Bliss was the most exquisite ideal of feminine beauty, with her smooth pale skin and glossy chestnut ringlets. Her eyes were gems set a-twinkle with the starlight and her rose-colored mouth perfect and full. She was named in commemoration of the elation her papa felt at her birth for, even as a babe, Bliss Blessed Moore seemed perfection. Her voice was like that of the sweet ringing of tiny bells and when she sang, it was as the language of angels; she moved from alto to soprano with an ease it took the masters many years to learn. She was lithe and nubile of figure and graceful of poise. She was, in a word, flawless.
It was for all this and more that Major Andre Cotard fell in love with her upon first he saw her, as did most men after a fashion. He was serving in India beneath her father, Colonel Alfred Moore, at which point he made her acquaintance for her papa could not bear to be parted from her.
Though he did not approve of her fraternization with his men, he made an exception in Cotard’s case for the Colonel found him to be an uncommon man among his soldiers. Moore admired the difficult choice his subordinate had made, to abandon the land of his home country, if not the ideals he held for her future, and to fight for those very ideals alongside the same men his own people had declared the enemy.
It did not go unnoticed that Andre was, in fact, of the gentry in France and had flourished as a young man in the tutelage of an affluent Duc, an old family friend whose land bordered the Cotard family estate. A hot-blooded Gaul he may have been, but a rich one at that and, though that was ostensibly of little relevance to Bliss’ father when it came to his precious child, it would be a lie to deny that it assisted matters considerably.
Any affair, the Colonel was helpless to resist the will of his cherished daughter. Though not properly betrothed, on his return to England, Cotard agreed to join the Moores at their stately home in Scotland. It would seem that this would be the end of the tale but, in fact, it is just beginning for life and love had a funny way about it.
The carriage carrying the Major rolled to smooth halt upon the gravel drive of Kingsharrow Manse, home to the Colonel and his darling Bliss, waking him from his light slumber. He had only just returned to Great Britain and tarried not long in Plymouth before setting off to join his intended at her impressive residence near Inverness.
It had been a lengthy journey and his mind was still foggy with drowsiness, but he could not recall for the life of him if the existence of additional kin had ever been discussed, or even mentioned, for that matter. And yet, there they stood on the great stone steps of the manor, waiting to greet him. There were two of them, one young lady and a gentleman; Cotard could detect their familial relation instantly for the resemblance was uncanny.
The male of the duo was so alike the Colonel, Andre guessed it must be his son. His richly ginger hair was pulled back securely in an orderly queue, his skin pale with only a hint of freckling. He had broad shoulders, dark eyes and the distinguished cheekbones of his family. And yet, quite contradictory to the Colonel’s disciplined rigidity, this younger Moore walked with a casual, almost arrogant swagger; he held a nearly mocking smirk upon his thin lips. Cotard thought that perchance, from his demeanor, he had already had his drink for the day, and then some, though it was barely past noonday.
The other was an unassuming gentlewoman. She would have been considered pleasantly handsome though not particularly striking or generously attractive had she not had the misfortune of being judged against Bliss’ natural radiance. Her listless auburn hair was similar to that of her associations, her brown eyes larger and more temperate while her flesh was dotted all over in freckles. Her mouth was a lovely pink bow emphasizing the pretty oval shape of her face and held no contempt, unlike the man standing beside her. Overall, there was a manner of intelligence about her, an extraordinary and dignified bearing; in that, she was much comparable the Colonel. Andre felt perhaps she was someone he could be friendly with.
“Good day, old chap,” called the smug young man. He sighed, pulling a cigarillo from his pocket and waving it about between his fingers as he gestured. “Honestly, I think we’ve been standing here all day awaiting your entrance.” He snapped his fingers and a brisk older gentleman appeared, bowing crisply. “Rogers, the Major’s belongings.”
Rogers, the footman, barely registered his master’s haughtiness. Though Andre was sure he saw a faint, fond smile turn the corners of his rigid mouth when the lady said tactfully, “Rogers, please, if you will take Major Cotard’s effects to the chamber that has been prepared for him.” He nodded briskly and she re-focused her attentions on Cotard. “We are sorry our papa could not be here to greet you himself for he much looked forward to your arrival, but business has unexpectedly called him away.”
“Oh, Dodie, no need for such formalities! He is to be our brother after all,” scoffed the Colonel’s son, for now their identities were certain. There was an awkward pause as if no presentation was needed, which in fact they were. Colonel Moore had somehow failed to mention his son, Frederick, himself a retired captain in the British army; a severe injury had taken him out of action. Or so they said, though it was his fondness for a snifter that had ended his commission prematurely. Equally had he neglected to reference his second and oldest daughter, Dorothea Grieve, who had lived -undaunted, it must be said- in the shadow of her sister’s charm for seven and twenty years.
When Frederick finally understood the uncomfortable mis-communication, he let out a wry laugh, clapping his hands together in sardonic delight. “I take it our esteemed father has not spoken of us,” he grinned and made the necessary introductions, perceiving cunningly the curious expression on Dorothea’s face. His poor, dear Dodie; he would have paid his father’s usual forgetfulness no mind if it weren’t for her. She was the finest of them all, why was he the only one sober--ha, bloody, ha--enough to see it. This Major Cotard, at least, was considerate of her as he bowed graciously and kissed softly her slender hand.
To Andre’s credit, he was doing rather well in the situation, despite his considerable shock. He was a man of overt emotion and his surprisement was ample, though he did his best, and succeeded in his own mind, to be cordial and courteous. They could sense his discomfort though they felt he recovered himself uncommon well. Especially Dorothea, who had quite taken to his charm, his suave demeanor. This was a man who knew women, Edmund thought slyly, a trait he both admired and envied.
How jarring it was to see these two, who were so similar to their sister and yet could not have differed more greatly. To realize that the man Cotard had spoke so freely with, confided in, held in exceptional admiration, had never felt the need to remark upon his other children. He knew of their mother, Georgiana, and the manner of her death some years back for of these things the Colonel would discourse openly and with exceeding sadness. He knew of Bliss’ childhood, of Alfred’s own youth. But never had he discussed Dorothea and Edmund.
Was this a failing of Andre’s, perhaps a mistrust on the Colonel’s part, or perhaps of daughter and son? What, he could not imagine, could they have done to receive such treatment. Aside, naturally, for not comparing to Bliss; a thought that occurred to him though he would not declare it even to himself for it was too callous. It was an uncomfortable notion, that the world revolving around Bliss, as it seemed to be wherever she went, would be to the detriment of others.
How very conflicted his heart was until, with a flash of cream flesh, a cloud-like surge of fine blue poplin and a cry of delight, Bliss was finally upon them, throwing herself into Andre’s arms. He spun her around, laughing, intoxicated just by the feel of holding her again. She looked radiant, of course; the hours she had spent primping and preening in preparation had hardly been necessary as no amount of make-ups, fancy frocks, and jewelry could compare to her innate resplendency.
“I thought maybe you had forgotten me!” she chided playfully, pressing her cheek to his.
“Now, how could I ever forget my Bliss,” he replied with a grin and Dorothea felt almost perversely voyeuristic watching them. She hadn’t neglected to notice that Major Cotard was, in fact, a very attractive man. The threads of silver that were woven through his thick dark hair at his temples, the heat of his gaze emanating from deep brown eyes, his thin nose, the way his mouth had a way of forming the perfect sardonic yet sweet smile. Even the way he spoke, the way he pronounced her sister’s name--something like ‘Bleese’--seemed endearing and seductive as anything she‘d ever heard.
Dorothea sighed, smoothing away a stray lock of hair from her forehead. It would be good to have all the family back at Kingsharrow again and Major Cotard seemed exceedingly pleasant. They seemed so happy together and that was all she could ask for for Bliss. The Colonel dragged her all over this blessed Earth, and to some places that were not, clinging to her, sheltering to the point of obsession and hardly allowing her to have any of the youthful indulgences she was rightly entitled to. Though little good it had done for her or Edmund.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“I hope can do with only Rogers as valet,” Edmund told Andre as he led him down the corridor to what would be his bedding rooms. The carpet was thick beneath Cotard’s boots, though worn; he could tell that some time ago it had been vibrant with reds and golds. But now it was fading, giving off a musty ancestral smell. This house, this place, had once been well lived in, well loved. Why did he feel now that was absent? It was almost like a museum of what had been.
The sound of Edmund’s voice, with its ever present sardonic edge, brought him back from his somewhat morbid musings. “We’ve only Rogers and Sanderson, the butler,” he informed him with something of a reluctant sigh. He sounded so alike his sister when he allowed himself to somber his mood. “And of course Mrs. Joyce, the housekeeper, and then there’s Hen, the maid. Bit of friction there, as you can imagine; Joycie likes to think herself tops around here and with a subordinate like Henrietta doubling as lady’s maid, well a higher position. I think you get the general idea of it.”
“It will be agreeable,” replied Andre with an amiable grin. Better to make the best of a complicated situation by putting on a courteous if not affable manner, even if Edmund was goading him with his glib air. The truth of the matter was that he hadn’t had a proper man since he was a young man. There had been Rajii in India but he had been more of a servant of all purposes rather than a genuine valet.
“My dear father likes to at least keep up appearances,” Edmund continued, lighting a cigarillo he had retrieved from a breast pocket. Andre coughed pointedly, waving away the thick, wafting bluish-gray smoke with a brusque stroke of his hand. Edmund ignored him. The Colonel had retained a full staff at his abode in Burundi and yet here at his own home, he could barely afford to keep the four if Edmund was to be believed. It was strange, peeling back the layers of truths he never even knew existed between himself and Moore. His commanding officer wasn’t entirely to blame, to be sure! Many assumptions had been made on Cotard’s part, those first impressions that hadn’t bothered to change. But that was the crux of Alfred’s little deceptions, wasn’t it?
It seemed like ages to Andre before they reached the door to the guest rooms, which Edmund promptly opened, bowing stiffly in mockery of a dutiful attendant as Cotard passed him, strolling inside. “Lounge,” Edmund announced, spreading his arms. He indicated a doorway to his right, “The bedroom and you’ll find a dressing room off of that.” The smoke from his cigarillo shifted with his movements and Andre wished he had put the thing out before they had entered; now the pleasantly modest yet stylish accommodations would stink of the damned object.
“Very comfortable,” commented Andre. “Quite suitable.”
Edmund chuckled dryly. “Not a man of many words, are you?”
Andre grinned almost mischievously. “And what would you like to discuss, monsieur? You will find I have many words when I’ve the mind to speak them. You seemed to be doing perfectly well holding a conversation on your own; I did not know if I should interrupt.”
This elicited a hearty laugh from Edmund; oh, he liked this man. He was uncommon among Bliss’ admirers; this one had wit, a sharp intellect. “Right then,” he nodded his head in sincere reverence. “I see Rogers has brought your baggage in; I suppose it is time for me to take my leave and allow you to prepare for dinner.”
Edmund began to leave and then paused almost too casually, as if he’d just remembered something that hadn’t at all slipped his mind, and turned back to Cotard with a roguish smirk on his face. “Bliss’ room is but four doors down; my room lies between. Just thought you ought to know.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him and whistling an upbeat tune.
Andre supposed that it was a logical arrangement, if the Moores’ unexpected financial state was indeed as severe as it appeared, to inhabit and maintain only one wing of the expansive manse. He would just have to become accustom to this perplexing revelation; that was the only thing for it. No matter, warmth was spreading throughout him at the mere knowledge that Bliss was so close.
Silly, really; he’d many lovers, many a yearning over the years but none made him feel as she did. Love herself had always alluded him and, truth be told, he did have a tendency to evade it with a cunning tenacity; there was a time eluding an angry papa was a way of life for him. But now he believed that providence had interceded in Bliss, showed him that it was time to stop his dalliances. Well, with multiple admirers, at any rate.
Ah, he could remember the feel of her lissome, creamy skin ‘neath his fingertips like silk, always fragranced with an exotic spice. Now that they were returned to Britain, he supposed she would use a more conventional and civilized perfume; a bit of a disappointment but it mattered not. He imagined her blushing, supple lips parting at the brush of his caress, yearning for his kiss. The lips of her mouth. Yes, he was thinking on the lips of her mouth. Ha! Parading downstairs to the dining hall with a magnificent cockstand simply would not do!
He removed his jacket and moved to the wash-hand stand; the water was still hot, provided by Hen merely moments before he had entered. Grasping the washball, he attempted to make himself presentable though he was still riding a bit hard in his breeches.
