by Bianca Bloom
And on top of all this, I had to contend with my new husband. He seemed to be particularly maddening on this day.
His head was bent over as he spoke with Esther, and I walked directly up to him. “Do you have any words for your stepdaughter? I believe she is more responsibility than you may have anticipated,” I said, recalling angrily the great financial advantage that had been conferred on my husband by our arrangement.
To my astonishment, he took my elbow, leading me away from that wing to an old storeroom. Though I knew that he was likely only trying to get us away from any potential eavesdroppers, I followed. I was too tired to argue with the man.
When we entered, I sneezed from the dust. There were a great many toys, mainly belonging to Grace – the twins had not possessed many amusing little items when they were young. And now that Grace had outgrown the pretty dolls and wooden animals, I did not know what good they would do us. Still, I had them kept all in one small room, hoping that one day there might be a good use for them.
“Hamilton,” I told the man, “Your good name is in danger.”
And I wanted to tell him that he did not need to worry too greatly for it, that I had always taken care of my daughters’ difficulties and that I would certainly continue to do so.
Instead, I only cried, leaning on a great chest of drawers which was covered in an old grey cloth, burying my face in my hands. New stepfather or no, my daughters had only me to guide them. And, based on my dealings with Adam, I was not capable of doing so.
Hamilton drew the curtains on the room’s two windows, letting in what little light there was.
“For now, she is safe. Flora is no longer in danger, and she will have some time to reflect on her behavior,” he said, trying to soothe me.
I nearly scratched his arm off of me. “That will be of little help! She insists that she will die without him,” I said. “She is not willing to listen to reason or to reflect on anything.”
“All young girls think they will die without their sweethearts,” he said. “Come to mention it, many young men make similar proclamations. And some old men, as well,” he said, his face growing dark.
For a moment, it was as if his soul had opened up. “And you felt that way once,” I breathed, feeling a tiny bit lighter for that bit of comfort. The poor man had the same old feet of clay as anyone else. I had certainly been sure that I would perish without Sean, even if it had not been the truth. After he died, I had been forced to prove that my life could continue.
“Yes,” Hamilton said. “But I had no idea that love would come to me again, after long years of waiting.”
And he took my shoulders, pressing me up against the chest of drawers with a force that I had never felt from him.
Even though we were each of us fully clothed, it was as if the cloth itself did not exist. I felt every inch of him, all of it unfamiliar to me. Even his lips, which dominated mine in breathtaking kisses, were completely foreign.
We were not young, and only the heat of our desire made us seem so. In every other way, we knew all about the motions of love, which only increased our fervor. There was no shocked modesty, no inexperienced fumbling. His thigh found its way in between my legs immediately as my hand went up his shirt, then down his trousers. My dress and stays seemed to mean little to him. It did not keep him from pressing a large hand against my bosom, which he handled with such force that I nearly cried out.
This was too much for the man to manage, and he dragged me down to the floor, where he practically towered over me, pushing my gown up with fingers that were sure and strong.
A great model of a tower crashed down, and his feet kicked dolls out of the way. The door was unlocked, and though we were not in a room that was ever used, we could well have been discovered.
But I did not have the capacity to think of such things. For my husband’s fall was quite undone. And the lips that I had never before felt were making a meal of the tender skin on my neck as my small fingers closed over a gorgeous, hardened piece of flesh that was plainly aching for my touch.
Then, with great haste, we were going through all of the motions that lead up to lovemaking. We had the eagerness of a young couple rummaging about, but our bodies knew precisely what to do, and fit together perfectly. He knew to push my knees apart, and I knew to look into his eyes, and we both knew that the first moment of perfect carnal contact would be a fiery one.
And yet for one second, I remembered the truth. Our marriage was not supposed to be consummated. And so I squeezed my eyes shut.
And as I did, the man shoved his fingers in my mouth as he leaned back, driving his prick into me with a slow, tantalizing thrust that made me curl my body up to meet it.
Though my eyes were closed and some part of my consciousness was making an attempt to tell the man that we could not, that this act was wrong, and that our carnal knowledge was the worst possible idea, my parted lips positively squeaked with delight and apprehension.
Lord Hamilton Bell grunted like a farm hand. Clutching my legs to his chest, he played a hard rhythm inside me, his features twisting with the peculiar agony of a man in lust. Though he was not a young man, he was an eager one, and I soon felt the tension in his frame increasing to a point where I feared that it might snap.
With force in my fingers, I yanked the man over and onto his back, peeling off my gown and underthings as I did so. I was sweating too much, my hair falling out of its careful arrangement, but nothing would satisfy the fury of my lust.
His sweaty skin was sweet to my lips, and I trembled on top of his body as I were in the midst of a tidal wave. The ghostly shapes and dust of the room left my mind as I closed my eyes, feeling Hamilton’s hands strong and tight on my hips, guiding me toward the pinnacle of pleasure.
My eyes burst open as I threw my head back, my whole body wracked with the surprise as I spent on top of him. Moaning and shaking, I fell onto my husband’s chest, his hands encircling my back.
“Get off me immediately,” he said, his voice sounding higher. And then it seemed to drop a whole octave as he ordered, “With as little movement as possible.”
Not at instant passed after I peeled my body from his. With a scream, muffled by the back of his hand, the man arched upwards with a great spasm, practically watering my back with the hot, thick outpouring of his engorged organ.
For a full minute, I heard only gasps from him as we lay next to each other, cramped but warm on the floor.
Then he found a rag and wiped at my back with an unexpected tenderness. The room had grown so dark that I could not see my companion, but the lack of light only seemed to make his act all the more delicate.
With a practiced hand, I began to dress myself, pressing the insufficient cloth to my sweaty body.
“You needn’t dress yet,” said the man in a voice so languid it seemed to be almost a growl.
“I’m going to see that family,” I said. “The Taylors.”
“In the middle of the night? Your cheeks flushed from our coupling?”
For a moment, I was struck dumb, and my husband laughed. “Come. Let us go to your bedchamber, if you must leave.”
It must have been a strange sight, and an awkward one. I wanted nothing more than to lean on my husband’s arm, tired and more than a little amused by our romp amongst the toys. But instead, I walked in front, fully clothed once again, and he followed at what seemed to be an eminently respectable distance.
But once we got to my bedchamber, he took all of clothes off again, striding over to my bed and slipping between the sheets as if he were truly the master of the house.
I was a little bit more circumspect, but I did not want any revealing scents on my nightgown, and so I was also forced to slip under the blankets while cold and naked. Sinking into my husband’s arms in that state was even stranger than having conjugal relations with him. Our comfort in each other’s bodies was instant, even now that my wrinkled flesh was once again embarrassing to me. His prick had gone down considerably in size
and luster, and I saw that more than patch of his hair was grey. And yet he held me there, and I was almost so comfortable as to drift off to sleep.
But not quite. “I should have gone,” I murmured to myself. “The Taylors must be made to understand the gravity of that boy’s offense.”
His lips were in my hair.
“You should stay,” he said. “The family may well be unaware, if the boy is any good at keeping secrets. When we go tomorrow, we shall take them by surprise.”
“Storm the castle?” I asked, and he held me tighter.
“Precisely.”
31
The next morning, I consented to go to the Taylors’ house, but I was quiet on the walk over. I had awoken alone, in a cold bed. A burning flame was about all that could have driven my worry for my daughter from my head, and now that my husband’s passion appeared to have waned, I could think of little apart from Flora and her imminent ruin.
Lord Bell and I were not speaking. Indeed, I did not know how to speak to him of what had transpired on the previous evening.
The one time I tried, his answer was cold. “Do you wish to change your quarters, Lord Bell?” I had asked.
He shook his head. “No, why would I?”
Raising my eyebrows a smidgeon was all that I had to do to remind him that he had made passionate love to me the night before – and ended up, apparently, feeling quite comfortable in my large bed.
“A momentary weakness,” he said. “Not surprising in the least, given the physical charms of the object.”
And that was it. No more words were exchanged on our walk, although I was plotting a dozen different ways to murder the man after he referred to me as an object. It seemed that poisoning him would be the easiest course, but I also fantasized about coming up with some sort of ceremonial removal of his genitals, then burning him at the stake.
He did not seem to be in much better humor. Apparently, his crusade against the fairer sex was to continue, probably until he killed us all off with his cruelty, or killed himself in the process.
And though I told myself that I should do nothing for this idiot, least of all submit to his charms again, I could not help but picture myself as a siren. A woman who had not lost all of her beauty, but become wiser and more alluring with age, until she was such a force of carnal desire as to make a man (one who was essentially a monk) forget himself and spill his seed all over her with supremely foolish abandon.
I did not pretend to be above all vanity. It was a comforting thought. And also a disquieting one, because it indicated that my trysts with Adam might no longer be enough. His pleasure was intoxicating to me, but it was still distinct from my own, and he had certainly done little enough to ensure my own enjoyment of our meetings.
My husband, on the other hand, had seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from watching me writhe as he moved, each stroke full of pleasure and pain, each new sigh an epiphany.
I caught myself staring at his face, clean-shaven and serious, as I thought of it. Redirecting my eyes, I admonished myself. Clearly, I meant nothing to this man, and he should mean little to me. My lover was Adam, who lived nearby, and I was going to visit him. Yes, I had enjoyed one lovely night with my husband, but I would never do such a thing with him again, as he was apparently determined to shun me. Surely Adam would soon declare his love for me, perhaps even on this very visit.
Unfortunately, this visit was going to be on behalf of my disgraced daughter. And I already had a sense of foreboding, as visits from angry mammas did not tend to go well.
32
We were shown into the sitting room by a maid that I recognized, a young girl from the village. We had a small staff, one that Esther always complained about, but I had neglected to hire anyone else out of thrift. Here in the Taylor household, the staff was small by necessity. I could tell that even the elegant furniture we sat on in the sitting room had been lovingly maintained and cleaned, but perhaps not replaced, for the better part of two decades.
The first to enter was Regina Taylor, the dowager and grandmother of the boy in question. Lillian Taylor, the boy’s mother, followed. Finally, Adam walked in, taking his place next to his mother and his sister-in-law.
And so Hamilton and I sat down with them, and our families seemed well matched. It was three on their side, and two on ours.
That is, if I thought of Hamilton Bell as my family, which I generally did not wish to do. If only Adam could simply come over to my side, where I knew his heart lay! But he sat stiff and still, and seemed to glance at my husband more than he looked at me. In every look, there was a stiff distrust of the new Lord Bell, a distrust that was the result of the way I had poisoned Adam against the man. If I had known I’d be relying on Adam’s goodwill toward my awful husband, I would have held my tongue, but now it was too late.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” asked Regina Taylor. She was no good at small talk, and in fact I had rarely heard her attempt it.
“My daughter Flora,” I said, “Has expressed a wish to see more of your grandson.”
My voice sounded icy, but the younger Mrs. Taylor only smiled. “Why, how wonderful! I’m sure that dear Flora could see a bit of Peter at balls, if your girls were able to go a little bit more often.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “I am not disposed to grant my daughter’s request.”
Lillian Taylor appeared confused. “But if they wish to know each other better, they may wish to marry,” she said, “We ought to allow them to see more of each other, not less.”
“Nonsense,” I said, addressing the grandmother. It was plain for all to see that she ran the household, as her quiet voice was not quite able to belie the extent of her power. “Haven’t I heard enough in the village? The boy’s reputation is too far gone for him to marry my daughter.”
“Then your daughter will suffer for this, not as a girl who got impatient in an unannounced engagement, but as one who went willingly with Peter without a promise of marriage,” she said.
The woman may as well have slapped me and called my Flora a whore. Almost instinctively, I got a hold on my skirt, ready to stand and leave the home immediately. Of course she had known about Flora and Peter – I was a fool to have believed otherwise.
But Hamilton Bell took my hand, and the shock of it forced me to stay in my seat.
“What my wife means,” he said, “Is that we are absolutely unwilling to have the two young people meet without a chaperone present. Of course marriage may be considered, but any further clandestine meetings between the two of them would make such a thing impossible.”
This caught the grandmother’s attention, and she peered closely at my husband with her small eyes, piercing and unclouded. “Then what is your proposal, sir?”
He settled a bit in his chair, still holding tightly to my hand. “I propose that we allow the two young people supervised visits for the next month. If their behavior is proper, with no secret meetings, then we shall convene again to offer our blessing and approve the engagement.”
For the first time, Adam spoke. “Lord Bell, you are a stranger to us. Why should we approve the engagement?”
“Oh nonsense, Adam,” his mother snapped. “You are the last person in this family who should concern himself with marriage decisions. Everyone else in the room, having been married, knows that financial concerns cannot be ignored. Lord Bell, we accept your proposal, and will fully expect to see you in a month’s time.”
But my husband was still not quite satisfied with this assurance. “And you will impress upon young Peter the gravity of our concerns? He cannot think that further improprieties with Flora will force our hand toward marriage. I can assure you, the girl’s mother has been quite forgiving enough of these indiscretions.”
At this, Regina Taylor finally smiled. “I will see it that Peter stays within acceptable boundaries of decorum,” she said. “You may be trusted to leave that entirely to me.”
I did not wish to leave this decision entirely with the
elderly woman. But Lillian Taylor’s confused smile and Adam Taylor’s deepening frown seemed like good enough reasons to leave.
33
When my husband and I were once again alone, the first words I uttered were, “You may concern yourself with sheep, but that is the last time you will make a decision about one of my daughters.”
He shook his head. “They may be your daughters, and they may not be Bells, but they are part of the Bell home. And, therefore, as the head of the family, I ought to be allowed to make such household decisions.”
The path had already started to climb, and I was glad that we had not taken the carriage – I was at perfect liberty to snap at Hamilton Bell, letting him know exactly what I thought of his conduct at the Taylor’s.
“Household decisions! Of course you might decide what sort of curtains hang in your study, or whether we should host a luncheon the Sunday after next. But I will not have you promising my daughters’ hands in marriage.”
He turned back, briefly, as I panted up the path after him, wishing that he were not such an adept walker. “You did allow me to do so, though.”
My eyes, shaded by a large bonnet, remained on the path ahead of us. “Only because the scandal of not going through with the engagement would be far less severe than that I might cause by going openly against my husband’s wishes.”
He laughed. “Going against my wishes? You do that often enough at home.”
“That has no bearing whatsoever on this situation! Do you not see that you have promised my very own daughter to a young, unsuitable, reckless man? Who knows how we shall get her out of it. I need your assurance that you will never attempt such a decision on my behalf again.”
To my consternation, all this earned me was a wide grin. “Well, in that case, Lady Bell, I will make you a firm offer. If any of your daughters ever marries Peter Taylor, I will give over all my property to you and free you from our marriage.”
