Page 2 of What Happens in Hedone

Jay had grown up the son of a baron and his lady, but he always sensed the comforts they had were hard won. His father’s skill with bricks had secured the family’s fortune and kept their home from crumbling down the cliffs into the sea. And while he was born in line for the title, as his father had not been, Jay worked in his father’s trade and so must relentlessly prove his worth to both commoner and aristocrat, one who doubted his taste and the other who doubted his work ethic. He was forced to justify himself over and again, doing twice the work to prove he belonged in both worlds.

It wearied a man. The thought of pleasure for its own sake held a strong appeal.

Another man and woman were already seated in the room, occupying their upholstered chairs like separate islands. Jay seated himself where his hostess indicated and she withdrew without a word, leaving him at leisure to regard his surroundings. The small gallery of chairs stood before a deep hearth with a tall marble mantelpiece and faced a large, cleared area laid with a rug patterned with an elaborate swirl of vines.

Oil lamps, not gas, flickered from the wall sconces and chandelier. On the opposite side of the room, the furniture was only vaguely Grecian: plaster pedestals holding classical busts, a vase sprouting a potted palm, a chaise longue trailing a discarded shawl. A tall heavy curtain, out of place, covered the bay and its windows, allowing no peek at the activities from the street outside.

This room continued the burnt umber and gold color pattern along walls hung with heavy mirrors and quiet landscapes. It took Jay a moment to decipher the design running along the wall beneath the cornice: peacocks in strut, their teal feathers embedded with bright blue eyes. Each cock smiled on a peahen twined adoringly about him.

It was so unlike him to do anything like this. He was discreet about his affairs and not excessive in his indulgences. He had to be extra careful to retain respect, given his ramshackle family. One sister had married the illegitimate son of a duke, and he himself had chosen to take up a trade rather than respected profession like the law. The other spectators wore masks, the gentleman a bauta mask that the Venetians wore for Carnival, a secret political conclave, or forbidden romantic assignation. The lady held a half-mask up to her face with a delicate stick.

Dammit, why hadn’t Farren advised Jay to come masked? Someone could recognize him and the word would get out. He would lose his commission here and any future work he might have won from the King. A night indulging his curiosity wasn’t worth his career.

Jay couldn’t bear whiling his time in idleness waiting for the title and all the responsibilities of the Brancaster barony to pass to him. He needed his work, his hands in the earth, to steady himself now and in the future. He couldn’t risk losing it all.

He was rising from his seat when the curtain fell back.

Three women of various ages sat on small folding stools, their attitude one of restful attention. They wore attire like one saw on vases and statuary of ancient Greece, long plain white robes belted at the waist. Their shawls glowed in the low light with muted colors of blue, yellow, and green. The heat in the room, thrown by the multitude of lamps lining the hearth, now made sense. Their arms were almost entirely bare, as were their feet, and, in one lady’s case, her bosom.

Jay sat. He was glad he had when the fourth woman stepped from the curtained alcove.

Her robe was white muslin, so sheer he could see the shadow of her limbs beneath. She had the nymph-like form that made the fabric fall in graceful pleats and folds, clinging as she moved to the chaise and sat. The crests of her bosom, shaped by the thin cloth, told him she wore none of the usual bindings beneath.

Jay’s mouth went dry. She wore a long violet shawl edged with a geometric design, and that item, too, served to accentuate rather than disguise her shape. Like the others, her hair was pulled back into a high knot, caught with a bandeau over which curls tumbled to frame her face. Jay wished he could see it, but she, like the others, wore a mask that covered half her face, with intricate designs arching over the smooth curve of forehead, the strong slope of her nose, a creamy expanse of cheek. All he could see of her features was the jaw that curved sweetly to a delicate ear, and her lips, coral red, curved in a slight smile.

A devastating smile. Half taunt, half invitation, that smile could summon a man from across the room. Or across the sea. She was pure, raw woman, sylph and softness. And yet, as she sat and pulled a lyre into her lap, he sensed strength and steel in the slope of her spine, the determined slant of her neck. She was young, not yet Jay’s age, but a woman in full possession of herself.

She had the same curve to her mouth as the nymph Jay had encountered on the beach that afternoon. The young woman from the beach had haunted his mind all day, intruding on his work, his dinner. Here Jay had the opportunity to gaze upon nearly unclad women, something he’d not done much of lately, and that strange girl would not leave his mind.

He hadn’t heard the nymph approach, standing in the water as he had been with the tide in his ears. It was low tide, and most of the bathers clustered near Chain Pier or beyond, where the wheeled wooden bathing machines lined the beach for yards, one side reserved for women, the other for men. Where he stood, on the western fringe of the city, there were few walkers at this time of day, so Jay had taken the liberty of removing his boots as if he were on his home beach of Norfolk.

There was something soothing about the cold water caressing his feet. The air moved easily around him, or he through it. He breathed deeply and plunged his hands in the water to gather a scoop of sand. When he straightened, a girl stood at his elbow, as naturally as if she’d sprung from a wave.

“What did you find?”

Her bonnet was pushed back, revealing glossy brown hair scraped into curls framing a wide brow. He caught the upturned tip of a nose as that brow wrinkled, regarding his cupped hands, and then she glanced up at him.

He forgot to breathe.

Oval face, clear skin, her eyes a deep blue, almost indigo. It was her curious, open expression and the animation in her face, the half-smile pulling one side of a finely curved mouth into a dimple, that thumped him in the chest.

He stood there like he’d been elf-shot, hands dripping mud. “Sand,” he said.

“Hmm.” She was lovely, but not uncommonly so. Every girl with the means aspired to be lovely, and he saw from her dress that she had means. A green velvet pelisse, the long tippet ends tied at her waist in a fanciful bow, and the matching velvet cloth on her poke bonnet flirted with the latest fashion. Her sleeve ballooned as she pointed down the beach.

“I’ve found the most wondrous things in the rock pools by the Undercliff. Shore crab, starfish, and a snakelocks anemone, the ones that look like Medusa’s hair. Undercliff is down toward Rottingdean, if you know it⁠—”

“I do.”

She smiled then, a full smile, that mischievous pucker catching her lips on both sides, as if she’d tucked in secrets. Jay sucked in a breath before he grew dizzy.

“I am not from here,” she said, slightly abashed.

“Nor I. It is summer in Brighton. Is anyone from here?”

She laughed, and the sound was like a murmuration of starlings, a great breathy rush that yanked one’s spirit into the air and threw it free. She held out her hand. A long brown strip, the color of his sand, dangled from her leather glove. Her eyes looked as if they had caught the sun, which was impossible, as the sky was clouded over while the breeze shoved off the early rain that had left him free to ramble in the surf and meet naiads. Her face was so brilliant he could not look away.

“I found kelp,” she said breathlessly. “Kelp! There are great forests of it here, a fisherman showed me. And look what is on this one.”