by Rose Lerner
He struggled to breathe. “I’m sorry. I can’t last much longer.”
“Can we go on afterwards?”
“Anything you want.”
“I want you to tease me until your cock can stand again, and then fuck me again.”
“I can—I can—” The word turned to a gargling noise as he spilled into her. He fucked her through it, going until he started to soften. Then he laid her on the bed, kissing, licking and stroking her everywhere but between her legs. When she squirmed, he held her down, suckling at her tits until she sobbed. He rubbed a thumb over the crease of her inner thigh and kissed her just above her triangle of hair.
“It feels so good,” she whispered. “I’m on fire.”
“You’re so brave,” he said, dipping his tongue into her navel. “I always feel foolish talking about this.”
She smiled, running her fingers through his hair. “You shouldn’t. I like it when you growl at me.”
Growl? John had always thought of his voice as—stentorian, he supposed. Suitable for cutting through a busy servants’ hall or announcing callers in a clear, dignified manner. Animals and sailors growled. But if she liked it… He pressed his open mouth to her belly and made a mortifying, animal noise low in his throat. She giggled and shivered at the same time.
When he entered her again, her head fell back and she mewled. “Oh, God, it’s too much, it’s—damn, I’m going to, no, I don’t want to—” He slowed, but she wrapped her legs around him. “Harder, harder, I want to feel it—”
A moment later she convulsed around him, her nails scoring his back.
“Should I stop?”
She shook her head. “It’s too tender, it hurts, more…”
Christ. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he told the pillow. It was maddening, her hitches of breath, her little sobs, the way she twitched away from him and curled her dainty feet around his ankles. He was glad he had spent once already, so he could enjoy it a little longer.
* * *
Sukey lay there, tired out with pleasure, and somehow her face still felt tight. For a few moments she’d felt close to him again, so close nothing could come between them.
He’d said he loved her, and she was afraid to say it back even though it was true. That was a false economy, that was. Hearts weren’t meant to be pickled and kept on the shelf for a hard winter. “Remember when I told you I was sick of living at Mrs. Humphrey’s, of everything being weighed and measured?”
She felt his nod in the pillow. “You said you wanted to be where people were generous with one another.”
He remembered. He’d listened to her. That seemed like a good sign. It hurt to swallow, her jaw was so stiff. “I don’t know how to be generous,” she said quietly, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I don’t know how to share.”
“Darling, that isn’t true—”
“It is,” she said fiercely. “Don’t tell me what’s in my heart. You said I never talk to you, and you were right. I don’t know how. I don’t want to. I want to keep my heart for myself, because I feel as if, if I give it away, I’ll—I won’t have it anymore, and I need it.”
“That isn’t how love works,” he said, low and kind. “The more you give, the more you have.”
And she remembered that, how much she’d loved taking care of him, how every time she did something for him or gave him something, she felt strong and rich. She took a deep breath. “When I think about my father…I know he didn’t want me, and no matter what I do, I can’t change that. It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, but it’s awful. I feel as if the awfulness could drown me, as if I’m fighting to stay above water.”
“That sounds frightening,” he said, not making any sudden movements.
“Aye.”
He tried to put his arm around her. She twitched away, and he pulled back.
Part of her had hoped, secretly, that he’d know how to make her feel better. But he couldn’t. Nothing anyone said could do that. Still, she thought suddenly of what it would have been like to see her father without him. Of how she’d feel if she were sleeping alone tonight. He was here, and he’d listened, and he wanted her. He loved her.
She turned and buried her face in his chest, curling into him. He was warm and solid and didn’t try to put his arm around her again because he knew she didn’t want it, and all at once she loved him again. Her heart overflowed with it and it felt good, not as if it would drown her at all.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“No, thank you.” His voice was tender and amused.
“No, no, sir,” she said, starting to smile, “it is I who ought to thank you.”
“I really must insist, madam—”
They started giggling, the bed quivering with their relieved laughter. John buried his face in the pillow, but high-pitched sounds emerged at odd intervals.
She’d wanted to make him giggle, at the servants’ ball. She’d finally managed it, here at Tassell Hall where everything seemed to make him frown. She felt very proud.
“I do love you,” she said. “I do. Dunnamuch.”
He pulled her tight against him. “Who cares what our families think? You’re my family now, and I’m yours.”
She nodded. That sounded nice.
* * *
John woke long past his usual hour, feeling cheerful and very hungry. He dressed, took up Sukey’s boots, and made his way to the larder, where he cut himself a slice of bread and slathered it with butter and jam. His mother was in the kitchen, training the kitchenmaids in the proper preparation of consommé.
John did not envy them the orgy of cheesecloth that was to follow. “Good morning, madam. Is there coffee?”
She smiled at him. “Yes, in my sitting room. I’ll pour it for you.” Giving the girls instructions to occupy them in her absence, she let him escort her into the next room, where she poured his coffee and settled herself in a chair. He ate quickly and self-consciously, sensing that she wanted to talk to him on a significant subject.
At last he couldn’t take the silence. “What is it, Mother?”
“I’m sorry if I was slighting to your wife yesterday. She seems a very nice girl, and I should have got to know her better before forming any opinions.”
“Thank you,” he said warily.
“John,” she appealed to him, leaning forward. “I’m not one of those mothers who are always asking their children for things, am I? I don’t earwig you to visit more, or demand you produce grandchildren to suit me? When you decided you wanted to be a valet and not a butler, I supported you, didn’t I, even though it meant I never saw you?”
“You’ve supported me in everything.” Fear and love struck John’s heart together. Was she sick? “I’ve never met anyone with a better mother. Mama, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Her face set. “You must take over your father’s position. You must.”
John went numb with shock, pins and needles as if his heart had stopped pumping blood to his extremities. On the one hand, he’d been plagued by a growing sense of inevitability ever since speaking to Lady Tassell. On the other, he’d almost made up his mind to tell his father to stop showing him notebooks, because he wasn’t staying. He’d thought of them as the ones it would be hard to tell, not his mother.
“I know you made up your mind not to want it when you were a little boy, but you’re a grown man now. Johnny, I want to retire. I’m seventy-five, I’ve worked my whole life, and I deserve to retire. So does your father. He’s given his life to this house, and he deserves some peace and rest.”
“Mother, I’m going to be honest with you. Sukey and I came because Lady Tassell agreed to pay our way, and I wanted to see you. I didn’t wish to reject the position out of hand. But I don’t—”
He didn’t know what to say. The idea of the position makes me feel as if I’m made of lead
? Would he really give his mother pain only because he wanted to enjoy his work? “Besides, I’m married now, and I ought to consider my wife’s comfort. I don’t think Sukey would be very happy here.”
“I knew it,” she said bitterly. “I knew she’d poisoned you against the idea. You listen to her, when you’ve never listened to me about anything.”
“That’s entirely unfair,” he said, losing patience. “You know I’ve always had the highest respect for your opinion.”
“You don’t. You’re just like your father. Neither of you listen to me.” Her mouth trembled. “I’ve begged him to leave, but he won’t, not until you take his place. He’s always been so proud of giving you a good start in life, and a sure future, one you didn’t have to fight and sacrifice for the way he did. The work he does is an honor! Lady Tassell and the Whigs rely on him. Why don’t you want it? I know you, John. You might be enjoying an easy, idle position now, but you’ll be bored in a twelvemonth and wishing you’d listened to me. And by then it will be too late. Your father will be dead.”
“He’ll be what? Why?”
Her answer was forestalled by his father’s shouts echoing through the house. It was a familiar sound, but Mrs. Toogood was up and racing through the kitchen. John followed, soon outpacing her. He found Mr. Toogood in the great hall, red-faced and screaming obscenities at a cowering maid who was mopping up a spilled bucket of soapy water. The sound of his father’s anger still made John’s hair stand on end—but he’d never heard his father curse in the presence of a woman before.
“What happened?” his mother demanded, coming up behind him, breathing hard. “Are you all right?”
“This stupid slut left her pail in the middle of the floor where anyone could trip over it, that’s what happened. Think before you do things, for Christ’s sake. If you’ve got a brain rattling around in there. I’ll be black-and-blue tomorrow.” There was a great wet stain all along the old man’s side.
“I’m that sorry, Mrs. Toogood,” the maid said, tears in her eyes. “I tried to warn him of it, but he was going so fast. He took the fall with his body to save the decanters, madam. I’m that sorry. Let me see your arm, sir, please, I—”
Even through John’s horror, part of him noticed that she was just spreading the water around.
“Why would I trust you to see to my injuries when you can’t even see to a floor? Look at this mess. The whole thing will warp.” Mr. Toogood snatched the mop out of her shaking hand and set to efficiently containing the spill.
“Let me, sir.” John reached for the mop, afraid his father would slip a second time on the wet floor.
“I can do it. I’m not in my dotage yet, thank God.”
John would have liked to wrest the damned thing out of his hands.
“Don’t worry about it, dear. That will be all, thank you,” his mother told the maid, who darted from the room.
“You always coddle them,” Mr. Toogood said. “Just like you coddled John all these years. I might have smashed every decanter we own.” He wrung the mop out fiercely—and dropped it, cursing viciously and clutching at his shoulder.
“You should have let them smash,” Mrs. Toogood said shrilly. “It’s just money, John. The Tassells can buy new ones. But you can’t buy another shoulder. You aren’t twenty-five anymore.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Johnny, he’s not. He’s going to kill himself. He’s going to kill himself, and what will I do without him?” She began to cry.
His father snorted. “So you’re after the ungrateful brat to stop shilly-shallying and let me end my days in peace? I wish you luck. We could have been living by the sea for ten years now if he weren’t determined to spite me. He doesn’t care two pins for you, me or the Tassells. He’d like to behave like Mr. Nicholas and cut us off completely, I don’t doubt.” He sighed. “There, there, Amanda, don’t cry. I’m not hurt.” He put his arm around her, wincing at the movement.
Part of John would have liked to walk out and leave them there, would have welcomed never speaking to his father again. His own cold selfishness appalled him. A Dymond could indulge himself that way. John could not, and did not want to. “Father, please let me finish this. Your coat is frizzing.”
His father looked down in surprise. “So it is. I’d better see to that. Bring the decanters to the pantry when you come, would you?”
Finally his parents left. John would have liked to sit and put his head in his hands, but the inlay would be damaged. He cleaned the mop water doggedly, trying to calm his racing pulse.
He couldn’t stop hearing his father say, I nearly tumbled off the stepladder. His mother had not exaggerated. His father would break his neck, and there was no reasoning with him. There never had been, and there certainly wasn’t now.
John would have to take the position.
It won’t be so bad, he told himself. Looking about the empty room, he imagined himself announcing a glittering assembly of guests, stationed between hall and saloon with bright silks and a hundred wax candles to either side of him. He tried to drum up some enthusiasm for it. But his heart was in his boots, and all he could think was, I can’t make Sukey do this. I won’t let her do this.
* * *
Sukey, looking about for someone to do up her stays, at last admitted nobody was left in this part of the house. She’d slept far too late. Lucky I brought my old self-lacing corset, she thought, more pleased with herself than the little thing warranted. She felt very hopeful as she squirmed and contorted to fasten her dress buttons.
Her boots were missing, which meant John must be cleaning them. Sukey made her way to the kitchen, where she found most of the staff at their elevenses. Stomach rumbling, she helped herself to a fresh roll.
“Good morning,” she said to the crowd, astonished anew at how many people worked at the Hall. She’d introduced herself to them yesterday and ought to know their names, but she barely remembered a one.
There was a chorus of answering good mornings. “Try the pickled tongue,” a freckle-faced girl told her. Her name started with a C, Sukey thought. Camilla, that was it. She obeyed, glad to find that not everything at the Hall was cream sauce. The pickled tongue was indeed delicious.
“It’s too good, isn’t it?” Camilla said in a friendly way. Sukey faltered, remembering John had told her that people said that to make fun of his father. Hadn’t she ought to discourage it somehow? But a circle of girls whose aprons were finer than Sukey’s gown clustered around her, smiling, and she didn’t want to ruin it, even if they were just currying favor with the wife of a man who might be set above them. Lady Tassell had been right, they didn’t speak much better than she did.
“Is it true you were Mrs. Nicholas Dymond’s maid?”
Sukey nodded, and then, not wishing to be a liar, she explained, “Not a lady’s maid. A maid-of-all-work.”
Their eyes went round with horror. “Mrs. Dymond had naught but a maid-of-all-work?”
Sukey wished she’d kept her clapper still. Now she’d lowered poor Mrs. Dymond’s consequence in their eyes.
A brown-complexioned girl with a dreamy smile said, “She must be very beautiful, to have captured Mr. Dymond anyway.” She had a biblical name, one of the unfortunate ones—Tamar.
“If he wanted a poor girl, he might have chosen me,” Camilla mourned, putting a hand to her bosom in the best dramatic style. They all giggled.
“Did she seduce him?” a girl asked eagerly.
“Yes, is she in the family way?”
“No, and it would be wrong of me to gossip,” Sukey said firmly.
Disappointment was plain. A stout redhead crossed her arms and said bluntly, “I wouldn’t have thought a maid-of-all-work would be so nice in her views.”
The other girls shushed her furiously, but one or two hid nasty smiles. Sukey would have liked to give them a piece of her mind—b
ut if Mrs. Toogood caught her at it, she’d die of shame. She set down her plate with what she hoped was a queenly smile. “Thank you for a lovely breakfast,” she said, and swept past them.
* * *
John gently rubbed tallow into Sukey’s boots. This was what he enjoyed in service: watching things take on the shine they were meant to have, dulled for a time but brought forth with a little labor and a little love. He loved providing small comforts that eased someone’s path through life. Mr. Summers’s dinner was hotter since his arrival. That was something he could be proud of.
Here at Tassell Hall, he’d spend his day mediating quarrels, scribbling in notebooks, keeping accounts, sorting out difficulties and finding things that were lost. Struggling to hold on to his temper.
He could hear the murmur of Sukey’s voice now among the chatter of elevenses. He hoped she would linger over her meal, so he could put off telling her. But the door to the sitting room opened, and there she stood. He wanted to strew her path with rose petals—not by proxy, but with his own two hands.
She had pasted another bright smile on her face. She could not even get through breakfast here without something happening to distress her. He had no doubt the other servants had been snobs.
The false smile dimmed—what did she see on his face? But she recovered it with an effort and sauntered into the room. “Good morning.” Her eyes fixed on her boots in his hands.
“I’ve got to stay here,” he said without preamble. “My mother—I can’t tell her no.”
The smile vanished altogether. “All right,” she said at once, leaning her hip against the table. “I don’t suppose I can go straight to upper housemaid here, but I don’t mind working my way up.”
No, he tried to say, but his voice cracked. He swallowed to wet his dry throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
She frowned. “John—”
“We’ll find lodgings for you in the village.” He nodded, trying to believe she’d agree, that at least he’d get to see her on his half-holiday. “You can even hire a maid-of-all-work of your own.”