “Basically, yes.”

Letitia closed her eyes. “Oh bollocks.”

“Quite.”

 

*~~*~~*

 

“Look.”  Edmund slowed his horse and pointed across the field to where a couple of deer grazed at the edge of the forest. “I suppose I should be hunting them, but one can’t help but admire their beauty.”

James grinned, stopping his mount next to Edmund’s. “I agree. And yet venison still gets my appetite aroused. An interesting conundrum.”

Both men watched for a few moments, enjoying the chance to simply breathe in the country air. It wasn’t an ingrained habit, but every now and again James would ride over to see if Edmund might like to join him, or vice versa. They were well-matched; both liked to read, had ideas that were similar in some areas and different in others—which made for a lively conversation—and respected each other’s honesty.

It was, James believed, a desirable and appreciative friendship that showed no signs of diminishing, even after Edmund’s new fatherhood experiences, and James’s frequent absences in London.

The deer vanished, and the two men resumed their ride, walking their horses down the lanes until they reached open fields where they could enjoy a hearty gallop. Which was exactly what they did this particular morning, ignoring the clouds that threatened rain later in the day.

Exhilarated, they matched each other’s pace as they rode toward the edge of the field, and finally drew to a halt, allowing the horses to catch their breath.

“You’ve an excellent horse, there, Edmund,” approved James. “I saw one not unlike him at Tattersall’s a couple of months ago.”

“Marchwood’s breakdowns.” Edmund patted his horse’s neck. “This might be the one. I asked Richard to look out for a decent mount, since he’s there in town. He let me know this fellow would be available, and that he might be a good sire for our mares.”

“I agree.” James studied the horse’s points. “Good conformation, and Marchwood was known for his eye when it came to his stud.” He glanced at Edmund. “Forgive me, but he must have come at quite a hefty price…” He hated to ask, but he was as aware of the Ridlington financial situation as anyone. In fact, he’d quietly offered help in the way of a loan, knowing it was the right thing to do.

Edmund and Rosaline had thanked him profusely, but told him his friendship was far more valuable to them than money. And the subject had been closed.  James understood…he would have done exactly the same thing himself.

But this horse…he estimated at least five hundred guineas.

Edmund, however, shook his head. “That was my thought, as well. But Richard worked some sort of miracle and managed to purchase him for only a monkey.”

“That’s amazing.”

They resumed their progress through the hedge and into the lane, while James privately wondered how Richard had pulled off that particular miracle. He didn’t know Edmund’s step-brother very well, but he’d run into him in town several times.

He was good looking, personable and had made a number of well-connected acquaintances as was to be expected of a young, single gentleman from an established title. If something lay behind his charming smile, James had yet to discover what it was.

“I do have a somewhat inventive family,” commented Edmund, with a wry curl to his lips.

“Well, yes you do. And actually that was one of the reasons I wanted you to come out of the Chase and ride this morning.”

Edmund turned and looked at James. “And I thought it was the pleasure of my company that led you to suggest it.”

“That as well.”

“Good. Thank you for the sop to my ego.” Edmund shot him a curious look. “But do go on.”

James swallowed, not quite sure how to begin the conversation.  He took a leap of faith. “It’s about Letitia.”

Edmund accepted the comment with a nod. “Yes?”

“Well, you know, over the last year or so we’ve become quite well acquainted…”

“Yes,” said Edmund encouragingly.

“And now that she has her own maid, and you and Rosaline are progressing with the Ridlington affairs, not to mention expanding the family…”

“A most pleasurable addition,” grinned Edward. “Bit noisy and messy, but delightful all the same.”

“Of course,” concurred James. “But about Letitia…”

“Sorry. A momentary excess of paternal pride. Please continue.”

“She has been of enormous assistance with the building process, the design and so on, of FitzArden Hall…”

“Indeed,” answered Edmund.

“It probably won’t come as a shock to you if I mention that I have developed the greatest respect for her intellect…”

“Well deserved. She is a bright young woman.”

“I’ve also come to appreciate her organizational skills…the way she has helped out since young Hugh arrived…”

Edmund sighed and drew his horse to a halt. “James, for an intelligent man you are demonstrating an appalling ability to beat more than a few bushes to death. I swear this entire hedge is cowering.” He waved a hand down the lane. “Get to the point, man, before winter sets in.”

“I’m going to marry her.”

“Well about damn time.” Edmund grinned, leaned over and shook James’s hand, then clicked up his horse.

James, rather stunned at his blunt statement, not to mention Edmund’s reaction, followed suit. “So you don’t mind?”

“God, no. We’ve been expecting it for some time. You and she get on well, you’re aware of our financial situation, thus you’re certainly not marrying her for her fortune, since there isn’t one, so…”

“But…”

“Look, we’re men. You have stated your intentions toward my sister, and I heartily approve. As far as I’m concerned, that takes care of it for the two of us.” He looked over at James. “The one thing you’re going to have to do now is convince Letitia. And since she’s stated many times that she isn’t planning on marrying anyone, all I can say is good luck to you with that task.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” James narrowed his eyes.

“Not half as much as I’m going to enjoy watching you persuade her to your way of thinking.”

James sighed, knowing Edmund was right. He would need all his wits about him to win the woman he desired.

But by God, it would be worth it.