by Sahara Kelly
“And he wants them both…” Gwyneth gulped.
“He does. But Giles says that consideration of the case is likely to be refused. The consensus is that there are too many Mortmains out there, most of which are connected to religious holdings. Nobody wants to open up that particular Pandora’s Box. If that is so, then Gylbart is back where he started. But probably not happy about it.” Royce shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Thank God,” breathed Gabriel. “That is more than enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The days between Christmas and the new year flew by, as the Wolfbridge household negotiated their winter chores, kept eyes on the progress of their school and took care of routine business matters.
Gwyneth managed a few good walks when the weather held clear and enjoyed the company of one or another of her gentlemen. If the day’s kitchen chores were completed, then Evan would take half an hour to accompany her. If Jeremy had finished tidying, he’d be on her arm.
Sometimes Harry would emerge from his small study, stretch, and demand she walk with him lest his body stiffen into a permanently seated position.
She knew he worked hard on keeping the accounts accurate, and they would discuss the overall financial situation at Wolfbridge as they walked. Gwyneth very much appreciated these conversations, since she felt it indicated Harry’s confidence in her ability to grasp a variety of complex matters. Such trust was very edifying and something she’d not known in her past.
Walking with Gabriel was sheer and simple delight. He shared her pleasure in the outdoors, content to listen to birds rather than talk, and sometimes spying an early flower or a deer, grasping her arm and pointing, just enjoying everything around him, and making her happy too. They laughed at strange cloud formations, made up stories to entertain each other, and strolling with arms linked, bundled up against the cold, brought a special kind of companionship that was new to Gwyneth.
She came to understand how much more her gentlemen gave her than just physical pleasure. They were her strength, her confidence, her courage, and her compassion.
She might have had all of those at some time in her life, or at least one or two of them, but her tenure at Wolfbridge had changed her in so many ways. She now understood what those virtues really meant and loved her gentlemen even more for helping her come to this point.
Then there was Royce.
He would walk with her occasionally, simply finding her wherever she was in the Manor and announcing it was time to get some air.
She couldn’t deny that she eagerly looked forward to being alone with him, although they had slipped into a quiet pattern when together.
They would choose their route, often depending on the state of the lanes, and then stroll, arms linked, silent for minutes at a time.
Oddly enough, she was content to merely walk at his side, feeling his strength and his warmth emanating from beneath his thick coat and through hers into her flesh. Knowing he was there allowed her to think her own thoughts, many of which revolved around him.
She sensed his desire for her, but understood his devotion to duty. The duty that said he must not touch the Lady of Wolfbridge. Having yet to discover the foundation for that dictate, Gwyneth merely acknowledged it and did her best to refrain from urging him to break the rules.
On some level, she agreed with the fundamental notion that someone had to be distanced from the emotional connections so easily formed between the Lady and her gentlemen. Someone had to be above that, should difficult decisions need to be made.
How could he be unbiased if he shared her body, her bed, and her heart? If she, for example, told him to get rid of one of the others, would he do so because she instructed him to, or because there was a legitimate reason for such dismissal? How easily would his feelings cloud his thoughts and choices?
It was not a straightforward position. Giles had had years of experience with it, and all that time had been emotionally committed to his Ione, even though she had been far away across the Atlantic Ocean.
But Royce…well, as far as she knew, he had no emotional entanglements. And on the rare occasions they’d kissed…his desires had been evident.
She knew her heart held room for one more. And part of Royce was already there. She loved him for what he’d brought to Wolfbridge, but once they became intimate, he would join the others in her heart.
He gave her the security she needed and she would have loved him for that alone. When she walked at his side, she could lay down her worries, allow herself a little time to be dependent on another. This was no small feat for someone who had shouldered her own burdens for almost as long as she could remember. Certainly since that fateful December when she’d lost both lover and child.
For too many years Gwyneth had done her best to control her surroundings. To never become emotionally engaged, and to remain distant from everyone. Only thus had she been able to live a life unscathed by pain. Or at least so she believed.
Now she was learning differently. She had changed, slowly allowing love to permeate those thick walls she had erected around her heart. And she was learning to accept that love willingly and thankfully, and even love back with less hesitation, less fear.
Smiling to herself on the last day of the old year, she offered up a little prayer that their worries would be successfully resolved. Because didn’t they all deserve the best in the year to come?
“Well, we’re set.” Harry walked into the parlour, beaming from ear to ear.
“We are? For what?”
“The school has all the supplies ready, the outside secure and the inside sheltered from the weather.” He held his hands to the fire. “So next Monday we’ll have men removing a few walls and working on the inside supports, getting it all into some sort of shape before we start adding windows.”
“That is wonderful, Harry. Just splendid.” Gwyneth caught his excitement. “When might it be ready, d’you think?”
“If everyone stays with the project for as long as they are needed, we could probably hope to have a class there by the middle of January.”
Gwyneth pursed her lips. “Then I must set about ordering supplies. Slates, of course. Chalk. Lots of chalk. Oh, and should we order desks or chairs? What do you think?”
“Perhaps we should start with just a few more chairs,” he grinned. “Let’s see how well the whole idea works initially. Besides, we really don’t know how many children to expect yet, so I would counsel patience until we have a better sense of what will be needed.”
“You’re correct,” she sighed. “But I am so excited about the prospect of actually having our own school.”
“I can understand that,” he came to her side and knelt down by her chair, reaching to her face and cupping it with his hand. “You are truly the Lady of Wolfbridge. And in this, you are doing good.”
Nothing he said could have pleased and touched her more, and she felt tears well up as he pulled her toward him and kissed her.
“No weeping. It’s a time for celebration. A new year, a new school, and the prospect of many more such advances.” He chuckled, tapped her nose, and stood.
“You need exercise. And much as I’d like to explore the notion with you upstairs in your bed, I believe a walk would be more appropriate.”
She considered his words, then sighed. “I’m afraid you’re right.” Rising from her chair, she leaned against him. “But there is always tonight.”
“New Year’s Eve. Will we celebrate, do you think?” He quirked an eyebrow, delightful wickedness in his eyes.
“I do hope so,” she replied demurely. Then tossed her own wicked smile back toward him. “I’ll get my coat.”
*~~*~~*
The evening was filled with laughter and bright conversation. Evan’s meal was, as always, devoured eagerly and with many compliments to the chef.
Jeremy proudly announced that he had discovered a cache of whisky bottles ageing in the cellar, tucked away behind a pile of old barrels and casks.
; Used to brandy, Gwyneth looked forward to trying the whisky, while Jeremy and Evan were all but salivating at the thought of it.
The parlour—which she was coming to regard as their drinking den—once again vibrated with good humour and warmth. The fire burned brightly, plenty of logs were stacked beside it, and the drawn curtains locked them into their own little world. Darcy’s contented snores added the finishing touch.
“This is nice,” Gabriel murmured from his seat on the floor next to Gwyneth’s legs. He stared into the fire. “Awaiting the new year in the first home I can remember in too many years.”
She put out her hand and rested it on his shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing, Gabriel. It’s a first for me too.”
“And me,” nodded Harry.
There were sounds of agreement from Jeremy and Evan, and then Royce added his, taking her aback.
“I don’t think I ever had a home,” he said. “I grew up with a family who showed nothing but devotion to duty.” His eyes roamed around from his seat in the chair near the fire. “It was filled with the best of everything, but there was no…” he frowned, searching for the right word.
“Affection?” offered Gwyneth.
Royce nodded. “Yes, as good a word as any. I cannot remember receiving anything but stern advice and orders from my parents. They seemed incapable of any demonstrations of, as you say, affection. I called it home, but a week in my first barracks taught me more about what a home should be than all the years I had spent prior.”
She longed to ask him where he was raised, but since Wolfbridge acknowledged the secrets of its residents, she pushed the question aside. “I’m glad you’re here, Royce,” she said, and then waved her hand at the room. “All of you. I am so very grateful, and it occurs to me that I am remiss in not telling you so. Perhaps now is the time to make amends.”
She stood. “I am looking forward to my first glass of whisky, but before I indulge, let me show you how much you mean to me.” She went to Jeremy, put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat. “I love your smile, Jeremy. It brightens my day.” She leaned over and kissed him.
Moving to Evan, she repeated her movements. “I love your enthusiasm and your food, Evan. You feed my happiness.” She kissed him as well.
“My turn,” Gabriel eagerly announced.
“Yes, Gabriel.” Gwyneth kissed him. “I love the goodness of your heart that shines so brightly every day. You lighten my heart as well.”
“Oh, I might cry,” he sniffled, making them all laugh.
“Harry.” Gwyneth walked to him as he stood by the fireplace. He leaned down to accept her kiss. “You have brought your intelligence and your heart to Wolfbridge. You have opened my mind with your wisdom.”
Harry smiled gently at her and brushed his fingers over her cheek.
And then she walked to Royce’s chair.
“Royce,” she said. “You do so much for everyone.” She touched his shoulders. “These bear the burdens of Wolfbridge, yet never falter under their weight. You are the string that ties us all together, and you make my every moment feel safe.” She leaned toward his face, and felt his hand reach for her, snagging the back of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss that was a great deal more than proper.
When he finally let her go, there was a round of applause from all the gentlemen.
Gwyneth blushed. “I’m not sure what that was for, but if it was for Royce, I wholeheartedly agree.”
Royce shook his head on a smile. “Pass the whisky.”
The whisky was passed, tasted, approved and downed, finding favour with everyone, even Gwyneth, although she coughed a little at the first burn.
“That is very fine liquor,” observed Evan appreciatively.
“I’ve always enjoyed it,” added Jeremy, finishing his glass. “More please.”
“It will catch up with you,” warned Royce.
“’Tis almost the new year,” laughed Gabriel. “What better way to celebrate it than with a happy heart and a muddled head?”
“The lad has a point,” Harry chuckled.
“We have a goodly supply.” Royce nodded at the half dozen bottles Jeremy had retrieved. “Although I’ll wager it won’t take but two of those to have you all drunk as a wheelbarrow. In fact, I’d say you’re well into your cups right now.”
And so the jests flew fast, and the whisky disappeared as the clock on the mantel ticked away the last hours of the year.
As midnight arrived, they managed to stand and toast each other, swaying a little as the new year dawned precisely on time.
Royce was correct in one regard—within the first hour of 1819 Gabriel was asleep and snoring, and Jeremy and Evan close behind.
Harry had his feet up on an ottoman, slouched comfortably with his jacket off, his head nodding as he fought the inevitable effects of the amber liquid remaining in his glass.
“You win,” he slurred, managing to put the glass on the side table before his head lolled back on a snore.
Gwyneth, who had carefully nursed her whisky, giggled. “I think they are completely castaway.”
Royce nodded. “I think you’re right.”
She sighed and stood. “They’ll get cold. Will you put another couple of logs on the fire and bank it for the night?” She fetched blankets and tucked them around her sleeping gentlemen.
Royce chuckled quietly as he stacked the wood and pulled the screen across the blaze, turning the damper down. “They’re going to be deuced unhappy come morning,” he said, looking at his fellows as they slumbered noisily.
“But it has been a wonderful evening. Such fun.” She smiled at Royce. “Even if we’re the only two left standing…”
Her heart thudded at the look in his eyes. “Gwyneth,” he murmured.
“Royce,” she murmured back, aching to go to him. “Oh Royce.”
As if his body overrode his mind, he held out his arms, and she willingly went to him, eager to hold him close.
He groaned as she did so, but encased her in his warmth, pressing her to his chest. “God, I want you so badly, love.”
She raised her head. “Then…then have me, Royce. I’m yours and you’re mine, every bit as much as the others. You know that.”
“I shouldn’t…” he began.
“Why not?” She squeezed him tightly. “Why not, Royce? Show me where it’s written that you can’t touch me?”
“Giles said…”
“I know what Giles said and did, and it worked for him. And in some ways, I understand why. But you’re not Giles. You don’t have an Ione waiting years to marry you.” She paused and shot him a quizzical glance. “You don’t, do you?”
He chuckled, his chest moving against hers as he did so. “No. No, I don’t.”
“And we have no idea what the ‘Gileses’ before our Giles did. Aphrodite Wolfbridge left plenty of rules, but her letter to the Lady makes no mention of not…not enjoying one gentleman, while having the others…”
Royce’s eyes heated as he stared down at her. “You mean that? You’d have me in your bed?”
She snorted. “Why are you asking? I already have, once. It was amazing. I’ll have you right this minute if you decide it’s what you want.”
He thrust his hips against her belly and she felt the rigid length of his cock pressing into her body. “What I want?” He shook his head. “If you can’t tell…”
She gazed into his eyes, hoping he could read her feelings. “I can tell. And I want it too. I’ve wanted you for what seems like forever…” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I want your cock inside me, Royce.”
His expression left no doubt in her mind. “I can’t…I can’t resist you, damn you.”
He swept her off her feet and carried her from the room.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Journal of Gwyneth, Lady of Wolfbridge - January 1, 1819
What a wonderful way to begin a new year. Had someone told me last year what my New Year’s Eve would be like, I’d have scoffed and
accused them of being quite disguised. Whereas, in fact, I believe I was more than a little disguised myself, although not sleeping and snoring loudly like Evan, Jeremy, Harry and Gabriel.
It is not hard to guess from that sentence that I was left alone with Royce, the two of us sober enough to converse and move around, yet relaxed enough from the whisky to be blunt as to our desires.
And to act on them.
I would never have forced or ordered Royce to my bed. It was his decision and his alone, but I cannot lie and say I was not thrilled to my slippers when he picked me up in his arms and carried me upstairs.
My wits were at war with my heart; I wanted him with a savagery that I could not deny. But I made no move other than to place my arms around his neck. If he had wished to drop me at my door or on my bed and then leave me? I would have missed him sorely and been quite sad, but I would have understood.
However, this was the night that he turned away from what he perceives as the dictates of his position. It was the night he claimed me, something I know I have wanted for no little time. When he kicked my door closed behind him, I knew he would stay. And I can barely describe the excitement and arousal coursing through me as I saw the look of desire on his face.
He let me slide down his body to my feet, making sure I felt his hardness beneath his breeches. Then he kissed me, long and passionately, his tongue delving within my mouth, teasing mine, darting around and finally mimicking the actions he would make on my person in a while. The hot sweet thrusts brought a moan to my throat; I cannot recall such an erotic kiss, such a strong and thorough invasion of my mouth.
But it was not enough for either of us.
He tore off his jacket, a movement betraying his need for me, since he’s normally quite particular about his manners. His cravat, waistcoat and shirt followed, and he unfastened his breeches before toeing off his boots. Then he turned to me, smiling as he knew I had watched him disrobe. I couldn’t help my gaze dropping to his evident arousal.