Georgina thought for a while. She agreed that the women servants needed new boots just as much as the men did. Maids were sent on errands as often as footmen, and the vicarage was on the edge of Town where the tracks were rough enough to make stout boots essential. But she didn’t want to appear to contradict tradition or her new husband. Then again, when her mama-in-law had mentioned changing the gifts, he hadn’t disagreed. It was so hard knowing what to do to please everyone when she didn’t really know him very well yet. At home it had been much easier because she’d known instinctively known how each person would respond to a new idea.
Fixing her gaze on her mama-in-law, she said hesitantly, “If we gave the men fabric for three shirts this year as well as a pair of boots, and gave the women a pair of boots as well as the dress-length, do you think that would be suitable? That way the men are also getting something extra as well as the women.”
“That’s perfect,” said Theodora. “No one would feel left out.”
“They will think it’s the natural generosity of a new bride sharing her happiness. That’s a very good idea indeed,” added Mrs. Ridley.
Relieved to have solved that problem, Georgina turned her mind to the next one. “Where do you get your greenery? I’m used to having the servants gather it from the woods on the estate.”
“Ah, now that is something you don’t need to worry about. The parish children collect pinecones and bring them to the church the week before Christmas. Then cook supervises anyone wanting to help paint them the next morning. There are always enough volunteers to make a good display. I usually join them. It’s always fun,” said Theodora.
“The men servants take a wagon out into the country a few days before Christmas and gather whatever we need. This year they’ll cut you a tree as well if you wish. I had thought about a tree, but I don’t like the idea of placing candles on it. One person only has to knock it to set the whole drawing room alight,” added Mrs. Ridley.
“Yes, I agree. I’ve been thinking about using ribbons as decorations, and to tie red apples to the tree, then giving the apples to the children and the ribbons to the young women afterward. Since the berries we use as decorations are red or white do you think it would look pretty to use red and white ribbons?”
“Oh yes, that does sound good. I’m not quite sure how we’ll tie the apples on though. And we could make some paper flowers for the tree too, if you like,” added Theodora.
“What a wonderful idea.” Georgina could already see the tree in her mind, and the smiling faces of the children when they saw it. She picked up her little writing desk, sat it on her lap, drew out paper and ink, and began to make a list of the things they needed to buy and a second list of things they must do. She wanted everything to be just perfect for Barnabas—Mr. Ridley.
****
Barnabas liked living in the vicarage. It was an old building of mellowed stone set back from the road with a deep vegetable garden and orchard behind it, a large stable for their horses, and a big grassy field for the animals to run in. A narrow path led from the house to the church that adjoined it.
His father had been vicar here before him, and Barnabas’ childhood memories were of playing in the garden, learning to ride in the field, and helping his father in the church. He’d always known he wanted to serve God and the people through the church rather than on the battlefield.
Being seven years older than Theodora, he’d grown up considering himself to be her protector rather than that she was his playmate. Besides, by the time she had been old enough to play with him he was at Eton, reveling in studies of mathematics, Latin, and the classics. His good friend John Smith, who had shared his Eton and Oxford years and who remained a close confidante, told him he was staid beyond his years and needed to mix with ordinary people more, but Barnabas was happy. In fact, more than happy now that he was married. His life was as close to perfect as was possible here on Earth.
He was just finishing off a letter to a friend in a distant parish when he became conscious of far more noise in the house than he was used to. At a loss to understand why there was so much laughter and the tramp of heavy boots inside, he sanded his letter, folded it, sealed it with wax, and laid it aside for one of the grooms to deliver later. Then he left his study to find out what was happening. He followed the sounds and came upon what seemed like most of the parish gathered in the servants’ hall with newspapers everywhere, several large tubs of strangely colored liquid, and things spread out to dry on the table and in front of the fire.
In the center of the chaos was his wife, her hair falling out of its neat coil, smudges of something gold on her face, her hands suspiciously reddened, and she was kneeling on the floor surrounded by children. Some of them definitely not from the parish but poorly dressed and dirty.
Carefully he wended his way through the crowd until he could speak to Georgina. “What is happening here?” he asked much more mildly than he wanted to. Where was his neat, quiet wife? His orderly, hushed household? Where had they gone?
“Oh, Mr. Ridley, we’re having such fun. The children and some of their families are dying old newspapers red and gold. When they’re dry, we’ll use them to make paper chains to decorate the hallways and this room and paper flowers to decorate the tree. Come and see the first few we’ve made.”
She jumped to her feet and led him over to a table in the corner, which he hadn’t noticed at first. Here Theodora and his mama were wielding scissors, expertly cutting the colored newspapers into long strips. On the floor beside them were some older children making these strips into paper chains.
He could scarcely believe his own eyes. His mama was sitting surrounded by all these people making some frippery paper toy? And smiling happily at him despite all the noise and mess? Surely this was not how a vicar’s house should be run. His mama seemed to approve of the activity. He shook his head in disbelief. Yet what could he say? He could scarcely order all these people out of the house when the project was well advanced.
He swiveled around slowly, only now looking at the people in his home. Old Douglas sat on a straight-backed chair by the fire, his motherless grandchildren at his feet hard at work turning the drying sheets of newspaper over, presumably to help the color dry evenly.
Widow Carmichael, her hair tied back in a bandana and a huge apron covering her dress, supervised her two teenage sons stirring the liquid in several large tubs.
A gaggle of giggling girls folded squares of the colored paper into patterns, presumably paper flowers.
Several older boys flattened and straightened the sheets of newspaper, readying them to be dyed.
Three or four babies underneath the big table, playing with a couple of pots and spoons, supervised by a rather dirty little girl he didn’t recognize.
And Cook surrounded by children grinding and mixing ingredients mayhap for the dyes.
Even through all the noise he heard the tramp of booted feet as several more people entered the room. It was too much. Far too much. Too many people, too much noise, and far and away too much mess. This kind of event was not to happen again. His vicarage should be a silent haven, a place of quiet peace and rest, not a—a—factory!
****
Barnabas had to force himself to smile and say nothing at the dinner table. There were fewer courses than normal, no jellies at all, and only one pudding and two tarts. He knew it was because of all the people who’d been in his house all day long taking Cook away from her proper duties.
He could understand why Theodora was happily reporting all the things that had happened. She was, after all, scarcely more than a child herself. But even Mama seemed to be brighter and more alive than usual, laughing over the antics of the children.
Well it would not do. It was not the proper use of a vicarage. His wife must be told such noise and crowds were totally inappropriate for people of their station and position in life.
There would be no marital relations tonight. No kisses even. He would simply explain to her how she shoul
d behave. She would apologize, mayhap cry a little. He would be generous in forgiving her. After all, she was a very new bride. He would leave her room and life would resume its normal, placid, peaceful routine.
When he heard Emmy leave Georgina’s room, he took a deep breath, counted slowly to ten, and reminded himself to be calm, fair, and firm in his instructions to her regarding her future behavior.
Barnabas tapped lightly on the connecting door and stepped into her bedroom. She was on her hands and knees, her lush, rounded ass high in the air as she reached under the bed for something. He’d never really looked at her ass before. By day it was covered in layers of skirts and petticoats. By night he had previously been more interested in her breasts, but now he couldn’t drag his gaze off it. The globes of her ass were every bit as enticing as the globes of her breasts. They gleamed palely through the soft blue of her bed gown, calling to him. His dick hardened painfully, pressing against his breeches and begging him to reconsider his decision about not bedding her this night.
He hardened his heart. She needed his instructions on how to behave. “Mrs. Ridley,” he said firmly.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She backed out from under the bed, holding her hairbrush in one hand. “I dropped it and it bounced under the bed,” she explained unnecessarily.
She stood up, her face delightfully pink, the bed gown as sheer and clinging as the previous two he’d seen. He had to force himself to concentrate on his task instead of looking at her breasts. Or mourning the fact he wasn’t going to hold her warm, voluptuous body in his arms tonight. He really wanted to see that ass naked.
“I wanted to talk to you about bringing the people into the house for the decorating today.”
“Bringing them into the house?” She looked adorably confused. And totally delicious. He couldn’t wait to taste her breasts, to sink his dick deep— No. Not tonight.
“Filling my house with noise and dirt and strangers—”
“Well, yes it was rather noisy, but I can assure you the dirt has all been cleaned up, and there were no strangers, only your parishioners and a few of their friends. Everyone worked so hard, even the children. All the paper flowers and paper chains are made, and they look so pretty. The house and the church are going to be positively stunning for Christmas. You will be proud of your people when you see it all finished. I promise.”
All his prepared phrases vanished from his head. She was so beautiful standing there, her big blue eyes fixed on his face, her body so close to his that her floral scent was almost overwhelming his good resolutions. His dick was so hard it was paining him. All he wanted to do was rip off that bed gown and sink his cock so deep inside her she screamed with joy.
He cleared his throat, and with his last clear thought said, “In future make them be more quiet. They were too noisy.” Then he gave in to his lust, pulled her gown off and pressed her naked body against his while he kissed her with more desire and passion than he’d ever felt before.
She wrapped her arms around his waist to hold him in return, letting her tongue play with his, but he had to pull away from her and take off his clothes before his dick punched its way out of his breeches.
“Climb on the bed,” he ordered, unbuttoning his waistcoat and pulling his shirt off as he spoke. His house slippers and breeches followed quickly, and he sighed with relief as his dick was freed. Unconsciously he wrapped his fist around it and gave it a gentle tug as he looked at Georgina sitting on her bed.
Her gaze was fixed on his hand, and she licked her lips in a purely carnal motion that almost had him coming on the spot.
“May I—may I please touch it?” she asked.
“You want to touch my dick?”
She nodded vigorously. “If you don’t mind,” she replied, then whispered something very softly that might have been the word “dick”.
“I’d be honored if you would.” He laid flat on his back and placed her hand around his engorged shaft. “Firmly but gently, stroke it from root to tip.” With his hand over hers, he showed her the kind of pressure that pleased him most.
Nodding seriously, she stroked him up and down, exactly as he’d asked. Her touch was heavenly.
“When you lick my nubbin, it feels very good. Would it feel good for you if I licked your—” She broke off, her face flaming bright red.
He almost swallowed his tongue at her suggestion. Having her suck him was one of his dreams, but he’d expected it to be months yet before he could suggest such a thing.
“Yes,” he gasped, all the air having vanished from his lungs at her suggestion.
He widened his legs and encouraged her to lie between them. Seriously she positioned her mouth over his cock and ran her tongue up the side from root to tip as she’d done with her hand. He sighed with pleasure at the heat and warmth. Her hand had been good but her mouth was so much better.
She wiggled around a little, her breasts stroking against his legs as she moved and his dick became even harder at the touch of those sweet globes. Then she settled to licking his cock steadily from root to tip, long sweeps alternating with gentle sucking motions. She must have discovered the little ridge under the cap because suddenly her tongue was there probing, and his balls hardened, pulling up tight against his body, warning him that he wouldn’t last much longer.
Next her tongue delved into his slit as she tasted him. It must not have been offensive to her because her next move was to suck the entire head into her mouth.
He couldn’t restrain himself from moaning this time. Never had he experienced such a wonderful feeling. She sucked several more times and he knew he had to stop her or he’d spill his seed in her mouth and even prostitutes didn’t always permit that.
“Enough. Stop now.” It was all he could do to make his brain and tongue cooperate enough to speak the words.
She lifted her head up to gaze at him, hurt in her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he reassured her, “What you are doing is delightful, but I want to be inside you before I reach the peak.”
Her face cleared and she smiled at him.
“Sit on me.”
She looked puzzled.
“Put your legs on either side of mine and sit on my hips.”
Obediently she did as he directed and he held his cock at her cunny.
The smile on her face became much wider and her eyes gleamed with pleasure as she positioned herself over him and slid down on his cock, gradually absorbing him inside her, deeper and deeper until his balls were pressed hard against her ass.
It took them a few tries before she seemed to understand the rhythm, then he held her hips and guided her up and down on his cock. Her gaze became heavy lidded and he knew she was enjoying it as much as he was, so he deliberately ground himself against her nubbin on the upstrokes.
Her skin flushed pinker under his hands, so he took one hand off her hips to touch her breasts. They were so close to his face, their luscious berry-brown nipples were begging him to suck them.
He gently tugged and twisted a nipple, so she took her hands off his shoulders, where she’d rested them to balance herself, and placed them on his nipples, copying his movements. Barnabas was surprised at how much pleasure that gave him. He hadn’t thought a man’s nipples could be so sensitive, but mayhap ’twas because they were in this position where they could look at each other’s bodies.
Such a rush of joy poured through him that he knew he couldn’t delay any longer. His cock was bursting with his seed, his balls harder and tighter than they’d ever been before.
He pulled her down onto his body then thrust up into her with all his strength, making sure to press against her nubbin on the way. His hands held her ass, forcing her hard against himself as he powered into her again and again. In three strokes she melted against him, her cunny gripping him like a vise, and his seed shot from his cock, filling her over and over, pumping and pumping until he thought it would never end.
At last he lifted her face to his for a kiss, marveling that she st
ill looked beautiful even with her body gleaming with sweat and her hair tangled around her face.
Truly he was the most fortunate of men to have a wife like her. He held her tightly, one arm wrapped almost completely around her, the other resting on her ass. Hmm, that’s right. I remember. That’s an area I must explore one night too.
****
Georgina, Mrs. Ridley, and Theodora devoted several days to their shopping. David, the coachman, and Emmy, the maid, were kept fully occupied accompanying them on their visits to boot manufactories and fabric warehouses as well as the more usual ladies’ shopping destinations.
When the three ladies were alone, Georgina embroidered a new pair of slippers for Mr. Ridley, but she also wanted to get him something personal, so had engaged an agent to acquire the new treatise on the Epistle to Titus, which had received some acclaim among ministers of religion. She hoped the author’s view of theology meshed with Mr. Ridley’s, and once again wished she knew more about him. Buying gifts for her many siblings was much easier as she knew what would please them.
She was also a little worried about whether he would be annoyed at the noise involved in decorating the house for Christmas, especially putting up the Christmas tree. If chatter in the servants’ hall had distracted him, people hanging decorations in the drawing room might anger him. Yet she couldn’t see how it could be done in silence. The staff would naturally be in a happy holiday mood and deserved to be able to talk as they worked.
Phrasing her question carefully, she asked her mama-in-law, “In the past, did Mr. Ridley help decorate the house and the church for Christmas?”
“Barnabas always helped his father, from the time he was quite small. We always knew he would become a minister. The church seems to be in his blood. But my husband was never very interested in decorations. He left such things to me, and Theodora helps me. I’m so glad you’re here now to give everything a fresh vision. I do believe we were becoming very much stuck in a rut. Boring even.”
Vicar's Virgin Page 4
