Devin's Dilemma

Chapter 4

Chapter 4Every day they spent in Brighton, some of the isolation and stress of Harry's uncomfortable station seemed to slip away. Here, under a bright sun, kissed by sea breezes, the future seemed less bleak and hopeless. The eternal roar of the sea filled her mind with a sense of wistful expectation.

Here, the impossible seemed possible. Anything seemed possible. As she walked down the beach path with Fanny on the third day of their visit, Harry half-listened to her cousin's piping chatter, focused instead on soaking in as much natural beauty as possible. Last night, she'd opened the little window of her tiny servants' room in the attic of the hotel and listened to the sea as she fell asleep. A salt-scented breeze had teased her into dreams of mermaids singing on rocks far out in the sea. A ship had sailed past and a tall pirate, his burnished hair gleaming in the sun, had dived into the water for a closer look. Only, as he heaved himself onto the boulder, had she realized she was the mermaid, n***d and seductive, her dark hair swirling around her shoulders but leaving her breasts bare.

“Will you lure me to my doom?” he'd asked in his shiver-inducing voice.

“Depends on what you mean by doom,” she'd quipped back, moments before he joined her on the sun-warmed stone and took her in his arms.

And then Harry had learned, to her sorrow, one of the costs of sleeping with the window open as a noisy gull perched on the sill and demanded food with a raucous screech.

It was just as well he did. I almost overslept.

Trying again to focus on Fanny and forget her dream, she almost shrieked in terror as a massive shadow blocked the sun. As it was, a gasp of surprise led to a clumsy stumble.

“Sorry,” a masculine voice cut into her awareness as a warm hand closed around her arm.

She blinked and inhaled as deeply as her corset would allow, before raising her eyes to meet a warm, brown gaze, filled with concern. The backlighting of the sun turned his hair to a living flame and the freckles on his nose seemed to dance in a golden sea. Her pirate had come to her from the depths of her dream, as though her thoughts had summoned him.

“Mr. Bennett,” she said, pleased her voice only wavered a trifle.

“Miss Fletcher.” He turned his attention to Fanny. “And the other Miss Fletcher. Goodness, how do you ever keep each other straight?”

Fanny laughed. “We know who we are, nitwit,” she teased.

Harry ground her teeth. “He's joking, Fanny.”

“I know,” the black-haired beauty piped, and her high-pitched giggle, for the first time in Harry's life, seemed to grate on her senses. “I'm playing along.”

“I can hardly blame her,” the man said, pursing his lips. “It was a terrible joke. I deserve to be called a nitwit.”

Fanny laughed. Harry scowled.

“Now, please, my lady, don't frown so. Listen, I'll stop joking and be serious. Will that please you?”

“Don't do it, Mr. Bennett,” Fanny urged. “Harry is turning into a sour old woman. She needs to cheer up, even if terrible jokes are required.”

“I'll keep it in mind.”

Harry stood mute, overwhelmed by the rapid banter, and uncertain of what an appropriate response would be. She inhaled to clear her head and noticed, for the first time, how lovely Devin smelled, like fresh air, crisp, clean cologne and the most enticing man.

She shook herself and stepped back. “Never let it be said I can't appreciate a joke, even a silly one. I was startled, that's all. It's good to see you again, Mr. Bennett.”

“Ah, she speaks. I had so worried my antics had forever sealed your mouth in prunish disapproval.”

“Oh, please,” she replied. “An old lady's maid like myself would never bother with prunes. Lemons are so much more effective for wrinkling the lips.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then erupted in a bark of laughter.

Fanny tittered. “Well done, Harry,” she squealed, clapping her hands together. “I haven't heard you joke in ages. I was so worried about you.”

Oh dear. I'll have to try harder to hide my feelings. “No need to worry. I've only been tired from waiting up for you after so many parties. But once you're married, I'm sure I'll catch up on my sleep.”

Devin looked from one lady to the other. “Do you two mind if I walk along with you? Sorry to be so forward, but I normally take a bit of fresh air at this time of day, and it would be… nice to have some company for once.”

“N–” Harry began, but Fanny interrupted her.

“You may,” the girl said. “After all, this is a public walk. No one can stop you. Besides,” she slanted a glance at Harry, “I haven't seen my dear cousin this animated in ages.”

“Quiet, you,” Harry snapped, pressing her hands to her overly-warm cheeks. That's not the sun.

The three of them moved into position to continue down the path. All around them, people walked and talked, approaching each other and parting. The seaside formed a perfect place for casual—and perhaps pseudo-casual—meetings. I wonder if any lovers are meeting by accident on purpose. Grinning at her overwrought imagination, Harry ambled along, keeping part of her awareness for her shoes, but turning the greater part to their unexpected companion.

Devin Bennett. Such an unassuming name for a man who stands out in every possible way. Tall, so tall. Like a giant. Muscular—I thought someone who worked behind a desk would be soft, even fat—but his bulk is pure strength. Chiseled features. Full lips. Those warm brown eyes. And that hair… in the full sun, she was able to consider its exact shade. Like brandy, a gleaming mélange of red, brown and gold.

Harry's smile deepened. I'm attracted to him, she acknowledged. How lovely to have a feeling like this. He turned in her direction, meeting her eyes with a warm smile. She blushed and turned away, embarrassed to have been caught staring, but when she glanced back in his direction, his eyes remained fixed on her. Fanny's chatter faded into the sound of the waves and the world shrank, drawing inward until all became Devin: his scent, his eyes. Harry could think of nothing else and found no reason to try.

* * *

Devin lay in his bed, heels perched precariously on the lower edge of the too-short mattress. The open window admitted scents of roses that normally soothed him, but tonight he scarcely noticed. Tonight, his mind had flown far away.

Who knew small and dark would capture my attention, especially after the 'Irish Rose' I've been with? He pushed thoughts of Margaret away. They no longer enticed him. Mother would say it's because you've met a decent girl. He waited to feel foolish, to realize he was putting far too much emphasis on a random encounter, but the feeling never came. Talking to Miss Fletcher felt… good. I hope I run into her again.