Victorian Passions: The Complete Collection of Four Stories under One Cover

by Alice K. Cross

The next thing Charlotte knew, Lena's tongue was between her thighs, warm and soft and damp on the knot of tight desire she usually kept so well guarded. And all she could do was remind herself to breathe until it was all too much to contain and she let go of control for a moment--only a moment, she swore to herself. But it seemed to go on and on in waves, Lena's tongue inside her, her soft hair tickling Charlotte's thighs.

  "Oh, woman..." Charlotte's words were ragged and weak. "Enough."

  Lena pulled away slowly, keeping a hand where her tongue had been, giving the other to Charlotte and letting herself be pulled forward.

  "Now kiss me," she said.

  And Charlotte did.

  ***

  "I can't believe it's really true you haven't done that before," Charlotte told Lena as they lay in bed, a tray of cheese and nuts between them.

  "But it is," Lena assured her. "Of course, I've considered it before now. I've thought about it--perhaps a good deal. It isn't as though one reaches the age of twenty-eight without certain...opportunities arising."

  "And none of those opportunities suited you until now?" Charlotte asked. She tried not to sound too pleased.

  "They have barely entertained my interest," Lena admitted. "Only once...There was a teacher when I was sixteen. I was certain I was in love with her. I sent her flowers, wrote her dreadful poems--all anonymously of course!" Lena gave a little laugh. "I'm certain she must have known it was me, the way I clung to her. She was so kind not to mention it--I would have been terribly embarrassed."

  "That was a long time ago," Charlotte prodded.

  "It was," Lena agreed. "But since then, I've found suitors to be a bore. I suppose I had decided passion was childish. I've been busy with my work since then. Nothing--no one--has interested me as much, really..." Lena trailed off, realizing the implications of what she'd just said.

  "But I interest you?" Charlotte asked with a smile.

  "Apparently, you do." Lena smiled back.

  Charlotte changed the subject to something that had been puzzling her ever since they'd met. "That day in the gardens--how did you know I was a woman?" she asked.

  "I just looked at you, and...you were a woman." Lena smiled. " I told you--, I see things."

  "Do you mind...that I'm not a man?" Charlotte asked quietly, almost afraid of the Lena's answer.

  "No. Why should I?"

  "Most of the women I've known do--eventually."

  "So you've...known many women?" Lena blushed.

  Suddenly, Charlotte felt like a cad.

  "Not so many," she hastened to explain. "But enough to know that most of them prefer marriage to...this."

  What "this" was, Charlotte couldn't say. She only knew that since the age of seventeen, she had given her heart to girls and women time and again, only to find herself alone when they eventually married. In recent years, she had decided that surviving affairs of the heart would require her to keep her own heart to herself, whatever a lady's charms might tempt her to. She could play the cavalier to the hilt, but not the suitor, not the lover. She would hold the soft part of herself carefully out of reach. And she had been successful in this strategy, saving her heart for her writing...until she'd met Lena Woods.

  "I intend never to marry," Lena declared. "Men are alright as colleagues, and maybe some will do for friends," she continued matter-of-factly. "But I won't be anyone's wife. I can take care of myself and I certainly don't need a dozen children pulling at my skirts, distracting from my work."

  Charlotte raised an eyebrow. She had heard such talk before, of course. Philadelphia was full of suffragettes and dress reformers. But the women Charlotte preferred to seduce--and the ones who seemed most to welcome her overtures--usually didn't have opinions beyond what to wear to the next theatre opening. They didn't "work" and no child--however many they might bear--would ever pull at their skirts: nurses and nannies and schools would see to that.

  "You are an intrigue, Lena Woods," Charlotte said. "You are neither grim, nor frivolous. What shall I make of you?"

  She felt the ground she'd so carefully laid--the ground of understanding women as a species, understanding herself as an anomaly, understanding the game of romance--shift uncomfortably and yet thrillingly beneath her.

  "Must women be either grim or frivolous?" Lena asked with a frown and reached for the glass of champagne behind her on the bedside table.

  "The ones I know tend to fall into those categories."

  "Perhaps you aren't looking closely enough at them."

  "Perhaps," Charlotte paused. "But I'd rather be here anyway--looking as closely as you'll let me--at you." Charlotte moved the tray of food to the floor and pulled Lena into her arms again.

  

  Love Lessons

  Boston 1899

  A nocturne filled the air of the music room as Elena sat playing for Jane.

  How long she had been listening and watching, Jane didn't know. She had lost track of the time and was feeling soft and light, a snifter of brandy in her hand, as she lounged in a wing-backed chair.

  It had not been difficult to persuade her Wellesley classmate to spend the first week of the winter holidays in her family's otherwise empty home. Her uncle, aunt and young cousin, Gertie, had all gone to London to stay in the home of Gertie's fiance. They would be there well into spring when her cousin would be treated to a Parisian shopping trip for her trousseau before returning on an early summer steamer for a June wedding.

  Jane was glad to have college as an excuse not to join her family in London. Much as she liked to travel, she disliked always being in debt to her aunt and uncle, who were not even as close relatives as their designations implied. In fact her "aunt" had really been her mother's cousin, before her parents had died of smallpox in the desert of New Mexico where Jane had grown up on her family's ranch.

  Jane had been fifteen when she became dependent on her distant kin. They made it quickly clear that they had never approved of her mother's marriage and did not intend to let her marry so frivolously herself. Of this she was glad, and it made it easier to persuade them to let her attend the new college for women. Though the expense of this was not small, it cost them less in clothes and travel and balls than had her cousin's engagement, though it had only taken her a season to find a match.

  Jane would never marry. Her aunt and uncle probably knew this, but kept it politely to themselves. Jane didn't care. She had no desire to marry.

  What she desired was the girl at the piano before her tonight.

  Elena Whitman was a sweet Quaker girl whose own mother had been critical to the foundation of the women's college. Elena's plan was to study the law and spend her life fighting battles in the courts for women who had been wronged in some way by the legal and social structure so pitted against them.

  But this was only of passing interest to Jane.

  Now her glance moved from Elena's hands, skipping over the keys, to her feet pressing and lifting the pedals, to the back of her neck, where a tiny strip of flesh peeped between her collar and her low-gathered hair. Jane was overtaken suddenly with a desire to kiss that strip of flesh, and she rose quietly from her chair, putting her drink on the table beside it and stepping lightly to the piano.

  Elena played on as Jane stepped behind her, reached out and drew an index finger gently from her ear to the lace of her collar, then bent and kissed her neck. She kept playing still, as Jane began to draw out the pins that held the girl's hair in place, slowly combing it through her fingers. At last, Elena sighed, stopped playing and leaned back against Jane, asking, "don't you like the music?"

  "I love the music," Jane said with a smile, "but the musician is irresistible." And she turned the piano stool until Elena sat, facing her.

  Jane fell to her knees and placed Elena's hands on her shoulders as she reached to the bottom of the girl's skirt and then beneath it. Elena leaned down and kissed Jane for a moment, then pulled away with a grin as Jane's hand moved up her thigh slowly.

  "Shouldn't we go up
to bed?" Elena whispered.

  "But it's so far," Jane pretended to complain.

  Elena smiled and stood, shook her skirt and reached out to pull Jane from her knees. Jane tried to kiss Elena again, but the girl smiled and grabbed her hand as she ran lightly through the big room, down the hall and up the broad staircase.

  A fire burning high in the hearth was the only light in the room as Jane half kissed, half pushed Elena to the bed where she reached under her skirt again and whispered, "did you hope to evade me?"

  "Never," Elena whispered back, and put her arms around Jane's neck, pulling her face closer even as Jane's hand crept higher up her leg, slipped through her drawers and found a hot, wet place between her legs.

  She pushed those legs open and moved four of her fingers inside Elena as the girl drew a long, ragged breath.

  "More?" Jane whispered into Elena's ear.

  "Oh...yes..." Elena whispered back and soon Jane's entire hand was inside of Elena, moving in time to the rhythm of her hips.

  Elena did not flinch but pushed her hips up harder until, only a moment later, she cried out Jane's name and fell back against the bed, breathing hard.

  ***

  "Do you think me a beast for wanting you so much?" Jane asked Elena, as they lay in each other's arms moments later, watching the fire.

  Elena smiled and considered a moment before answering her. "You are not a beast, Jane Sparrow, you're a pretty yearling colt, tossing your head and prancing about; making everyone smile at your brightness and promise." And she ran her fingers through Jane's hair and kissed the top of her head.

  Jane rolled over, propped herself on an elbow and asked, "Can't you stay one more night?"

  "I've worn my mother's patience thin. I've got to go home," Elena said. "I don't want to, you know."

  Jane stood now, and walked to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and opened a little drawer, reaching in and pulling out a small velvet bag. "If you're really leaving me, have your Christmas present now?"

  She walked back to the bed. "Hold out your hand and close your eyes."

  Elena smiled and did as she was told.

  Jane shook the bag and let its contents fall into the girl's palm.

  Elena opened her eyes and saw a flat band of yellow gold, carved with a star, in which sat a winking garnet. "Oh! It's so pretty," she said.

  Jane sat beside Elena, took the ring from her palm and placed it on the third finger of Elena's left hand. "You'll wear it always, won't you?" she asked.

  "Of course I will," the girl answered, holding out her hand and admiring the ring.

  Jane took Elena's hand again and grew serious. "See the little red stone?" she asked, "When I saw it, I thought of the little glowing coal inside of Ellie, that she tries to hide. She thinks no one sees it. But her boy can see it, however practical she pretends to be."

  "What nonsense," Elena said, but pulled Jane's face toward hers for a kiss.

  "And it means you belong to me always," whispered Jane near Elena's ear. "If you agree to have it, you must agree to that."

  "I would belong to you, ring or no ring," Elena told her. "But if that's what it means, you must wear one for me too."

  And Elena removed the simple monogrammed band that never left her right hand, closed Jane's palm around it, and whispered, "I am yours, Jane Sparrow. Don't ever let me go."

  Jane found a finger that fit the ring and put it on. "I never will," she swore.

  ***

  Elena was almost finished with her dinner before her mother mentioned the ring. Her father had excused himself to mark student examinations and mother and daughter sat alone at the table.

  "What a lovely new ring, Elena. Where did it come from?" Mrs. Whitman asked.

  Elena looked at her hand instead of her mother. "Jane Sparrow gave it to me for a Christmas present," she answered simply.

  "And you gave her yours in return? Or have you stopped wearing it?" her mother said.

  Elena bit her lower lip. This, she had not thought of. But of course her mother noticed the missing ring. She had given it to Elena at her graduation from Miss Ireland's school. Elena had not taken it off since that day.

  "I gave it to Jane, yes, mother," she said finally.

  Her mother's brow knit with worry. "Elena, you have always been such a sensible girl. You know that your father and I don't mind if you do not marry right away--even if you should never feel led to marry, we accept that--so long as you remain a sensible girl."

  "I hope I am sensible, mother," Elena returned. "I am still the top student in my class. Professor Kent says that I am the best student he has ever seen--man or woman. What has a ring to do with any of that?"

  Mrs. Whitman frowned a little. But Elena recognized worry, uppermost in her expression. "You are too old to be infatuated with a girl," she told her daughter. "You never gave in to such nonsense in school. I can't see you doing so now, with such worthy ambitions as you have."

  "Jane does nothing to thwart my ambitions, mother. Jane is very--"

  But her mother cut her off, "The girl's attitude is not my concern, child. Do you really think the law is a profession for a girl silly enough to exchange rings with another girl? And this Jane Sparrow--she is somewhat eccentric, as I understand from Polly Kent."

  Elena's eyes clouded. But she took a deep breath. "I hardly think my legal colleagues will need to know my personal affairs in so much depth as to ask the origins of my jewelry," she told her mother.

  Mrs. Whitman sighed. "I don't want to argue with you, Elena. But if you are going to insist on this friendship, you need to be aware of the reaction people will have. Things are not like they were when I was your age and women could keep house together without raising respectable eyebrows. The world is not so innocent now--" she paused a bit and softened her tone to finish, "--even if you are, child."

  "Well, I'm not." Elena found herself filled with an almost alien courage. "I'm not innocent, Mother. I love Jane Sparrow and I intend to wear her ring for the rest of my life--and she mine. If I can win the highest honors in college, I can be a lawyer and love Jane too."

  Mrs. Whitman said nothing, but looked at her daughter for a long moment. At last, she rose from the table and said, "It grieves me to see you adding this burden to the challenge you already face. But tell Miss Sparrow to come for dinner on Saturday. You owe your father and me at least the opportunity to meet her." And she left the room.

  Elena put her face in her hands and took a long, trembling breath.

  Jane took Elena's letter from her breakfast tray and broke the seal. She leaned against the mantel and let her tea grow cold as she read and reread:

  Dearest Jane,

  Mother asks that I invite you for dinner on Christmas Day. You know, my love, how happy this makes me. And yet I must confess it came after a scene that has shaken my nerves.

  When Mother saw your ring, she disapproved of me both for having accepted it and for giving you mine. But I told her I love you and I want to be with you for the rest of my life! Where do you think your Ellie found the courage to say these things to her mother? It was your ring working its magic on me already. I looked at it and felt you were right beside me, holding my hand.

  Jane, I know that at times, the world looks upon you with unkind curiosity. I believe that Mother fears that your friendship will draw that same curiosity to me. But I promise to stand beside you and use whatever weak power I have to deflect the slings and arrows that come your way, dear, dear girl. Your love makes me strong to do it. I felt somehow, more than my mere self when I spoke to my mother this evening. I felt magnified with Jane's love.

  I sometimes feel there is nothing in the world that matters but that you love me. I am almost ashamed to admit how unimportant all my previous hopes and plans have become next to my desire to be with you under any condition you might set upon me. What has become of the ambitious Elena? She is no one now, but Jane's Elena. And yet, I believe that should I succeed in my hopes and become a lawyer I can do my
darling Jane more good than if I were only to keep his house for her. You believe this too, don't you? All my hopes have become nothing to me unless they will please you.

  I blush to write these things, darling, but they are true. They are true! I am glad my mother doesn't know, and yet, at the same time, I want to run into the street and shout them to the world!

  What have you done to me, Jane? I have never been so bold in my life--not for any cause.

  Come Saturday at noon, my love. Until then I am nothing but a shadow of

  Your own Elena

  Jane finally sat in the chair by the fire and poured herself a tepid cup of tea. She hated to admit how she feared Mrs. Whitman. She and Elena's father took their daughter's education very seriously. Elena was the only surviving child of her parents, her mother having lost one newborn infant before and another after her birth. Elena wanted to be a lawyer. Jane knew she did. But Elena's parents--especially her mother--seemed to want it nearly as much, perhaps even more than their daughter. Jane hoped Elena had not said anything to her mother that would lead Mrs. Whitman to think Jane stood between Elena and her success in a legal career.