Through the Hourglass - Lesbian Historical Romance: A Lizzie's Bedtime Stories Anthology by Patty G. Henderson & Sacchi Green

Author:Patty G. Henderson & Sacchi Green [Henderson, Patty G. & Green, Sacchi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Liz McMullen Show Publications
Published: 2015-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

Captain My Captain

Lexy Wealleans

“So this is famous Duncliff, is it?”

The house was only visible in snatches through the trees—a leaded window here, a glimpse of Tudor brickwork there—as the car made its way up the drive. It seemed larger than Sylvie remembered it, alone on the grassy clifftop, easy prey to high seas and crumbling chalk.

As they rounded the corner and the house came into full view, it seemed shabbier too, the paint on the windowsills peeling under the sandpaper winds, ivy growing unchecked between the bricks. Even so, Laurence craned his neck forward, looking up at the brickwork, the complicated chimneys, all that old English splendour, and let out a low whistle.

“Nice spot,” he said. “Bit out of the way, but still…”

She understood: it was the kind of place he wished his people came from, rather than suburban Richmond with its villas and communal tennis courts, its socially aspirant families and new money. The car crunched through the gravel, Laurence easing it to a halt in front of the steps. Sylvie moved to open the door, unfold her legs from their travelling position, but Laurence stopped her.

“Wait,” he said, a restraining hand on her arm. “What do you call him, your godfather?”

Sylvie stared at him blankly for a moment, confused.

“Uncle Charles, generally.”

“Yes, but what do I call him?”

“Oh, well. He’ll tell you, I’m sure. But you could start with Lord Wingfield.”

“Lord Wingfield,” Laurence repeated to himself. She hadn’t realised he was so nervous. They were virtually her family, after all—they were who she was, a long time before she knew him. “Lord Wingfield, pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you, Lord Wingfield, Lady Wingfield. Alright, Laurence, alright.” Then he paused, doubted himself. “Do I bow?”

But Sylvie was already out of the car, heading toward the open door.

“Aunt Maud, Uncle Charles,” she said, letting herself be caught up in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, it’s been far too long.”

Her godfather was fatter and redder than she remembered, his wife more pinched and drawn. They had same haunted look about them that you saw on many people these days, that civilian sort of shell shock that showed no sign of wearing off.

“Shame your father can’t come, Sylvie,” he said as he let her go.

“He sends his apologies, but business keeps him in town.”

“Of course, of course. Oh well, eh Laurence, just you and me on the links tomorrow then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you bring any clubs?” It was almost an accusation.

“I didn’t, no.” Laurence’s head bobbed in some form of apologetic nod, twitching a smile onto his face.

“Never mind, never mind. Come in here, I think I’ve got spares that should suit you admirably.” The older man clasped his arm around Laurence’s shoulder, marching them off into an adjoining room. His wife watched them go, twisting her hands together as though they were cold.

“Oh dear—you’ve started him off now. Your young man will never get away.” She smiled at Sylvie, motioned ahead of her up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room.

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