The Booklover’s Absolutely Amorous Affair (The Notorious Briarwoods #9)

Chapter 11

N imue had always been a happy person, but she could not recall ever being this happy in her entire life. It was as if every happy moment of her existence had been rolled up into one and was now unfurling before her.

Jean-Luc was a wonder.

Her relationship with Jean-Luc was even more so. How she adored him, how she adored being with him, how she adored every moment she had in his arms, and they did steal many moments because of her mother’s goodwill.

And her father must have given his approval too because he was spending a great deal of time on the other side of the Isle of Wight talking to friends, reading his books, and engaging in political discourse.

Yes, the cottage had been left untouched and unbothered by the outside world.

Except for the cows grazing, of course!

It was as if they were in a magical, secret place that no one could access but themselves. Of course, they did not just spend time in the cottage. She did meet him there every night, after everyone had gone to sleep. Quietly, thrilled by her own sense of adventure, she sneaked out in the dark, able to make her way to the cottage because she knew the landscape so well and because the moon was often shining. But they also went on adventures together. They climbed over the rocks, visited the beaches, and discussed life and philosophy and every book that they had read, whether apart or together.

Between them, there was little silence. They delighted in each other.

She wanted to crow with laughter because she had finally met someone who read as voraciously as she did. They were all but reading a book a day together.

It was a wonder that she could wake up in the morning, for she was getting so little sleep. But she was so excited by life, she did not care. And everyone commented upon how well she looked, especially this night when she had her evening gown on.

She turned and twirled before her mirror, quite pleased with how she’d turned out. Her sisters smiled, clapped their hands, and teased her skirts with their fingertips.

“Oh, you look beautiful, Nimue,” Guinevere praised, her eyes alight with admiration.

“Thank you,” she replied, beaming at her little sister, longing for Guinevere to know such confidence one day too. “I feel beautiful.”

And to be truthful, she did. She had always known she was pretty, beautiful even. But now she felt as if she had completely blossomed. She felt confident, proud, excited. Beauty was now as rooted in her heart and soul as in her visage.

Her hair had been curled carefully atop her head with the help of her sisters. They had placed snowdrops into her hair. The flowers were finally blooming. It was terribly exciting.

Spring would come soon.

As would Jean-Luc’s departure. Everyone knew the Briarwoods would depart for the Season when the weather turned. But she would not think on that. There was no point. She’d always known that Jean-Luc would go. It was what made him perfect for her.

The flowers were a perfect accompaniment to her snowy gown of white with its delicate lace on the hem.

They were all dressed in the newer fashions. The skirts were still quite voluminous, but there was no great undercarriage to them. They no longer had to worry about that, and she was rather grateful.

Their stays kept them upright with wonderful posture, but the scoop of their gowns was more seductive and softer than it had been in the past, and she had a soft pink ribbon tied about her rib cage to emphasize her figure.

She loved how she looked. She loved the new fashions of the day, for it allowed ladies to have so much more room for movement. How free she felt, and how free her sisters felt too!

She turned about again, loving the feel of her skirts whooshing about her legs and smiled at her sisters. All should know her joy!

She felt so happy she had to share it. “You look glorious as well.”

And they did. Her sisters were beautiful young things, full of life and promise.

They were dressed in their very best. It would not be the best compared to the Briarwoods, but they did not care, for they were proud of themselves and liked themselves well and would not be intimidated by the very powerful family from off the Isle of Wight.

What was the point in that?

They squeezed hands and then, eager for the party to begin, they charged downstairs and were met with their mama, who was dashing back and forth.

Her mama had hired several young women and men from the village to come up and help take care of all the guests. They had spent untold hours decorating. They had used silk ribbons and festoons of shimmering fabric. The whole house was bedecked, and there were beautiful candelabras standing in every corner to bathe the house in a light that would make all of the guests look resplendent.

The house shone like a jewel, a remarkable, beautiful jewel. It did not matter that it was not the largest or biggest jewel. It was perfect. It was better than any diamond, for it was theirs.

The carriages began to roll up, and her sisters let out a cry of excitement.

“Mama,” said her younger sister, “they are coming.”

And indeed they were. They could all hear the footsteps of the guests crunching on the gravel of the drive.

She went up to her mother and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “All shall be marvelous, Mama. You have done such a wonderful job preparing for them all.”

She could hear the musicians in the next room tuning, for it was to be the most wonderful of dances as well. They had put all of the furniture away to make room for all the guests to promenade and prance.

Her mother looked at her, clearly nervous. “Do you think so, my dear? I have not hosted such a large affair in some time.”

“Oh, Mama,” she assured. “How could anyone not be happy here?”

“I love you, my dear,” her mother said, holding her close in her soothing arms. Her mother gave her a look that was so significant, one that promised love and acceptance forever. No matter what came.

She felt tears sting her eyes.

“I’m glad you’re happy, my darling Nimue. And I am happy too,” her mother said with a nod of her perfectly coiffed head. “So, our guests shall be happy as well.”

“It shall spread,” Nimue teased, eager for the guests to enter, “in the air.”

“Like a sickness?” Her mother laughed.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed. A sickness of joy! Of happiness! Does not Shakespeare talk about the sickness of love?”

Her mother shook her head, but playfully. “My darling, you are a treasure.”

“I am only a treasure because you have taught me to be so.”

“Not true,” her mother replied.

Before she could argue further in their mutual admiration, the door was flung open and the servants began ushering the guests in, taking cloaks and coats.

The Briarwoods poured into the house like a bright and energetic carnival. It was the only way to put it. And if she had thought that the Chevertons would be spreading happiness, well, she’d been right. But the Briarwoods brought in another wave of happiness that was inexplicable.

Not only was it a wave of happiness, it was a wave of noise. They were chatting, excited, and enthusiastic.

There was no superior reticence to be found!

The dowager duchess strode in first. She had to be the dowager duchess. Her silvery hair was curled magnificently atop her head. Her gown shone with silver embroidery and jewels danced at her ears and throat. She extended her gloved hand with great pleasure, for she was the most powerful woman in the room, and it was her job to acknowledge Nimue’s mother.

She felt her mother tense for just the barest of moments with nerves, but then the dowager duchess beamed at her reassuringly and said, “We have been looking forward to this night since the moment the invitations arrived. How wonderful of you to include us. We so wish to be friends, and we cannot wait to become a part of the community.”

Nimue could all but feel her mother melt with relief before she replied, “You are most welcome, all of you. It gives us great joy to share our home and our life with you.”

Then, without further ado, the two women began to chat.

Chat as if they had known each other their entire lives.

It was remarkable to watch. And then Briarwood after Briarwood marched in through the foyer and into the ballroom after having shaken her mother’s and father’s hands.

They were all shockingly good-looking people. The gentlemen were so handsome they would have made the pages of a novel shiver with shame. And the ladies? They all looked bright and happy and intelligent. Her sisters giggled and bounced about, for this was wonderful stuff.

There was no disdain, no snobbery, none at all as they began to mingle.

And then she spotted him.

Jean-Luc strode in with that confidence of his that was so un-English. It was a sort of inherent swagger that said he knew he was handsome, intelligent, cultured, and admired.

On anyone else, it would have been unbearable. With him? It was heaven.

How beautiful he was! He made all the Briarwoods, in her opinion, look like pigeons compared to a swan. He crossed to her immediately as if there was no one else in the room, took her hand in his gloved one, and lifted it. He gently kissed her glove-covered knuckles.

“Nimue,” he breathed, lifting his dark, wicked gaze to hers, “you will promise me at least two dances.”

“Yes, two,” she managed, for now his presence always stole her breath away. For she knew what they were capable of together when their bodies intertwined. “No more or we shall cause a scandal.”

He smiled slowly, mischievously. “Well, we mustn’t do that. But perhaps I can steal you away when no one is looking and we can dance a third in a hidden corner.”

Dance a third… There was a tone to his voice that seemed to suggest something more.

Her entire body trembled at that. She loved the idea of him stealing her away. “We shall see.”

He did not bother with another word. Instead, he put her hand atop his and escorted her into the ballroom.

“Where are your sisters?” she asked.

“They did not come.”

“What?” she asked softly. “Why?”

He hesitated. “They do not like gatherings such as this. I hope you will not be offended.”

“Of course I will not,” she said. “I could never be.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “But they pass on their compliments, and they have asked if you will come to tea. They would like you to come to the house where they will be very comfortable getting to know you.”

“It would fill me with delight to meet them.”

“Your mother must come too,” he added. “And your sisters, your whole family. It will be a wonderful way for us to repay you for the likes of this evening.”

Her mother would be thrilled to hear of this because she would finally get to have admission to the Duke of Westleigh’s house. It was a feather in her cap!

“You wish us all to come to the house?” she asked, wanting to make certain she had truly understood.

“But of course,” he replied with that captivating shrug of his. “We are to be friends, the families. No?”

“Yes, we are,” she breathed, amazed. Amazed at how a mere meeting out of doors when she’d sought a quiet spot with her book could change the course of her life.

It was remarkable how one’s life could change and how new friends could come. One could never know what the tide would bring. She had been so certain that her life would be just as it had always been. She would know the same people, do the same things, live the same way, but never again.

The Briarwoods had come and they had changed everything. They had changed her entire existence and surely it would all be for the best.