by Nia Farrell
No, I would not think on that now. My cycle was due to arrive two days hence, like a practical present on Christmas morning, not what I wanted yet exactly what I needed. But the image of a gravid belly was quickly eclipsed by the bounty hanging over my head.
God only knew how much longer I must live in its shadow.
Chapter Fifty-Six
After breakfast, Edward headed for the telegraph operator to send the first in a flurry of messages between Bath and London. By late afternoon, his final report of his accomplishments was typical Professor Wainwright, succinct and to the point.
Boxing Day. One bottle. Two rooms. Three tickets. Done.
The day’s work kept him occupied—and preoccupied, so much so that his newspapers went largely unread and very little writing got done. But it also allowed me to sneak in a little here, a little there, so that his flip book was nearly a fourth done by our evening meal. We lingered longer at supper, savoring dessert and enjoying the music, before retiring to our rooms. Midnight Mass was three hours away, time enough for Edward to catch up on the news while Daniel played the music of the season. I planned to excuse myself for a lie-down in Daniel’s room, where I hoped to work on Edward’s present instead.
I managed to finish fleshing out two pages when the first yawn hit. By the time I’d finished another page, I could barely keep my eyes open. The empty bed beckoned, and I answered, the lure of a soft pillow and warm blankets being too great to resist any longer. I washed my hands, scrubbing what graphite I could from them, streaking the towel with gray despite my efforts, then tucked myself into bed, trusting that the men would wake me in time to go to Mass.
I was muzzy with sleep when Daniel pulled back the covers and sat, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Oi,” he said. “Ye need to rise. Get that pretty bottom of yers up and going if we’re to make it to Mass at all.”
My hair was an awkward length, but since no one would see it, I brushed it out and stuffed it in a net, adding my chapel veil just before we left. The night air was cold enough to warrant my heaviest overcoat, a woolen scarf, and a muff for my gloved hands. I kept my face half-covered, allowing the knit to warm the air before breathing it in. Having suffered congestion in my lungs, I had no wish for another episode and now took extra precautions to keep from getting chilled.
The Abbey Church was a magnificent example of Gothic Revival architecture. Renovations were ongoing, and I promised myself a return trip after their completion. Still, to be in the midst of such ancient energy was thrilling to the soul, however tarnished a priest might consider mine, and the little Lamb of God in the crèche did not blink at the three of us, joined in love and one in a spirituality that defied manmade religion. The bond between us felt as ancient as this church. More so, if truth were told. It felt as if we had known each other forever.
Gooseflesh rippled my arms, and I rubbed at the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature inside the building and everything to do with the three of us. At supper tonight, I’d had another moment, a flash of vision with Regency clothes and strangely familiar faces, and I could not help thinking that we’d been here before. Although the Western world dismissed the idea of reincarnation, a large percentage of the planet’s population embraced the idea of second chances, thirds, and fourths—however many it took to get things right.
Perfection of the soul…only ours seemed a group effort, committed to coming back with each other, if that were possible. It certainly felt like it to me.
This Christmas season, perhaps more than any other, I had reasons to be grateful. Edward and Daniel occupied the top of my list. Masey and Joseph came next, with Adam Roth ranked after them—more for teaching me to sketch than anything else. The sculptor who’d trained me. Babs and Young Frank, Lucy and Benson, and the rest of Edward’s staff. His family and mine. Sydney Blevins. Tamás, Tobar, and their herbalist grandmother. The National Gallery delegation. The people who had attended my grand opening and anyone who had ever purchased my work or remarked favorably on it.
I sat and stood and knelt in turn, in a state of humble gratitude, counting the blessings in my life…until I realized that this was my first Christmas without my mother. True, we’d been apart for some time, but there was always the possibility of being with her someday. Death had robbed me of the chance for a reunion that would never come. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
I felt the sting of tears. My lip quivered. I curled my fingers and dug crescents into my palms, refusing to break down and ruin Mass for Edward and Daniel.
Focusing outwardly, I let my artist’s eye capture every detail of the space. Every person within view. Finding one woman of particular interest, I focused on her and started writing in my head, purely conjecture on her unique combination of colors and styles, with pieces spanning eras of fashion. The turban that she wore under her veil reminded me of the colorful Zouave units that had fought on both sides in the war.
She must have felt me looking at her, because at one point, she turned around and met my gaze squarely, unabashedly. She was used to drawing notice and acknowledged mine with the briefest nod before turning her attention back to the priest.
Daniel cocked his head and winked. I’d been caught staring, and he knew it. Edward arched a brow but said nothing. That would wait, until we were in our room once more. Needless to say, I sensed that more than conversation would ensue.
Edward would scold me for rudeness. For my lack of attention to the Mass. For any number of other slights unconsciously made in the time that I was only half here. I would beg his forgiveness and ask for penance. He would punish me and offer absolution, while Daniel watched, torn between wanting to look away and wanting to plunge himself hilt-deep inside me.
It was sinful. It had to be sinful, to sit in a church service and lust after the men seated on either side of me. I should be focused on the meaning of the season, the birth of the Christ child in Bethlehem, His lessons of mercy and forgiveness, His promise of salvation, His suffering, His sacrifice, death, resurrection, and ascension. Instead, I pressed my thighs together and counted the minutes until we could leave.
During the prayers, I would have clasped my hands more tightly to my bosom, except my piercing was still tender. I cringed when I tried it, and relaxed my left arm, easing the pressure. Beside me, Edward inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, as if loathe to release the scent of my arousal. He tapped his knee, three times, with three fingers. Lesson Three. It was all I could do to not squirm in my seat.
I existed in a state of heightened awareness throughout the remainder of the service. From departing the church until our return to the hotel, I struggled with my growing desire, for pleasure and for pain. Daniel was not oblivious to it. Neither was Edward, who handed my outerwear to Daniel and ordered me to strip.
I did so gracefully, not too hurriedly and not too slowly, taking care of my clothing as the layers came off, setting everything neatly aside. I could not look at Daniel when I knew that my discipline would hurt him just as much. Instead I focused on Edward’s hands, the flex of his fingers, the dusting of hair on the backs of them, the ink that stained his left thumb and index finger the way that graphite colored mine. He unbuttoned his frock coat and shrugged out of it, folding it neatly and draping it on the back of a chair. His waistcoat followed, revealing his snowy white shirt and the braces, red as holly berries, that bracketed his chest.
Edward rolled up his sleeves, removed his cravat, and bound my wrists with it, humming his pleasure when I knelt at his feet. “Lesson One,” he rumbled, unbuttoning his fly and freeing his erection, a pearl of pre-cum set in its ruby crown. “No hands. No teeth. I’m going to fuck your face until I climax. You will swallow. Every. Drop.”
I’d forgotten about my net, but Edward slipped it off and tossed it aside. Grabbing my hair in his fist, he held my head and thrust inside my parted lips, grunting his pleasure when I hollowed my cheeks, intent on sucking him dry. He pushed himself against my palate, down my throat, diving into me, relen
tless, forcing spittle from my mouth that dripped onto the floor between us.
His movements stiffened, tinged with the quiet desperation of a man on the edge of release. He chased it for a few minutes longer, then threw back his head with a guttural cry and unloaded himself in my throat. I swallowed, and swallowed again, keeping my lips tight around his shaft until I was certain that I’d taken it all.
Edward pulled free and disappeared into the water closet, returning with his razor strop, the one that had my name and a number on it. “Sixty-eight,” he said. “When we’re old and you think back to Bath, you’ll remember the year and exactly how many strokes you earned during Midnight Mass. Up you go. I need you bent over the end of the bed. Present yourself for me. Feet, hip-width apart. Chest on the bed. Arse up and out. Yes, that’s it. Perfect. Daniel, keep count. It’s only sixty-eight. She has had worse and loved it.”
“One.” Daniel’s voice cracked as the first stroke fell, light compared to what was coming. “Two.” Another, also light. Edward was warming me up. “Three.”
The numbers grew. The strokes did, too. Each burning thud imparted a shock to my system that wrung tears and whimpers from me. I began flinching from the force of them. Daniel’s voice grew strained. A few strokes more, and I was arching back to meet them. I felt myself separate, until part of me was floating. I was only half there when the last blow fell and Edward threw down the strop and buried his cock inside me.
He pistoned into me, driving deep, grasping my hips and jacking his. “Fuck,” he grated. “So tight. I shouldn’t let you come, naughty pet that you are.”
It was too late for that. I’d been ripe for it since the Abbey. The burn on my bottom and the feel of his possession tipped me right over the edge. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I gasped through my release, my walls tightening and spasming around him. “I couldn’t stop it. Oh, God.”
Edward fisted my hair and pulled back my head, making my back arch as he drove into me. At one point his rhythm broke. He ground into me, short, hard strokes, then spilled his seed inside me, safe enough, with my menses due tomorrow.
“Daniel’s turn,” he growled. “My boy, I want you to fuck her arse. Bugger her until she begs you to finish.”
Paddy slid his oil-slickened cock along my seam. Dipping inside to wet himself, he found my sphincter and pressed against it, stretching me in a familiar burn of tender tissue giving way. The first ring yielded, and the second. Bending over me, he planted his forearms on the mattress, bracketing me, grunting in my ear as he worked his full length inside me.
“Jaysus,” he grated, pulling out and pummeling back, testicles slapping with every stroke, his abdomen abrading the striped flesh of my bottom, adding to my misery enough to make me whimper. “Christ Almighty. If I’d known ye’d take it up yer arse, I’d have swived ye until we were caught or the war ended, whatever came first.”
Daniel seemed intent on making up for lost time. He applied himself most vigorously, earning Edward’s praise and a tongue up his ass, then Edward’s cock. With the three of us layered and locked at the pelvis, on Edward’s command for Daniel to come, our climaxes detonated like charges timed at one second intervals—Edward’s, then Daniel’s, then mine. I had probably earned more strokes for it, but I counted it well worth the cost. What mattered more was being together, sharing and caring for each other.
Belonging.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I fell asleep, smiling, and woke up the same way. I cracked open my eyes to see Daniel, watching me, waiting, excitement rolling off him in waves. Christmas morning, and he was as eager as a child.
“Good morning, Paddy,” I whispered, feeling Edward stir behind me. “Good morning, Edward.”
“Merry Christmas,” Edward hummed and rolled away, bringing back the jar of his special cream to use on my stropped bottom. By the time he finished, I was rubbing myself on the sheets and wishing for a tongue.
He smacked one cheek. “Settle,” he growled. “None of that now. We’ve breakfast to eat and, I daresay, presents to open. I hope that you are not disappointed that a trip to Bath was yours.”
“Oh, no, Sir! Bath has been perfect, Edward—or would be perfect, if we were here by choice, rather than necessity. It’s been marvelous. Thank you for bringing us. I hope to return again when time and happier circumstances allow. We could make it an artists’ getaway. You would write. I would sketch. Daniel would learn new tunes for his fiddle. What say you, Paddy? Will you give me a song of the season for Christmas morning?”
Daniel, being a man, would have preferred another way to start the day, but he obliged, fetching his fiddle and playing “Silent Night” for us. Edward’s rich baritone joined in the next time through, and I sang with him, to Paddy’s great pleasure. “Oh, that was good. Really good,” I said, delighted with our efforts. “Good enough, we could pass the hat in the streets for tips if we wanted.”
Edward chuckled. “Perhaps I should make you sing for your supper. It’s a rare treat to hear you, and it should not be. Our home should be filled with music and –” He stopped short of saying it, but I knew what he was thinking.
Children.
“Three years, I’m guessing. Two, with luck,” I said softly, wishfully. “Let me get the statue done. We have time to decide how things are to be and move forward from there.”
Edward looked at Daniel and nodded.
“Well, darlin’ girl, we’ve been talking. Have been, since those two days that ye thought ye might be carrying.”
My heart leapt to my throat when Edward slipped out of bed and returned with a small box. “Elena,” he said, going down on one knee, “would you marry us? Legally to me, but Daniel and I agree, given the circumstances, our union would provide the most benefits to you and to our heirs.”
“And what if your heir has ginger hair and green eyes?” I asked them both.
“Like your mother’s?” Edward smiled softly. “If my heir has Daniel’s coloring to go with my name, then it will be as God wills it. Mayhap you will throw all dark-haired, grey-eyed girls. Perhaps our firstborn son will be golden and look exactly like me. I could lie and say it does not matter, but it does not matter enough to override what we gain from this. A semblance of normalcy, to the public eye. Legitimacy for our children, regardless of paternity. The protection of my name and all the benefits that that entails. You’ll be an heiress,” he said. “You shall want for nothing, you and Daniel. I have already changed my will and named you jointly, love.”
He opened the box, revealing a magnificent square cut sapphire, surrounded by diamonds, in an heirloom setting. “This was my grandmother’s,” Edward said. “And my mother’s. I would very much like it to be yours.”
His mother’s ring? “But your sister. Surely—”
“We have her blessing. I told her, there will never be another woman for me, Elena. Only you, dear heart. I want you—we want you—to be ours, now and always.”
“Say yes.” Daniel squeezed my shoulder. “For Christ’s sake, Lanie, don’t leave us hanging here.”
“Yes. Yes! Of course, yes!” I cried, tears of happiness bursting in my eyes.
Edward slipped the ring on my finger and kissed my hand. “Perfect,” he hummed.
I clutched his fingers and pulled him back into bed with us, where I kissed him, very hard and very thoroughly. I did the same with Daniel, and sighed. “I’m afraid the other presents will seem paltry after this, but thank you. Thank you both.”
Daniel nuzzled my neck. “Why don’t we get the rest of them out of the way, then go eat?” he suggested.
Knowing Daniel, he was as hungry for surprises as he was for sustenance.
We gave Daniel his gifts first. Edward had bought him a violin by a maker of some renown with such pure, perfect tones, he’d surely have angels singing. I gave Daniel his own set of the photographs that I’d given Edward for his birthday, plus the pocket watch image of myself as Lane, and a small sketch of The Fighting 69th picture that I’d tagged and saved fo
r him. “You seem fond of it,” I said. “It should be yours.”
He cupped my face and kissed me deeply. “Thank ye, Lanie. Now, yer turn. Merry Christmas.”
There were two packages, one large and one small. I reached for the small one first, as it was on top, and opened it to find a number of combs for my growing hair, from plain and practical to bejeweled for evening wear.
“They’re beautiful! Paddy, Edward, thank you!”
Daniel handed me the other, rather large package that felt and flexed like fabric beneath its wrappings. I untied the ribbon and set it aside to keep for my hair (or my waist, as long as it was), and parted the paper to reveal a new outfit. Not just any outfit. A National Dress Reform costume, with shortened skirt and Turkish pants and a tailored jacket to match.
A blush pinked Daniel’s cheeks beneath the short beard that he now sported. “We hope it will suit, to work in, anyway. It will look better, engaged to his lordship here, than ye wearing yer old clothes.”
“Thank you! Yes, yes, it’s less scandalous, to be sure, than dressing as Lane. We can save those clothes for when it’s just the three of us, hmm?”
I think Edward growled.
“Now your turn, Your Lordship.” I gave him the box that we’d made for him. “Merry Christmas, Sir, from Daniel and me.”
I’d tucked in the pocket watch photograph just before we’d sealed it, so that Daniel would be surprised with his. There was a stack of monogrammed handkerchiefs that were always in demand, especially during carriage rides, and a small sketch of Belle. “Daniel made the frame,” I said. “You already knew that I was giving her to you, but now you have her image to keep with you, whenever she is out on loan somewhere.”
The last thing to come out was the flip book. I warned him that it was a work in progress. “Fan the pages, front to back, and you’ll see the statue taking place. I’ve had it since New York but could never quite decide what to do with it, until Daniel and I were talking and he suggested it. I’ll need to finish the rest, but, well, go on and see.”
