Amorous Congress by F. Leonora Solomon

Author:F. Leonora Solomon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riverdale Avenue Books
Published: 2017-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

Lessons

By Margot North

It is morning over Silsoe Manor. The mist, pale as milk, curls through the fine air. As a few pallid stars glimmer in the West, Prudence Ingham, daughter of the Earl of Silsoe, pushed open the manor doors and stepped into the dawn.

Prudence had just turned 19, and her father has declared that it was high time she learned to ride. She had evaded previous lessons by claiming illness, hysteria and the right to an education in a French finishing school, far from the reach of the stable. Yet now that her education has been concluded, and her father’s attempts at marrying her off have ceased, she found herself moored in Silsoe; hermitical, restless and bored. As the sky paled, her wide grey eyes took in the grounds. Empty as tundra, and just as forbidding.

“Hunting will take the edge off, my dear,” her father had assured her. “We have plenty of foxes—Wesley just brought in a fresh batch.”

“Grand. A bit of blood sport,” Prudence sighed.

“Apt for a bloody mind.”

“Dear Papa,” Prudence smiled, “After the ninnies I hunted in France, foxes will be a bore.”

Sheathed in a simple habit, she rounded the east wing and walked toward the stables. The manor hulked over her, saturnine and eternal. The stable-master, hired in her absence, was already out, watching the sunrise. As she neared, she could smell tobacco, and the confused perfumes of animalia; hay, sweat, hair.

“Mr. Grant?”

He turned, and she couldn’t help but note his eyes. Blue as the distant sea; an anomaly in his broad, hard face. She held out two gloved fingers, which he duly bent to touch.

“Lady Ingham,” He glanced at the empty grounds behind her. “Where is milord?”

“A-bed, where else?” She smiled. “Papa is no early riser, as I’m sure you know.”

She studied him. He was starkly built, with a dark brow and hard mouth. His jaw was strong, and his cheekbones almost aristocratic. With the quick eye of a girl accustomed to suitors, she placed him at near 30, likely dull and, of course, dreadfully poor. He thought carefully before he spoke.

“Are we to have no chaperone?” He asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I’m sure we can dredge up an aunt if you insist, but if Papa would rather keep our relations at arm’s length.” She looked him up and down. “He seems to trust you, at any rate. Is there any reason he shouldn’t?”

That got his attention.

“Of course not, milady.”

“Grand. Shall we? I’m quite eager. You could say I’m chomping at the bit.” With that, she sailed past him toward the stables. He gave a tight smile, then followed in her imperious wake.

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