He cupped one breast and put his lips to her nipple to kiss and suck and nip her.
“You give a woman no rest,” she said without objection.
“A bit of cuddling is good. For you and me.” He rubbed her stomach. “Eases the descent to earth.”
Of course, he’d know that because he’d known other women. Who knew how many. She wouldn’t ask and didn’t want to learn. Certainly, his wife would have been the one he was most acquainted with.
She ran her hands down his ribs to stroke his…parsley. And smiled. “Are you floating, too?”
He was still inside her…but dwindling. “I don’t wish to leave.”
She squeezed her thighs together. “Stay then.”
He hugged her tightly. “If I stay long enough, I may want you again.”
She wiggled a bit, sending her eyes about the room. “Is that possible? With that skinny little…green bean?”
He guffawed. Her nipples bored into him and he kissed her like a madman. When they broke apart, they were both laughing.
Twice more they joined, dining so late that their meal was cold and they consumed half what they might have. But he said he didn’t care and she certainly didn’t. She’d gained a lover and that was sustenance enough for tonight and tomorrow.
He led her upstairs and took her to his bed where they both slept, arms around each other. After years apart, they were replete with everything that was good and whole and refreshing in this life.
Chapter 11
As Jess and Charlie entered the front door, she told him, “I won’t be but five minutes.”
“Is luncheon ready, Peters?” Charlie asked.
The butler nodded.
“Good. I don’t want you to be late,” she said in worry over his need to attend rehearsal for his duties at the ceremony tomorrow. “We’ve taken the morning at this.”
Charlie lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips in homage.
“I will be quick.” Turning toward the stairs, she climbed to her bedroom to leave her hat, gloves and pelisse. Their meeting with one official at Bow Street had gone more efficiently than Jess anticipated. She breathed more easily than she had in days. Indeed their bigger challenge was simply getting to Bow Street. Because this was the day before George’s coronation, the streets were clogged with revelers, shoppers, construction gangs and constables policing the throngs. Regiments of military units patrolled many streets. Shipping along the Thames was also disrupted because military wished to command the high points above the river to waylay rabble-rousers. To make matters worse, laborers had not finished many wooden barricades. They and their lorries filled with planks and other supplies criss-crossed the streets. Charlie’s coachman had traveled down three thoroughfares and had been unable to pass. His detours had been wide, convoluted and time-consuming.
Her frustration had been nothing to Charlie’s. Indeed, her most unusual emotion was the odd feeling she had as she climbed into Charlie’s town coach to return home. As if…as if…the hair on the back of her neck rose. And she knew not why.
She was thrilled to be home, inside, away from those who might…see her. Follow her?
Opening the door to her bedroom, she saw Mabel in profile at the window looking out over the mews. She wrung her hands.
“Mabel?” she asked, concerned at the maid’s demeanor.
“Oh, Archer! I mean…Miss! Sorry.” She dipped a curtsy. Then blushed. “Oh, I’m getting this all wrong, ain’t I?”
Jess approached her. Thin lines of distress or anger marred the girl’s mouth. “I realize this shift in my position is extraordinary. No reason to apologize. Nor too curtsy to me, either.”
“But—but I don’t know how to—to greet you.”
“I understand. You may call me Miss Archer. Without the curtsy. Regard me as a friend of his lordship. That is all.” Jess certainly was more to ‘his lordship’ now than a mere friend, but there were few honorifics for a woman who made love to the master of the house. Jess winced at that, but she’d figure out her status after this matter of the attack on Mister Heathmore was resolved. And it would not be soon because the official had recommended that the two of them go to Brighton so that Jess could report in person the attack on Mister Heathmore. To hear confirmed that the tavern keep had died was a shock to Jess and she felt more guilt that she’d not been able to save him.
“It’s good you did not try to stop the attacker, Miss Archer,” the Runner told her. “If he was angry enough to hurt Heathmore so badly, he’d have attacked you, too. You would not be with us today giving us valuable information to solve this crime.”
His words salved some of her conscience.
At least she felt better having gone to do her duty and report the matter.
But now there was this other matter that plagued her.
She moved to the window, as unhappy with having given in to her desire for ‘his lordship’ as she was rejoicing that at last she had consummated the love she’d always borne him. There was no easy resolution to their love affair. There never had been. She swallowed back her dismay.
Looking down, she recognized the two in the alley that had drawn Mable’s attention. Nancy and Thomas. Arguing.
“They do that a lot,” Mabel offered as she stood at Jess’s side, regarding the pair.
“I thought they were…friends,” Jess said, shocked that Nancy pushed Thomas away from her with a forceful thrust of one hand.
“She likes ‘im. But she likes another now and he’s not happy.”
“Oh, that I can understand. Who does she like?” Jess had no business asking that, but Nancy’s jealousy of her in regard to Thomas and the maid’s readiness to hurt Mabel irritated her.
“My beau,” Mabel said with sad distaste.
Jess regarded her with sympathetic smile. “A true love is a treasure.” That I know. That I’ve learned here these past few days. If only…if only that could be enough.
“I just met ‘im Sunday in the park. A nice man. But he wanted to meet me friends. Too bad I let ‘im. Nancy’s a cur.”
Jess inhaled. “A true beau would be more loyal. Perhaps this man is not up to your honor, Mabel.”
“Mebbe.”
“Come away. We won’t brood about him.”
“Thomas?”
“No, your friend.”
“James.”
Jess smiled at her. “Mister James.”
“No, James Fish.”
“Mister Fish then.”
“From Brighton.” Giving over to a happier mood, Mabel picked up a hair brush. “Shall I fix your hair, Miss Archer?”
Jess was suddenly fixed on the fact that Mabel’s beau was from Brighton. “Recently?” she asked, frozen in place.
Mabel blinked in confusion. “Aye. Come to London for the Coronation, ‘e is.”
So he had money enough to travel. Not a day laborer then. Silly to think there was any connection. Many people came from all over to see Prinny get his crown.
Jess took her seat before her dressing table. “What does your Mister Fish do in Brighton, Mabel?”
“He brings in spirits from France and other places.”
Spirits. “And he owns a ship?”
“What?” Mabel removed pins from Jess’s hair and ran her fingers through to straighten the ringlets. “No. I don’t think so.”
“What does he look like? Is he handsome?” On alert, Jess had to learn more.
“Oh, aye, ma’am. Er. Miss. He’s very dark and big. I like a big man, don’t you?”
“Yes. Of course. When…when do you see him again?” Jess tried for levity.
“Never,” Mabel shot back. “I told ‘im, I did, if he were favoring Nancy, he needn’t come snoop ‘round me again.”
“Good for you.” Jess frowned. “Do you think he’ll come to call for Nancy?”
“Oh, ‘e will, alright. He’s to take ‘er to the king’s parade tomorrow. She asked Moseley for time away. But I don’t think the two of ‘em will go to t
he parade, if you get my meaning.”
“I do.”
“She’ll take ‘im to the stables, my bet.”
“Oh. Not good.”
“Yeah. And at such a time, too.” Mabel snorted.
“What time?”
“Nine, ‘e said ‘e’d come fer her.”
“At the back door,” Jess said aloud.
“Of course. Back door.”
Jess ran down the stairs and into the dining room. Smiling at Charlie, she took her place near him. Safe. With him.
“Any idea when you’ll return? Or like your dinner?” she asked and realized that what she was doing was acting like his wife…or his mistress.
He reached over and covered her hand. “Have Peters tell Cook we want a cold supper. I’ve no idea when I’ll return. My part in the ceremony is small but all those barricades and crowds mean returning home may be a challenge.”
“What time must you be at Westminster in the morning?”
“I understand one may arrive as early as five.”
“But the ceremony,” she said, aghast, “does not begin until ten.”
“Exactly.” He took a drink of his tea and sighed. “I should probably leave here by six. I’ll have to be awake before dawn.”
She regarded him with adoring eyes. “I’ll wake you. And help you dress, too. All those bows and ribbons!”
Laughing, he kissed the back of her hand. “The next time we have a new monarch, you will be coming with me, wearing a viscountess’s robes and ermine cape.”
The honor of his words mingled with the sadness of its impossibility. “The day will be memorable. I wish I could see it.”
“Go to the parade then!”
“Oh, I don’t think—“
“Why not? Take Mabel and Peters. You’ll take my town coach to the end of Brook Street.”
Her spirits lifted. “That sounds like a fabulous idea.”
“It is agreed then. Come now,” he urged her to eat. “You need your sustenance.”
The next morning she watched as Peters helped him on with his frock coat. Once in the Abbey, he was to don atop that the regalia of his title. His robes were of crimson velvet, draping to the floor, lined in white sarcenet with white fur cape and two doublings and a half of spotted ermine. His coronet was a circle of gold, edged in ermine, with sixteen pearls, placed on the rim, with a cap and tassel.
“You are quite impressive,” she said grinning at him, “in or out of your robes.”
He kissed her on the cheek in front of Peters. “I wish you were coming with me. Take care of her and Mabel, Peters.”
And then he was off.
“Breakfast, Miss Archer?”
“Yes, Peters. Thank you.” She hadn’t gotten in the habit of not saying her thanks to the staff. She was no mistress to them in the formal sense and she did not wish to seem ungrateful for what they did for her.
“Shall we leave at nine, Miss?”
Just as she and Mabel were about to leave Jess’s bedroom, a knock came upon the door.
Mabel went to answer.
Jess saw Peters enter, say a few words to Mabel who nodded, glanced at Jess and left.
“Pardon me, Miss Archer. I asked Mabel to step out of the room and meet us in the hall downstairs. I was instructed to do so by Lord Rockingham because I was to give you these.” He held out a silver salver with two large documents and one smaller letter, each creamy page folded in half. “His lordship left these for you. You are to open the smaller letter first. They are gifts, he told me to tell you. He was quite insistent that I tell you they are gifts to commemorate today and to anticipate all your tomorrows.”
The butler backed away. “I leave you to read them. Mabel and I await you in the hall.”
She watched him go, the silver in her hand, her heart pounding that Charlie would seek to make this day memorable for her with gifts. Ever could he surprise her.
She sat and unfolded the smaller paper.
This, upon his stationary embellished with his name and rank and escutcheon, was a short note in his excellent pointed handwriting.
“‘My darling Jessica,
These past few days with you have been the happiest of my life. Though you came to me by accident, you stayed out of need. Would that I could persuade you to stay forever.
But I am not a man who will presume that all I want can be mine for the asking. I’ve endured harsh lessons in that and cannot discount the knowledge.
But ever will I attempt to sway the world to my point of view.
Here before you are the means for you to decide if you will part from me or stay with love. No, I would not keep you if you could not fully commit to me. No, I would not expect that you might forsake all you have attempted to build for yourself. But I do have the means and the opportunity to give you as gifts that which may ease your decision.
Open the next two documents.
Both are yours. One comes with an obligation to me alone. The other, without obligation of recompense, but fully yours in any court of law. Of that, I made absolutely certain.
My only request is that you tell me tonight which you want. My heart cannot stand an indefinite time with you if in the end you will leave me.
Open them now and remember that always I have loved you. Until the end of time, I will.’”
Beneath his script he’d signed it.
“‘Rock’”
Clear-eyed, she re-read it once, twice and then again before she reached for the other two sheets.
The first one was simple enough to comprehend. It was a license. From Doctor’s Commons and dated three days ago, on Monday. Monday when he’d visited with Lord Beaumont in the Crescent. And she had visited with their friend Isabelle. It was a special license to marry. For one male, Charles Reed Sandys-Hough, of London and Sussex, and one female, Jessica Archer, of Sussex.
She caught her breath and a brilliant memory seared her. She was ten and Charlie had taken her up on his horse, riding in to Crawley. They’d stopped for ices and one of his friends from school, Lord Bamstoke, was there buying ices, too. The boy poked fun at her poor attire and told Charlie he needed to associate with his own class.
“Naughty little girl,” the sneering boy called her—and Jess hated him at once. “But you’re just as naughty to befriend her, Rockingham.”
Charlie had merely laughed at him and ridden away. How had she forgotten how he’d stood up for her? He’d done it not just this once but on countless occasions. To marry him would mean he’d have do it over and over again. Proud of him, loving him for his actions, she recalled the hurt she felt…and marveled that Charlie did not seem to suffer. Could that be true? Could he have ignored the dictates of his class ever since they were young? Was he nobler than she credited?
She clasped the license to her chest and told herself to consider that—and decide if it were true.
And then curiosity about the second form had her grabbing it up and then pausing in question of how this ‘gift’ of his might be different.
When she opened it and the words swam before her eyes, she could not grasp the totality of its meaning, either. Again she read it.
And stood.
The papers drifted to the carpet.
The darling man had gone and made her the owner of a shop on Piccadilly! A very fine one, as far she could tell by the size of it. Thirty feet by eighteen. Window glass fronting on Piccadilly. Chairs, tables, ten each remaining from previous owner. With stove and closet in the rear. Cellar beneath, accessed by steps from the back alley.
Peters examined her as she descended the stairs. Had he read the items Charlie had left for her? She thought he’d not be so bold, but then…
“You are well, Miss Archer?” His concern etched his brow.
“Perfectly.” Perfectly not. Charlie expected her to graciously accept one and reject the other gift. How was that to be done?
She wanted both. Him. Marriage. Children. A happy family with a man she adored. But she also wanted her ow
n livelihood. Her own name and fame to be told here and abroad. If she ignored the dictates of society, she could have marriage to Charlie. If she ignored the dictates of her heart, she could have her own income, identity and worth. Each came at horrific price.
“Shall we go?” Peters opened the door.
She nodded and made her way out the front door and down the steps.
Chapter 12
At Brook Street, the three got down from the family coach when the streets were so clogged with crowds that the coachman could not go forward. Peters led the way toward Green Park.
“Can we see old George with ‘is crown, Mister Peters?” Mabel wondered.
“I hope so, Mabel. But I understand from the newspapers that in Green Park and Hyde Park there are to be mimes and jugglers. Fireworks tonight, too.”
Jess heard him but his words seemed to echo in her ears. She still had before her the images of the special marriage license and the deed to the Piccadilly property and little else made sense to her.
But they stayed, enjoying the huge balloon that went up over Green Park. They drank ale and porter from tradesmen and ate roasted meats for sale from others. They cheered on people who raced their boats in the Serpentine in Hyde Park. The most exciting though were the two elephants that drew a triumphal car along the River.
“Shall we go home?” Jess asked them when her feet began to ache.
“I need a rest,” Mabel said and so, Peters led the way through the crowds.
But marching up Piccadilly was now more difficult. People jostled and stumbled. A few hollered for others to stop pushing them. Ruffians barged though the crowds, shouting obscenities about Parliament and rich nobs. Many broke street lamps and threw stones at shop windows.
Jess and Mable ducked the flying glass and debris as Peters tried to shield them. A man bumped into Mabel and pushed aside Peters. Suddenly, Jess was caught round the waist, up off her feet, being dragged backward.
She flailed, attacked. Abducted!
His Naughty Maid: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 3 Page 10
