by Michelle Cox
Henrietta paused as if to think. “I’m not sure,” she said finally. “But I still think it might have been him. Or he’s somehow involved, anyway.”
“Maybe,” Clive answered thoughtfully.
“Maybe you just don’t want to believe that of Bennett,” she suggested softly.
Clive considered this and realized that what Henrietta said was true. There was a part of him that didn’t want to believe Bennett was lying, that he wanted him to be telling the truth. He thought through their conversation one more time. No, Bennett had seemed genuinely afraid of someone or something.
“Clive, don’t you think that perhaps you should go to the police at this point? You mentioned that Detective . . . Davis, was it? He might be worth talking to.”
“You sound unattractively like my mother, hounding me to go to the police about the bloody painting.”
“But you have evidence now that Alcott was a victim of at least extortion and very probably murder.”
“I don’t really have any hard evidence at this point. It’s all circumstantial.”
“You’ve got the note; that’s real!”
“Yes, but it’s not enough. And anyway, what’s Davis to do at this point that I’m not already doing?” Clive asked, though he could not help but remember what Bennett had said about them probably being watched. His eyes shifted to the window, but all was dark without. Privately, he worried that these criminals might just reappear to claim the rest of what they considered to be their money. But then again, perhaps they had decided to cut their losses and run. After all, they had no claim on him personally. Surely, whoever they were, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to attempt to extort money from a detective.
“I don’t know,” Henrietta answered, “but if you’re not careful, your mother will fulfill her threats and go to the police herself.”
Clive sighed. Henrietta was right. His mother was growing more and more impatient each day, but he would just try to stay one step ahead of her.
As it turned out, however, Clive was not the only object of Antonia’s criticisms, which Henrietta, to her dismay, had unfortunately discovered. Antonia, in her grief, had become rather short with Henrietta as well and daily seemed to find something to critique regarding her dress, hair, language, or even how she spent her free time. Her underhanded remarks lacked bite, however, and Henrietta was usually able to swat her reproofs away without sustaining too much of a sting, having grown up with Ma, after all. Her solution was to try to simply stay out of Antonia’s way as much as possible, which wasn’t too difficult, as Antonia spent a great deal of time in the morning room catching up on correspondence, of which there was much after the funeral. Likewise, as the chairwoman of several committees at the club, Antonia bravely continued to fulfill her various duties, despite her personal grief, by attending the required meetings and functions, but she did not linger afterwards as she had previously been wont to do. These days, she returned promptly and then spent the afternoons attempting to read or receiving visitors, sometimes Agatha Exley, but usually Julia, who was making more appearances of late, though Henrietta wondered at what price, being under the cruel thumb of Randolph as she was. Henrietta much preferred Julia’s visits to Agatha’s, as with Agatha, the conversation tended to inevitably veer to the uncomfortable topic of Elsie if Henrietta was somehow present. It had become apparent rather quickly that Agatha now saw Henrietta as a sort of adversary who was consciously attempting to wrest control of her pet project.
There was once, however, when Henrietta had come directly under fire, and it was made worse by the fact that not only had she not predicted the weapon Antonia would choose to use, but that she had also not seen it coming. It occurred one afternoon during which she happened to be sitting with Antonia, privately, having tea. Antonia had begun what seemed to be a pleasant tête-à-tête by expressing to Henrietta how very glad she was that she was here amongst them now. Henrietta was not sure if this was really true, but she decided to take it on face value for the moment. Antonia had then taken the opportunity to share that just that morning she had received a letter from Lady Linley at Castle Linley, who had written to say that Wallace’s wife, Amalie, had had another boy and that they had named him Alcott Alban Montague Howard. Antonia had related this last bit of news with small tears in her eyes. While she was very touched by her nephew’s gesture, she had said, as she looked across at Henrietta, dabbing each eye with her handkerchief, grateful, to be sure, that they had honored Alcott in this way, she had rather hoped that she and Clive might have someday chosen that name for their own son.
Antonia had then looked questioningly at Henrietta and asked if there might be anything they wished to announce? Any news in that department? Not that she wished to pry of course, but it would be such joyful news following Alcott’s death to know that his legacy would continue. Was there any problem, anything she might be able to advise on? Antonia had asked, which Henrietta slowly realized was not only a criticism of her clearly un-pregnant state but also one which she saw as being somehow Henrietta’s fault, as if it were due to some deficiency in her.
Henrietta was cut to the quick, stunned at how Antonia had somehow found a way in to her most vulnerable spot and discovered the best way to wound her. She sat in silence as Antonia went on to say, with shockingly no trace of shame on her pallid cheeks, that it was quite normal to be hesitant about marital union, but that one got used to it eventually and that it was indeed her Christian duty to submit to her husband. At this, Henrietta’s feelings of guilt and incompetency gave way to extreme outrage, and she struggled to hold in the many angry retorts that were filling her mind. How dare Antonia suggest such things! She wished she could describe her wildly passionate nights of lovemaking with Clive, but of course that would be grossly inappropriate. Instead, she cleared her throat as she slowly stood up and managed to reply that, “No, there is no announcement just yet,” and then excused herself from the tea table.
As provoked and offended as she was by the injustice of Antonia’s snide accusations, they had indeed hit the mark, and all of Henrietta’s old worries and fears of inadequacy began to surface. Indeed, Henrietta had almost been in tears later that night in their wing, when she had told Clive about the conversation she had had that day with Antonia and her feelings of failure in not producing a child for him.
Clive’s response was to put his arms around her and hold her close. “You mustn’t mind Mother,” he said, looking down at her. “She’s not herself just at the moment.”
“Yes, I know that, but maybe she’s right. Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” Henrietta said in a low voice.
Clive surprised her by laughing loudly. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, darling. And anyway, what need have I of a child when I have you?” he said with a grin. He paused for a moment and added, “That sounds rather wrong, doesn’t it?” He laughed again, but Henrietta did not join in.
“Henrietta,” he said more seriously now, “I told you before our wedding that I have all I will ever want or need in this life as long as I have you. Frankly, I don’t care if we ever have a child. Perhaps it would be for the best. Save the bugger all this worry,” he said, looking around the room wryly. “And, anyway, perhaps I’m a little gun-shy. After what happened with Catherine. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you, Henrietta,” he said, caressing her cheek. “No child is worth losing you.” He looked lovingly into her eyes and then bent down and brushed her lips with his.
His words calmed and soothed her, and she felt herself responding to his tender affection, slowly at first, and then more eagerly as he kissed her thoroughly. Despite wanting to hold on to them and nurse them, Henrietta’s worries and self-doubt slid away at Clive’s touch, and she felt herself respond to his efforts. He never failed to elicit an unexplainable passion in her, and she did not offer any resistance as he slowly untied her silk robe and slipped his hands inside to feel the softness of her breasts beneath.
“Nothing underneath?” he said wi
th an arched eyebrow. “How naughty,” he said with a grin.
“I was planning on taking a bath,” she responded with her own arched eyebrow. “I’m sure Edna has it all ready.”
“I think it can wait,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek, her neck, and then her chest, as she felt herself tense with anticipation, wanting him to continue downward. He stopped, however, before he reached any of her parts that were already beginning to tingle and instead returned to her full lips. As his tongue found its way to hers, she felt a corresponding flush of desire. Her heart was beating fast as he tugged her robe off without even breaking his kiss. Once it fell away, he bent to kiss first one shoulder and then the other. She stood before him now, naked except her lace panties, and desiring his touch so much that she almost trembled. He brushed the back of his hand lazily across her breasts and gazed into her eyes.
“I love you so much, Henrietta,” he whispered as he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply, running his hands down her back until they reached her buttocks. Splaying his hands across them, he pressed them against his hardened state, kissing her desperately until Henrietta felt the moist place between her legs ache. He released her, then, both of them breathing heavily, and with a knowing smile, he took her hand and led her to their bed, attempting to undo his tie with the other as he pulled her.
When they reached their darkened room, Clive swiftly turned and again pulled her to him, clutching her waist and showering her neck with kisses, causing Henrietta let out a little moan. Clive began to fumble to undo his trousers, then, while her hands moved to unbutton his shirt. She paused after opening only two, however, to kiss his bare chest, delightfully breathing in the scent of him, which never failed to arouse her. Hurriedly, he attempted to unbutton the rest of the shirt himself, but he grew frustrated within moments and instead yanked it over his head, popping off any remaining buttons in the process.
Finally free now, he took her face gently in his hands and kissed her waiting lips. Slowly he lay down on the bed, as if, having achieved near mutual nakedness, he wanted to exchange their frantic pace for something more relaxed and sensuous. He pulled her on top of him, resting her buttocks on his lower regions and placing his hands on her hips as he gazed at her, his face full of expectant desire. He paused for a moment, as if trying to take her all in, before his hands traveled to her upturned breasts, quivering in front of him, and he softly began to caress them. Henrietta closed her eyes in pleasure at his touch and let out a soft moan.
No matter how many times they made love, Henrietta couldn’t get enough of him. Her stomach still clenched when he walked into a room, and her face still brightened when she looked upon him. He was an exceptionally gifted lover, and each time she gave herself to him completely, never holding anything back. She bent to kiss him, her breasts pressed against his chest as he ran his hands down her back, gripping her buttocks and tugging at her bottom lip with his teeth before abandoning her lips altogether and covering her chest with kisses until she groaned.
Without warning, he shifted his weight with one quick action, gently spilling her onto the pillows as he rolled and poised himself above her. He tenderly kissed her lips, his tongue furtively probing hers until it moved to her breasts, erect with pleasure. He continued downward until he got to her panties and then kissed them, too. She wanted him to pull them off, but he instead slowly, tortuously, made his way back up her body, kissing her as he went until he reached her trembling lips, which bit at his when they hovered near. She felt his hand grasp hers above her head, his fingers lacing themselves between hers as he kissed her slowly, deeply. He released her hand, then, and she felt it resurface on her leg, traveling up her inner thigh until he reached her panties. She let out a deep groan when his fingers deftly found their way under them.
“Oh, Clive,” she said, beginning to feel more desperate as he began to caress her there, kissing her neck and then her nipples until she began to squirm under him, her breath coming in short bursts until she didn’t think she could stand it any longer. “Clive, please,” she murmured.
Sensing her need, as he always did, he tugged off her panties and fitted himself between her legs. He braced himself on his arms, his hands cradling her head, as he looked at her with such intense love she felt she might unravel right there. She reached up and took his cheek in her hand. Many times, he had told her that he was afraid of the love he had for her, and she knew what he meant, for, in truth, she felt the same. There was a longing deep within her to be connected to him . . . to be one with him . . . to belong to him, and perhaps that was wrong, but she didn’t care.
Steadily he looked at her, his face a mix of love and raw desire, and he held her gaze as he slowly entered her now. He did not look away or close his eyes but continued to look at her as he began to move inside of her, gently at first and then harder. She, too, stared into his hazel eyes, until the intensity of the love she felt for him caused her finally to look away as he began to thrust harder.
“God, I love you, Henrietta,” he said, his voice catching. With one hand he reached down and began to caress her again between her legs even as he thrust on top of her, her passion rising until she again began to twist under him. Her urgency was desperate now, and she lost control, no longer being able to contain it. She began to shudder, pleasure ripping through her, and she loudly cried out his name.
With furious intensity, he began to thrust in earnest, pounding her as she still gripped his back, letting the residual waves of pleasure to wash over her until he likewise shuddered and released inside of her. Breathing deeply and trembling, he began to kiss her all over . . . her arms, her chest, her neck, her head . . . and ending with her lips, which he kissed softly and tenderly. Breaking his kiss, but remaining so close that his lips still brushed against hers, he whispered, “Don’t ever leave me.”
“No, never,” she whispered back.
He kissed her one last time and rolled off of her, brushing her tousled hair with his hand as he did so. Once on his back, she kissed his mangled shoulder in return and laid her head on his chest, nestling into him.
She felt a deep sense of peace. Even her previously disparaging thoughts of Antonia were gone for the moment, replaced by simple pity. Of course, Antonia was bound to say things she didn’t really mean. And anyway, Henrietta thought, holding Clive tighter, she had him, and she felt his utter, complete love of her constantly and basked in the glow of that knowledge.
They remained in each other’s arms for a long time before Clive spoke, startling her a bit as she thought he had gone to sleep.
“What can I get you for your birthday, my darling?” he said, running his finger along her arm. Henrietta felt herself smile. She had the fortune, or misfortune, perhaps, of having a birthday on New Year’s Eve. When he was still alive, her father had always tried to make it an occasion, but since then, it had come and gone like most holidays, with very little fanfare.
“Oh, Clive, what could I possibly ask for? You’ve already given me everything I could ever want,” she said into his chest.
“Well, I have a few ideas, but I want to know if you want to do something special, especially as it’s New Year’s Eve. Leave it to you to be born on such an awkward day.”
“Beast!” she said, giving him a little pinch. “As if I could help it.”
“Minx!” he said, kissing her hair.
“Well, what do you normally do on New Year’s Eve? I can only imagine. Some gala ball or something—at which I’m sure your mother expects us. And don’t you think we should include your mother, speaking of?”
“As it happens, Mother’s rather conveniently informed me this morning that she’s decided to take Aunt Lavinia and Uncle Harry up on their invitation to spend the holiday with them on Long Island. So you see, we have the house to ourselves,” he said, letting out a small chuckle. “Not that we don’t already, really.”
Henrietta raised up her head to look at him. “Why is she leaving? Is it because of us?”
“Who kn
ows what Mother is thinking,” Clive sighed. “I think she just wants to get away. Christmas will be hard enough, but it has to be gotten through. It’ll be just as depressing as Thanksgiving was with just the three of us, only now Randolph and Julia will be added into the mix—as if it couldn’t get worse.”
“Clive! At least there are the boys. That will be fun, I expect. And, anyway, it’s Christmas. There has to be something redeeming about it.”
“Darling, one does not use the word ‘fun,’ one says ‘amusing’ or ‘entertaining,’” he said, slipping into an English accent.
“Snob!” she said, pulling his chest hair.
“Besides, you don’t know Randolph as I do. There’s nothing ‘fun’ about him.”
“Weren’t we talking about New Year’s Eve? And my birthday?”
“Indeed,” he said, running his finger along her shouder again. “As it happens you were pretty close to the mark when you said ‘gala ball’ just now. Every year, it’s the Penningtons’ Ball. It was the highlight of the year for my parents and John and Agatha Exley, but perhaps she wants to have a reason to escape it this year, thus the proposed trip to New York. Anyway, her mind’s made up, so there will be no changing it. You should know that by now. No doubt we’ll be invited to the Penningtons’ as well, but, as it’s your birthday, I’ll let you choose.”
Henrietta absently ran her hand across his chest, deliberating.
“Would it be terribly wicked of me to not choose the Penningtons?” she asked, looking up at him tentatively.
“God, no. It would be heavenly to have a reason not to go.”
“So the true motive behind your birthday gift is revealed. Not as generous as I had first thought. Nor gallant, Inspector.”
Clive let out a loud laugh. “That’s not true! You know I worship you, but don’t push your luck! Come on. What’s it to be? I can hardly wait to see what you come up with. A night in the cottage? A party with the servants in the stables? Gin rummy in the library, I think I once heard you mention . . .”