Page 3 of Lady Mariel’s Scandalous Love

Chapter Two

The crates seemed never-ending – had he really collected so many items in the last seven years? It appeared that he had. He had opened up the East Wing of the house, which had stood unused for many years, and asked that all of his crates be stored there. His staff had done as asked, each time a shipment arrived whilst he was still away. And now he had to deal with them all.

He had debated the order of things, and had settled on getting the rooms all cleaned and readied whilst the crates were isolated in one area, before he began the unpacking. That way, he hoped, nothing would be too dirtied by the inevitable dust – he could unpack one crate at a time, and immediately transport its contents from the unpacking room and its dust, to another room in the Wing, where the items might be placed on show, as appropriate.

That morning, he had wandered about, and made decisions about which room would house which items, and what furniture needed to be moved around.

Now, with that done, he prepared to start the largest part of the task – the actual uncrating. He had time only to deal with one crate this afternoon, he suspected, for he was expected to dinner at Fortescue Grange at seven. A dinner he was actually looking forward to, at least a little. He had not seen Alex since Italy, and conversation with one of the few people who appreciated his collecting would be welcome. Although… now that Alex was Duke of Southolton, and had married, perhaps conversation would be more limited. One could not generally discuss the things that Dash collected with ladies.

Still, seeing a friend again would be good.

He pried the boards from the top of the first crate, and began to sift through the wood shavings that filled it, seeking the cloth wrapped items cradled in the tangle of crisp curling wood. The shavings inevitably crushed under his fingers to some extent, making even more dust. He lifted the first wrapped bundle out – a carved object, from the feel of it.

Gently, he brushed the dust from the cloth, and unwrapped it. Within, as he had expected, was a carved item – in this case, an ivory godemiche. The work was beautiful, the detail exquisite – it really did look like a man’s member, if, perhaps a little larger than life. Attached to it, tied with string, was a label, noting where he had obtained it, and what he had been able to discover of its provenance. He took it to the clean table on the other side of the room, and set it down, then made a note in his inventory book. So went the afternoon, as he pulled a trove of books, statues, small paintings, and other carved items intended to increase the experience of pleasure from the crate, and unwrapped them. When the table was full, he paused and stretched.

He then gathered up items in small batches, and took them to the rooms where they would be displayed. For now, he simply settled them on shelves or tables, or in glass fronted cases. But as he did so, his mind was working, imagining how he might best present them, imagining what information about each piece should be displayed with it, and how that information should be displayed, so that a viewer could easily read it.

Once all of the pieces from that first crate were unpacked and settled in the other rooms, he left the East Wing, locking the door into that part of the house after him. He did not wish to have a maid go in there, intending to dust and polish, only to be utterly scandalised by what she saw. He laughed internally at the incongruity of his thoughts – here he was, setting up a display of scandalous yet fascinating items, considering how best to display them for a viewer, yet at the same time, worrying about letting his staff see them. Well, he would have to deal with that issue eventually – but not today.

When he stepped into his rooms, Del Monte, the valet who had been with him since he first went to Italy, shook his head sorrowfully.

“Signore… the dust…”

“Yes, yes, I know. I do apologise for the work it makes for you – but I can’t avoid it, if I am to unpack everything. Now, let me wash the worst off my skin in a bath, and then you can prepare me for dinner at Fortescue Grange.”

Del Monte gave an exaggerated sigh, and helped him undress, handling the dusty garments with a display of fastidious distaste – a display which Dash knew was entirely an act.

An hour later, after a decent warm bath, dressed in clothing far more formal and restrictive than he preferred, Dash entered his study. A small brandy was in order, while he waited for the carriage to be brought around. He wondered how much Alex might have changed, in the more than a year since Dash had seen him – what might taking on the title, and marrying, have done to the carefree man he remembered?

In Italy, Alex had appreciated the items Dash collected – the ones he saw, anyway, and they had often discussed the ingenuity of men when seeking the pleasures of the flesh. What sort of woman might he have married? One who understood and embraced passion, like the Italian women he remembered fondly, or one who was more a cold and collected English prude? Dash shuddered at the thought of the latter, and downed the last of his brandy, just as Chalmers tapped at the door.

“The carriage is ready, my Lord.”

~~~~~

Mariel stared out of the carriage window as they approached Fortescue Grange. The late afternoon sun was a rich golden tone, making the world look as if it was much warmer than the reality. The long shadows cast from the trees and the house stretched across fields still dusted with snow. She was tired yet excited to be there. How much had changed since last she had seen the place! It seemed improbable that it had only been six weeks ago, that she had first travelled up this driveway. Opposite her, her maid Hattie dozed on the carriage seat, her bonnet askew.

“Hattie! Wake up, we have arrived – well, almost.”

Hattie was perhaps ten years older than Mariel, a kind woman with an obsessive attention to detail when it came to her mistress’ appearance. She was not easily shocked, and she was deeply loyal – traits which Mariel greatly appreciated, given her own propensity for taking risks which might easily turn to scandal if things went wrong. Hattie half snorted, and started awake, fussing over her bonnet a moment before looking out of the window.

“Oh my, I’d forgotten just how big this place is! It does look so imposing.”

“It does. But…” they turned the final curve of the drive, and Mariel peered towards the front door, “is that a carriage drawn up outside?”

“It is, my Lady. It appears to have a coat of arms on the door, so it must be someone of importance.”

They drew closer, and as they came to a halt near the other carriage, a footman opened its door and let down the steps. A man emerged – obviously a gentleman, from his dress and manner. But a man that Mariel had never seen before in her life. Most interesting.

He was tall, fairly lean in a way that suggested he did not lack for exercise, with dark brown hair that the late afternoon sun drew glints of red from. Mariel, in her usual manner, considered his physical appeal. She could not deny that he was good to look upon – his skin was lightly tanned, in a similar manner to that of the Duke whose house he was visiting, and she wondered if this man too had spent time in Italy, or elsewhere in sunny climes.

The lines of his face were elegant, and the low angled sunlight cast his profile into strong relief. For a moment, Mariel felt her breathing hitch. She shook the sensation away and kept watching as a footman approached her carriage and opened the door. Perforce, she had to turn her eyes away to ensure her safe footing as she stepped down from the carriage, and by the time she looked back, he was gone – disappeared into the house.

Deeply curious, she led Hattie towards the front steps, leaving the footman and her coachman to deal with her luggage. Hallam, the butler, greeted her with a smile.

“Good afternoon, Lady Mariel. We have given you the rooms that you used on your last visit – shall I have your luggage sent straight up?”

“Yes, thank you. Hattie, will you see to the unpacking? And prepare something for me to change into, for dinner?”