A Touch Unexpected

8. Spot of Whiskey

8

Spot of Whiskey

It was well after dusk and Brighthall was quiet, with most everyone having retired to their rooms for the evening. Not yet ready to call it a night, Rosalind found herself in the kitchen seated across from Valentina at a small wooden table lit by the wavering glow of an ostentatious candelabra. Clutter was pushed to the side to make room for two bottles of wine Valentina had pilfered from the cellar, one nearly emptied, and a plate of freshly baked sweet bread.

Valentina had just finished divulging the latest gossip from a ladies’ luncheon she had attended earlier that day when a question popped into Rosalind’s head.

Rosalind stared into her glass of wine and traced a finger along its rim as she voiced her query aloud. “Val, what might you do in my position? If you were coming up to a particularly significant birthday and could suddenly do something you had never been able to before.”

“Fuck.”

Rosalind nearly choked on her wine. “P-pardon?”

“I think I broke a nail,” Valentina grumbled as she looked down at her hand. Then she drew her gaze back up to Rosalind. “Sorry, back to your question…” She trailed off, rubbing her chin in consideration. “For starters, I would have a close friend organize a fabulous soiree under the guise of a musical exhibition or charity function or what have you. I would then curate a very particular guest list co mposed only of eligible bachelors who met my strict criteria, and acquaintances whom I could trust to sing my praises.”

Rosalind eyed her friend skeptically. “Why not simply host it on behalf of your birthday?”

“No, no, that won’t do,” Valentina remarked as she reached for the other bottle of wine and uncorked it. “Hosting my own birthday would have me appear vain. It would also cast too much attention on me. How am I to intimately acquaint myself with anyone when I’m constantly under watch?” She beckoned Rosalind to hold out her glass.

“The entire point of the soiree is to provide me the opportunity to determine which men, if any, are worthy of more of my time,” she explained as she topped off Rosalind’s glass and refilled her own. “Look, Ros, I don’t possess your level of patience. Never have. If I had to wait twenty-two years to touch a man, you’d better believe I’m going to sort that out rather quickly. Find out what all the fuss is about.” She paused briefly before adding, “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Rosalind chewed the inside of her lip as she mulled over the question. She was curious, certainly, but to what extent was something she hadn’t fully considered yet.

“How many days left until the big day?” Valentina asked when Rosalind didn’t respond. “Nine, yes?” she said after counting the days on her fingers. “You know, it isn’t too late if you’d like me to organize something…”

Rosalind snorted. “It’d be an enormous waste of time. You’d be hard-pressed to find men willing to give me the time of day regardless of the status of my enchantment. Social pariah, remember?”

“What about that fidgety boy, Anton or Alfred or whatever?”

“So close.” Rosalind gave a little chuckle. “Albert is his name. ”

“Yes, that one. He’s plenty interested in you, is he not? Perhaps we need to seek out more men like him, those not under DuPont’s influence.”

“That rules out all of Proper high society then,” Rosalind mumbled into her glass.

“If there were anyone, I would’ve slept with them already and could tell you if any were worth their salt. Alas, I’ve only had the terrible misfortune of bedding incomprehensible pricks—and I mean that in every sense.”

“Come now. What about Charles?”

“Ah, yes, charitable Charlie,” Valentina said wistfully. “Good chap, that one. Such a shame he inherited an estate away in the salt marshes. He waxed on and on about the endless blue sea and vibrant sunrises I could wake up to every morning, as if living by the ocean would entice me. Can you imagine the havoc salty air would wreak on my hair? Not to mention my skin. Absolutely not.” She grimaced.

Rosalind bit her lip in a poor attempt at hiding her amusement. As soon as their eyes met, the pair burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“What are you two on about?”

Wiping away the tears from her eyes, Rosalind looked to where Jonathan had appeared in the doorway. She had only caught glimpses of him in recent days. According to Louis, he was busy visiting with farmers, factory workers, and tradespeople in the area. He would slip out of the house early in the morning and return well after dark.

Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. The last time they were together, he’d helped her confirm her enchantment truly was lifting—and ahead of schedule at that. To say she was eager to uncover whether any more of the enchantment had lifted would be an understatement, and now, here he was. Rosalind’s gaze flicked to Valentina, and the flutter abruptly petered out when she remembered she hadn’t yet confided the revelation to her dearest friend.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Valentina said smugly as she peered at him over her shoulder.

Jonathan huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you two to your secrets then. I only came to check that Death hadn’t come to collect the pair of you. It’s difficult to discern the sounds of your drunken gaiety from those of agonizing terror.”

“How quaint of you to think you could do anything about it if it had,” Valentina retorted. “Now, come and have a seat. You look like you need a glass.” She turned to Rosalind. “Pour him one, will you?”

Rosalind opened the large cabinet behind her and plucked a glass from it. She poured with a heavy hand and held it out for Jonathan to collect. A sudden wave of panic rushed over her as he approached. She locked eyes with him and implored him to heed her unspoken plea.

Jonathan squinted slightly, and his gaze darted briefly to Valentina before returning to hers. Slowly he reached for the wine glass and grabbed hold of the stem, careful to maintain a safe distance from Rosalind’s hand. She sighed, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“You’ve looked better, dear brother,” Valentina said as she sat back and sipped her wine, eyeing Jonathan curiously. “Something on your mind?”

Rosalind looked at Jonathan. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, only a white shirt with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. No pins or brooches or tightly knotted cravats adorned his person. And in the dim glow of candlelight, the circles under his eyes looked more pronounced than usual. Perhaps most surprising was his hair, which was not held in its typical rigid coiffure. Instead, tousled obsidian curls frayed above his ears and along his neck. Wavy locks sat atop his head, and a few strays tumbled loosely onto his forehead.

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. “I’d rather not spoil your fun with my vexations.”

“And I’d rather you not take us for such fickle creatures,” Valentina countered. “I shall sleep soundly regardless of whether or not you confide in us, but I must admit I’m intrigued to know why you look as if you’ve just returned from a bender at the card room.”

“I wish,” he murmured into his drink. He took a sip, which turned into him finishing the glass. Valentina was quick to refill his cup as he spoke. “Frankly, I’m exhausted and it’s been—what, not yet a month since I was inducted? Already I feel as if I am this close”—he brought his thumb and forefinger together—“to tearing out all of my hair.”

“Is that possible? I hadn’t thought so given all the pomade you use.”

Jonathan chuckled. “For the sake of my vanity, let’s hope you’re right. But if you must know, I have come to realize things are far worse than they’re made out to be.”

“Do tell,” Valentina entreated.

He was quiet for a moment as if unsure of where to begin. “Denault can’t sustain its population independently. Hasn’t been able to for more than a century due to dwindling crop yields. Over the years, our harvests have suffered from all sorts of calamities, be it too little rain, too much rain, frost, soil degradation, pests, diseases—you name it. To account for the deficit, we've invested heavily in imported commodities from elsewhere in Sauvign and overseas.”

Last year marked the centennial of the New Laws’ establishment in Sauvign. It was doubtless no coincidence that the laws came into effect shortly after regions like Denault began to suffer agricultural setbacks.

“In theory, it’s a viable solution,” Jonathan went on. “Trouble is, it’s an expensive one. On top of the price of the commodities themselves, there are labor and transportation costs to account for. Ends up being quite lucrative for those who’ve invested in the trade industry. Quite costly for most everyone else.”

“How fortuitous for our old pal, DuPont,” Valentina remarked dryly.

“Isn’t it just?”

Rosalind was vaguely familiar with the struggles local farmers faced through passing conversations with Albert and his father. Maria, too, had often lamented how expensive produce had become over the years. If Brighthall could feel the effects, how much more for households not of high society?

Jonathan rubbed at his forehead. “What’s frustrating is learning what little the council has done to curb costs and explore other more economical solutions. Reports compiled for the capital over the years hardly mention the issue. I wouldn’t have known it was so dire had I not met with nearby townkeepers and union leaders in the city.

“It took a bit of convincing to get them to speak candidly with me,” he added. “They found it difficult to believe I had come to inquire about their well-being. I don’t blame them. Care to guess how long it’s been since the council last held an audience with members of the public? Nearly thirty years .”

Rosalind didn’t miss how his leg bounced as he spoke. For a fleeting moment, she considered reaching out to try and settle his nerves, but her nerves swiftly rejected the notion.

“Can you change that?” She asked instead. It was the weight of past thoughts—things beyond his control—that seemed to agitate him. Perhaps shifting his focus to the present, where he could make a difference, might help ease his restlessness.

“I intend to, yes. I can reinstate public audiences with the council. I can also report my findings to the capital so that we may be held accountable for presenting an alternative solution. I know it can be done, I just haven’t figured it out yet…”

Jonathan swirled the dregs of wine in his glass, appearing lost in thought. He seemed so far away, and Rosalind wasn’t sure he could be pulled out of it. However, evidently not everyone agreed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Valentina tear off a piece of the leftover bread. Then, to Rosalind’s surprise, she flung it at Jonathan.

He shot her an incredulous look. “What was that for?”

“To get you out of your own head.” Valentina tilted her head as she considered her brother. “You’re not going to solve anything tonight, so you might as well give your mind a rest. Wake up refreshed, and perhaps you’ll be able to assess it in a different light, hmm?” There was a softness in her eyes as she spoke. If confronted, she would undoubtedly attribute it to a trick of the light. But Rosalind knew her friend well enough to recognize the sympathy seeping through the cracks of her cavalier facade.

As if sensing she had been found out, Valentina sat back and crossed her arms. “It’s as I said, you need it. Just look at the state of you,” she scoffed.

Jonathan rubbed a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have a point. Is there any more wine?”

Valentina picked up the bottle and gave it a slight shake. “Sadly, no.”

Jonathan stood. “I’ll be back.”

Moments later, he returned with a decanter of whiskey. “Will this do?”

“Oh yes,” Valentina said with a clap of her hands. “Give it here. ”

She poured some into her empty wine glass, then glanced over at Rosalind. “Good times, eh?” she said with a wink.

Rosalind wrinkled her nose as she eyed the liquor sloshing in the decanter.

“Not a fan?” Jonathan asked as he settled back onto his chair.

“Not particularly,” she mumbled.

“There’s a reason for that,” Valentina chimed in. “Want to hear it?”

Rosalind groaned into her hands. “Val…”

“I convinced her to sneak out with me one night to visit a nearby tavern,” Valentina began, ignoring Rosalind’s protestations. “One at the edge of Proper. It had a name to do with an animal, like a boar or sheep or something.”

“Ram’s Head?” Jonathan suggested.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Valentina said with a snap of her fingers.

She proceeded to regale him with a colorful account of the evening, some of which Rosalind had no recollection of. She explained how they had struck up a conversation with a few locals who recommended they try the homemade whiskey. One drink turned into a few. The whiskey continued to flow as the locals showed them how to play darts. They lost track of time and found themselves still at the tavern when dawn arrived. In order to make it back before Maria and the rest of the household awoke, they had to hurry back. Valentina reminisced about the brisk ride and recounted Rosalind’s experience.

“Ros here abhors horseback riding,” Valentina reminded Jonathan. “It terrifies her. Honestly, I don’t know how I convinced her to come with me in the first place. Well, anyway, I suppose the combination of sheer terror and whiskey made for a very uncomfortable ride home.”

She patted Rosalind’s hand. “I applaud her for making it until we got to the stable. Got sick in a nearby bush and refused to head up to bed with me. If I recall correctly, Colby found her passed out in a pile of hay.”

Jonathan threw his head back and laughed. The sound of his warm laughter almost made the humiliating story worth it. Almost. At least Valentina had omitted a few other details from the evening to save her from abject mortification.

“The more I come to learn about you, the more curious I become.”

Rosalind felt his eyes on her, and when she lifted her gaze to him, it fixed on the small dimple in his cheek that accompanied his broad smile. Her fingers itched to acquaint themselves with it. Worried her impulses might get the best of her, she tucked her free hand under the crook of her knee.

Another hour passed as the trio chatted idly about anything and everything that came to mind, including a scandal Rosalind and Valentina recounted from a few years back, about a nude painting of one of Proper’s most prominent goldsmiths mysteriously appearing on a bench in the town square one morning.

Valentina tipped her head back and drained the remainder of the whiskey. She then wiped a hand across her mouth. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I do believe it’s time for me to take my leave.”

She pushed herself off her chair and brushed stray crumbs off her dress. “I’m hoping to get a few more chapters in before I sleep. I’m halfway through an exquisite little novel about a love-deprived young maiden who finds herself in the arms of a war-hardened blacksmith with a giant—”

“I think we get the premise,” Jonathan interjected. “I can’t think of anything I want to hear less than the rest of that sentence.”

Valentina shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ll let you borrow it when I’m finished, Ros.” She gave her a wink .

Without another word, Valentina strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Rosalind and Jonathan alone.

“So I take it you haven’t told Val about the enchantment?”

“Not yet,” Rosalind said, shifting in her seat. “I’ve been meaning to, I just…” The words died on her tongue.

Why she hadn’t yet told her dearest friend was a question she was struggling to answer, even to herself. At first, she didn’t say anything because she wanted to wait until she had confirmation. Then, after she and Jonathan had met in the courtyard, she told herself she needed time to process it. But that was nearly a week ago, and she still hadn’t confided in Valentina, though there had been ample opportunities to do so. Tonight, for instance.

“Well, fear not. I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

She was grateful Jonathan hadn’t pushed for an answer, but with that thread of conversation at an end, silence settled over the pair. Rosalind scrambled to think of something to say but struggled to concentrate. Her attention was drawn to the gentle drumming of Jonathan’s fingers against his glass. She tried to formulate a coherent thought but was met with only flashes of memories. Her fingertips skimming along the ridges and troughs of his knuckles. The small calluses that dotted the palm of his hand. The dusting of dark hairs at his wrists that disappeared under his shirt cuff. She had taken the time to study his hand, but what would it feel like for his hand to study her?

Rosalind hadn’t realized she was staring until Jonathan’s fingers stilled against the glass. Her gaze shot up to find Jonathan watching her. Warmth flooded her cheeks as soon as she caught the hint of his smile.

Feeling dreadfully exposed, retreating was all she could think to do. She stood abruptly from her chair. “It's getting quite late, isn’t it?” she said, in a voice much too high. “I-I should probably take my leave now as well.”

Jonathan drew himself up and his close proximity had Rosalind’s instincts telling her to move away so as not to set off the enchantment. She stumbled backward only to bump into the cupboard that towered behind her.

“Aren’t you curious?” He asked.

He stood close enough that his height forced her head back to look up at him. “Yes, of course. Very much so,” she admitted earnestly. “But I wouldn't wish to trouble you with…” She trailed off, forgetting what she was going to say.

Her focus shifted to Jonathan’s hand, which now hovered in her eyeline. She watched as his outstretched fingers captured a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Ever so gently, he tucked the loose hair behind her ear. His fingers never left her skin as they continued their exploration, delicately tracing the line of her jaw until coming to rest on her chin. She closed her eyes as the pad of his thumb swept upward and lingered briefly at the corner of her mouth before venturing along her bottom lip.

“Ros…”

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name on his lips, so enticing it made her pulse quicken. “Yes?” she breathed.

She was vaguely aware that Jonathan had placed a hand on the cupboard beside her head, steadying himself as he leaned in. Slowly, he lowered his head until their faces were mere inches apart, his presence closing in around her in a way that felt impossibly intimate. “What say you to a spot of whiskey now?”

Her momentary bewilderment dissipated as soon as his warm breath ghosted across her lips, and she inhaled the faint scent of whiskey. She bit back a smile.

“Perhaps just a taste,” she whispered into the small space between them .

The words had barely left her when Jonathan leaned in and captured her lips with his. The kiss was soft and tentative and, to Rosalind’s dismay, achingly brief.

Jonathan drew his head back and she choked down the protests that rose in her throat. His eyes roamed her face as if he were searching for something.

He must have found what he was looking for because the next thing she knew, his mouth was on hers again. The tentativeness from earlier was gone this time around. His lips pressed more firmly against hers, and she could almost taste his burgeoning hunger. It made her crave more in return. She parted her lips in invitation and Jonathan swiftly obliged. The kiss deepened, and Rosalind reached out to grasp the fabric of Jonathan’s shirt, fearing her knees might buckle at any moment.

Without warning, Jonathan broke the kiss. “This isn’t your first kiss,” he murmured against her lips. Then he drew back warily. “It wasn’t my sister, was it?”

Rosalind let out a shaky laugh. “No, it’s not. And no, it was not.”

Evidently, that was all Jonathan needed to hear. He dove in for another kiss, and they took their time exploring one another’s mouths with lips and tongues and teeth. Just as Rosalind contemplated the necessity of air, Jonathan’s lips parted from hers to pepper kisses along her jaw. Rosalind inhaled deeply, only to gasp out seconds later as Jonathan nipped at her earlobe before lowering his mouth to kiss her neck.

The hairs on her skin stood on end as his fingertips trailed up the length of her arm. They continued their exploration, tracing along her collarbone before venturing down her décolletage toward the low neckline of her dress. Just then, sparks of golden light erupted, and Jonathan’s hand drew back. He let out a soft, frustrated hum against Rosalind’s neck before slowly pulling himself upright .

For a brief moment, the room was filled with only the sound of their quick, heavy breaths. Then Jonathan cleared his throat. “Shall we?”

Rosalind nodded and led their silent retreat upstairs. When they reached her door, she turned to bid him goodnight. The muscle in his jaw ticked and there was a stiffness to his stance as he offered her a hasty bow in return. His hand clenched open and closed at his side as his figure disappeared down the hall.

Once inside, she leaned against her door and smiled. That was one way to measure the progress of the dwindling enchantment. What might have happened had it been fully lifted? She shook her head. It would do her no good to wonder, to ask, what if? At best, such musings could inspire pleasant dreams. At worst, they could ignite something dreadfully foolish—hope. No, it was better to take it for what it was: a new experience for her and a welcome distraction for him. Curiosity combined with alcohol did tend to lower inhibitions.

Not wanting to bother with every arduous step of her typical nighttime routine, Rosalind hastily pulled off her dress and slipped on her nightgown. She was halfway through a perfunctory attempt at plaiting her hair when a disconcerting realization weaseled its way to the forefront of her mind. The reason she hadn’t confided in Valentina was rather apparent now, wasn’t it? She’d enjoyed her clandestine rendezvous with Jonathan and, had she told Valentina, tonight wouldn’t have happened as it did. Her friend would have had other more outlandish ideas as to how and with whom to test the boundaries of the enchantment.

Rosalind slipped under the thick, warm sheets of her bed to hide from the guilt that began to niggle at her. She shut her eyes and tried to still her whirring mind. Instead, the thought of Jonathan’s lips warm and wanting against hers surfaced. She touched her fingers to her lips before letting them trail languidly down the length of her body, dipping between her breasts and over her belly, skimming lightly across the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Shamelessly, she licked her lips, seeking any lingering taste of him. She recalled the low hums and uneven breaths that escaped his mouth as he kissed her neck, and she pulled at the hem of her gown and slid her hand between her thighs.

As vivid memories flooded her mind and she beckoned bliss to consume her, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing the same.