by Tia Siren
David and his father spoke at length that night, sharing glasses of brandy and a couple of cigars. David expressed his desire to learn the industry from his father, and that he yearned to take over at the bank within a year, as his father had wanted. At first, his father seemed hesitant, and David knew he worried that his son was simply trying to get back home, and get an allowance once more. But when David assured his father that he wanted no allowance, and would instead take pay from working at the bank, his father agreed. The two men hugged that night, something they had not done for some time.
The next morning, David hurried to see Elizabeth. He wanted to share the news with her, and he wanted to thank her. He would be working for the first time in his life later that morning, alongside his father, and if he had not spoken with the young girl, and through her learned what it really took to be happy in life, it would not have been happening.
While David was on his way to visit Elizabeth, Rupert had already called on her. They sat once more in the garden.
“I asked your father for you hand,” Rupert said. “Did you know that?”
“My father did tell me,” the young woman said. They say on the same bench where he had been kissing her in the days previous. He took her hand.
“I love you with all of my heart. I asked again. He told me you made some wager with David.”
“I did,” Elizabeth said. She didn’t pull her hand away from Rupert’s, but she felt as if though she should. She liked Rupert, and she knew she could love him. But something about David, she was hopeful he would impress her, hopeful he would make her believe that he loved her, and wanted to marry her, and not into the money her father would give him.
“I could take care of you. I would never gamble, never whore. I don’t think that could be said about David Weatherby,” Rupert went on.
“Perhaps not,” Elizabeth allowed with a slight nod of her head.
“So what is it? What compels you to reject me?”
“Oh, Rupert,” Elizabeth started. “It’s not rejection of you, it’s yearning for him.”
Rupert nodded, and let her hand fall away. He stood up and moved to a shallow stone pool, which had large golden fish swimming within it, surrounded by colorful flowers. It was the center of the grand garden. Elizabeth got up and moved to stand beside him.
“Don’t hurt me like this,” she said softly.
“Hurt you?”
“I care for you. I do. I love you even. In a way.”
Rupert sighed. “But not in a way like your love for him?”
“No. Not yet. Not when I love him so,” Elizabeth said. She felt frustrated, she was sure that no matter how she composed her words, she would never be able to adequately explain her feelings to Rupert.
He spun away. “I call too often. I am sorry for that. I should go.”
“No!” she said suddenly, surprising him and even herself. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. He stopped and turned to her, and there was another shock between them as she leaned forward and up, standing on the toes of her heeled white shoes and placed a soft kiss upon his lips.
David had arrived moments before and he had assured the old servant who answered he knew how to get to the garden. He was just walking through the doorway and outside when he saw them, standing near the goldfish pool. Elizabeth, the woman he had realized he really did love, the woman who had made him realize what a fool he had been in almost every aspect of his life, was kissing another man.
Rupert. David knew him, but not well. He had never felt jealous of the man, because he had never coveted Elizabeth, but now he did, and he felt the bitter taste of jealousy well up in his stomach.
He went out into the garden, and his footsteps caused the other two to separate.
“David!” Elizabeth said.
“I should be going,” Rupert said, but David held a hand out to him.
“Stay, I will only be a moment. Elizabeth, if I may speak to you.”
The young woman nodded and followed him back towards the home. He had wished to speak about his conversation with his father, had wanted to tell her what his father had said, had wanted to speak with her about the agreement they had reached. But instead he thought of her. He wondered if she would be happy with a man like him, even a changed one. He didn’t think she would be.
“My father has resumed my allowance,” he said.
“He has?”
“I no longer need to marry you.”
“So that’s it?” Elizabeth asked. She felt an anger rising inside of her. She felt her cheeks grow heated as they turned red.
“That man over there, he’s the man you need,” David said, and though he wanted to say more, he couldn’t, and he turned and hurried inside.
Elizabeth was dumbfounded. She couldn’t move for a moment, she just watched him go, and then she was moving, running after him.
He was already out of the front door by the time Elizabeth entered the hall. She had heard it shut as she was still moving past the dining room. But she ran to it, planning on yelling after him, wanting to let him know she loved him, that he was a fool, and that now she hated him. She wrenched the front door open, preparing to run out into the drive, but he was there, facing the door, reaching to open it again and instead he found her, and she was in his arms, and they were kissing.
“I cannot lie,” he said, breaking the kiss. “That was a lie, and I cannot do it. Marry me. Marry me, I love you. I never knew I could love like this, but I can.”
“It was a lie?”
“I know you love Rupert, but I want that love to be mine,” David said.
“I don’t love Rupert,” Elizabeth said. Not the way I love you. What was a lie? You telling me to be with him? Why would you do that?”
“So you could be happy,” David said.
“You were willing to give me up, the woman you love, so I could be happy?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes,” David said, nodding. She kissed him again, deeply, their tongues dancing together in their mouths.
“Then you have done it,” she said as they finally drew their lips apart.
“Done what?”
“I will marry you.”
David grinned and picked her up, swinging her in a wide circle just outside her father’s home.
“You will?” he asked. “You promise?”
“I will,” Elizabeth said again, and they were kissing once more. When they pulled away David’s face was serious, and she felt nervous as he opened his mouth to speak.
“So which one of us is going to tell Rupert to leave?” he said, and they burst into a fit of laughter.
David and Elizabeth were married just a month later. That night, they lay amongst burning candles and blankets made of fur on a soft bed.
Elizabeth felt goose bumps as David ran his manly hand along her naked curves, down the side of her breast, down over her waste and hips, and finding its way towards her inner thighs. She let out a sigh when his fingers found her womanhood. He parted her lips and rubbed her wetness. He kissed her and then slowly inserted a finger. She closed her muscles around it, letting out a small groan. With his thumb, he pressed on her clitoris, which pressured her as he slid his finger in and out. David inserted a second finger and she felt the pleasure against her walls. He fingered her harder and faster until the pressure in her abdomen exploded and she came on his hand, arching her back, gripping the fur blanket.
But that was not enough. Elizabeth wanted more. She wanted to feel David’s fullness inside her. She reached for his penis. It felt hard and hot in her hand. She opened her legs and guided him to her wet and pulsating opening.
David slid inside, and Elizabeth groaned. His movements were slow so she could feel every inch of him as he slid in and out of her, teasing, pleasuring. He muscles in her vagina tingled and tightened. She could take no more.
Elizabeth opened her legs wider and grabbed David’s buttocks between her hands, guiding him to move faster, stronger. And when he pumped with more force, she f
elt him pound against her clitoris, her muscles clenching around his penis, the pressure building again in her entire body until she exploded once more with a long grown that lasted as long as her orgasm.
And then David came, his body shaking with pleasure.
Afterwards they lie together, sweaty and spent, but sated, their limbs entwined. Elizabeth had never felt so happy, and she was sure that her wager had been the last gamble her husband would ever take.
She had won the game of love.
****
THE END
The Rake’s Fake Marriage – A Regency Romance
Lady Adele Vaughan looked through her black veil as she shook Reverend Smith's hand. ''Thank you so much for everything you have done.''
''Not at all, it's been a difficult time for you. Losing one's husband is a traumatic experience,'' he said, smiling over his half-moon glasses.
''Well, everyone has been so kind. Perhaps you would be kind enough to walk me home, people are coming back for a cup of tea.'' Lady Vaughan had a splendid cook, and Reverend Smith was most anxious to fill his already considerable stomach with her excellent chocolate cake.
''Yes of course. I just need to go to the vestry and change. I'll be with you in a moment.'' They were standing in the cemetery at All Saint's Church, Kirkby Whisp in North Yorkshire, England. The gravedigger was standing under a tree out of sight, ready to fill in the grave of Lord Peter Vaughan, a twenty-eight-year-old gentleman who had died in an unfortunate hunting accident, three days earlier. When he saw Reverend Smith and Lady Vaughan locks arms, and leave the churchyard, he nodded to the boy standing next to him. They walked to the grave, took their shovels from under a green mat and began to throw back the soil.
''She's a fine looking woman,'' the boy said, throwing the first shovel full onto the coffin. He was just seventeen and gangling, as young men often are before they fill out. ''I feel sorry for her.''
''No you don't. Your youthful hormones are talking to you. You want to lie with her now she ain't got a husband.'' Cyril Wright was five feet seven and stocky. The strongest man in the village, he could dig a hole, six feet deep, in two and a half hours.
''No, I don't.'' Jimmy Horner, the apprentice, looked offended.
''Ain't no point in denying it, Jimmy. What boy of your age wouldn't want to sleep with a woman like her? ''He grunted as he thrust his spade into the pile of earth. ''Twenty-eight, blonde, blue eyes and a body like Venus. She's any young man's dream.''
''And rich. You forgot rich.''
''Rich,'' he scoffed. ''A big house and a fancy title. I hate them, the rich. They think they're something special.'' Cyril leaned on his shovel and watched Jimmy's expression which made him look dumber than he already was.
''Why do you hate them?''
''Because they're snobs. Always looking down their noses at us ordinary folk.''
''Well that doesn't alter my opinion of Lady Vaughan.''
''No. Well take it from me, her sort are idle snobs.''
*****
Newdene Hall was large and old. Lord Vaughan had inherited it from his late father, a year before his own death. When he and Adele got married they were just eighteen, and they lived in a small lodge in the wonderful parkland surrounding the great house. Nine years later they moved into the Hall after Lord Stephen Vaughan passed on. Peter had given his wife a free hand; she could re-decorate the house as she wanted. The Vaughan's were rich but not overly so. They had tenants, who produced a handsome income, but they didn't have vast reserves of cash.
The drawing room was full of well-wishers, dressed in black and white. It was a large room which Adele had tastefully decorated in pastel shades of peach.
''You know, it's such a pity Peter didn't live to see you finish your decorating work. You have really transformed this place,'' Eleanor Pimms said as she poured Reverend Smith his third cup of tea. She was the same age as Adele, but plain. Her mousy hair was always unkempt, and her stocky figure never fitting her clothes.
''Yes, it is a pity,'' Adele replied shifting her weight onto her other buttock. The sofa was too hard and, after a while, a position change was necessary.
Reverend Smith was a kind man, always at pains to avoid confrontation, but he felt the word 'pity' was misplaced in this context. ''You pity a dog or a cat. In Peter's case, surely you should use the word disaster or catastrophe.'' He sank his teeth into a piece of Lemon Sponge Cake, sending sugar flying over the easy chair he was sitting in.
''Yes, of course,'' Emily felt chastised. ''Will you marry again do you think?''
Adele threw her hands in the air almost colliding with the potted palm balancing precariously on an ornamental table which was too small for it. ''Never, never again.''
''Why, dear Lady Vaughan, would you have us believe that your marriage was so bad that it has put you off forever?'' Reverend Smith asked.
''Of course not, but I would like to have some freedom away from the demands of a man.''
Emily knew what she meant. Emily was Adele's best friend. She was married to Bartholomew Pimms, the country's leading barrister. He was very demanding, both inside and outside the bedroom. ''If my husband passed away, I would do the same as you, Adele.''
''In your case, I agree,'' Reverend Smith said, dropping his guard.
''What do you mean?'' Emily asked. Reverend Smith wasn't quick to answer, desperately seeking a way out.
''I think he means, you would never find another husband as gracious and loving as Bartholomew.'' Adele smiled, Reverend Smith nodded enthusiastically.
''Exactly what I meant,'' he said, knowing no shame.
''No, I shall never marry again. I will travel and enjoy my freedom. There is so much to see, and life is short. Today is more than adequate testimony to that,'' Adele said.
''Where is your husband today?'' Reverend Smith asked Emily. ''He and Peter were such good friends, I'm surprised he wasn't at the funeral.''
''In court. Seemingly a very urgent case came up yesterday, and he was called to the bar.'' Emily had been relieved when he'd told her he wasn't coming. He would have dominated the whole day and made it insufferable for her. The sound of his booming voice embarrassed her.
''Do you have any sherry?'' Reverend Smith asked.
''Of course. I didn't know you drank,'' Adele said.
''Just now and then,'' he lied. ''We can make a toast, to widows everywhere and their freedom.''
When Reverend Smith finally got up to leave, he was quite unsteady on his feet. Adele looked at the sherry bottle; it was more than half empty. When Emily waved goodbye, Adele went to her bedroom and left the servants to clean the mess. Why do funerals always degenerate into drink, she wondered. She ran the bell for her ladies maid and waited. As she sat on the bed, she told herself again, she wanted to be free, no second man.
*****
''Ladies, more champagne, I think.'' Nicholas Geraghty let go of another cork. As it shot off to the ceiling, he put the bottle to his mouth and gulped the mass of white bubbles that exploded from it. The ladies giggled and applauded as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful.
Nicholas, the heir to the Earldom of Borrowby, liked women. There was nothing he or anybody else could do about it. And women liked him, so much in fact, that he was never short of a pretty face to talk to, flirt with, or worse. Twenty-eight, and still not married, he was the talk of society. He thought it was his looks that did it, but he was wrong. Although very handsome, women found he had more qualities than just his looks. He was a nonconformist, something different in a sea of social similarity. He wore different clothes, told people what he thought and never backed down from an argument or a fight.
Nicholas lived in a wing of Lotherton Hall, a stately home which had been in the family for three hundred years. His father was disappointed in him, calling him lazy, and a womanizer. He was rich enough not to have to work, and didn't. But what nobody knew, was that he donated a lot of money to the local orphanage. As a boy, he'd been playing in a wood on the boundaries of
their three thousand acre estate and seen a group of four young boys playing on the other side of the wall. He'd talked to them and was horrified to learn that they were orphans. He was, even more, horrified to learn that they received regular beatings, and the only prospects they had, was a life of near slavery in the local tin mine. When he was older, he'd arranged for all of those boys to have jobs on one of the farms his father owned. At least, they'd be outside in the fresh air, he'd thought. One of them was now a farm manager, with a family and two lovely girls. The other three had all married local women and were great father's and husbands.
Lady Emily, Lady Georgina, and Lady Charlotte were all just nineteen and the latest in a wave of women who fancied their chances at being Lady Gerathy. He jumped back onto the sofa, champagne in hand, landing between the three beauties. Each of them looked at him affectionately, as they held out their empty glasses to be charged.
''Why have you never married?'' Emily asked, her eyes fluttering at him.
''I enjoy my life as it is. Look, today I have the pleasure of the company of three beautiful women. I couldn't do that if I was married.'' Nicolas leaned to Emily and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and giggled. The other two glared at her.
''But you should marry before you become even older,'' Charlotte added.
''I am still young, and I have time. Why marry when I'm having so much fun.''
''But what about an heir,'' Georgina asked, genuinely concerned for him.
''Ah, well, that may be a reason to marry. The only one as far as I can see. I suppose one day I will be forced into it.'' His eyes looked momentarily sad. ''Now, which one of you lovely ladies would like to accompany me to my chamber?'' he asked unashamedly.
All three gasped. A thought too dangerous to contemplate, yet enticing, appealing, and perhaps the only way to achieve their goal.
As Lady Emily and Lady Charlotte descended the sandstone staircase to their carriages, they looked up at the first floor and wondered what was happening behind the curtains. Lady Georgina, the most beautiful of the three, had been the first to nod at Nicholas' proposal. In an instant, she'd found herself upstairs with her gown around her ankles and Nicholas lying between her wide open legs.