Devin's Dilemma

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Harry perched on a straight-backed wooden chair with an embroidered cushion. The boning in her second-hand corset scratched and teased her under the arms and one particularly aggressive corner seemed intent on taking as much skin as it could. I wish I could change into my nightgown. It's past three in the morning. The late hours kept by fashionable people did not suit Harry particularly well, especially as she was obliged to remain, not only awake, but also dressed, until her cousin's gown had been safely ensconced in the wardrobe, her jewelry carefully placed in the safe, her shoes brushed, and her stockings sent for cleaning. And that was if Fanny decided to let her work. Tonight, as was no surprise, she wanted to recline on her bed in her chemise and pantalets and regale Harry with a detailed account of the evening.

“And so, once the announcement was made, Father stuck to my side the whole evening. I didn't have a single moment to spend alone with my betrothed. It was beyond silly. If they think Will and I have never kissed, they're dreaming.” She flopped onto her back, rubbing her skin where her own corset had pinched her.

Harry grinned. “They only want to prevent a scandal, you know,” she said, examining one of Fanny's dainty white dancing shoes for stains or dirt. Looks pretty good, but I'll have to go over them more thoroughly in the light.

“A man kissing his intended is hardly worth more than a giggle, unless you're the worst kind of stuffy old prude,” Fanny complained, rising up on one elbow and pulling the pins from her shiny black hair.

“Unfortunately, the stuffy old prudes run the marriage mart,” Harry reminded her cousin.

“I can't wait to be married,” Fanny said, abandoning prudes in favor of dreamy future-gazing. “Then no one can tell me not to kiss my William.”

You'll have to do a bit more than kiss him. I hope someone explains it to you before the wedding, or you're in for a nasty shock. Too bad your mother is deceased. I don't know enough to explain. “It's true,” Harry agreed, “but people will still frown on you doing so in public.”

“Bah.” Fanny dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “I won't need to in public. We'll have all the privacy we need, once we're married.”

“That's right,” Harry agreed, rising from the chair with a groan and tucking the shoes into the wardrobe before turning to Fanny's abandoned corset. Still looks fine. I think I can just put it away. “Did you discuss when the blessed event will take place?”

Fanny sighed. “Father isn't ready. He's quite insistent no plans be made until the settlement documents are prepared and signed.”

“I see,” Harry agreed. “And how long do you think that will take?”

“I don't know!” Fanny cried, dramatic as always. “He muttered something about 'that young solicitor in Brighton,' but I'm not sure what he means by it.”

Bemused at her cousin's featherbrained comment, Harry explained. “After your father's previous solicitor, Mr. Phillips, passed away, he's been searching for a replacement. He asked a young man in Brighton to draw up a will for him, and if he likes it, he'll retain the man permanently, to create all legal documents for the family. So at a guess, I'd say when we leave for our holiday by the sea, he'll be checking in with the young man and, if the work is satisfactory, your settlement will be next.”

“But… but… that's another week!” Fanny wailed.

Harry snatched a nightgown from her cousin's bureau and carried it to the bed. I won't tell her that if he agrees to draw up the documents, a week is only the beginning of the wait. “There, there.” She handed Fanny the nightgown and patted her arm. “All will be well, you'll see. Your father only wants to protect you and your interests. You and William will be married before you know it. Now you should turn in. If you want me to be awake to pack your clothes for the trip, I need to get some sleep.”

Fanny's pout turned to a laugh. “You're such an old lady, Harry. All you think about is sleep.”

Because I don't get to sleep half the day away, you goose. But Fanny wouldn't understand, and Harry didn't want to get into yet another long discussion. With a tight smile, she excused herself for the night.

* * *

Devin groaned deep in his throat as ecstasy washed over him like ocean waves on the pebble beach. Warm, voluptuous female flesh compressed beneath his body and soft, breathy cries of pleasure mingled with his. As the pounding in his head decreased and awareness returned, it was to the image of Margaret Murphy's pretty, freckled face, her green eyes soft with pleasure, her pink lips relaxed and ripe for another kiss. He lavished it on her with generosity. She hummed into his mouth. He relaxed onto her, bracing the bulk of his weight on his arms so as not to crush the curvy redhead beneath him.

“Margaret,” he said gently.

“Hmmmm?” She shifted beneath him.

Fearing a leakage, he reached down to grasp the French letter that protected their activities and slipped from her welcoming body. “Awwww,” she whined.

“Sorry. I'm spent.” Removing the linen sheath from his softening erection, he rose. “I needed to tell you… We'll have to lie low for a while now.”

Margaret rose up on one elbow, a move that did interesting things to her plump breasts. “What's going on, love?”

Though he knew she called everyone that, it still bothered Devin. What they shared was a pleasant friendship with a few interesting perks, not love. Still, it hardly seemed worth fussing about. Disposing of the c****m, he began to pull his clothing on. “I have a new client coming to town. Actually, he's not a client yet, but if I play my cards right, he might just become the opportunity of my career. Wealthy. Lesser title. Lots of legal documents needed.”

“Don't rush off,” Margaret urged. “Stay a minute and explain why this fellow means I can't play with my favorite toy anymore.”

He rolled his eyes. Favorite toy indeed. Slightly insulted by her failed endearment, he replied, “He's known to be a bit of a prude; doesn't like scandal or gossip or any other 'unseemly' things. In fact, the man is so stiff, I think he starches his spine. He'll not be interested in a solicitor who spends time with naughty women.”

To soften the sting, he placed a knee on the bed and leaned over, kissing the end of Margaret's freckled nose.

Margaret twisted her lips but made no move to deny the allegation. And rightly not. I'm far from your only 'toy'.

“Very well,” she said, and her green eyes took on a calculating look.

I suppose she's wondering who can fill in my Tuesday spot while I'm occupied. Shrugging, he sat on a white carved boudoir chair with a pink embroidered cushion and bent down to pull on his shoes. From this angle, the suffocating coziness of the pink and white lace bedroom seemed to close in on him, stealing his breath. Margaret's room matches her personality—a smothering cross between overprotective mother and clingy lover.

The realization dawned on Devin that their affair, such as it was, seemed to be waning. I hope I can remain her friend, but this intimacy no longer makes sense. Not sure what had prompted the change, he nonetheless couldn't deny his interest in Margaret's body had become a fraction of what it once was. And why not? There's never been a hope of anything more, not from you or her. It was meant to be temporary.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words abandoned him, so instead, he departed.

Devin ducked into the alley behind her house and made his way quietly to an innocuous and empty public street, lined on both sides with silent shops. The display windows seemed to watch him with a condemning glare, their contents obscured by darkness.

Shivering, he pressed on, emerging from between the buildings to a path skirting the beach. From here, he could perceive the irregular growl of the sea over the beach, the quiet conversation of springtime insects and the shrill cry of a night bird. Nature, always faithful, achieved what s*x had not, soothing away the stress of Devin's job and leaving him relaxed and peaceful.

As he walked, he imagined all the documents dripping from his fingertips into the ground and being absorbed by the earth. Overhead, the stars twinkled, laughing at his guilt. Silly man, they seemed to say, easing your urges with a willing female is natural. And yet he'd been taught love was the better way. That marriage, not shallow affairs, led to true happiness.

His parents proved it with their behavior every day, his brother as well, and yet he had not quite managed to find peace with the demands of his body. Being caught between middle-class morality and the lustiness of youth left him perpetually both unsatisfied and ashamed of himself. I suppose Mother would say I should find a wife, and she probably has someone in mind, but I'm not Christopher, and I'm not ready.

Shrugging off his unproductive musings, he returned his focus to releasing his hours of work. Blank pages floated up to the sky to be forgotten. Ink oozed from the toes of his boots. As he walked, weariness replaced his restless agitation. Good. I should be able to sleep tonight. No need for whiskey.

At last, just beyond the edge of town, a tiny cottage loomed up in the darkness. He'd sacrificed both size and proximity to town to have a home on the edge of the sea, and he'd never regretted it. The miniature structure, charming in stone and ivy, had roses blooming in profusion around the foundation. Though the dark had faded all colors to shades of gray, the fragrances of sea, flowers and home remained as bright as ever. Devin inhaled and smiled. Then he proceeded up the walk to the door, entered and wandered down the hallway, happy to clean up, stretch out on his clean, white sheets, and drift off to the sound of the sea through the open window.

* * *

All the luggage had been stowed. Fanny had fallen into a light sleep, her head pillowed against the arm she had propped on the window, as the countryside flowed past them. Uncle Malcolm had finally stopped fussing and retreated to his own compartment, leaving the girls in peace and privacy at last.

Harry settled into her seat and pulled her novel from her own satchel. Soon, the lyrical prose of Jane Austen drew her out of her own difficult circumstances and into someone else's problems. Problems solved by a dreamy romance bigger than life. Bigger than my life anyway. No romantic hero will tease and banter with me, and finally save me from my life of drudgery.

Her best hope for the future was to accompany Fanny to her married home and continue to serve her. At least I wouldn't live in constant fear of upsetting Uncle Malcolm. William seems like a calm, kind man. That would be an improvement of sorts.

Sighing, she settled back against the blue brocade upholstery and let her imagination take her away. The ride would only last a short time, and then it would be back to work. I'd better enjoy my quiet moment while I can.