Page 78 of Rescued By the Icy Duke
“It is too good a fate for him,” Julian said, bitterly.
“But then who are we to judge? That is for the Lord,” Gwyn put in, “he'll receive judgment one way or another.”
Gwyn then excused himself, and Ester found herself in a splendid island of isolation amid the fury of the villagers of Penmon at play. A tune had started up again, and the green was filling with dancers. People clapped and sang or stamped their feet to the infectious melody. The night was warm, the green lit by lanterns and a bonfire on the shingle just beyond the grass. She felt a hand on her back that glided under her hair to caress the nape of her neck.
The shiver that dashed through her body was of sheer delight. She knew that there was no longer a glove in between them. Julian touched her skin with his own. She closed her eyes, savoring the touch. Such a simple thing, but one that they had scarcely been able to share. At least, Julian could not without guilt and anxiety.
Fluttering open her eyes, she looked at Julian and saw him staring back at her with eyes that smoldered hotter than the pyre that burned on the beach. The light of the lanterns picked out the harsh angles of his face. That face which could seem so hard and unyielding but which she now saw as compassionate and loving.
“Do you think we will be missed if we were to slip away?” Julian whispered.
“I think the people of Penmon would not notice, but my mother and father certainly would,” Ester giggled.
She glanced to where her father was laughing uproariously with the village worthies and supping from a tankard of ale.
“My mother would notice,” Ester corrected.
“I think she would, at that. Though, at the moment, she seems more concerned with your sister.”
Helen was still dancing and still in the arms of Rhys Morgan. Ester believed the young man to be honorable and trustworthy, but these were country people after all, with different views of protocol and etiquette.
“I think I should like to live here,” Ester sighed, pressing herself against the chest of the strong, comforting figure beside her.
A burly arm went about her waist and Julian lowered his head beside hers, brushing his lips against her hair. She ran her handover his, interlacing their fingers. She watched the celebrations happily, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Had there really been a time that she had considered ending everything? A time when the burdens of life had seemed too much to bear?
“When were we ever unhappy?” she thought aloud. “It seems so impossible here.”
“It does. And I could be content to be a gentleman farmer in a place like this. I'm not sure I ever want to return to Windermere. I would rather tear the place down and begin anew.”
“No,” Ester shook her head fervently. “The time has passed for us to run away from our fears. We have both done too much of that. The curse is gone and Windermere is just a house, after all. Let’s make something good out of it. It is just like you, living under a dark shadow. It should be allowed the chance to be reborn.”
Julian pushed aside her hair with his nose to kiss Ester's neck.
“The thing I love about these country dresses is no damn high necks,” he smiled.
Ester giggled. “Yes, that is fun, isn't it? And do you know what else?”
“Pray tell.”
She moved her head closer to his ears. “No layers of undergarments. I have a shift beneath this dress, no stockings… and this just falls right off me once the buttons are undone.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, biting her lip and hooding her eyes behind long eyelashes. Julian's grin was positively wolfish. Then she felt a button being undone and she clasped a hand over her mouth to suppress a surprised but delighted squeal. Julian chuckled and Ester looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. Her mother was in conversation with Cerys Morgan and had not seen. Helen was leaving the green though, leading Rhys Morgan by the hand. She looked mischievous. He looked besotted.
“It is a splendidly warm night, isn't it, Essie?” Helen exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Warmer still, for those who spend an hour dancing without rest,” Ester smiled.
Helen was wonderfully flushed, hair darkened by sweat. Rhys' cherubic, round cheeks were red and his eyes bright.
“We are planning to stroll by the sea for a while to let the breeze cool us down,” Helen added, as if as an afterthought.
“You will sit down here and let Rhys drink an ale. The breeze is just as refreshing in this spot as it is out there in the dark,” Ester interjected firmly, her tone carrying the authority of an elder sister.
“Yes, blod. Let’s have a sit for a bit, eh?” Rhys said, earnestly, “don't get me shot by your father just yet,” he added in a whisper.
“Blod?” Julian asked.
“Blodwyn,” Helen replied, happily, “it is Welsh for flower.”
Under Ester's watchful gaze, Helen led Rhys to a bench set beneath a sprawling tree at the edge of the green. He seemed grateful for the tankard one of the other villagers handed to him with a knowing grin. They sat together, holding hands and watching the festivities.
“Will your father grant his blessing for a commoner to wed his daughter?” Julian asked, brows furrowing.
“I think he shall recognize the necessity of it,” Ester replied thoughtfully, watching the young couple, “for should he refuse, I suspect Helen may take it upon herself to elope. Rhys may endeavor to dissuade her, but I fear he has already found himself completely ensnared by my sister’s charms.”
Julian laughed. “Ah, ensnared by the affections of aFairchild. A most delightful predicament, indeed.”
The End?