The Loughlins liked Glück, who was enterprising and hardworking, and they were glad to grant him the lease. When Glück asked the price, they told him that he could have it for a thrice-weekly delivery of milk and butter to Penfield.
Glück protested that he couldn’t do business on such terms, that he felt as though he were stealing the valuable grazing rights for such paltry payment, but the Loughlins wouldn’t have it any other way, and the deal was sealed with a handshake. Twice since, the parcel Glück used had been expanded, and Penfield had been plentifully supplied not just with milk and butter, but with cream and Hirtenkäse, the dense, creamy cheese Frau Glück grew up making in her native country.
The leasing arrangement paved the way for friendly relations between the two families, and Freddy, as he grew up, often took a cart to the Glücks’ dairy to fetch what the farmer would otherwise have to deliver. In that way, he got to know the Glücks’ daughter, Gretchen.
Gretchen, Freddy thought, must have been the model for the milkmaid archetype. Fair skinned, peach cheeked, buxom, and firm, with a perpetual smell of new milk, Gretchen had been irresistible to Freddy from the day he knew what it was to want a girl.
The two were almost exactly the same age, and they couldn’t have been more than thirteen when they first began, haltingly and clumsily, to explore each other’s bodies in the fragrant hay of the cowshed. It wasn’t long before they were less halting and less clumsy, and Freddy owed his not inconsiderable experience to the fortuitous combination, embodied in Gretchen, of fondness for him and sexual curiosity.
Freddy had found women a bit hard to come by at Oxford, and as he rode to the Glücks’ his desire mounted. Unless their patterns had changed, he knew he’d find Gretchen in the barn at this hour, cleaning up from the morning milking. Thinking it might be inconvenient to be spotted by the farmer or his wife, he skirted the house and went straight out to the barn. He tethered his horse and went in.
And there she was, washing out the buckets they used for milking, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows, her heavy blond hair escaping its braid in curling damp tendrils. She was glistening from the exertion and her apron and clothes were stained with dirt, but that in no way diminished the appeal she had for Freddy.
She hadn’t heard him approach, and he watched her for a few moments before he said, “Gretchen, my girl, you look good enough to eat.”
Startled, she turned around and said, “Freddy! I thought you’d gone off to school.”
“And so I had, but I missed you dreadfully and so I’ve come back again.”
She laughed as he put his arms around her waist and leaned over so he could bury his face in her neck. “You are a liar,” she said, “but you are a charming liar.”
“I never lie about anything of substance,” Freddy said, “and so when I tell you that you taste marvelous, you can believe it as though it were one of the gospels.” He kissed her neck and ran his tongue up to her earlobe. He added, whispering in her ear, “And I did miss you, you know.”
Freddy slipped the string off the end of her braid and worked his hands through her hair to release it. He loved the feeling of her cool, fine hair running through his fingers, and pulled her to him as he ran his hands from her hairline to the back of her head, and then out to either side, over and over.
Gretchen buried her face in his chest—she was a full foot shorter than he was—and closed her eyes to better focus on the feel of his fingertips on her scalp. He pressed harder, and then harder still, and she groaned softly.
The responsiveness of her body had always been a wonder to Gretchen. When Freddy touched her breasts, or her pubis, or her inner thighs, the cascading warmth of her response made sense to her. But she realized years ago that he could touch her anywhere—the backs of her knees, the soles of her feet, the top of her head—and she would have that same response. A man’s touch made her feel as though she were made of nerves extending from a center somewhere between her hip bones, and radiating out to every square inch of her surface.
Freddy took the full heft of her hair in his left hand and pulled it, forcing Gretchen to look up. She did, and he kissed her fully and deeply. His tongue, flirting with her own, made her feel as though she were glowing, lit from within.
She ran her hands up the insides of his thighs until she found his balls. She took them in her two hands and manipulated them, one against the other, in opposing circles. Now it was Freddy’s turn to groan. She moved her hands up to his cock, which, while not long, was as thick as a sapling and hard as a cable pulled taut. She reached one hand down his trousers and held him, at first loosely and then tighter and tighter. As she squeezed, she started working up and down, up and down, and felt as the cable pulled tighter still.
Freddy was clearly nearing his limit. He put his palms on her shoulders and bodily separated himself from her. He took a deep breath and, leaving one hand on her shoulder, used the other to trace the outline of her breasts with his index finger, cupping each in turn as his finger went around the bottom.
After he’d made several circuits, he found the little hollow in her chest where her ribs met, and ran his hand straight down over her firm, slightly rounded belly, to the mound between her legs.
Neither of them could tolerate the layers of clothing between them, and Gretchen held up her skirts obligingly while Freddy took off first her boots, and then her drawers. He took the entire mound of her pubis in his hand and worked his middle finger inside her. She felt the pressure of the heel of his palm against her clitoris as he circled the finger inside, and she let out a sound that was part gasp, part moan.
Freddy released the pressure and stopped the movement, and he felt Gretchen’s muscles contract as though willing him to start again. Her eyes opened in time to see him smile, and he waited just a beat before he renewed his efforts. The next time he stopped, he knew she was too close for him to start again, and he removed his hand. He put his finger, wet from her juices, into his mouth and licked it clean.
There was a narrow, steep wooden stairway that led to the hayloft, consisting of two long pieces of wood with boards nailed across them, and Freddy backed her against it. They knew from long practice that, if she stood on the first step, she was at just the right height for him. He lifted her up, pulled up her skirts, and pushed them behind her, between two steps of the ladder, to keep them out of the way.
Freddy took two steps back. As he admired the sight of Gretchen, naked from the waist down, standing on the step and leaning back against the stairs, he unbuttoned his trousers and took his cock in his hand.
“I think that belongs to me,” Gretchen said, motioning him over to her. He came over to the ladder, and she took his penis in her hand once more. This time, though, she guided it inside her.
Gretchen loved the feeling of Freddy’s fully erect cock inside her. It was so broad that it seemed to plug her as snugly as a cork, and her insides felt almost pressurized. As he started slowly pulsing in and out, she lifted her right leg and wrapped it around his waist so she could work him in deeper. He held her leg up with his left hand and leaned fully against her, pulsing faster. With his other hand, he reached around behind her and gathered her hair up through a gap in the stairs. He gently pulled, forcing her head up and exposing her neck.
Gretchen was pinned to the stairs, and the vulnerability heightened the excitement for her. She gave herself over utterly to the sensation, letting the crescendo happen.
And it did. She hadn’t seen Freddy in weeks, and her body was more than ready to receive him. Every nerve, every muscle was doing its part to bring her to climax. And then she was there. The epicenter was the warm wetness between her legs, with Freddy’s cock driving in and pulling out, but there were tremors in every extremity.
Freddy was there a second behind her, and they reveled in their joint orgasm, almost as though they could feel each other’s pleasure. As it subsided, she leaned back against the stairs and he leaned forward against her, both attuned to the lingering soft
ness of their intermingling.
They were spent, and they disentangled and put themselves back together. When they were presentable, Gretchen said, “Well, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, tell me what happened.”
“Let’s go for a walk, and I’ll tell you the whole story.” They spent the next two hours wandering the fields, each telling the other everything that had happened since they had last met. Freddy basked equally in the warm sun and the warm affection, and told himself that he couldn’t regret Oxford when home held such pleasures.
SIX
It was midafternoon by the time Freddy finally returned to Penfield. As he rode up, he saw a crowd headed for the tennis lawn. He had no idea so many people were staying with his parents, and he wondered what was bringing them all out. Then he saw the two young ladies—one of them Lady Georgiana, the other unknown to him—dressed for the game, and it all became clear.
He was about to join his parents’ guests, but thought better of it when he reasoned that his parents themselves would probably arrive any moment. He wasn’t yet ready to face his father again, but he wanted to watch the game. He took refuge in the boughs of a beautiful copper beech tree that he’d climbed at least a thousand times. At eighteen, he was still almost as nimble as he’d been at eleven, and he had settled himself on a comfortable limb with an excellent view before anyone had noticed his presence.
The two women approached the lawn, walking companionably together. Miss Niven was wearing a tennis frock with a white bodice and a full light blue skirt. Lady Georgiana maintained that attempting to run around a lawn chasing a ball was a silly enough pastime, but to do it in a dress was ridiculous. She wore white trousers and a white blouse that buttoned down the front.
The contrast between the two women didn’t stop there. Georgiana was lithe to Miss Niven’s robust, fair to her dark, slim to her voluptuous. Most observers would have pronounced Miss Niven the more beautiful of the two, but Lady Georgiana’s sylphlike figure and knowing smile would always win over a small, unconventional minority.
Bruce Barnes was in that minority. He’d been at the tennis lawn an hour and more, overseeing the efforts that ensured it was in perfect condition for the contest. As he watched the two girls come over the rise, accompanied by several other guests interested in watching the match, he thought that any man who preferred Miss Niven must not understand the essence of female beauty. The sight of the small, athletic, agile girl in the white trousers compelled him in a way he had seldom experienced.
Freddy, from his beech, was also drawn to Georgiana. He’d known her for years, but had never before seen her through any but a boy’s eyes. She’s smashing, he said to himself. And then, as an afterthought, But that other one isn’t half-bad either. He settled in to enjoy the match.
The lawn itself was probably one of the finest in England. It was perfectly flat, with close-cropped grass growing uniformly on firm soil. It was built in a natural hollow surrounded on three sides by hills, to minimize the wind, and the slopes had been carved into risers for spectators. The fourth side faced the path to the house, and was guarded by two topiary lions whose fierceness was undermined by their stubby little tails. Mature hedges had been carted in, at great expense, to form the bodies and heads of the lions, but there were still visible wires where Barnes was training the plants to grow to form full, brushy tails.
Barnes had seen to it that the lines were freshly chalked, and the net was new and taut.
As the girls put down their gear on the benches placed behind each of the lions for the purpose, Miss Niven surveyed the court. “Oh, Mr. Barnes,” she said, “it is indeed a wonderful lawn. I have been looking forward to playing on it ever since Paulette told me you were building it.”
“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” said Barnes, with a small bow. “And yours as well,” he added, nodding to Lady Georgiana.
“Oh, for my part, I have no expectations whatsoever,” said Georgiana with studied breeziness. “I always enjoy a pleasant afternoon’s tennis.”
This was nonsense. Lady Georgiana, like her opponent, had heard about the tennis lawn from Lady Loughlin, and she was eager to try it out. Furthermore, she took her tennis quite seriously, and was determined to trounce the lovely young woman who was just then taking her place across the net.
As they started to limber up by lobbing a ball back and forth, more of the Loughlins’ guests appeared on the path from the house. Word of the match had gotten out, and the consensus was that it was not to be missed. The Loughlins themselves were the last to arrive, and their guests shifted around to make room for them courtside.
“You two girls have completely emptied the house,” Lady Loughlin said to the contestants. “I’d have thought only a fire could do that.”
“I think fire is precisely what we’re hoping for,” said Gerard under his breath.
The game began, and it became clear that the women, whose styles were quite different, were nevertheless evenly matched. Lady Georgiana’s quickness and strategy had her placing balls all over the court, but Miss Niven’s raw athleticism and long reach enabled her to return almost every one.
The game commenced with genuine nonchalance on Miss Niven’s part, and the appearance of it on Lady Georgiana’s, but each young lady thought she would win. Miss Niven simply expected to, and Lady Georgiana was determined to. Each was surprised by the skill of the other.
After the first two games—one went to each—there was no more nonchalance. The women were focused, getting the most from their respective games. Georgiana was certainly running her opponent around the court, but Miss Niven was handling all she was dealt, and it was her unexpected returns that scored points. The rallies were long, the action was fierce, and the spectators were delighted.
After the first two sets, which they split, the two took a moment to catch their breath and get a drink of water. They were both in high color, and sweat soaked their underarms and backs. The stains were particularly apparent on Miss Niven’s dress, with its relatively snug bodice. Georgiana’s blouse was loose, and the circulating air had kept her cooler. Miss Niven looked enviously at her opponent’s clothing, and wished that she herself had the nerve to wear pants and a shirt.
She wasn’t the only person on the court with that wish. Some of the men there had never even seen their wives in so formfitting an outfit, and Lady Georgiana’s trim waist and gently rounded backside distracted many of them from the action of the game. When she ran and stretched and reached, she revealed a female form in all its details. It was a revelation that captivated the men, but some of the women present didn’t approve.
Mr. Sheffield knew his wife would think Georgiana’s dress scandalous, and he steeled himself for her comment. It came, but it wasn’t nearly as damning as he had expected.
“She’s not wearing much of anything, is she?” Mrs. Sheffield said. Even that lady was fascinated by the match.
Going into the third set, the two players began to flag. They had been running back and forth for over an hour, and neither was accustomed to that level of exertion. Lady Georgiana, though, was used to outdoor activity, and took exercise every day that weather permitted. Those habits now stood her in good stead. Each player made more mistakes than she had at the beginning of the match, but the drop-off in Miss Niven’s skills was the steeper.
Georgiana realized her advantage and pressed it. She concentrated on trying to minimize her own exertion and maximizing that of her opponent, and her strategy was successful. Miss Niven won two of the first five games, but Georgiana swept the last three to win the set and the match.
As the girls walked off the court, Lady Loughlin approached with two glasses of cold lemonade.
“Well played, my dears, well played,” she said as she handed a glass to each.
Some of the guests started back toward the house, but several remained to congratulate the two players. Miss Niven, however, didn’t want to linger.
“I must get back to the house to change,” she
said, gesturing ruefully at her grass- and sweat-stained dress.
“You should be proud of it,” said Bruce Barnes. “It’s the evidence of skillful play and honest exercise.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Well, I’d certainly be proud to walk you back to the house,” he said, and offered her his arm.
She laughed and took it. “If you don’t mind my sorry state, I don’t see how I should,” she said.
Lady Georgiana thought this a prime bit of sycophancy on Barnes’s part, and looked down at the ground so no one would see her roll her eyes. Exhausted from the match, watching him with Miss Niven, she thought the strength of her attraction to him was on the ebb, and she was glad.
The entire party made their way back to the house, and Georgiana went to her room to wash and change.
Not two minutes after she’d closed the door behind her, she heard a knock.
She opened the door, and there was Barnes.
“Are you here to tell me about my skillful play and honest exercise?” she asked with a sneer.
“No, I’m not,” he said calmly. “I’m here to tell you that if you took a little bit of topspin off your forehand you’d send fewer of them into the net.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment. She knew that she put too much topspin on her forehand, and had been trying to correct the problem. But that was about the last thing she expected him to say to her.
“You’re the better player,” he went on.
“Maybe,” she said. “Although if Alexandra worked at it, she’d be better than I am. She has a remarkable natural ability.”
“I’m not sure about that.” Barnes had one hand on either side of the doorway, and he leaned into the room. “You’re faster, and you’re smarter.”
“Maybe,” she said again.
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her. And his gaze held her almost against her will. It was only a half hour ago that she’d thought herself well on her way to being through with him, and now here he was, flooding her all over again.
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