Free Tight Laced by Roxy Soulé Page B

in the midst of her body’s heat and rapture. Unsurprisingly, the nurse returned to find Lacy on the floor, her shift pulled up exposing her still-throbbing, though thoroughly satisfied, fruitful vine.

    Mathilde, Adelaide and Delphinium greeted the coach as it came to a halt in front of the Blantyre Highmeadow estate. Darlington’s sisters looked nervous, clearly marked by forced smiles as he helped Sarah Jane out of the carriage.
    They were lined up according to age and rank, Darlington’s eldest sister – in one of her gowns that hid the latest bun in the oven – outstretched her hand first. “Welcome, Lady Sarah Jane,” she managed through pursed lips. “I am Mathilde.”
    Sarah Jane flung herself into a hasty curtsy and then tripped as she took the Duchess’s hand, nearly yanking her to the rough ground.
    Darlington pulled the ladies to rights, and his middle sister, Adelaide (anxious, and eager to set things right), interrupted. “Have you spoken with the foreman? It’s a disaster, Darlington. An utter and complete disaster.”
    “Are you also my new sister?” said Sarah Jane, loudly.
    Adelaide crunched her forehead in confusion. The girl was the peacemaker in the family, and after their parents retired from society (they were both infirm and addled, mostly confined to the upper floors), Addie had taken on the role of conduit. “I am Adelaide, and you may address me thus.”
    Darlington felt the need to take over the line of questioning before chaos ensued. “Dear Addie, I will go at once. And then, I’m afraid I must get word of Sarah Jane’s sister. She was the victim of an absolute disastrous misunderstanding, and her good name is at stake.”
    Sarah Jane bounced on her toes, “Mum was mad as hops when Lacy rode off with the duke, though Roland and me told her, she just has a way with horses. Oh dear, I really need to visit the loo. Can one of you kind ladies direct me?”
    “Roland?” asked Adelaide. “Who is Roland?”
    “Yes m’lady?” intoned the coachman from his position at the helm.
    Sarah Jane, still bouncing, said, “Mama gave Darlington and me him as a gift! A proper coachman, he is.”
    Now the last of the duke’s sisters, his twin, spoke up. “Why, you can’t give someone as a gift, silly girl. Come, let me take you into the house so you can, um, powder your nose. I’m Delphi. Short for Delphinium.”
    His twin sister had been born a day before him on New Year’s eve, and always relished the fact that she would always be a year ahead of him in birth, though he soon towered over her.
    She was stunted and slender – nearly child-sized – and had a propensity for skin-tight clothing in an era of bustles and crinolines, accentuating her diminutive physique.
    Sarah Jane must have thought her far younger than she was, for she reached for Delphi’s outstretched hand, and the two scampered off toward the ducal estate’s main entrance. Darlington could make out Sarah Jane’s raspy voice before it thankfully faded from his aural reference. “Delphinium! You’re like my very own china doll come to life! Though your name makes me anxious, for I’m sensitive to Delphiniums. Like all flowers, really, I get the worst rash …”
    Adelaide and Mathilde watched his bride sashay off, and Darlington dismissed Roland, directing him to the stable. His sisters looked daggers at him.
    “What?” he said.
    “How did this come about?” said Mathilde.
    “Never mind. It’s temporary. I’ll figure something out.”
    “It’s the lien, yes?” said Adelaide.
    “The widow took out her claws. Now, tell me, is it as bad as they say?”
    “Worse,” said Mathilde.
    “How many dead?”
    “Last count, 205,” said Addie. “Some were but children.”
    Darlington closed his eyes, breathed in, and felt the weight of all of it collapse his spirit. A monumental disaster, and people were looking at him to fix it. Oh, the humanity!
    He looked toward the receding carriage. He turned to his sister,