A Ring For The Pregnant Debutante

Rosa grimaced. She had no doubt her mother would pack her straight back to Italy the moment she turned up on the doorstep.

‘I have a good friend who will take me in, I just need to get to her.’

Rosa was aware of Hunter’s eyes scrutinising her. He did it brazenly, as if he didn’t even consider it would make her uncomfortable, or he wasn’t concerned if he did. Roaming eyes taking in her every movement, her every expression, making her feel exposed and as if he knew all of her secrets.

‘Time for bed,’ Hunter said abruptly, standing and draining the dregs of wine from his glass.

Rosa was just about to say she would stay on the terrace a while longer when Hunter’s strong arms whisked her up from her seat and carried her over the threshold into the villa.

‘What are you doing?’ Rosa asked indignantly.

‘Taking you to bed.’

‘Put me down.’

He ignored her, manoeuvring round the furniture in a plushly decorated living room before kicking open the door to a bedroom. Quickly he strode into the room and deposited her on the rather inviting four-poster bed.

‘I might not want to go to sleep,’ Rosa said.

Hunter shrugged. ‘You’re here now.’

Rosa clenched her jaw to stop the flow of uncomplimentary phrases that were trying to escape.

‘Only because...’ Rosa began, then stared in surprise as Hunter left the room, closing the door behind him. It was difficult to have an argument with a man who refused to listen half the time.

Rosa nearly struggled to her feet, thinking she would hop back out on to the terrace just to show she couldn’t be ordered around and sent to bed like a child, but her body was already sinking into the soft mattress and freshly laundered sheets. Tomorrow she would stand up to Lord Hunter, tomorrow she would thank him for his assistance but firmly insist she go her own way from now on. Tonight she was going to enjoy the comforts of Lord Hunter’s guest room and rather welcoming bed.

Chapter Three (#ubd57f08c-9d83-5f2f-9c3a-fa00c677f409)

Thomas tossed and turned, throwing the light sheet from his bed with a growl of frustration. It was nearly dawn yet he hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours and now he felt groggy and unsettled.

Reaching out to the small table beside his bed he picked up the well-read letter, the real reason for his disturbed night. Every time he read the now-familiar words his conscience collided with his more selfish needs and he came away uncertain as to what course of action to take. And if there was one thing Thomas didn’t like it was uncertainty. With a sigh he sat up in bed and started to read again, wondering if he was just punishing himself or hoping for divine inspiration, a new point of view, knowing the words and the pleas would still be the same as all the other times he’d read it.

My darling son,

I hope you are well and are finding what you need to soothe your soul on your travels. It has been three years and eight months since I last set eyes on you—one thousand three hundred and forty-five days since you left. You must know I don’t blame you for leaving—I actively encouraged you to go—but I miss you every minute of every day that you are gone.

I am keeping as well as can be expected. My friends ask when I will come out of mourning...when I will start to move on. They don’t understand what it is like to lose a husband and a son. I don’t think anyone does, apart from you.

Ever since you left I have tried to be patient, tried to allow you to grieve and come to terms with the uncertain future in your own way. You know I have never pressured you to return, never pushed your responsibilities or the estate’s need for a master. I truly hoped you would find peace on your travels, revel in new experiences and return to me with a renewed passion for life, but three years and eight months is a long time to wait and now I want my son home.

I’m lonely, Thomas. I’m surrounded by friends, by extended family, by servants I have known for half my life, but without you it all seems empty. So I have decided to be selfish. I know you have lost a father and a brother, and I know you’ve needed to come to terms with a possibly cruel and difficult future, but now I ask that you think of me.

Come home to me. Fill the house with laughter once again. Allow yourself to think about the future, to hope. A wife and child might be too much to ask, I know that, but please consider returning home and taking up your birthright.

I live in hope that I might embrace you in my arms one day soon.

Your loving mother

He wanted to put the letter out of his mind, to forget the hurt and loneliness that must have triggered his mother to write in this way after allowing him to fulfil his own wanderlust for nearly four years without a word of protest. She had been the one who’d encouraged him to leave in the first place, who’d urged him to travel and experience a bit of the world so he would have no regrets about his own life. Thomas knew soon he would have to return to England, return to the memories and the half-empty family home. He was not cold-hearted enough to refuse a direct plea from his mother.

A swim, that was what he needed, a bracing and refreshing start to the new day. Maybe then he could find it in himself to start planning the long journey back home. Thomas jumped out of bed, grabbed a towel and tucked it loosely around his waist. He padded barefoot through the villa, resolutely not looking at the closed door to the guest room, and out on to the terrace. Even though the sun’s rays were just beginning to filter over the horizon Thomas could already feel the heat in the air. It would be another scorching day, the type that sometimes made him long for the cool breezes and cloudy skies of England.

It only took him thirty seconds to reach the lake, two more to stretch and brace himself for the icy shock of the water and then he dropped his towel to the ground and dived in. The blackness consumed him immediately and as Thomas glided deeper he could barely make out the shape of his hands a few inches in front of his face. The water skimmed over his skin, washing away the remnants of the restless night and invigorating him for a new day. Forty seconds in and his lungs began burning, but still he glided deeper. Fifty seconds and he felt the tremor in his muscles from lack of air. Sixty seconds and little grey spots began to appear before his eyes. One more pull of his arms, and then another, the ultimate test of his mind’s control over his body. Only when his head began to spin did Thomas relent and kick powerfully to the surface, breaking free of the water and taking in huge gulps of air.

He floated on his back for a while, allowing his body to recover and his breathing to return to normal. As the sun started to rise over the hills and reflect off the water’s surface Thomas began to swim. He took long, leisurely strokes, propelling himself through the water at a moderate speed and focusing on the horizon.

This was his favourite time of day, whilst he was powering through the water he could plan and reflect without any distractions. It was just him, the early morning air and the silent lake.

He swam for about fifteen minutes before turning back, the villa now the size of a model house on the banks of the lake. It was still peaceful, but there were signs of life stirring around the edge of the lake. A farmer’s cart trundled along the dusty track, kicking up a plume of dirt. A young boy chased an eager dog down to the water’s edge and further away to his left the sleepy village was beginning to show signs of activity.

As Thomas reached the edge of the lake he paused, turning to look out over the murky blue water before pulling himself up the old wooden ladder on to the shore.

* * *

It was getting light when Rosa awoke and for a few moments she allowed herself to lie in bed and watch the soft light of dawn streaming in through the windows. She wasn’t a natural early riser—at home she would often indulge in breakfast in bed late in the morning—but these last couple of months she had found herself waking early with an entrenched sensation of nausea that could only be cured by a cold glass of water and something to eat.

Rosa knew she was lucky, many women at her stage of pregnancy spent their days vomiting and confined to their beds. A little early morning nausea was not something that stopped her from getting on with her day at least.

Rising slowly, Rosa straightened her dress, aware of the creases from where she’d slept fully clothed, and patted the loose strands of hair into place. She took a moment to examine her ankle, which had swollen overnight and had a purple hue to the stretched skin. Even placing it lightly on the floor made her wince in pain, but she gritted her teeth and managed to hobble to the door, leaning heavily on furniture as she went.

Outside her bedroom the villa was quiet and Rosa sensed she was alone. Of course Lord Hunter would be an early riser, he was just the type to be cheery at an ungodly time in the morning. Rosa was just about to admit defeat and flop into a chair when she spotted an ornate walking cane leaning up against the wall next to her bedroom door. Hunter must have put it there after he’d bid her goodnight, ready for her to use this morning.

Grasping the carved knob, Rosa tested the cane out, finding she could walk a little better with the extra balance it gave her, although the pain was still there. She would have to remember to thank Lord Hunter for his kindness.

Not wanting to rummage through his cupboards, but desperate for something to eat, Rosa ventured outside on to the terrace. She recalled from the night before the large orange tree overhanging the seating area and her empty stomach growled at the thought of a juicy orange to start the day.

Rosa had to stretch to reach even the lowest branch, but her efforts were rewarded when she began to peel a ripe and fragrant orange and popped the first segment into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she savoured the sweet juice, licking the remnants off her fingers before biting into a second segment. She had to stop herself from wolfing the whole orange down in a few seconds as she peeled the remainder of the skin from the flesh it was so delicious, but somehow she managed to resist the urge. With the first orange gone Rosa stretched up and plucked a second from the branches of the orange tree, grasped hold of her cane again and limped to the edge of the terrace.

As she looked out over the lake, admiring how the sun reflected off the smooth surface making the water look blessed by the gods, her eyes came to rest on the small figure propelling himself towards the villa. He was swimming quickly, but in a way that looked as though it required hardly any effort on his part. As he got closer Rosa realised it was her host, Lord Hunter. She almost laughed—she’d known he would be a morning person, he probably swam a mile first thing every morning whilst she would normally be languishing in bed.

Rosa watched as he approached the shore, mesmerised by the rhythmic movement of his arms and the effortless way he glided through the water. She’d felt the hard muscles of his arms and chest when he’d picked her up yesterday and wondered if this was how he stayed quite so toned.

With a final pull of his arms Hunter reached the small wooden jetty that jutted out from the grounds of the property. Rosa could see his shoulders bobbing up and down as he gripped the ladder and began to pull himself out.

Time slowed and Rosa found she couldn’t look away. Inch by inch Hunter’s body rose from the water, his chest, his abdomen, the water pouring off him and leaving his skin shimmering. Rosa felt the heat begin to rise from her core as her eyes locked on to Hunter’s naked form. Only when he pulled himself fully out of the water did Rosa realise he wasn’t wearing anything at all, but still she couldn’t look away. He stood, indifferent to his nakedness, seemingly unconcerned that anyone might see him, and brushed the water from his skin before picking up a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

Only then did he glance up to the terrace. Rosa knew the moment he saw her, the moment he realised she must have been watching him the entire time. For a fraction of a second his whole body went still, like a wolf catching sight of its prey, then he raised a hand and waved cheerily at her.

She wished she could just disappear, that an earthquake would open up the ground underneath her and she could fall inside. He would think that she had been watching him. Well, she had been watching him, but not purposefully. She wasn’t to know he swam naked, but now she looked like a shameless voyeur.

‘Good morning,’ Hunter said with a smile as he approached the terrace.

‘Good morning,’ Rosa managed to mumble, trying to look anywhere but the expanse of exposed skin at her eye level. He was tanned, wonderfully so, his skin a deep bronze hinting to the length of time he’d spent in warm climes.

‘Did you sleep well?’

How could he ask such a mundane and ordinary question when he was standing there half-naked in front of her?