by Cheryl Bolen
But the following night she had her plan in place. She waited until her parents had gone to bed, then padded down the stairs and slipped out the tradesmen's entrance at the back of the house. She went straight to the mews and climbed the now familiar wooden staircase.
This time Ebenezer, a broad smile on his rugged face, was waiting for her. "Aye, me gal, I'd knew as ye'd come tonight."
She set the lantern down, then, like an actress performing on a stage, she began to shed her fur-trimmed velvet cloak.
Ebenezer gasped as it fell to the wooden floor. For she wore nothing beneath it. She dipped down to remove her cloak from the floor, careful to give him a good view of her breasts dangling downward as she bent. Then she covered the uncomfortable straw mattress with her velvet cloak and lay on it.
These stolen meetings with Ebenezer were growing tedious. The first one had been the best, of course. It always was. She had been eyeing Ebenezer for several weeks and had been anxious to learn if his considerable height was an indication of his size below the waist. She had no complaints on that score. He filled her well, the lad did. But she was growing weary of him. And of the straw mattress.
Perhaps if Ebenezer were to sneak into her chamber in her father's house . . . The idea brought a smile to her lips and sent a throbbing down deep and low. She did so love the danger of discovery, the danger of forbidden fruit. That's what was needed. She would entice Ebenezer to her bedchamber. She thought she would even fancy the idea of him groaning loudly with pleasure beside her. That might just heighten the lure of discovery. Not that she actually wished to be found with the groom's member inserted within her. She merely wanted to imagine being discovered with the groom's—or the footman's or the coachman's—member buried within her.
Just thinking on the matter caused her to become aroused. She slipped her hand beneath Ebenezer's nightshirt to see if he was, too.
Good. "I shall be on top tonight," she informed him, rolling over on him and closing her opened mouth over his.
He came into her quick and hard, just as she had taught him to do. But she still wasn't satisfied. She rolled off him and waited for his breathing to return to normal. Then she began to pleasure him with her mouth until he grew sturdy again and she sat astride him once more and rode him as if her very life depended upon it.
This time they both cried out in ragged moans of pleasure.
When she woke just before dawn, she whispered filthy things into his ear until he awakened.
"Next time, me boy, you'll pleasure me in me own bed."
"I can't be goin' and doin' that now, miss. What about yer parents?"
She rolled to him and lifted one thigh over his leg. "It will just make it more exciting, love."
He clasped a wide hand over her bare hips.
"Ye must make love to me once more, Ebenezer, before ye go off to Warwickshire."
He bolted up. "Are ye daft? I ain't goin' to Warwickshire."
"Aye, love, ye are. 'Twill only be for a little while, and I'll see to it me father increases yer wages when ye return." It wasn't uncommon for Betsy to begin slipping into the lower classes' vernacular when she was having one of her affairs with an underling.
They went at it once more, and by the time she slipped away from the mews at dawn, Ebenezer was making plans for his trip to Warwickshire.
Chapter 17
As they drew closer to George's ancestral home, a smile settled on Sally's face. Hornsby Manor had been her favorite place on earth when she was growing up. In addition to her infatuation with George and her idolization of Glee's elder sister, Sally had loved the rolling Warwickshire countryside here. The vast Sedgewick estates were so completely different from the rectory where she had grown up.
She fondly recalled rowing across the deep green waters of Hornsby's private lake and the many long horseback rides she and Glee had taken around the estate. Hornsby was the largest house Sally had ever been in until Felicity married the wealthy Mr. Moreland and settled in at Winston Hall. Though unlike Winston Hall with its rooms of marble and miles of gilt trim, Hornsby was rich with mellowed wood and was as cozy as her grandmother's fire-lit cottage.
When the carriage rattled over the familiar wooden bridge, Sally's heart fluttered. They had crossed into Sedgewick property. Her chest seemed too small to contain her swelling heart. She peered from the window at the parkland in front of Hornsby, and her eye traveled along the velvety grass up to Hornsby itself. Neither palatial nor pretentious, Hornsby was a big, comfortable family home in the Tudor style with as much timber on the facade as bricks and mortar. Her heart clenched. It would now be her home.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the door, Sally's glance fell on George. Not waiting for the coachman to put down the steps, he sprang from the carriage and turned back to assist Sally, who held Sam in her arms as she disembarked. Then George dipped down and scooped Georgette into his arms.
"You must be fatigued from the journey," he said to Sally as they entered the house through Hornsby's front door. "No doubt you'll want to go to your chambers."
Her pulse accelerated. "Not until they have been redecorated, I think. Until then, I plan to stay in Sam's room with him. I daresay the new house could possibly upset him."
As if to assure himself of the lad's well-being, George threw a quick glance at his son. "Then allow me to show you to the young master's room."
Sally shook her head. "No, first we must take Georgette to her chamber. You know nothing of your daughter if you do not know how impatient she is to see her well remembered room."
Still holding his daughter, George looked down into her face. "So you're impatient to see your chamber, love?"
"Ever so much, Papa."
The family's bedchambers were all located upon the second floor, Georgette's midway down the dark corridor. As George went to open its door, Sally grew anxious. What if the servants had not prepared it for the young mistress? After all, they had not been notified until yesterday that the family was returning today.
She was relieved when they entered the chamber and found that it was free of dust, tidy, and quite lovely with its wallpaper of lilacs. Draperies of a solid lilac color had been opened to flood the chamber with sunlight. Sally glanced at the half-tester bed, which also was covered in velvet that was of the same shade of lilac as the draperies.
"Is it as you remembered, pet?" George asked his daughter.
Her glance lit on every corner of the room, then she looked up at her father and shrugged. "It's . . . it's the same, but it's different. It seems smaller."
"That's because you've grown bigger," George said gently.
"Then, too," Sally added, "none of your dolls and things are here yet. It will look more as you remember when your things get here."
Georgette's glance darted to the unadorned little bed in the corner of the room. "I remember that's where Hortense used to sleep."
Sally went to put Sam down, but he clung to her neck and gave a grumble of protest. "Very well, sweetheart," she cooed to him, "I shan't put you down if you don't like."
George gazed from Sally to Sam and back to Sally. "Should you care to see what will be Sam's room?"
"Certainly." Sally followed her husband from the room. "Has anyone occupied it since you married, my lord?"
He walked directly across the hall to it, shaking his head. "What if it's not been made ready?" Sally asked.
"It will be. That was in my instructions." He opened the door and swept into the blue chamber.
Though it had been cleaned, and fresh linens had been put on the bed, the room's long years of disuse were evident in the sun-faded draperies. Sally thought the draperies and bed coverings once must have been a royal blue to complement the gold walls. But now the royal blue was so badly faded it looked almost as if it had been whitewashed. Her glance traveled to the wooden floors that were covered in worn, though serviceable, Turkey carpets. Sally attempted to calculate how long it had been since the chamber had been redecorated. Ge
orge had married when he was three and twenty, so it had been seven years since he had occupied this chamber. Judging by what she saw, Sally would guess the room must have been decorated when George was the age Sam was now.
She directed her gaze at her husband. "I believe there are two rooms that will require redecorating."
He nodded. "I hadn't realized this chamber would look so . . . so tawdry."
She laughed. "I wouldn't say tawdry. It's most likely been thirty years since it was decorated."
"I daresay you're correct," George said.
Georgette came to stand at Sally's feet and looked up at her little brother. "This is going to be your room, Sam," she said sweetly.
He held Sally's neck tighter. She was not sure if he understood or not. "Mama's going to sleep in here with you tonight, sweetheart." Sally kissed his fat little cheek.
Then Sally met Georgette's gaze and smiled smugly. "I suspect you're ready to go find your pup."
A broad smile on her face, Georgette's head bobbed up and down.
George picked her up again. "Remember what I told you. He's not a puppy any more. He's going to be rather large."
They went back downstairs and through the rear door and began to walk through the parterre garden toward the mews. They had not been outside for long when they heard a bark and saw a black dog running toward them. If that were Georgette's dog, Sally thought, then her father had been right. He was a large dog, as large as a collie.
"It's Blackie!" Georgette cried, running toward the dog.
"George? Will she be all right, do you think?"
Worry flashed across his face, and George began to sprint after his daughter.
But he had no need to worry. The harmless dog stopped right in front of Georgette and began to lick her.
She giggled and flicked a glance at her father. "He remembers me!"
"I believe he does, pet."
Dropping to her knees, Georgette flung her arms around the dog. Then she gazed up at her brother and said, "Doggie. Do you want to pet the doggie, Sam?"
He shook his head. Though fascinated by the dog and unable to remove his gaze from it, Sam was frightened just enough to keep a safe distance.
Assured of his daughter's safety, George began to stroll toward the mews, his wife and son beside him and Georgette and her dog lagging some distance behind.
Sliding a glance to Sally, George came to a stop. "Here, let me take him. Your arms must be aching."
To Sally's surprise, Sam did not protest but went readily to his father. Sally slipped her arm through George's. "Do you know what Sam would adore?"
George hitched a brow. "What?"
"For you take him for a ride upon your mount."
"But I have no horse for you."
"I don't require one. I can watch you."
"You don't mind?"
"I shall be most happy if Sam is happy."
Within five minutes, George's bay was saddled, and Sally handed Sam up into his father's arms. A fleeting look of terror wiped across Sam's face as he clutched at his father, but as George's arm came around him and George spoke gently to him when the bay began a slow trot, the look of terror was replaced with unquestionable mirth.
Sally had never seen Sam so happy.
Once assured that Sam was no longer frightened, George dug in his heels, and the bay bolted into a gallop. Happiness on her own face, Sally watched as they streaked forward, the wind blowing Sam's blond curls, his giggling face lifted into the heavens.
Having suddenly lost interest in her dog, a solemn Georgette asked, "Can Papa take me, too?"
Sally gathered the little girl's hand into her own. "I'm sure he means to."
When George circled back to where Sally and Georgette stood, Georgette shouted. "Can you take me now, Papa?"
"Very well," he said. "Will you get Sam?" he asked Sally.
She walked up, arms outstretched.
Sam whirled his face away and grunted his disapproval, but his father was stern. He grabbed the boy with both hands and handed him, kicking and screaming, to Sally. "Be a good lad," George said, "and we'll do this again. It's Georgette's turn now."
Sam continued to kick at Sally as she plopped him on the grass. Then she took up his sister, handing her to George.
The entire time George and his daughter rode, Sam cried. Sally swept up her skirts and sat down beside him on the grass, holding out her arms for him. For the first time ever, he refused to come to Sally. His face red, great rivers of tears washing down his cheeks, he shook his head vigorously.
"I can see this arrangement needs to be improved," she said, shaking her head.
When George returned, Sam stood and ran toward the horse, his arms held over his head, silently begging for another ride.
George shook his head. "Not now, lad. You had your turn."
Sally came and took Georgette down while George dismounted. Meeting Sally's gaze, George said, "The boy certainly does love horses."
"Poor lamb," Sally lamented, "I've never seen him so upset."
"Tomorrow we'll have to make sure there are two horses, and each of us can take one of the children."
Sally nodded. She would take Georgette. Sam and his father needed to establish a bond, and what better way to do so than for Sam to associate his father with his favorite thing?
Before darkness fell, George, with his family at his side, sought out the steward.
When they came upon Mr. Willingham riding his horse through the orchard, the two men greeted each other affably. "May I present you to the new Lady Sedgewick?" George said.
The man, who was much the same age as George, quickly dismounted, handed his reins to his employer, and swept into a bow. Then he drew Sally's hand to his lips. "Your servant, milady."
"I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. My husband speaks most highly of you. Tell me, have you been able to implement the new machinery?"
His brown eyes sparkled. "I have indeed." Turning to George, he said, "Should you like to see it?"
"Certainly."
Sally hoped Mr. Willingham did not detect the insincerity in her husband's voice, evident though it was to her.
Mr. Willingham took two steps, then stopped and scratched at his head. "Actually, tomorrow will be better. By the time we get to the fields this afternoon, it will be growing dark."
George clapped a hand around the man's shoulder. "I plan to devote most of the day tomorrow to having you update me on the estates."
They all began to walk back toward the house, Mr. Willingham leading his horse behind them.
"Should you care to eat dinner with us tonight, Mr. Willingham?" Sally asked.
"I would be honored to do so."
By the time they reached Hornsby, the servants' chaise had arrived, and all the servants were attempting to perform their usual duties.
Miss Primble took the children to the nursery while Sally and George mounted the stairway to dress for dinner. Her trembling hand grasped the banister as they climbed the old oak staircase. "There is something I beg to ask of you, my lord."
George put a gentle hand to her waist. "What, my dear?"
"I would rather that you not go into the viscountess's chambers until they are redecorated." She drew in her breath. Since the day she had become betrothed to George, neither of them had ever mentioned Diana by name. And Sally was exceedingly grateful to him for that. "I should like for you to continue forward, not backward."
His mouth a grim line, he nodded.
At the top of the stairs, he turned to the left and walked almost to the end of the long hallway. He came to a stop and turned to Sally. "If you care to see them, these are the viscountess's chambers."
She nodded solemnly and watched as he walked to the next door and entered.
Then she opened the door and walked into a bedchamber that was done completely in scarlet. Scarlet walls. Scarlet draperies. Scarlet bed coverings. Sally's heart thumped as she pictured Diana sitting before the gilded dressing table. The room
would have been the perfect backdrop for the raven-haired beauty. If being here sent Sally's heart thumping, she knew George would have broken down completely. It was best that he not come in here while the room still bore Diana's distinctive style.
Sally would have changed the decor even if it had not evoked memories of the lovely Diana. Scarlet simply was not her. Of all the colors in the spectrum, red would likely have been Sally's last choice for her bedchamber.
She walked up to the silk moire draperies and fingered them. Unlike those in Sam's chamber, these looked as fresh as the day they had been installed. A pity to waste them. Silk was so very dear.
Then it occurred to her that red would nicely complement the royal blue in Sam's chamber. Even with the scarlet draperies, Sam's room would be far too masculine to ever evoke Diana. Sally decided she would order these draperies be moved to Sam's room on the morrow, the same day she would send for painters for her new chambers.
Her glance fell on Diana's bed with its gilded canopy. And her heart quickened. That George and Diana had made love there made her profoundly sad. When it became her room, Sally would have the bed moved to the window wall. Anything to obliterate memories of her predecessor.
And since the room was so bold and dark now, she would select something completely different. Ivory, she thought, even if it would take several coats for it to cover the red.
To the left of the bedchamber she located the dressing chamber, a small room that was completely empty, save for the red velvet curtain that covered its sole window. The room could be entered from two sides. She swallowed. The next room would be George's.
She stood there in the eerie silence imagining George and Diana freely accessing each other's chambers. Would that she would ever be so comfortable with the man she had married.
She strode back into the bedchamber and across it, coming to another scarlet room, this one the viscountess's study. It was furnished with a French escritoire, also of gilt, and a pair of red silk brocade settees. She would love to recover those in ivory, too. A pity she would be shackled—because of scarcity of funds—with the gilded furniture. Walnut was much more to Sally's liking.
