Bless Us With Content

by Tinnean

“Are you enjoying this, John?”

  “Are you mad?”

  I stopped rubbing that spot within his back passage. He bucked against my hand, twisted and turned, but I didn’t give him more of what he was now desperate to have.

  “Yes, I’m enjoying this! Dear God, what are you doing to me?” he whimpered. I withdrew my fingers, and he became even more frantic. “Please! Please!”

  “Onto your side, if you please.”

  He obeyed with alacrity, unwittingly raising his right leg, giving me access to what lay in the shadow of his buttocks.

  “Yes, dear one.” As much as it had given me pleasure to hear him beg in my fantasies, now I found it degrading.

  I coated my prick and settled myself behind him, entering him with a single, swift movement. The last thing I wanted was for him to stiffen and possibly cause himself pain.

  It was fortunate that the rest of the family resided on the first floor, for he howled.

  “John?”

  “More!” he panted. “More!”

  I slid an arm around his shoulders and gently stroked the curve of his Adam’s apple, all the while lazily making lo—buggering him.

  “Harder! Harder!” he demanded.

  I knew he was going to be sore in the morning, but I couldn’t deny his request. I curled the fingers of my right hand around his prick and stroked him to the rhythm of my prick pounding into him.

  It didn’t take long after that. With another howl, he spent into my hand, and the clenching of his inner muscles pulled me over the abyss after him.

  I stayed within him as long as I could, which wasn’t as long as I should have liked. All too soon my softened prick slid from the warm haven of my lover’s body. I rose, dampened a flannel, and straightened my spectacles, which had gone all askew, before bending to examine John’s fundament. There was no blood, and I breathed a sigh of relief; I’d never had a virgin before.

  I wiped him clean of the remnants of the lotion and my seed, dropped the flannel into the basin, and removed my spectacles. I joined him on my bed, cradling his body against mine.

  “Will you stay the night?” I nuzzled the soft hair that curled at the nape of his neck.

  “Eh? What? Are you mad?” He did seem fond of that expression. He scrambled away from me, nearly toppling to the floor.

  “Oh, very well. Flee, if you must. Please extinguish the lamps and shut the door when you leave.” I closed my eyes and pretended to fall asleep. I would not let him see how his eagerness to be away hurt me.

  “Ashton. Ashton!” He shook my shoulder roughly.

  “What is it?” I asked, not really feigning impatience.

  “You won’t say anything about this!” He stepped into his trousers.

  I leaned up on my elbow and glowered at him. “Did I not already give you my word?”

  “Yes, but….” Even without my spectacles I could see he held the rest of his clothes to him as if to shield him from my defiling gaze.

  “Do you want a blood oath? Oh, go to bed, do! And rest assured I shan’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” I pulled the blankets over my shoulders.

  He didn’t leave immediately, though.

  “Was there something else?”

  “I… I….”

  “Good God, John, spit it out!”

  “Nothing!” He opened the door, peered out cautiously, and then raced away, not taking the time to close the door behind him.

  I sighed and rose. The fire was dying down, at any rate, and I’d need to put on my nightshirt.

  As I crossed to the door, I trod on something that caused me to spit out a curse and hop about, clutching my foot in my hand.

  When the pain finally eased, I bent to see what I’d stepped upon. It proved to be one of John’s shirt studs.

  It would be nice to keep it as a souvenir of this night, but perhaps if I returned it, John would realize my intent was not to cause him disgrace.

  I was in the billiards room the next night, and a slight sound at the door caused me to look up.

  “Yes?”

  “You could have ruined me.” John held out his palm. It contained the shirt stud. “Why didn’t you?”

  Should I be truthful and tell him I’d hopes of bedding him again, and that I feared the worry that I might betray him would put an end to those hopes? I shrugged and turned back to the billiard table. “Why are you so determined to see me as a blackheart? No, you needn’t tell me.” I was Awful Ashton.

  “I….” He swallowed so heavily I could hear him, and I straightened, curious in spite of myself as to what he might say. “I know I said it was only to be the one night—”

  “Hardly one night, John. Was it even an hour?”

  He flushed. “I should like another night.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “After the supper tray?”

  He nodded jerkily.

  “Very well.” And I turned away and resumed my game. It wouldn’t do to let him see how very pleased I was.

  That night and each night after, he would sneak into my chamber, spread himself upon his belly on my bed, and let me sodomize him until we exploded with muffled shouts and were both too exhausted to do more than pant breathlessly.

  The first night had set the pattern; we seldom fell asleep side by side, and on those rare occasions when we did, I would awaken in the morn, the coolness of the linens on his side of the bed would tell me he had been long gone.

  However, true to his word—he was a Hood, after all—he stopped calling me Awful. The long holiday ended, and we returned to school, I to Eton and the Hoods to Harrow, yet when once again we were at home, John would find excuses to come to me each night.

  My time at Eton complete, I learned there would be no opportunity for me to go on to Oxford. Mr. Kirkby, who’d recently become Uncle Eustace’s man of business, informed me with somber eyes that there were no funds available.

  “What am I to do?” At best, I wasn’t a scholar.

  “I’d suggest you speak with Mr. Giffard, Master Ashton. Learn what you can of managing the lands that will come to you.”

  “Yes. I’ll do that. Yes.”

  And so I did, as one year followed the other….

  Chapter 4

  Miss Patricia Colbourne was the daughter of a Cit who had done well on ’Change. A widower whose deep-seated desire to mingle with the gentry—and marry his daughter off to whichever one chose to offer for her—had led to his purchase of the properties that lay to the southwest of Fayerweather, and he settled in to become a gentleman farmer. Although Mr. Colbourne had renamed the estate after himself, the neighbors showed their disapproval of his upstart manners by persisting in referring to it by its original name: Hadley Court.

  That was neither here nor there, however. Miss Colbourne had attracted Robert’s attention after church services one Sunday. “I’m smitten!” he’d declared, succeeding for the very first time in shocking Aunt Cecily. One must needs perforce be deaf and blind not to know she doted upon him and had higher aspirations for her favorite. However, she’d held her tongue, hoping perhaps that in the way of young men, his fancy would be caught when another came along.

  “You needn’t be distressed, Aunt Cecy,” he’d assured her, placing a kiss upon her cheek. “I shan’t make a decision until my time at Oxford is done.”

  Robert had completed his studies and graduated, and still he persisted in dangling after Miss Colbourne. Just this day, he had ridden over to Hadley Court to see her father and offer for her. He had obtained permission to pay his addresses to her and had brought her to Laytham Hall to introduce the family to his affianced bride.

  Now John turned pale as he watched his older brother dance attendance upon the chit. “Pray excuse me, Aunt Cecy. I’ve… business… er… elsewhere.”

  As he left the room, I stared after him thoughtfully. He had appeared to be out of sorts ever since his elder brother had brought up the possibility of finding himself a wife sometime earlier, and there were nights when he’d insiste
d I take him over and over again, and nights when he’d shunned me completely.

  “Father has said that he will be more than pleased to take Mr. Hood under his wing once we are wed.” Miss Colbourne blushed prettily. “He will even have the east wing made over for us.”

  “How considerate of him,” Robert murmured. His words sounded bleak to me, but perhaps I had that wrong, simply because I remembered his burning desire as a boy to fight a desperate battle against overwhelming odds. There would not be much of a chance of that once he was wed and living under his papa-in-law’s roof.

  “You’ll stay to dine with us, will you not, Miss Colbourne?” Aunt Cecily asked.

  “That is most kind of you, Lady Laytham, but I promised Father I would return home as soon as I had paid my respects to you. I must really be on my way.”

  “Perhaps another time, then. I’ll send for your carriage.” She tugged the bellpull that would summon Colling, who was still butling after all these years. “Robert, do you escort Miss Colbourne home?”

  “Yes, Aunt Cecy.” Robert smiled into the young lady’s eyes and brought her hand to his lips. Once again she blushed.

  “Would you care to dine with Father and me, Mr. Hood?”

  “I would like nothing better, Miss Colbourne, but I fear that this evening I cannot. There is some business I need to attend to.”

  “First Mr. John Hood and now you.” She gave a tinkling laugh. “You gentlemen and your business. Something to do with Sir Eustace’s estates, no doubt?” she asked archly.

  “No, that is Mr. Laytham’s task. He is the heir, you know,” he mocked.

  As Mr. Kirkby had suggested, I’d taken to following Giffard, who oversaw the farms and crops, learning what I could from him. After all, it all would one day be mine, as Robert was so fond of reminding me.

  Before I could respond, Colling entered the blue salon. “You rang, m’lady?”

  “Ah, Colling.” Aunt Cecily was relieved the butler’s presence curtailed the possibility of a contretemps before a guest. She could never understand how I could be less than friendly with the young man of whom she herself was so fond. “Miss Colbourne is leaving. Please send round to the stables for her carriage.”

  “Very good, m’lady.” He paused by my chair. “Giffard would like a word with you, Mr. Ashton.”

  “If you will excuse me, Aunt Cecily? Miss Colbourne.” I bowed slightly, ignoring Robert, and went out to the Great Hall. “You wished to see me, Giffard?”

  “Mr. Ashton. That new strain of hay looks promising. I thought you might like to take a look at the fields we’ve planted.”

  “Yes.” As well as the usual crop of hops, Giffard had suggested the hay. If we could grow our own, it would spare the estate an expense it could ill afford. “However, as you see, I’m not dressed for riding. I will meet you at the stables presently. Would you ask Jem to saddle Blue Boy for me?”

  He nodded and left, while I went up to my chamber on the second floor to change into more suitable clothing.

  The clatter on the broad, shallow steps that led to the upper floors drew my attention. “But I must needs get married, John. We need to leave this house as soon as may be. I didn’t like the way Sir Eustace was eyeing William the last time he was here,” Robert was saying as he and John descended.

  “But surely he would not….” John sounded appalled. Had he never noticed?

  I had long been in the habit of locking my bedchamber door whenever Uncle was at home, ever since he had come to me late one night. For once my wits had not failed me. I’d stuck a finger down my throat, casting up my accounts all over his slippered feet, and although he had boxed my ears until they rang, my action had succeeded in dousing his ardor.

  “Perhaps not, but I will be much happier once we are out from under his roof.”

  “We could join the army, Robin! Aunt Cecy would buy us our colors!”

  “No. Her purse is as to let as ours. Surely, you must see….” He ceased speaking when he saw me.

  “Did you have fun?” I drawled. They were dressed in evening attire, as was I, for Aunt Cecily requested it of us.

  “There was a mouse behind the divan in Robin’s room.” John smoothed his hair. “We needed to kill it.”

  “Well? Where is the puir, wee, furry body?”

  “Couldn’t do it. It was too sleekit,” Robert murmured, and when I frowned at him, he mocked, “It means glossy-coated.”

  “I am fully aware of what sleekit means,” I said stiffly.

  “Come to think of it, he rather reminded me of you, Awful.” John’s taunting words had me feeling as if he had slapped me. He had not called me that name in four years. At least, not to my face. He nudged his older brother in the ribs. “What do you think, Robin?”

  “Same kind of rodent!” Robert agreed snidely. “All it needed was a wee pair of spectacles.”

  I pretended to pluck at a bit of lint on my sleeve, concealing my hurt. “You Hoods are such wits. Well, perhaps you are half right. Mawworm,” I huffed under my breath.

  “Ah, Awful, I could just….” John’s hands reached for my neck as if he would strangle me, and I took a step toward him, tipping my head back, offering him my throat. His eyes widened and he came to an abrupt halt, swallowing uneasily.

  I had never told anyone about us, never even hinted of it, not in all the years since he had discovered that, do what he would, he could not prevent himself from coming to my bed. But he always expected me to reveal what was to him a shameful secret.

  “Er… did you want us for something, Ashton?” He flushed at his unwitting double entendre.

  “Aunt Cecily sent me to find you. She is holding supper. If you would deign to join us?”

  “Come along then, John.”

  I followed the brothers into the rose sitting room, fixed my tea, and settled into an overstuffed chair.

  Arabella sat at the piano, her pale blue gown billowing over the bench. She had grown into quite a lovely young woman, if one’s tastes ran in that direction, and obviously, William’s did. He hovered beside her, mooning over her as he stood turning the music, whilst she would smile up at him. It was an open secret in the household that they were madly in love with each other, and as soon as William had a position, they were to be wed.

  Perhaps that was another reason Robert felt the need to marry well, so that he could provide the youngest Hood with the wherewithal to achieve his heart’s desire.

  John lingered near Robert, sparing me not a glance. For how much longer could I allow this situation to continue, I brooded.

  Colling bustled in, bearing a slim, white envelope. “A letter from Town, your Ladyship.”

  Aunt Cecily glanced at the direction. “This is from Sir Eustace.”

  “Odd.” During the years of our childhood, we seldom saw Uncle Eustace, who constantly reiterated that he had no use for brats not of his own getting. He only came home to Laytham Hall when he was on a repairing lease, when he had no more money to spend on his high flyers or his more serious vice: gambling.

  He liked to gamble, did my uncle, and he would wager on anything, from the nags to mills to which raindrop would reach a windowsill first. And this fact was reflected in the condition of Fayerweather. His constant drain on it depleted its resources. The children on his estate died of diphtheria, and the elderly from the chill of winter, which seeped into their poorly repaired houses. Although, of late, things had seemed a trifle better, and from time to time I would wonder if Aunt Cecily had sold off a piece of her jewelry.

  The only thing left of any worth was the Flame of Diabul. The ruby was of such purity and depth of color that there was no match for it anywhere in the world. I had once heard Uncle Eustace proudly proclaim he had been offered £10,000 for it.

  It was the one thing that he truly loved, and he swore he never would part with it. Of course, the fact that it was part of the entail might well have something to do with that.

  “Of late he has not looked well.” I took a sip of tea. �
�I wonder if something has happened with him?”

  Aunt Cecily opened the message and began perusing its contents.

  “Wishful thinking, Awful? Well, whatever it is, pray don’t start reciting the contents of the will again!” Robert teased, although there was an edge to his words—Brigade-Major Hood had left his family with barely enough to pay for his sons’ educations.

  I did not bother to glare at him. “The contents of the will”—that was amusing. I would get Fayerweather and Laytham Hall and everything that was entailed, which included farms in need of repair and no money with which to affect that repair. The Flame of Diabul would be mine. I wasn’t as enamored of that jewel as Uncle Eustace. When I inherited, I would break the entail, sell it, and use the proceeds to bring the estate up to snuff, and the legend be damned.