by Mary Beeken
“Unfair referee!” Ross expostulated but was told that they were playing by the Wilmshurst rules.
Ross glared at his wife as she let out a peal of laughter at his affronted look and muttered, “If that’s the way you want to play it.” From then on he decided that the boundary was the only option and hit five consecutive fours followed by a six.
With his score at twenty-eight, he needed only one more boundary to win the wager when Erica came forward to bowl. He strongly suspected that she meant to cheat and his suspicions were confirmed when she bowled a ‘pea-roller’; the ball rolled along the ground but Ross was prepared and blocked it with his bat. Her next bowl was on a level with his ear, but again Ross was prepared and swung his bat with great force, hitting the ball squarely in the centre and sent it spinning over the boundary for a six.
“My victory, I believe,” he told her as she stood, hands on hips glowering at him. “I shall let you know when I wish to collect on the wager.”
The match concluded with Trevellyn’s side being the victors, much to Erica’s disgust, and after the sporting shake of hands she disappeared into the house to avoid the inevitable match analysis. Ross lay on a rug, contributing to the discussion and arguing the points with the opponents until a footman appeared with a note for him. Scanning its contents, he excused himself and walked around to the front of the house where he found Erica, seated in a gig impatiently waiting for him.
“Hurry and climb up,” she ordered him and when he complied, she flicked the reins, giving the horse the signal to move on.
“If we are seen, someone is bound to ask where we are going and want to tag along,” she explained, all the while keeping her gaze ahead as they sped down the drive at a smart trot.
“And where exactly are we going?” Ross asked, casually resting one arm along the back of the seat behind Erica.
“To the vicarage to see Reverend and Mrs. Beveridge. It is about time you were reacquainted with them and I thought he could get him to bless the ring while we are there.”
Afternoon tea had just been served when Erica and Ross were shown into the parlour at the vicarage.
“Erica, do join us my dear, of-course you are not interrupting. You are just in time for some tea and biscuits,” Mrs. Beveridge assured her.
“I would like to introduce you to the Marquis of Trevellyn. Ross Devereaux.”
A shocked silence was followed by expressions of disbelief.
“Well I never! After all this time,” the vicar said, unsure whether to shake his hand or demand he leave the premises. Erica then helped him out of his quandary by saying; “Trevellyn bought me a new wedding ring yesterday, and we were wondering if you would bless it for us.”
“Of-course, my dear child,” he beamed. “I am to take it that the marriage is acceptable to you both?”
The couple were eager to hear all the details of their reunion and the explanation of Ross’ mysterious absence for seven years and thus an hour soon sped by. When Erica and Ross rose to leave the Beveridge’s accompanied them to the door and stood waving them off.
“Well my dear, who would have thought it?” he said, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulders and giving her a quick hug.
“And to turn out to be a love match, after all,” she replied, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
“What a romantic, you are?” he teased her although if truth were told, he had a lump in his own throat, and was deeply moved by such a wonderful and unlooked for outcome.
The general babble of the audience ceased when Jennifer sidled through the curtain and announced the children’s play. The nursemaids, governesses and parents had all worked hard to produce costumes and scenery for their performance of ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ and throughout the show; there were plenty of oohs and aahhs and enthusiastic clapping. Nobody minded when Grumpy got stage fright and refused to move or when Dopey got carried away and sang his own rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. After several curtain calls the children were scooped up by proud parents and taken onto the terrace where refreshments had been laid out for them.
Summoning his actors and actresses, Gerald reminded everyone of the audience that they needed to be in their seats in ten minutes and then swept the cast away for the last minute preparations.
“Gerald, we are not your subordinates in the army, you know,” Charlotte reminded him after he had barked several orders at them. “It’s supposed to be a little bit of fun and yet you are threatening to turn it into some sort of military campaign,” she grumbled at him and the others agreed.
“Everything will be fine,” Stephen assured him. “Take a deep breath cousin, and relax.”
“I’m sorry everyone,” he grinned sheepishly, “Put it down to writer’s nerves.”
“Everyone is seated and ready for you to begin,” Charlie informed them having peeped through the curtain at the assembled audience.
“Right then, people, lets give it our best,” Gerald said bracingly and nodded to Fiona who, straightening her shoulders, went to introduce the play.
“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,” she announced confidently projecting her voice so all could hear. A hush fell over the room and she continued. “Today we wish to welcome you to the premier performance of a play by two new and aspiring young playwrights, namely Viscount Wilmshurst and the Marquis of Trevellyn, who threaten to rival the great bard himself with their comedy. Ladies and Gentlemen with no more ado, I give you, ‘A Seven Year Hitch’.”
The curtain swept back to polite applause and the opening scene showed a young man, played by Trevellyn being pulled around the stage in a small dogcart, his legs dangling out the sides. Charlie sported a horse’s head and tail and neighed as they circled the stage until the cart tipped and Trevellyn squeezed himself out, to much laughter from the audience. Upon meeting Gerald’s character in a small, dilapidated inn, the two men gave a good impression of being drunk, staggering around and being full of bonhomie. Together they exited stage left, only to reappear moments later to confront a young woman played by Erica.
Audience participation was encouraged and as the play progressed the atmosphere of hilarity increased. Erica performed her part as outraged sister and then wife to perfection and Ross made everyone laugh as he chased her around the stage shouting, “One little kiss! One little kiss, oh dear heart!”
At last having caught his reluctant bride, Ross asked the audience if he should kiss her, to which there was a resounding chorus of yes and many cheers as he bent his head to that of his ‘wife’ and touched her lips with his own. The noise rose to a crescendo but then petered out as Ross tightened his hold on Erica and prolonged the kiss. The cast and audience watched in amazement, many of them waiting for the moment when Erica would break free and punch him on the nose. By the time the couple drew apart, silence reigned in the room.
“Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to present my wife, Lady Erica, the Marchioness of Trevellyn.”
“You’ve made a mistake, silly.” Sophie told him in a loud whisper that everyone could hear, “You’ve said the wrong name!”
“No mistake I assure you,” Ross replied, drawing Erica into his arms and kissing her rosy cheek.
“You and Erica are married?” Aunt Clara found her voice first and sought the confirmation everyone wanted.
“I can confirm that they are indeed married and have been these last seven years!” Sir Richard spoke up.
“So the play, farcical as it was, is actually based on fact?” Uncle William said and when Sir Richard nodded, “Good heavens!”
“Why were we not told?” Aunt Hebe wanted to know.
“At the time of the wedding, we were hoping that an annulment could be sought, quickly and quietly and therefore to avoid causing worry to the relatives and to protect Erica, it was decided that those involved would retain confidentiality. None of us at the time imagined that it would take so long to track the bridegroom, and as it turned out, we didn’t. He found us.”
The Duke a
nd Duchess of Penkhill, then became the focus of all eyes as they stood up and approached the stage. The Duchess spoke first, “Erica, have you a kiss for your Mama-in-law? I am so delighted for you and my son. I wish you both every happiness.”
While Erica jumped down to be enveloped in an embrace from Ross’ mother, the Duke officially welcomed her into his family. “Glad to see my son has inherited my good sense,” he joked. “You are the perfect choice for him and I could not be happier. Congratulations my dear.” He then turned to his heir and hugged him. “Congratulations, son.”
Erica did not have to wait long for her own family to approve her nuptials although some, with no prior warning, were experiencing a little difficulty fully appreciating the turn of events. She was drawn into hug after hug from Aunts, Uncles and Cousins until Ross, who had also been subjected to familial congratulations and displays of affection, managed to make his way to her side. Lifting her onto the stage, he climbed up afterwards and called for quiet.
“My wife and I, having deprived you seven years ago of a wedding breakfast, would like to make it up to you now. We cordially invite you to join us this evening to celebrate our nuptials.”
“Mrs. Kavanagh and Boodle have been preparing it all day and asks that we be assembled in the drawing room for no later than nine o’clock.” Erica added. “So we will see you all then.”
A champagne reception was underway when Erica entered the drawing room a little while later. Ross was already there, standing before the fireplace and chatting to Sir Richard and Michael, looking breathtakingly handsome in his black evening attire, relieved by the frothy white of his shirt and cravat. The clothes showed off his tall, fine physique to advantage and she found herself blushing as she remembered what lay beneath the layers of material. Looking up at that moment, Ross saw her and making his excuses, he made his way to her side.
“I refuse to relinquish you tonight, my love,” he told her, catching hold of her hand and placing it on his arm so that they could traverse the room together.
“Our announcement seems to have been well received,” she commented.
“From the comments made by Sir Richard, it seems we have been the objects of speculation from fairly soon after the house party began. It appears many of your relatives were of the opinion that you and I would suit and there were plans afoot to throw us together at every opportunity, if we did not come to an agreement by the end of this fortnight.”
“Family!” she said, “I have always made it perfectly clear that I would not submit to their matchmaking but they still persevere.”
“Not any more, my darling!” he laughed “but you cannot be cross with them this time, for they picked me as your ideal mate and have accepted me with genuine delight.”
“Will your family welcome me as your bride, do you think?” she asked, suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting Ross’ relatives.
”Of-course, although I must warn you, most of them are dead bores and incredibly starchy. My parents and I spend as little time as possible with them. I have always wanted to belong to a family such as yours and will enjoy welcoming them to gatherings in our home. It is important to me that our children grow up with plenty of loving relatives,” he paused for a moment before saying, “I did mention that I would like lots of children, didn’t I?”
“Yes. ‘Three or four heirs and some daughters’” she quoted. “In fact, I believe you expressed a desire for a wife who resembled a brood mare!”
“What a good memory you have, my love,” he grinned at her. “I seem to recall promising to chastise you as well.”
“I may have agreed to remain your wife, Trevellyn but don’t overplay your hand,” she warned, pretending to glare angrily at him.
“Don’t tell me you are falling out already?” Fiona asked approaching them at that moment with Stephen. But no response was necessary for at that moment Boodle appeared to announce dinner.
Much later, Erica snuggled into her husband’s embrace, as they lay sated and content in his bed. The evening had been a resounding success and had eventually broken up around midnight, when, for the first time in their married life, they had been able to retire together. Some of the male cousins had been unable to resist passing comments laced with innuendo but Erica hid her blushes well and bade them a serene goodnight.
Their lovemaking that night had been relaxed and slow, Ross taking his time to explore her body and rouse her to climax. When he had been ready to enter her, he had sat her atop of him, and with hands on her hips he had guided her down onto his shaft, which was hard and throbbing. Only when she was fully impaled did he release her hips, moving his hands to enclose them around her full breasts.
“Ride me, sweetheart,” he had told her and watched as she began the rhythmic motion of rising and falling, and with each move they had both felt the tension mount; the desire building. Erica rode him faster, placing her hands on his chest and splaying her fingers. Their breathing became more ragged until with one final push down, she reached her climax. Ross had held on until the quivers racing through her body had subsided, before taking up the rhythm himself, thrusting up and in until he too had found release and filled her with his seed.
“Are there lots of different positions for making love?” she asked him now, although she was on the brink of sleep.
“Yes darling. And we can try them all,” he assured her.
“Perhaps tomorrow morning. . .” she began but then fell asleep before she could finish the sentence.
Chapter Twelve
The ballroom drew gasps of delight from each set of guests as they arrived and waited to be announced to the assembled crowd. White and yellow satin had been draped artistically across the ceiling and around the walls giving the illusion of being the inside of a marquee, The colour scheme had been continued in elaborate floral displays, all entwined with ribbons, which decorated the ballroom and those reception rooms opened up for the event.
Erica stood beside Trevellyn in the reception line along with Gerald, Great Aunt Celia and Great Uncle James. It had been decided that she would introduce Ross as her husband and leave the relatives to pass it off as a love match made some years before, to the full knowledge of her family. Anyone brave or indiscreet enough to ask why the nuptials had remained secret would be told it was necessary because of Ross’ role in the campaign against Napoleon.
After what seemed an interminably long time, Ross and Erica were released from the line and took to the floor in order to open the dancing with a waltz. For one turn of the ballroom, the couple remained alone on the dance floor, Ross holding her at the correct distance and twirling her gracefully around. It was only as other couples joined in, that he pulled her more intimately against him and their dance on the terrace, two weeks before, was re-enacted.
“Ross, you are holding me too close, people will notice.”
“Hush darling, there are too many couples for anyone to notice us and besides, being your husband grants me certain privileges.”
Erica had dressed formally for the occasion in a lemon gown, cut low across her bosom and granting Ross a tantalizing glimpse of the creamy white orbs he knew lay beneath the fine silk of her dress. Her hair was piled high and threaded with pearls, matching the ones that were twined around her neck and dropped down to nestle in the valley between her breasts. Completing the ensemble were a pair of dangling pearl eardrops, that brushed against her exposed neck whenever she moved her head.
“Later, my darling girl, I will take you onto the terrace so that we can dance in the moonlight,” he whispered. “And I shall face the challenge of making love to you without disturbing that rather elaborate coiffure or creasing your gown.”
“There are some things beyond even your capabilities, my darling, and that is one of them,” she chuckled, imagining the shock of all the guests were she to appear in the ballroom with her hair tumbling down and her gown crumpled. “Besides which, we have to be reasonably presentable for the toasts.”
“Ah yes, t
he toasts,” he sighed.
Only close neighbours and friends had been invited to the ball, so most of the guests were known to each other. After the initial dance, Ross was taken around for the obligatory introductions and was given scant time to enjoy the company of his wife. A brief respite came in the form of Stephen who, taking pity on him, insisted he was needed to discuss aspects of the war with a retired General.
“The General is fast asleep in the corner and need not be disturbed,” Stephen informed him as soon as they were out of earshot. “But we thought you looked to be in dire need of rescuing.”
“And you were right. I feel like a prized bull being displayed at the County Fayre!”
“Oh poor you,” Fiona sympathized. “Of-course, once the introductions are over, you will be expected to dance with all the young ladies.”
“I draw the line at that! I thought marriage protected one from such tasks. Surely there are enough unattached males in attendance to satisfy all the fawning matchmakers and their simpering daughters? I shall have to let drop into conversation that my brother-in-law is seriously looking about him for a bride. If I can distract them long enough, perhaps I can sneak a dance with my wife,” he said hopefully, but their expressions did not give him hope.
“Don’t you dare tell them anything of the kind!” Gerald had come up behind him as he was talking and had heard every word. “They are bad enough now without giving them false hope. Do you know, the Fullerton chit has just tried to entrap me? She lured me into the small drawing room on the pretext of Charlie wishing to see me. When we went in, not only was the room unoccupied but she closed the door and proceeded to lower her already indecently low gown!” He blanched at the recollection.
Fiona laughed and told him he should not have been so naïve as to accompany her in the first place.
“So how did you escape before mama conveniently burst in?”
“I leapt out the open window. You were right about her mother though. She sounded most put out with her daughter. I hovered long enough outside to hear the beginning of her tirade and then dashed around to the ballroom.”