Comtesse De Havana: How Things Begin - Book I

By R. Cane

Renna Scot has made a life for herself in Victorian New York, keeps it just so. Among her world are sidekick Gabriel, young but as sweet as he is mischievous. Seth, her right hand, silent but intentional, grounding. Bella, Bella, Bella, beautiful actress, long time love – a bond sealed by many years of friendship, their shared past, passion. But Renna is woman of many tastes, tends to juggle infatuations as a means of balancing her dedication, hard work, intensity – luckily her charms, or if it comes down to it, fierce independence, keep her a step ahead of most trifles. Enter Comtesse de Havana, a dark, mysterious traveller who instantly gets under skin, is not conditioned to Renna’s carefully made world, or likely to bow to it. Their impossible attraction is immediate, though neither has any intention of admitting, or accepting it, as if they have a choice.

A sample from Comtesse de Havana. Book I. How things begin:

An ale or two later, that same two still rest against the bar. It has been a long day of parade, games, celebration. The tavern is overly full, people spilling out the doors. Oh, and most have had more than a little to drink.

Spotting Tatiana across the way, the blond offers only a stiff nod, thinking the young lady looks pretty in her dress and drink-pink cheeks. Sidekick Gabriel, only semi-subtly watching a cow herder shuffle by asks, “will you not speak to the poor child here?”

His friend glances over, “if there is a time that makes sense. People know she stayed at the Estate so there is no reason not to.” As if sensing she is spoken of, the beautiful young thing glances over, lowers long lashes, smiles.

Gabriel shakes his head, “damnable woman! I don’t know how you get these lovely ladies to tolerate you!”

His companion is about to reply when a thin line of panic travels up spine, thinking she sees Bella but a few feet away, her long-time star-crossed love. But of course the other is travelling elsewhere, as she does. While Tatiana and Bella have been in the same place before, they are not aware of each other’s place in her life – the particulars. They each know they aren’t the only one, but not who else may be. A sigh of relief escapes when at closer look, it is not her.

Gabriel calls Tatiana over, laughs and drinks with her, partly out of boredom, partly to pester his friend. They are in the midst of a toast when talk drops, the room hushes, no small thing for a full tavern.

Looking up to find mouths suspended mid-speech, they watch as the sea of revelers parts. A woman strides through, chin up, eyes surfing the crowd. She is wearing an elegant white blouse buttoned up the front, fitting closely over breast and torso, but not so much over arms. The skirt is snug to hip, smooth over ass, loosens slightly as it lowers into free-flowing large ruffles, cut away in the front, longer in the back. The material is black, flowy, lined in crimson silk – the same deep red as her perfect lips. Very dark hair slicked tight to head, tied in a low bun at the back of a long neck. She sports a red flower over one ear, making her way through the mass of villagers with little expression. It is impossible not to wonder if this woman knows the stir she causes, but does not care, or simply does not realize her full effect. Everyone watches, eyes following the steady steps as she commands the room only by being it.

Swallowing, glancing at Gabriel, avoiding Tatiana, Renna wonders ‘who can this woman be? I know every face, goings on?’ Scanning the room, all seem equally dumbfounded, if any know her, they hide it well. What then can she want? Where can she be from, dressed thus?

Near the middle of the tavern the vision pauses to look back at the band which has stopped playing, tilts her head slightly. Somehow they understand and strike up song. The murmur rises again and things settle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Cane
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005977054

R. Cane

Finding the human condition and our antics endlessly fascinating, I tend to write ‘slice of life’ pieces about moments, situations, interactions, personalities – most often with some amount of humor or irony, always with wonder. The subject or subjects are frequently lgbtq, w/w, to the degree it matters, since people are people, stories are stories.

Book preview

The Comtesse de Havana. Book I. How things begin

by R. Cane

Published by R. Cane

Copyright 2020 R. Cane, including art, images

~

Smashwords Edition

Things that sadly need to be said:

Smashwords Edition, License Notes - This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and not intended to be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of authors.

If you enjoy this, please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Your support is appreciated :)

Front Matter

How things begin

Day 1

Day 3

Day 4

Day 6

Day 7

Day 8

Day 9

Message from the Author

Disclaimer

Comtesse de Havana. Book I. How things begin

Mrs. Vessey clomps her stuffy self across to Mr. Vessey, lifts her nose toward the long drink area with the rough wooden stools off to side of the tavern. The nerve, standing at the bar like that! And that hair, glaring at her husband’s head, I think yours is longer! disapproving of them both.

There, there he soothes, hoping to stay longer, slog down more ale. Best not to mess with the woman about town.

Flustered, woman about - looking over the neat brown trousers, deep cyan linen shirt tucked neatly in, as if anyone could tell what she is, parading around in breeches!

Mildred, patting her hand, best not to mock the one who makes this town run?

Huffing, turning away to complain more, with less chance of being caught, if our Good Queen Victoria ever saw -

Her husband’s eyebrows slide up as he steps closer, we are not in England any more wife. And even when we were, hardly hobnobbed with herself!

In a barely hushed whisper, well we are in what was the Dominion of NEW England! And no one should be allowed to operate in total lawlessness in any case!

The man glances over at the woman in question, her decidedly unladylike stance in trousers, shiny boots, button up shirt, fairly short dark blond hair - and yet somehow attractive, and certainly charming. Aside from dressing a bit different, which is well owed to the fact that she works for her supper, I don’t recall any other signs of lawlessness?

Getting frustrated, especially that her husband is not falling in line, again looking toward the bar. Must she kill someone before you will grant me that she is inappropriate! What kind of example does she set dressing so oddly for a woman? Standing at the bar?

Listen, he confides, we are not soon to agree, as I am not unhappy being out of a Merry Old England that wants to squelch everyone, even let that Bowdler re-issue Shakespeare of all things! Now that was sacrilege!

Snuffing, staring, would we could Bowdlerize her!

Stepping closer, maybe we stop talking down about the woman that puts food on our table, and most everyone else’s for miles! Owns the very place we stand.

Always one to have the last word, Mrs. Vessey chortles might never makes right! fully turns her back.

In the meantime, the woman in question at the bar talks to the elegant young man to one side, another Old Home Day, unsettled expression playing on her face.

Smiling, looking over the array of celebrants before them, it seems every citizen has turned out! But will you let anyone call you to the floor finally this year? Acknowledge your contributions to this, and most days here?

With immediate displeasure, this town is its own thing and no one deserves more appreciation than the other. You know that’s why I open the tavern for a free meal and drink this day – come one, come all, whether they have the coin or not - so everyone might celebrate together.

But that is hardly taking due for your part in this community?

Raising a warning eyebrow, few who seek credit properly deserve it.

Laughing at her predictability, then countering, while in other cases, some will never get credit without it being asked after!

An ale or two later, that same two still rest against the bar. It has been a long day of parade, games, celebration. The tavern is overly full, people spilling out the doors. Oh, and most have had more than a little to drink.

Spotting Tatiana across the way, the blond offers only a stiff nod, thinking the young lady looks pretty in her dress and drink-pink cheeks. Sidekick Gabriel, only semi-subtly watching a cow herder shuffle by asks, will you not speak to the poor child here?

His friend glances over, if there is a time that makes sense. People know she stayed at the Estate so there is no reason not to. As if sensing she is spoken of, the beautiful young thing glances over, lowers long lashes, smiles.

Gabriel shakes his head, damnable woman! I don’t know how you get these lovely ladies to tolerate you!

His companion is about to reply when a thin line of panic travels up spine, thinking she sees Bella but a few feet away, her long-time star-crossed love. But of course the other is travelling elsewhere, as she does. While Tatiana and Bella have been in the same place before, they are not aware of each other’s place in her life – the particulars. They each know they aren’t the only one, but not who else may be. A sigh of relief escapes when at closer look, it is not her.

Gabriel calls Tatiana over, laughs and drinks with her, partly out of boredom, partly to pester his friend. They are in the midst of a toast when talk drops, the room hushes, no small thing for a full tavern.

Looking up to find mouths suspended mid-speech, they watch as the sea of revelers parts. A woman strides through, chin up, eyes surfing the crowd. She is wearing an elegant white blouse buttoned up the front, fitting closely over breast and torso, but not so much over arms. The skirt is snug to hip, smooth over ass, loosens slightly as it lowers into free-flowing large ruffles, cut away in the front, longer in the back. The material is black, flowy, lined in crimson silk – the same deep red as her perfect lips. Very dark hair slicked tight to head, tied in a low bun at the back of a long neck. She sports a red flower over one ear, making her way through the mass of villagers with little expression. It is impossible not to wonder if this woman knows the stir she causes, but does not care, or simply does not realize her full effect. Everyone watches, eyes following the steady steps as she commands the room only by being it.

Swallowing, glancing at Gabriel, avoiding Tatiana, Renna wonders ‘who can this woman be? I know every face, goings on?’ Scanning the room, all seem equally dumbfounded, if any know her, they hide it well. What then can she want? Where can she be from, dressed thus?

Near the middle of the tavern the vision pauses to look back at the band which has stopped playing, tilts her head slightly. Somehow they understand and strike up song. The murmur rises again and things settle.

Our watcher takes up her drink, but keeps eyes sharp while the woman moves here and there, smiles, greets, but shows not her intention. Eventually finds her way to them, having already been to nearly every corner of the tavern. Without greeting, or hesitation, says to Gabriel, you did not tell me there would be a party? in a rich, warm, accent.

He smiles, and yet you are dressed for one?

What’s this? his original companion interjects, you know one another?

Oh, yes, he blushes. We met here, in fact. A few days ago.

Taken aback, funny you didn’t mention it. Quite strange for him not to say he met such a creature, even if just to taunt her with it.

Oh, waving a hand, I had thought she wasn’t staying much longer. When I mentioned Old Home Day she didn’t think she would remain to this point. But as she is here, he introduces, Renna Scot, the Comtesse de Havana, watching closely to see how things go.

Both nod, distant but curious blue eyes locked to mysterious deep brown ones. Despite all else one might notice, that was the first detail for Renna – how the woman’s eyes are the color of a good, rich cup of coffee, deep brown-purple, shiny, lively.

After lingering a moment on the handsome blond not quite looking at her, the visitor glances at Tatiana whose big eyes stare back, mesmerized. Taking up the pale young hand, kissing it, so very pretty.

Even in the dull interior light all can see the girl blushes, thank you. Renna twitches, glances away to avoid the scene and what might bloom to jealousy if she did not immediately choke it of air.

Gabriel eyes the bartendress for drinks while the new-comer looks curiously out over the crowd. Do you not dance at parties here?

The sweet young man lets out a chuckle, sometimes. But very boring things. Not like the dances you would know, I am guessing. Eyes swinging past the rest, a world traveller.

Nodding, but you wish it was otherwise? Looking him over, I suspect you can dance, you are very graceful and poetic in your movements. Barely glancing at the others, "in Argentina they are doing some interesting things. There are so many men there to work, from