Wenna

by Virginia Taylor

  “Do you like this?”

  He thought he made a positive sound and obviously she did, too, because she grew bolder. Her hand examined his rod, tested, and with any luck gave him full marks. “You feel beautiful, so hard and manly. Am I depraved to be excited by touching you like this?”

  “No, no, not at all. It’s done in the best of families.” He covered her hand with his, surging into the full length of her palm. She seemed not to mind, for she opened her mouth over the point of his shoulder and licked him. Relief no longer seemed paramount; a heightening of the senses beckoned. “Take off your gown, my love. I want to touch you, too.”

  He read no hesitation into her movements. Soon enough, she lay pressed against him with the spread of her fingers splayed against his back and her soft breasts flattened on his chest. He took her mouth and her tongue, while shaping her breasts to his palms. His heart thudded while caressing the hard little points. Her fingers dug into his buttocks. Forgetting everything but his desire, he rolled her over and dropped on top of her. His hardness sought between her legs.

  She lifted her knees. His mouth slanted over hers, angling to take the kiss deeper, and she crossed her ankles over his back. With a groan he slid inside her, expanding her slickness. Plunging deeper, he breathed unevenly, as one with Wenna, an integral being with the woman who would bear his child. He savored every thrust, every one of her upward surges, holding back, enjoying the heat of her flesh, her quiet gasps—until she dug her fingers into his straining buttocks and ran one heel down the back of his thigh.

  With a terrifying lack of control, he began to climax. Just before he came, he kept his promise and spent his seed onto the sheet. He collapsed, soaked with perspiration.

  “I suppose you’ve made a terrible mess,” she said indulgently.

  His languor left. He sat up and swung out of bed. After cleaning himself, he gave her the washcloth from the bowl. “I proved you can trust me, at least. A little too visibly.”

  “It is much nicer when we’re not just doing a job.”

  * * * *

  He shaved, ran, bathed, dressed, and slung bricks all day, his flesh tingling, his mind plotting his next encounter with his wife, which he hoped might be minutes after he walked in the door that evening. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. Perhaps being her husband and knowing he didn’t have to hurry with her and that he could have her again and again made the difference. Certainly his cobbled-together marriage suited him in every single way.

  Wenna had managed well yesterday. Sitting with the ladies at the cricket match hadn’t been easy for her, but he’d not noticed any awkwardness during the lunch break or at the tea break. She had at least as much class as any of the other ladies, but she would need plenty to deal with his father, who would treat her like dirt, given the chance.

  Dev didn’t want to give the earl that chance until Wenna knew the ins and outs of society and could assuredly give his father a run for his money. Then she would be treated with the respect she’d already earned from Dev, who regretted his initial plan to use her simply as the package in which to present the heir. He winced. Had he really been so small- minded?

  By now, he was sure he didn’t want a baby yet. He wanted to stay here as long as possible, at least until his house was finished, his vines were planted, and his cow was ready to lay eggs. That long.

  He prayed that his ship would be delayed. Pretending to himself he could stay as long as he liked, he explained the situation to Finn, who thought he could move to the vacant premises next door within the next couple of days.

  Chapter 13

  Wenna popped into The Pig and Whistle the next morning and asked Maisie to do the early hairstyles. Toying with the skin on her neck, Maisie said, “I can do the simple styles, but you’ll need to be there for the others. I’m a good copier, but I can’t think of different hairstyles the way you do.”

  “You’ll soon learn, Maisie. Practice makes perfect. I’ll stay until you are sure you can manage, and then I’ll run home. My husband has decided to absorb the shop front into our lodgings.” She smiled, almost helpless with delight. Should she have a visitor, and she didn’t expect any but Nell, she wouldn’t be shamed by having to seat a lady in her tiny kitchen at her tiny table. “I have a few things I need to work on.”

  As soon as the first customer’s hair was washed and dried, she discussed the style required and left Maisie to manage. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be,” she said as she left, confident that Maisie could cope with the basic styles for the next three customers. After that, Wenna would go back and work herself. Her organizing wouldn’t take all day.

  She mentally totaled the money she had saved. Since Devon would be losing part of his income, she would need to use her own money to furnish the new space. Fortunately, she still had the two pounds she’d won at The Castle, his one-pound stake, and his initial two pounds that she’d kept. At this stage, she didn’t need to spend her earnings, nor tell him about her business.

  With Maisie taking her place, she spent the morning drawing the more complicated hairdos she planned on teaching her apprentice. Finn moved out over the weekend. Devon worked on Saturday, played cricket on Sunday, and she sat with the ladies again. Although she made sure of being agreeable and pleasant, her company was suffered rather than sought. Nell still did not appear. Perhaps she did not want to revisit her connection with Wenna. Wenna had expected more of her childhood friend, but accepted the rebuff with only a modicum of disappointment. Nell had married the richest man in the colony. She couldn’t be expected to take up with an ex-maid simply because she had known her as a child.

  The next morning, almost with pleasure, Wenna cleaned the front office meticulously. After lunch, she hauled the carpet square from the study down the stairs and bumped the armchairs down after. She left the desk upstairs, assuming Devon would still want to keep that small room as his, though she also used the desk for her drawings. During the afternoon, she took over from Maisie again, trying new styles on customers and showing off the latest shapes in hats. Mrs. Busby was very pleased with her extra sales, pleased enough to hire a new assistant herself.

  Wenna would need to buy curtains before the downstairs space could take over as the sitting room, but she could afford the fabric, and when she had a spare moment, she could have lengths cut and sewn at Seymour’s. First, she had a big box of paintings to sort through. Devon hadn’t yet hung a single one, but given her choice for the sitting room, she would use the rural scenes, which would remind Devon of home.

  In the meantime, she wanted to tackle Devon’s mother’s boxes, which still filled the store cupboard. Wenna dragged the boxes out and opened the one she knew contained the precious china. She lifted out the first gold-edged cup, so fragile that when she held the bowl to the light streaming through the window, she could see her hand through the porcelain.

  Wenna unpacked the whole box of treasures carefully, also revealing a silver tea service, complete with an elaborate serving tray. In the very bottom of the box sat a small parcel wrapped in tissue. The paper had disintegrated, and when she blew off the fragments, a tiny portrait of a lady with pale blonde ringlets around her face dressed high in the style of yesteryear stared up at her. Wenna noted a likeness to Devon in the lady’s blue eyes. She fingered the gold frame into which brilliants had been set, before putting aside the delicate portrait.

  Then she washed every piece of the setting for twenty and stacked the china on the shelf in the storeroom. Now, if any of Devon’s friends should happen to call, at least she could offer an armchair, a dainty cup for tea, and a portrait to admire, though she certainly hoped none would arrive before she had furnished the room. When she could, she planned to buy a dining table and chairs, as the area now doubled the size of the lodgings. Wenna had great plans, which before dinner that evening she began to explain to Devon. “A table and chairs, and curtains. I should also like to buy a larger carpet. Will you trust me as
to the colors?”

  He glanced around the largely empty space, his expression noncommittal. “You’re working far too hard, my love. I think...yes, tomorrow I will take a day off and we’ll go to the hills for a picnic.”

  She glanced down, disappointed. She wanted him to care about his accommodation. He had said he was proud of her. She wanted him to be even prouder. “I don’t have time for picnics.”

  “As I said, you’re working too hard. I’ll order a basket from Snow in the morning, and we’ll have a nice relaxing day.”

  She swallowed, her mind searching around for a way to cancel her appointments. If she raced down to Madame Fleur’s now... No, she would have to explain to Devon, and she didn’t like lying to him. She also didn’t like letting her customers down and if she didn’t appear, two ladies would be put out. That wasn’t a way to run a good business. Aside from that, she had already changed out of her working black gown for dinner.

  She decided she could at least let Maisie know, and Maisie could in turn let Mrs. Busby know, and relay Wenna’s apologies. She sat with Devon in The Pig and Whistle in an agony of anticipation, waiting for Maisie to attend the table. Finally, while ordering the roast pork from her apprentice, she said, “Mr. Courtney and I are going on a picnic tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Where?” Maisie’s eyebrows lifted in query.

  “In the Beaumont area.” Devon smiled at the waitress as charmingly as always. “My wife works too hard. She needs a day off.”

  “Really.” Maisie sounded dour. “Must be nice to take off time whenever you choose. Didn’t you have somethink else to do?”

  “Such a lot, but I couldn’t disappoint Mr. Courtney. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone else either.” Wenna waggled her eyebrows at Maisie. The waitress knew Devon wasn’t to know about Wenna’s business.

  Maisie stood staring at her. “No. That would be bad.” She wrinkled her brow. “Nor would I, but I was thinkin’ of telling Mr. Snow that I might go down to part-time work here. Got meself—myself—another part-time job, and I might be needed there more often.”

  Wenna nodded frantically. “That sounds like such a good idea, Maisie.”

  “What other job do you have, Maisie?” Devon looked curious.

  “I’ve got work in a hat shop. I’d rather be there than here, that’s for sure.”

  “A hat shop. Ah.” Devon took a long sip of his ale. “I’m pleased for you, but Snow will be disappointed to be losing you.”

  “He won’t be losing me for a while yet.” Maisie sailed off.

  Wenna heaved a sigh of relief. If Maisie could do the afternoon hairdos, all would be well. Unfortunately, Wenna would have to put off going through the other boxes until another day.

  * * * *

  Devon slept like a hibernating bear, knowing he didn’t need to leap out of bed early. He enjoyed not dressing in his old working clothes. Instead, he had the pleasure of watching Wenna put on a pretty morning gown in place of the black she donned each day, obviously for her housework duties. Why she insisted on cleaning all day he couldn’t imagine. The place was already spotless after weeks of her tending. And he didn’t want her to make his lodgings into a home. He was building a home, which they could both occupy very comfortably if he didn’t have to return to Cornwall. If he didn’t give her a baby, perhaps he could put off leaving for an extra month.

  He heaved a breath. Today he intended showing her the land he had bought and his almost-completed house in the foothills. If she liked the place, if she approved, perhaps she would want to stay in the colony for a year longer. Another year would give him a chance to see if his vines flourished, if his fruit trees took, and if he could collect enough water for his household. If not, he would have to drill a bore. He would like to know that before he left.

  While Wenna tidied the kitchen, he went to the hotel and collected his picnic basket, which he dropped off in the lodgings. Next, he hiked off to the livery, where he hired a two-wheeled gig and an even-tempered piebald.

  The sun shone on the city rooftops, glinting on the slate, beaming in the cloudless blue sky. He’d chosen a perfect autumn day, a little on the hot side, but a person got used to the dry heat in this southern land. Wenna’s smart little hat did nothing to shade her face, but she now owned a parasol, which she held upright as he traversed the busy streets on his way to the road that twisted up into the foothills.

  As he passed through streets of houses, he noted once again the clever planning of the city, with single houses built on plots of all shapes and sizes. A variety of stonework had been used. Slate roofs had begun to dot the landscape now that the mines were up and running. These days, the old natives stone was rarely used other than as sidings. Now that the brickworks had been established, red brick had become more popular although the bluestone was still prevalent.

  “In the box of porcelain, I found a portrait of a young lady,” Wenna said, interrupting his musing.

  He turned to her. “Oh. Who is she?”

  “I’ve no idea. I forgot to show her to you last night. The painting is about the size of my palm, and the lady has blond ringlets and blue eyes. The frame is very pretty.”

  “I’ll have to see it when we get back, but it might be my mother.” He smiled, pleased. “I thought my father had sent me enough to set up a small place of my own. I can’t imagine him doing such a strangely sentimental thing as sending me a reminder of my mother.”

  “I think he must have meant all the paintings to be a reminder of home. They’ll make our new combination dining-drawing room look very gracious.”

  He nodded. “I’m not expecting to entertain, you know.”

  “If you’re worried about furnishing the room, don’t. I can pay for almost everything we need.”

  “I don’t think Waldo Brook will give you a fortune. His two pounds might buy a few chairs or a table, but not much more.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of that money, which he hasn’t sent yet. I have the money you gave me to waste on gambling, plus the money I won.”

  “You won money?” He stared at her. “I thought you’d lost the lot.”

  “Any man silly enough to give a woman money to lose deserves to have her lose it for him. This is why I have decided the money is mine. So, I have three pounds from gambling and the two you owed me because Mr. Brook didn’t pay me. That should be enough to buy a whole suite of furniture.”

  “I have never priced furniture, but I expect you are right.” Whatever she bought could be transferred to the gatehouse after they left. He flicked the reins and turned the horse onto the street before the tollgate. Silver had been mined here in the early days, but the mine had played out long since. “Hold on to the side of the gig, because the road is bumpy here.”

  She lowered her parasol and glanced around. “This doesn’t look like a picnic spot.”

  “It’s a beautiful place with a full view of the city and the sea. I’m going to show you the house I’ve been building.”

  “The house you work on every day?”

  “See the trees? See how thickly they grow here? And the birds, thousands of them. The native parakeets feast on the she-oaks and those little lorikeets eat all the fruit and seeds. The place is a paradise. My house is at the end of this road.” The horse began to pull up the steep incline through the trees, but soon enough the makeshift road leveled out. Dev’s ten acres came into view. “There, ahead of you. See? All the walls are built. We’ll be putting on the roof next.”

  She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Someone appears to be hauling up the beams. Do you plan to stop?”

  “What? And be caught slacking with you when I ought to be working? Not on your life. I’m taking you farther up the hill to the vineyard.”

  She laughed. “You are shameless. You don’t feel a scrap of guilt about taking time off and don’t pretend you do. Oh, look. We can see the whole of the city from here.”

  “And the sea. You can even see the port over there.
Where else but Adelaide would you find a view like this?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere but in this colony.” In the morning sunshine, her beauty stood stark and clear, her profile elegant with her straight nose and determined jaw. For a moment, she looked bereft, but the moment passed so quickly that he might have imagined the regret on her face. “But I’m sure the views in England are much prettier.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. The eye of the beholder, and all that. Let me show you around.” After pulling the horse to a stop, he eased on the brake. The sun sat at midday, directly overhead. The trees rustled with birds. Pine and eucalyptus fragrance, released by the sun, hovered in the air, and the freshly lifted soil added a fresh aroma. He could look over the rooftops of the houses below. This was the place to build, where he could see the whole of the capital city and watch the suburbs expand. Here he could grow his vines and his trees and nestle with his woman, breeding happy, healthy, confident, loved children.

  He put his arm around her waist and surveyed all he owned. “See these furrows? The terraces will be grape vines, grown in commercial numbers. Over there is where the olive trees will grow. Around the house, apples, pears, oranges, and lemons. The weather will sustain the Mediterranean plants. Nearer to the house will be the vegetable patch and the chickens, and maybe a goat or two, or a cow. How does that sound to you?”

  “Very rural. Though, I think the owner has planned a lovely, simple sort of life. I envy him, being so self-sufficient. He can mix country living while being no more than twenty minutes from the city.”

  “We could spread the blanket down over there and eat lunch while we are lords of all we survey. I’ll get the basket.”

  The horse was grazing happily when he removed the basket from the gig, placing the food where Wenna indicated, on a nest of low-growing native ground cover under a large she-oak. She settled herself on the blanket and peered into the basket. “This looks like a feast.”