She was a goddess. This pleasure was her birthright—why had she ever denied herself of it? She moved faster, deeper, obeying the deep rhythm she felt coming from her core, and was rewarded with another wave of bliss. Carstairs moaned beneath her; Lady Chiltern tightened further around him, wanting him to feel her, wanting to see the way he closed his eyes as if afraid of falling to pieces.
It was happening again; the slow unfurling of her climax, threatening to overwhelm her completely—but this time, this time she was at the heart of the movement, more able to control it than before. She could feel it in her bones, every part of her trembling. She sank eagerly downwards, rising and falling again and again as she chased it; that elusive thread of pleasure that she had caught the previous night, the one that wove so tightly into her blood and brain and heart that she felt half-enslaved by it.
She reached down hungrily for Carstairs’ hands; instead his strong arms wrapped around her, pulling him to her, his chest hot and hard against her breasts as he met her increasingly desperate thrusts with his own. His harsh, low moan in her ear, the tight grip of his fingers as his hand moved down to guide her thighs, spurred her on to a heady, drunken feeling of near-perilous excitement.
She didn’t want him to break apart from her before he climaxed. Good God, she was past the age when children were a concern; she wanted to feel him inside her, just as she had before, even if he had seen fit to apologise as if it had been some sort of mistake. It was no mistake, no mistake at all—it was the only way it could end, in a just world.
‘Catherine.’ The sound of her own name from Carstairs’ lips sent an indescribable shock of pleasure through her. ‘I… oh, God.’
He was asking permission; warning her that things were coming to a head. So considerate, as always—a rush of pure love came to Lady Chiltern as naturally as breathing, making the pleasure coursing through her all the sweeter. His kindness was so evident, so fundamental, that it ennobled anything he did—even now, in the breathless heat of the moment, begging for the ultimate liberty.
‘Yes.’ Lady Chiltern whispered in his ear, helpless against the potent force of his thrusts; against the needs of her own body, propelling her towards her climax with the power of a shooting star. Permission for him, yes—but also permission for herself, to take her pleasure as a queen took her spoils. ‘It’s yours. All yours. Yes.’
The wave of pleasure felt different this time; more deliberate, more triumphant. Last night she had been caught unawares by it; this time she knew it was coming, even if the intensity was previously unmatched, and could prepare for the abandonment that would come.
She wanted Carstairs’ mouth on hers; she kissed him hard, ferocious in her need for him. The fireworks came, exploding over her head—but she was the light as well, the very stars above, even if they were hidden by the morning sky.
With a high, breathless cry of pleasure, she abandoned herself to the moment. She heard Carstairs moan too, somewhere very far away; she clutched at him tightly, needing im with her, feeling him tense as he sank deeper inside her once, twice, three times. The room went gold, then white—then slowly, very slowly, dwindled back down to her normal surroundings.
Carstairs gently pulled the blankets over them both. Lady Chiltern dismounted, snuggling back into the warmth, resting her head against his chest with a sigh that mingled exhaustion and satisfaction in equal measure. For long, uncounted minutes she lay against him, hearing the wind blow through the upper floors with far less irritation than she had the evening before.
She had never had a morning in which she had woken twice; first to consciousness, then to pleasure. As she listened to Carstairs’ heartbeat, strong and steady, she smiled at the thought of having more mornings where twice-awakening was treated as a habit. There was so much to explore… so much time wasted.
‘I suppose sheets cannot be left luxuriously tangled on the floor in every room I happen to pass through, in case I wish to throw you atop them.’ She laughed at her own daring. ‘Or perhaps I can. The maids will wonder why I am suddenly in need of so much laundry.’
‘Yes.’ Carstairs’ voice was distant; more distant than Lady Chiltern wished.
‘What has happened?’ She turned his face to look at hers, noting the pain in his eyes with a growing sense of panic. ‘Tell me your thoughts.’
‘My thoughts are not meant to trouble you.’ Carstairs smiled, but the lack of humour was evident in his face. ‘All is well.’
‘It is most certainly not.’ Lady Chiltern frowned. ‘Have we learned nothing from all our years of pretending all is well? The truth will out, John.’
‘Your question from earlier. How long we have… well, it lessens with every passing minute. I believe that the time has come for me to become Carstairs again.’ The look in Carstairs’ eyes brought a lump to Lady Chiltern’s throat, even as his voice remained determinedly light. ‘Now that the sun is coming out, and the day progresses. Best that we begin to remember who we are.’
‘... I am well aware of who I am.’ Lady Chiltern knew that his words were rational—which did not explain the sudden tears springing to her eyes. ‘I believed that I had made you aware of who you are to me.’
‘I know who I am to you, even though I can barely believe it.’ Carstairs’ mouth twisted bitterly. ‘But you and I are not the only people in the world.’
‘What do I care for the world? I was constrained to care for it during my first marriage, and only carried on caring for it out of the most atrociously dull force of habit.’ Lady Chiltern folded her arms. ‘I do not intend to let the world speak a single word about my second.’
‘Second what?’
‘Marriage, of course.’ Lady Chiltern paused, one hand flying to her mouth. ‘That is to say, I—I had—well, perhaps I should not have assumed.’ She stared at Carstairs, who looked as if he had been hit with something heavy. ‘Which is not to say that I assumed so very much, of course. That would have been most presumptuous—’
She stopped, utterly shocked, as Carstairs’ mouth covered hers. The kiss was deep, searching; a new layer of rawness, of vulnerability, was present in the urgency with which he pulled her to him.
‘It would be the honour of my life.’ He gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. ‘But I cannot see how it could ever be possible.’
‘It is possible in the usual way.’ Lady Chiltern fought the urge to stamp her foot. ‘The question is asked, the answer is given, and the banns are read.’
‘And your friends? Your place in society?’ Carstairs shook his head. ‘You would lose everything.’
‘What nonsense. Would I lose my wealth? No! If anything, giving you access to the accounts would finally mean that someone with sense is in charge. Enough sense to repair the roof when it needs it, at least. And the few truly sister-like friends that remain to me have seen you tending to me for years. If anything, they will be grateful that you will finally be seated beside me instead of standing awkwardly in a corner.’ A thought struck Lady Chiltern. ‘Unless you are worried about what those close to you will think.’
Carstairs looked down, a half-embarrassed hint of a smile on his face. ‘I believe my dearest friends will feel much the same as your dearest friends, even if the subject has never been so much as hinted at.’
‘Then those obstacles have blown away in the Christmas morning air, to the chirruping of robins.’ Lady Chiltern smiled. ‘Do you see?’
‘And your daughters? Carstairs reached for her hands, holding them, clearly weighing his words carefully. ‘They… they are used to seeing me as a help-meet. A subordinate. As wonderful as they have become, I doubt such an enormous change will sit well with them.’
‘I think you are giving my daughters too little credit. They have always followed their hearts—possibly because I allowed Daisy and Iris to pursue their hearts, rather than the good sense of their weary mother.’
‘Daisy and Iris’s pursuit of their hearts has brought one of them immense wealth, and the oth
er one of the most respectable surnames in England. Their hearts have been tremendously practical, when all is said and done.’ Carstairs looked at Lady Chiltern, his smile tinged with sadness. ‘Your heart, as unutterably precious as it is, has not made a similarly wise choice.’
I have raised Daisy and Iris to be wise, and understanding.’ Lady Chiltern rested her head against Carstairs’ shoulder, taking comfort from the warmth of his body. ‘I know I have.’
‘And the way they conduct themselves is a credit to the woman who raised them.’ Carstairs gently kissed her temple. ‘But this… this may be a bridge too far.’
‘I cannot believe it. I cannot—and I will not.’ Lady Chiltern stubbornly shook her head, snuggling deeper into his shoulder.
‘And why not?’
‘Because—because good Lord, they must see what sacrifices I have made for them. What sadness I endured to give them a father, as absent as he was—what loneliness I took upon myself, to give them a family when they most needed it.’ Lady Chiltern shut her eyes, trying to stop tears from falling. ‘I… I cannot, and will not, believe that they would deny me this happiness now.’
There was no falsehood in her words; she really could not believe that her daughters would not accept such a decision. Not because it was impossible; it was entirely possible. But the idea of turning back, of living without the joy that she had only just allowed herself, felt like something worse than death.
‘Whatever may occur, you will be alright.’ Carstairs kissed the top of her head. ‘I will be quite alright as well. I assure you of this.’
‘I do not believe one word of it.’
‘And you do not have to—but you do have to listen to my soothing voice, and be calmed by it.’ Carstairs kissed her again, lingering a little longer. ‘It has always worked before, in the face of any calamity.’
‘True.’ Lady Chiltern sniffed. ‘It really is deeply irritating, when I think about it. It should not work.’
‘And yet, it does. Think on it.’ It was true; his tone, deliberately low and calm, was lulling her into a state approaching calm. ‘I pride myself on my ability to both irritate and soothe.’
‘And make me laugh.’ Lady Chiltern smiled.
‘That too.’
‘And… and John?’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’
Carstairs smiled, slowly and gently; Lady Chiltern, opening her eyes, felt as if a sunbeam had fallen on her skin. ‘I love you too, Catherine. Whatever may occur… I love you.’
Shortly after these tender words were spoken, the snowy roads surrounding Chiltern village were witness to a rapidly-moving carriage. Taking advantage of the cleared tracks, pristine snow piled high on either side of the road, four smart horses puffed and whinnied their way through the white-blanketed countryside.
‘Well. The snow appears to have overheard our conversation at LeClerc’s, and decided to aid us in our matchmaking.’ Daisy Chiltern looked out of the carriage window with a slightly concerned expression, miles of untouched white landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. ‘Thank goodness they have cleared the roads to an acceptable standard.’
‘It doesn’t feel acceptable to me.’ Matthew, his face mutinous, gripped the seat with every jerk and rattle of the carriage. ‘While you all coo over the glittering snow, I am forced to endure every bump with twice the sensitivity of the sighted clods.’
‘Clods!’ Daisy folded her arms, smiling. ‘Why, you should be thrown out of the window for referring to me thus.’
‘Not you, darling. You remain the light of my life, and flower of my every endeavour.’ Matthew smiled, then winced as the carriage hit yet another clump of frozen snow. ‘I was merely referring to your sister and brother-in-law.’
‘I am happy to sail over every bump, safe in the knowledge that Mother is only a little way away now.’ Iris sighed happily at her husband Simon, who gently patted her hand. ‘It has to have worked. I am sure of it.’
‘We cannot be sure of anything.’ Daisy looked out of the window of the carriage again, charmed at the way the sunlight made the birch trees sparkle. ‘But we can rest assured that we did everything that we possibly could. Even the weather had aided us.’
‘How wonderful it will be, to happen upon them!’ Iris clapped her hands. ‘He will be seated, perhaps, Mother’s hand in his—or perhaps he will be kneeling. Oh, how glorious that would be, if we were to arrive in the middle of his declaration of love, or a proposal—’
She stopped with a small shriek as a fist pounded on the glass window. Simon, pounding on the ceiling to halt the driver, opened the carriage door to a very red-faced Laurence.
‘That’s it. Hang it all, I’ve had enough.’ He clambered into the carriage, ignoring Iris’s gasp of surprise. ‘It is freezing out there.’
‘We did invite you to sit with us at the start.’ Daisy laughed. ‘You can only blame yourself for your current condition.’
‘My current condition leaves me frozen in places that polite society would only dare to guess at.’ Laurence glared in mock annoyance at Iris’s scandalised laughter. ‘And given how much I have done in the last week to hasten the social decline of the once-great Chiltern name, forgive me for not lolling in a coach alongside my betters in search of warm feet.’
‘If we have schemed correctly, Monsieur Martin, our mother will soon be married to the butler.’ Daisy smiled. ‘The word betters is something of a stretch.’
‘You are forgetting your illustrious marriages—marriages which I did play something of a part in bringing about, if we are to speak plainly.’ Laurence rubbed his hands together, blowing on them.
‘As much as I would adore to be the saviour of Iris’s name, I bring no name of my own. Just money—anyone can have money, these days.’ Simon shrugged apologetically. ‘If anything, I’ve brought her down in the world.’
‘And you did so splendidly.’ Iris beamed at her husband.
‘And Daisy married me when the Benson name still meant something.’ Matthew grinned crookedly, the humour in his expression still evident despite the black cloth obscuring his eyes. ‘If you’ll remember, my sister recently scandalised all and sundry by marrying a dressmaker. Now a very rich dressmaker, but still—a dressmaker.’
‘We have already come down in the world. Fallen quite precipitously, in fact.’ Iris brought a hand to her mouth, yawning prettily. ‘Now do stop complaining about it, Monsieur Martin, and sit. It is quite warm in here, among the ruined.’
As Laurence sat, grumbling still, Simon knocked on the roof to alert the driver. With a whinny of the horses, powdery snow flying up under their hooves, the carriage progressed onward.
Despite her calm words, Daisy couldn’t help but feel a little afraid. Her plans were normally so methodical; Matthew frequently poked fun at her for it. This seemingly cheerful plot had so many ways of descending into farce… and the stakes were higher, so very much higher, than she had previously imagined.
They were gambling with their mother’s happiness. Not thoughtlessly; they had thought about it an awful lot, she and Iris, whenever they had seen the way her mother came to life with Carstairs in the room. But still, gambling. When it came to affairs of the heart, even the most jaded gambler had to feel a twinge of conscience—and Daisy, who had never so much as gambled on a game of whist, felt a certain moral sting.
She looked down, adjusting her skirts, as the carriage rolled onto the snowy drive of Chiltern Manor. The wheels moved sluggishly through the snow, the house coming slowly into view, until cries of alarm brought the carriage to an abrupt halt.
‘Good Lord, the roof! Above the bedrooms—why, it has completely fallen in!’ Simon peered out of the window, his face taut with alarm. ‘We must see if your mother and Carstairs are well.’
‘Wait. There is smoke coming from the chimney.’ Daisy looked narrowly at the house, her hand tightening around Matthew’s palm as she took silent strength from her husband. ‘Do you see? They are well. They have to be
.’
‘We should at least knock on the door, instead of sitting here like potatoes in a patch.’ Laurence rolled his eyes. ‘Otherwise we will be sitting until dark.’
‘No. We wait.’ Iris looked at Daisy, a brief flash of sisterly understanding passing between them. ‘Mother always comes to greet us before we reach the house. She will have been waiting for us.’
They sat silent, waiting, as the horses stamped their hooves on the snowy drive. Daisy held Matthew’s hand tightly, needing his solid, steady presence beside her, as her own amorphous fears made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Perhaps they had miscalculated. Perhaps their ruse had been discovered; Mother would be offended, and Carstairs would be dreadfully ashamed. Perhaps something even worse had occurred; the roof had injured one of them gravely, leaving the other without help or assistance in a time of great need…
No. She could not fall prey to idle fantasies, each one darker than the last. She had to hope, even if hope felt more foolish than fear.
More waiting. More silent looks of worry passing between everyone in the carriage. More seconds slipping away, each one more tense than the one that preceded it… and then, then, the door of Chiltern Manor opened. Daisy watched, rapt, as two figures came to the door—her mother and Carstairs, her mother wearing the beautiful gown that Jean had made for her.
They were holding hands. As soon as they walked into the crisp winter light, they separated—but Daisy had seen them. Holding hands, as if they had held hands all their lives, and would hold hands again as soon as they knew they could.
A strange shiver of balance, of a disordered world briefly falling into place, ran through her. This, this exact picture, was how it was always meant to have been; the glowing, smiling woman on the left was her mother, as radiant as early spring in her gown, while the man on the right was her father. Her father; the man who had taken care of her since she was a girl, patiently guiding her towards the woman that she had become.
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