I need air. Summoning Marie, my maid, I donned a burgundy riding habit, my brown hair tightly wrapped in a bun. Marie was a stout woman, ruddy faced and tolerated no nonsense. She saw no reason for me to ever complain as I was the lady and she the servant. No confidence was shared between us. She merely dressed me, emptied my chamber pots and moved to the next task.My riding coat was heavy and formed a wide skirt over my legs so I could ride properly. Even so it was a warm autumn day, knowing there were no visitors intended I undid the top two buttons, allowing the air to my chest.Side saddle when guests were here, keeping my legs demurely together. I ride like a man whenever I get the chance. Easier to take on the jumps over the streams and backs.I walk briskly, my boots crunching into the gravel drive. Heading into the stables, the warm scent of hay is comforting, a world away from the musty rooms of Tarrick Hall. Amber, my pretty honey-coloured mare whinnied merrily to see me. A
The next morning at breakfast I was relieved to find Edmund alone. As soon as the servants poured tea and left, his china cup rattled down into the saucer and he spoke.It was not often he took pains to converse with me. Usually I watched his grey face, limp strands of fading grey hair nodding along with the newspaper and gossip rags he devoured. The paper remained crisply folded, he stared at me with his fingers steepled.“I believe I need to remind you of your duties as a wife, Vanessa.”“In three years I believe I have never caused you displeasure sir?”“I have never asked you for anything. There is a difference. This request is for your security as well as the estates. You know that if I were to die now, you would be in a poorhouse within six months unless your family rescues you.”“My family would never see me struggle,” I replied quickly, a flush of panic rising.“Until a child is born, my will contains a letter. A letter addressed to every gutter press in London, and your mothe
Finally my mother and Kitty, sated with sweet tea and biscuits to kill a horse, were placed back into their carriage. With firm promises to write with our intentions for the season I waved, standing on the gravel driveway.To my left were the stables, where no doubt the irritating Fitz was smugly anticipating tonight. He declared he was doing it for his own amusement, as though I was to be some sordid tale he could brag about in a gentleman’s club in later years.So casual, so easy-going. I was wound tightly, fit to explode. The mechanism inside me, the one that kept me stationary and suspended in boredom for so long had broken it’s catch and now I itched, ached to be active. I weighed up going to the stables, if only to trade barbs with him again. Maybe I would win this encounter. Currently I believe we are even. My slap for his trickery of yesterday.Knowing this would be unwise I walked the other way. Down the driveway, the same way my mothers dark, gilded carriage with two horses
To my surprise the room is warm, lit by a roaring fire and surprisingly inviting. Edmund must have arranged this, to make the experience less miserably cold. The first thing my vision landed on was the huge bed. Unwrinkled, perfectly starched white sheets beaming at me.The images of lewd women, eyes rolling, breasts exposed rose up in my memory. Was this to be my fate tonight? “Good evening Your Graces,” and I realised Fitz was standing behind us, leaning against the wall. He had his sleeves rolled up, his white work shirt unbuttoned by one to reveal a hint of light brown chest hair on his broad chest.He had one foot up, resting on the wall. So impossibly casual I wanted to throttle him. Had he no idea how much torment I had been through to even be standing here tonight?“When you have completed breeding, knock on the door twice. I shall then come through and inspect. I won’t be fooled Fitz.”“I assure you, I have absolutely no intentions of fooling you, Your Grace,” Fitz replied,
***FITZ POINT OF VIEW*** That husband of hers is a piece of work. I knew he was peculiar when he first approached me, all shambling limbs and angry venom. I put that down to his illness. Now I know he is furious that he cannot enjoy the beauty he has under his roof. What a beauty she is. I doubt she has any idea she is one of the rarest women in England. I have done my share of Seasons, balls and grand houses but she is spectacular. Those eyes are so blue, never have I met someone whose blue eyes are warm. They are sea-coloured, as are a thousand other women of virtue, but there is a depth, a warmth paired with the deep blue hue. It is why I was such a buffoon to her. Truth be told she completely took me by surprise when she turned around. I had expected her to be a dim, insipid creature. The typical Duchess, all teeth and no chin. She turned around and I found myself resorting to childish mockery. Of course I didn't have permission to ride Figaro. In fact the bastard nag threw me
Laying still on the bed I watch the last embers die in the black metal grate. The last sparks of orange and red were extinguished. How is this the same room that a few hours ago held a heat, a gaze so powerful it took my breath away. Green eyes, a low emerald glow that thrilled me to my core. I should hate what happened to me tonight. I'm lying here with another man's seed inside me. He'd rubbed, glided inside my most private of places. The panic I felt at my own slickness washed away when I realised its natural purpose. The delicious sensation of his touch was only heightened by what my body produced. The mystery behind the expressions and contortions of the women in the gossip rags was explained. Much more of Fitz manoeuvring, gently twisting inside me and I could have found myself doing exactly the same poses. Even my nipples were stiff. Before he even touched me I could feel them brushing the cotton fabric. It felt as though my mind was catching up to what my body already knew
He is in his usual white shirt, leather braces and tan working pants. His work boots are muddied and wet from the horse fields. I slowly walk towards him, unsure of what on earth I am meant to say. I want Jeremiah to return, yet at the same time I would give anything for a moment alone with this green-eyed oaf who mocks me so. “Good morning. Those are not for you.” “Are they not!” he exclaimed before continuing to take another bite. “Shame on you, those are for poor Jeremiah,” I added, stepping ever closer to him down the long corridor of stables. He stood up and leaned against the wall, continuing to enjoy his stolen snack. “Shame on you, he doesn’t even have the teeth for eating an apple. Where is the jam, the soft honey that would suit a man of his age?” he replied, throwing the apple core into one of the horse feed bags. “I…” losing my words as his white teeth bared in a triumphant smile of victory. “Where is your compassion, he is out there fetching Amber now with his poor
I was forced to dine with Edmund in the evening. My beautiful dusky pink dress was wasted on his pallid, disinterested expression. As a pudding of soft apple pie, a crumbling soft biscuits topping was served I couldn't help smiling to myself. "Pray tell me what is so amusing about a simple dessert?" Edmund asked, the spoon juddering in his hand. There was a vibrant vein of anger in his tone. I flushed in embarrassment, had it appeared I was mocking his frailty? "Oh, your Grace, it was a mistake of mine today. I took poor Jeremiah some treats from the kitchen as I mentioned at breakfast. Except I had not considered his age. The fresh, crunchy apples I brought were more appropriate for Amber. Almost nothing I gathered he could eat." He smirked and shook his head. "Ah my dear there is a lesson to be learnt there," stopping to slurp at his custard-coated spoon. His suit glittered with gold buttons and the navy jacket sung of expense and grandeur. His frame was not filling it with the sa