Thus she had busied herself as much as possible in the school. The Sneddons had sent word that they would remain with Mrs Sneddon’s sister a few days longer, so the days in the empty schoolhouse were interminable.
She relived her moments with Robert over and over in her head, and she spent inordinate hours staring out the windows over Hackney Road trying to see if he had returned for her.
It was pointless, for he would not, she knew. She had asked him not to, and he had promised his discretion.
She stood and shovelled more coal into the fireplace and warmed her hands. She’d had to go out to the market today and purchase food. As she’d walked about the stalls, she tried to spy Mr Carring, vainly wishing he’d come for her once more.
He had not.
Ellen grimaced at the disappointment.
The smell of cooking lamb stew drifted through the schoolhouse from the kitchen. Cooking meals had taken up a nice portion of the day. She was glad Mrs Sneddon had taught her cooking skills. After her father had lost their money, food had been problematic in their household, as her mother had never learned the skill, always relying on staff. Ellen was pleased she had learned the skill herself.
She sank down on an overstuffed library chair and picked up a book. She’d been reading to try and distract her thoughts from Mr Carring. Yet every male character in the books took his form, every poem she read seemed to be about him. Them.
She was infatuated with him, she realised, and it was entirely inconvenient. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see his fine, muscled chest, and feel his soft kisses on her neck.
She groaned and slammed the book down.
It was at that moment, she heard the front door chime. She stood and strode towards the window. She looked out, and there, standing on the street, was Mr Carring.
Her heart began to race, and between her legs liquified.
Lord. What was he doing?
Straightening her mob-cap, Ellen brushed down her dress and went to the front door.
***
It had taken Robert days to decide upon an appropriate ruse for him to visit the school. It had not been until Penelope had mentioned Miss Brampton was considering taking the girls on an excursion to Scotland in the summer that he formulated a plan.
He told Penelope he was going out for the day, and that in his travels he would stop by Miss Brampton’s and drop of a letter of invitation. The Carrings had an estate in Inverness, and he would invite Miss Brampton to use it for the girls’ excursion. The Sneddons could forward the letter to Miss Brampton’s winter address.
He dressed in his fine coat and hat, and took the hack to Hackney Road.
When he arrived at the school, he was relieved to see the curtains on the second storey open, and knew Miss Smith must be in residence. Since their meeting, he had thought of nothing and no one but her. She was clever and passionate. Everything he could want in a woman, except she was devoted to her calling as a schoolteacher. Even that he admired. Still, if he could not have her formally, he would quite happily have her in whatever capacity he was able.
He tugged the bellpull, and heard the ring echo throughout the empty schoolhouse. The snow from the other day had turned to slush and ice, and it was freezing.
After a short time, the door opened.
Dressed in neat but unfashionable school dress, Ellen’s face was stern, every bit the schoolmarm, and an enormous mob-cap covered her beautiful hair.
‘Mr Carring?’ she said. Only the breathlessness in her voice hinted at her true emotions.
‘Miss Smith, may I come in? I have a letter of invitation for Miss Brampton.’
Beneath the hideous mob-cap, Ellen’s brows collapsed.
‘Of course,’ she said softly, ‘come in.’
Robert thought his heart may explode from his chest with the nerves.
He dusted his greatcoat and hung it on the coat stand, as Ellen closed and latched the door behind him.
As she turned he hung up his hat, and inclined his head, ‘I’m sorry. I know you will be cross, but I simply had to see you ...’ Robert began; he gestured to the envelope in his hand.
He had not finished before Ellen threw herself into his arms. He caught her and the envelope fluttered to the floor, discarded. He drew her into him close, crushing her against his chest and kissing her passionately.
They kissed for an age, exploring, tasting, revelling in one another.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Ellen breathed, ‘I am so glad you have come. I have been dreaming of this moment.’
Her small hands snaked under his jacket, hot and hungry.
He laughed into her kiss and allowed his own hands to move towards the despised cap. As they kissed, his hands moved under the lace and cotton contraption, deftly removing pins and finally freeing the scented riot of her curls. He let it fall to the floor.
Ellen pulled away.
‘Robert ... we really shouldn’t,’ her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright.
‘The Sneddons, are they returned?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Then take me to your room, I’ll stay just this one afternoon, then retreat from the servants’ quarters. No one will be any the wiser. We shan’t do it again.’
It was a lie and they both knew it.
He’d find other excuses to see her, and she’d find reasons to accept him.
She looked uncertain for just a moment and nodded. ‘Very well.’
Then, with a soft laugh of excitement, she gripped his hand and pulled him up the stairwell, leaving the mob-cap and pins discarded on the lobby floor.
Ellen’s room was warm, neat, and packed to capacity with books. The bed was thickly covered in quilts and pillows and her dressing table neatly stocked with all manner of feminine accoutrements.
‘This is very comfortable,’ he said as she closed the door behind them.
‘It is,’ she agreed.
He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, her buttocks pressed into him. He groaned and pushed aside her hair and kissed her neck.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered, kissing up her ear.
‘As I have missed you,’ she breathed.
His heart sang at her admission.
‘You have enchanted me, Miss Ellen Smith,’ he continued and chuckled as he felt her backside grind into his groin.
‘Is that so, Mr Robert Carring,’ she teased, suddenly utterly grateful of the empty schoolhouse, so no one could hear her scream his name.
‘It is so,’ he murmured and bent to pick up her skirts. As he lifted them, he gazed at the stocking-clad legs, and the round plump buttocks beneath. ‘If you would be so kind as to hold these just a moment?’ He moved her hands to hold up the skirts, as he unbuttoned his breeches.
She laughed throatily. ‘Certainly,’ she replied, and gripped the fabric high at her waist.
Robert’s cock sprang free, moisture already beading at its head.
‘Now, if you would just lean over the bed there, please. There is no time to waste.’
‘Seeing as you asked so nicely, I will oblige,’ she laughed again and did as he bid, leaning over the bed, raising her backside high in the air. Slick excitement wet the curls around her sex. Robert groaned, and stepped up behind her.
Deftly he parted the lips of her womanhood with one hand and guided the thick head of his cock with the other.
‘You must hurry, no time to waste ...’ she moaned, as he pushed the ruddy head of his manhood past the open lips and dripping curls. He watched her flesh swallow him, gulping the broad length of cock almost to its hilt. ‘Oh Robert, yes.’
He withdrew and pushed in again, her channel swallowed him like a silken glove. He thrust again, and withdrew and with each subsequent thrust, her cries grew louder.
‘Yes,’ she moaned, as his thighs smacked against her buttocks, ‘Yes.’
***
Ellen pressed her head against the bed, revelling in the sensations Robert’s n
ew style of lovemaking offered. Soon the pressure and pleasure began to build, and she was fast losing sensibility.
Then she heard it, a door closed and heavy footsteps fell on wooden floorboards. The sound was faint, but distinct. She gasped.
Robert must have heard the same thing, he froze mid stroke.
‘Miss Smith?’ an elderly voice called.
Ellen’s heart leapt into her mouth and she scrabbled madly away from Robert. Her skirts fell in a tumble.
Robert’s eyes widened, and his hands flew to his cock, tucking it into his unbuttoned breeches.
‘Miss Smith?’ Mrs Sneddon knocked on the door. ‘Are you in there?’
Aghast, Ellen stared at the unlatched door. ‘Hide!’ she whispered frantically.
Robert needed no urging. It would only be a moment or two before Mrs Sneddon tried the door and found it unlocked.
‘Mrs Sneddon?’ Ellen called breathlessly.
‘Are ye all right? We found your cap on the floor in the lobby and an envelope. We were worried.’
Ellen turned to see Robert wrap himself behind the curtains, and laid down on the bed.
‘I ... I ... am fine. I just had a funny turn. If you’d just give me a moment ...’
Mrs Sneddon did not give her a moment, the doorknob twisted and she strode in.
The old woman gave Ellen a shrewd appraisal.
‘Ye look flushed.’ She grumbled. ‘I knew I ought not leave you by yourself so long.’ The old lady pressed a hand to Ellen’s damp forehead.
‘Ooh, that looks like the beginnings of a fever! To bed with you!’
Mrs Sneddon’s gaze travelled to rumpled bed on which she lay, ‘Go on, take off your uniform, and get abed.’ She glanced towards the curtains, ‘Your window is closed, isn’t it? No point getting a chill on top of a fever.’
‘Yes!’ Ellen squeaked, ‘Yes, the window is closed.’ She unbuttoned her dress and stays and slipped into the bed. ‘Really, Mrs Sneddon, I’m quite well.’
‘Hmph,’ Mrs Sneddon chuntered, and pulled back the bedspread and helped Ellen slip in.
‘Truly, I’m fine, I’ve even made supper.’
‘And it’s burnt.’ Mrs Sneddon frowned, ‘Lucky we did come home, else you’d have burnt the whole school down.’
Ellen felt the colour roar up her cheeks. ‘I ...’
‘You had a funny turn, I know. Get some rest, I’ll be up with a cup of tea shortly.’
When Mrs Sneddon had deemed Ellen decently tucked in, she threw another shovel of coal on the fire and departed.
It was only as Mrs Sneddon’s footstep receded down the corridor that Robert came out. His face was pale.
‘You need to leave, and never come back!’ Ellen hissed. ‘This was a terrible idea!’
‘Ellen,’ Robert began, then closed his eyes as if just realising something. ‘My greatcoat and hat are still in the lobby.’
Ellen’s stomach plummeted. If the devout Catholic Mrs Sneddon discovered what she had been up to, she was ruined, but how could she explain the presence of a gentleman’s coat and hat?
‘You must leave, forget about them, I’ll think of an excuse, but Robert, really, this is too close! We were almost caught.’
Robert’s face creased with frustration. ‘I know,’ he agreed.
‘The servants’ exit is just down the corridor from the kitchen, it unlocks from the inside. Go whilst Mrs Sneddon busy in the kitchen.’
Robert nodded, and moved silently to the door. ‘I’m sorry about this, Ellen,’ he said, and quietly opened the door and slipped away.
Not ten minutes later, Mrs Sneddon bustled back into Ellen’s room. She was feeling ill in earnest now. Her stomach was churning.
Deep lines creased the woman’s brow. ‘Along with your mob-cap, I see there’s a gentleman’s coat and hat in the lobby,’ she said placing the tea, and Carring’s unopened letter to Miss Brampton on the bedside table.
Ellen’s heart thumped loudly. She held Mrs Sneddon’s stern gaze.
‘It belongs to Mr Carring, Penelope Carring’s father,’ she said, erring on the side of caution by telling as much truth as she could.
‘Mr Carring, is it?’ Mrs Sneddon scowled. ‘A man like him doesn’t seem like the forgetful sort. Why did he leave his things?’ she pressed and her eyes narrowed to small slits. ‘You’d not be the first schoolteacher to find yourself seduced by a dashing widower, but you’ll be the last at Miss Brampton’s if you have.’ She warned.
Ellen glared at the woman. ‘I most certainly have not been seduced.’ She snapped, for in truth, she’d done the seducing. ‘I merely offered him and Penelope tea when they came to deliver Miss Brampton’s letter,’ Ellen began haltingly. ‘But Penelope fell faint and they had to depart quickly. I suppose in the ruckus he forgot his things.’
‘Hmph,’ Mrs Sneddon scowled. ‘Well, you’d best get some rest. I’ll bring up your porridge in the morning.’
Chapter 12
The next week was dark for Ellen. She wanted to reflect and daydream over the glorious, delicious moments with Mr Carring, rather than their awkward, embarrassed and hurried parting. The malaise she had feigned for Mrs Sneddon had developed into something very real, and she felt continuously ill and achy. Her monthly course was due any day, but nothing had happened—though her belly was cramping, giving every indication it would. Even Mrs Sneddon’s chicken soup had done little to cheer her.
Ellen placed her book down on her lap, and stared into the fire, the uneasiness in her stomach growing.
As an educator of young women, Ellen knew at some level that what she had done so rashly with Mr Carring could result in a child. She had warned her girls of ruination through unwed pregnancy and now, though it was too early to tell, she may face the very outcome she’d warned her pupils so earnestly about.
No. Such a thing could not happen to her; after all, they had only been intimate three times. Was that enough? She’d known couples married for years without children. Would God be so cruel to inflict her after three glorious couplings, in one of which neither had reached completion?
She didn’t know.
***
It had been over a week since Robert had visited Hackney Road. He’d very nearly been caught by Mr Sneddon as he’d slipped out the servants’ entrance. It had only been through sheer luck that a flock of pigeons had fluttered overhead, distracting the old man and allowing Carring to get out of the garden gate unnoticed.
Every night, he had lain awake to the early hours thinking of Ellen, wondering about her, and hoping she was well.
How had she managed to explain the greatcoat and hat?
He sighed; she was clever, she would have thought of something.
Still, the need to see her was consuming him. Never in his life had he been so smitten by a woman. He could scarce tolerate the notion of living a life without her vitality and passion in it. Such an existence would be intolerably lonely and dull.
It was Monday evening, and Robert sighed and rested his head back in the chair, and listened to Penny play pianoforte. The scent of the pomanders Penny had made was rich and spicy in the air, and the foliage of the Christmas decorations green and shiny. The room was festive, cheerful, but missed a wife’s touch.
I could marry Miss Smith.
Court her properly.
Robert sipped his brandy, swilling it around his glass and watching the rich amber fluid spin, and mulled over the notion.
‘Penelope,’ he asked, ‘Do you wish me to remarry?’
Her playing stopped and her eyes brightened. ‘Is there someone? Is that where you’ve been going lately?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Oh Papa, I should love to have a stepmother!’
He laughed. ‘Do not be so brash, Penelope. I confess there is a lady whom I admire. Alas, I have been given no indication of her interest in me.’
Penelope’s face fell, ‘Oh, I find that very hard to believe Papa, you are very handsome! Have you asked her how she feels?’
Robert stared
at her—of all the sensual moments he had shared with Ellen, in not one had they spoken about marriage or matters of the heart. She’d given him no indication of such a desire. Nor even of her feelings towards him. She’d only ever spoken of her teaching, of being Miss Brampton’s protégé.
Still, he could only ask and find out if she did feel the same way. At this point in their dalliance he had nothing at all to lose and everything to gain.
He was decided. He must return to Hackney Road.
***
Ellen retired without supper. Her courses should have arrived days ago. Her breasts were tender, and her stomach swilled with unrelenting nausea. She knew the symptoms of being with child. Her neighbour had delivered sixteen children and had suffered through each confinement. She grimaced.
No, she didn’t need any more confirmation. She was with child, she knew it as she knew her own silly, frivolous heart.
Slick fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She was ruined, utterly ruined.
Those glorious, dreamlike moments with Carring had turned her life into a growing nightmare.
Now she would undoubtedly lose her position at Miss Brampton’s, as well as her position in society. She would become destitute.
Oh what have I done!
It would be humiliation beyond all humiliations. Ellen sniffed and ran a hand through her tangled hair and buried her face in her bed.
And yet, despite it all, she still wanted Mr Carring to be hers with an ache so deep she could feel it in her very bones. She missed him, she missed their banter. She missed the way his eyes brightened when he saw her.
‘Are ye or’right?’ Mr Sneddon knocked at her door. ‘Ye not eaten yer tea.’
‘I’m just under the weather, Mr Sneddon, I shall be fine tomorrow,’ she choked out. Hot tears fell down her cheeks at the lie. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, she would be but one day closer to ruination.
She could hear Mr Sneddon huff, ‘Ye coming to mass with us in the morning?’ he said.
Mass? So God and his blasted angels could scorn her?
She’d thrown away a perfectly safe, good existence for silly, foolish pleasures. She deserved all the curses God could throw.
And Mr Carring! What would he think? Would he ever want her again knowing what a fool she’d been?
A Christmas Bride Page 8
