“Would you like to?” He set his sack of provisions down in order to help her over the remains of a stone wall.
“Yes, I think so. It’s only the day after tomorrow, and I suppose we’ll still be here.”
“You sound a little less resentful of that fact than you did this morning.”
“I suppose I’ve become accustomed to my situation,” she replied. “And it does have its compensations.” She paused to gaze up at the sky. “It will be dusk soon. Dark by the time we get home.”
“I have plenty of lamps.”
“Still, it would be a pity to waste oil.”
He chuckled and offered his elbow again. “You are right, of course. I do appreciate a thrifty viscountess.”
“There is something I have been wanting to try.” Clarissa watched James carry their used crockery to the small sink.
They had just feasted on scrambled eggs and toast, a meal she had prepared. Her culinary skills were not extensive, but she was pleased with her efforts, and James had had no complaints.
“Oh yes? And what is that,” he asked.
“Come and sit down, and I shall tell you.”
He sank back into his seat. “Well?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, and I have no gift for you.”
“I know that.”
“You gave me these lovely earrings.” She stroked the gold baubles hanging from her earlobe. They were set with emeralds and amethysts, the purple and green colours of the Women’s Social and Political Union. “Such a thoughtful present.”
“I purchased them a few days ago, in London. They seemed exactly right for you. And, of course, I had a few hours in which to pack to come here so I had the foresight to bring them with me in case our stay was a lengthy one. You did not have that luxury.”
“Even so, I want to give you something.” She stood and skirted around the table to stand before him.
“What do you have in mind, Cassie?”
She dropped to her knees. “This.” She reached for the fastenings on his trousers and freed his cock.
“Ah,” he murmured as her intent became clear. “That.”
She tugged at his trousers. He helpfully lifted his hips so she could remove any impediment to her project. Satisfied, she shuffled closer and cupped his balls in her hand. The other she fisted around the shaft of his engorged cock.
“I like to look at you. To touch you.” She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “I have never tasted you.” She rubbed the crown with the pad of her thumb, smearing the droplets of clear liquid over the head.
“Feel free.” He leaned back, his eyes closed.
I do. I truly do.
Clarissa flicked out her tongue first, lapped at the smooth dome, savouring the salty tang. Then she ran the tip all around and under the rim at the front. She was rewarded by a low groan and a thrust of his hips.
“You like that?” she enquired politely.
“You know I do,” he ground out.
“And this? Do you like this, too?” She parted her lips and took the head inside. It was large, filled her mouth entirely. She swallowed, hollowed out her cheeks, and sucked.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed.
Encouraged, she pulled him deeper, easing the head of his erection to the back of her throat until she gagged. Then she paused, swallowed again, waited until the reflex subsided. She opened her mouth wider and concentrated on breathing through her nose. In, out, slow, calm. She wrapped her tongue around the underside of his cock and bobbed her head back and forth, gaining a fraction more of his length with each stroke. She rocked steadily, managing to control her breathing and her gag reflex as James twitched and writhed and swore under his breath.
She weighed his balls in her hand, squeezed them, rolled the orbs in her hand. With her other she grasped the remaining part of his shaft, that portion she could not get into her mouth, and pumped up and down.
“Jesus, girl, unless you want a mouthful of cum, you need to stop now.” His fingers were in her hair, grasping, twisting, holding her head still.
Clarissa made a sound deep in her throat, a sound of denial, of determination. She shook her head to dislodge his grip, rocked back and forth sharply, and sucked harder. She was rewarded by a stream of profanity from James, and the next instant, a hot gush of semen filled her throat. She swallowed again, cleared her airway, and continued to caress his balls as more ribbons of cum surged forth. She swallowed each, licking at his cock until the last droplets were gone. Only then did she release his cock and sit back on her heels, a smirk of satisfaction across her face.
“Merry Christmas, James.” She smiled up at him, then lifted a finger to sweep away one stray dribble that had escaped to trickle down her chin. She licked her digit, then pursed her lips to blow him a kiss. “That was an interesting experience.”
“You think so?” James leaned forward, his own features decidedly strained. “Then I can promise you will soon have another. I suggest you spend the next ten minutes washing the dishes from our meal while I recover from your…ministrations. Then you can come back over here, without your underdrawers, naturally, and straddle my thighs. You will sink down onto my cock and fuck me into oblivion. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, James. That seems a fair exchange for my gorgeous earrings.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I might yet decide to spank you.”
“A man is surely not entitled to spank a woman who is not his wife.”
“I consider you a work in progress, Cassie. Now move.”
She hopped to her feet, raised her skirt, and removed her underdrawers. She was still laughing when she sauntered past him and dropped them on his face.
Chapter 10
“More brandy butter, sir?” Mr Bainbridge offered the bowl to James. “My wife makes the best brandy butter for a hundred miles. It’s the main reason I wed her.”
“Aye,” his wife laughed, helping herself to another slice of the succulent fruitcake which now graced the centre of the table. The remains of their Christmas lunch, a leg of pork with a mountain of vegetables and every variety of potato known to James, had been cleared away to make room for the desserts. “That and the thirty acres of fine grazing meadow I brought with me. An’ for all that ’e comes from four generations o’ farmers, my husband can’t milk a cow if his life depended on it.”
“A woman has to have her uses,” the farmer affirmed. “I have no complaints.” He beamed at his wife. “Thirty-two years this spring, and four fine boys all grown and gone now. Though our William, he’s the youngest, should be back in the summer, once he’s done wi’ that college an’ the agricultural course his mother insisted on.”
“He’s a bright boy, and there’s more to farming these days than just plantin’ turnips. Education is the future, don’t you agree, sir?”
There was a momentary gap in the lively chatter, and James managed to get a word in. “I do. Four boys, did you say?”
Mr Bainbridge nodded. “Aye, four. One’s i’ the army, an’ two moved to Derby for work. A farm this size can only really support one family, an’ our William was the one who fancied workin’ the land. You’ll meet him, I expect, next time yer up here, sir.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” James replied. “And Clarissa, too.”
“Oh, so ye’ll be back then, love?” Mrs Bainbridge offered Clarissa a warm smile. “See, I told ye so, did I not?” Her question was addressed to her husband. “An’ they make a lovely couple. I said that, too, did I not?”
“Aye, lass, ye did,” Mr Bainbridge agreed. “Several times.”
Mrs Bainbridge warmed to her theme. “So, ye’ll be plannin’ to be wed, then? I daresay a nice big do, down at that posh house o’ yours. I shall look out for it i’ the paper. The Derby Daily Telegraph usually has that sort o’ thing in, being as how there’s a connection to here, what wi’ you bein’ a regular visitor, like, sir. Would anyone like a cup of tea wi’ me, or are ye fancyin’ something stronger?”
�
��You stay sat down, lass. You’ve been on your feet all morning. I’ll get it.” Her husband got up from the table and went to fill the large copper kettle. He placed it on the top of the huge stove which took up most of one wall in the farmhouse kitchen then glanced back over his shoulder at the people seated around his table. “My Florrie loves a good wedding, aye she does. Always naggin’ at our lads to find themselves a nice girl, but none o’ them has framed themselves yet.”
“There’s plenty o’ time for all of that,” his wife replied. “An’ you do seem to have found a lovely lass, sir, if I may say so.”
“I have,” James agreed.
“You’ve been lucky, then,” Mr Bainbridge observed. “There’s not that many of us find the right one first time. I did, an’ I can see that you have. Now, do either o’ ye take sugar?”
James reached for Clarissa’s hand beneath the tablecloth. He was conscious of her silence throughout the exchange. He found her fingers and squeezed. She responded with a small squeeze of her own.
“I don’t want a big do,” she whispered, so quietly he almost did not catch it.
“You don’t?”
She shook her head. “Something nice and quiet. Just you and me, and…and…”
“Witnesses? We’d need a couple of those.”
“Yes. Just you and me and the witnesses. A private ceremony, not a lot of fuss.”
He grinned at her. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, I just needed to work on you, help you to see the merits of being a viscountess. My viscountess.”
She eyed him with mock sternness. “Steady, James. You are in danger of sounding like an arrogant, overconfident bore. And no one likes one of those.”
“You do. You love me. Go on, admit it.” He leaned toward her, his lips just a fraction from hers. “Say you love me, Cassie.”
“I love you. But that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.”
He grinned and brushed his lips briefly over hers. “But it does mean I get to marry you.”
“Yes. Yes, it does. If you insist.”
Now he kissed her properly, only releasing her when Mr Bainbridge cleared his throat loudly from across the kitchen.
“It seems congratulations are called for, Florrie. Never mind tea, do we still have some of that good elderflower wine you made the year afore last?”
“Aye, I think we do. I shall just go and fetch it.”
“No, wait.” James resolved to strike whilst the iron was hot. He swung his gaze from the farmer to his wife. “I wonder, are you two likely to be free, say…the day after tomorrow?”
The Bainbridges looked to each other in puzzlement. “I daresay. I don’t think we’re busy that day. No more than the usual, in any case,” the farmer explained.
“Well, then, I wonder if you would be so kind as to stand as witnesses for us.”
“As…witnesses? Us?” Florrie Bainbridge plopped back into her seat. “You mean, at your wedding?”
“Yes,” James confirmed. “The day after tomorrow. If the vicar can fit us in. I shall need to hike down into Ashbourne and talk to him first thing in the morning.”
Three pairs of eyes regarded him in astonishment. Clarissa spoke first.
“We can’t get married the day after tomorrow. We need to get a licence, publish the banns, and…and…”
“I told you, I came prepared, and my preparations ran to more than just buying you some pretty earrings. I have a special licence. I obtained it three days after you came back to Smallwood, in fact. And I also have my mother’s engagement and wedding rings back at the lodge, though of course I would be intending to buy you your own in due course. So all we need now are the witnesses and a church. And a vicar, as I said.”
“You want us to stand up wi’ ye?” Florrie Bainbridge appeared to be on the point of collapse. “Are ye sure?”
“Quite sure,” James confirmed. “Will you do it?”
“I… I don’t—” She fanned her face with her hand, though the effort seemed to have little effect.
“Of course we will. We shall be honoured, sir.” Mr Bainbridge rushed across the room to grasp James’ hand and shook it warmly. “I think I’d best go get that wine. My wife is too flustered, and she’d only bring the poor stuff we keep for when my brother an’ his brood come round. First, though, I need to kiss the bonny bride to be?”
James had no opportunity to reply before Clarissa was seized in two beefy hands and soundly kissed on both cheeks. She appeared to weather it well enough, only to be set upon next by Mrs Bainbridge who insisted upon hugging her and patting her between the shoulder blades so hard that Clarissa’s eyes watered.
Or perhaps it was the emotion of the occasion. Christ, he hoped so…
Three days later, 28 December 1912
I can’t believe this is happening…
Clarissa glanced down at the gorgeous white wedding dress and absently smoothed a near-enough invisible wrinkle from the full satin skirt.
“Do I look all right? Really?”
“Aye, lass.” Mr Bainbridge beamed at her, a telltale twinkle in his eyes as he eyed her up and down. “Ye make a right picture, almost as bonny as my Florrie did when she wore that self-same dress over thirty years back. I shall never forget the sight she made, walking down that aisle. I near enough fainted on the spot.”
“It was so kind of your wife to lend it to me. And I can’t believe it’s such a good fit. It barely needed any alterations at all.”
“She was right glad to.”
“It must be very precious to her, if she saved it for all these years.”
“Aye, well, it should see the light o’ day from time to time, an’ it’s a lucky frock is that. We both hope it’ll bring you as much happiness as we’ve had.”
“I believe we make our own luck, Mr Bainbridge. But a lovely dress always helps.”
“Aye, I expect ye’re right.” He reached to help her adjust the lace veil, and between them they arranged it so it covered the upper half of her face. The strains of The Wedding March reached them from inside the seventeenth century parish church on the outskirts of Ashbourne. “Sounds like they’re ready for us, lass.”
Clarissa drew in along, deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned to face the arched wooden doors.
This is it. This is really it.
James had been as good as his word, more or less. They had to wait an extra day as the Reverend Hinsley had a funeral booked for the day James originally wanted. He produced his special licence and was able to secure the church, the vicar, and even the organist who now serenaded her as she took the first steps on her slow, stately walk to the altar. The vicar’s wife had arranged some flowers, and the Bainbridges insisted on a wedding breakfast at the Royal Oak to follow the ceremony. Mr Bainbridge’s cousin was the landlord there and had been persuaded to provide some refreshments and champagne for the toast. There would not be many guests, just the handful of souls directly involved, but this was exactly as Clarissa wanted it. No frills, apart from the ones around the bottom of her dress. No fuss. Just the pair of them, their vows, and their future laid out before them.
Her hand tucked in the crook of Mr Bainbridge’s arm, she entered the church, her steps slowed by the shuffling progress of the elderly man who had declared himself right proud to give her away. They rounded the corner and entered the main body of the church. Mr Bainbridge, his sense of occasion impeccable, halted.
At the end of the aisle, James waited. Had they been married at Smallwood with all the usual pomp and circumstance, Clarissa imagined he would have been decked out in full military regalia. As it was, he looked perfectly splendid in a smart, dark suit and shirt the colour of buttermilk. His tie was a bright emerald green to complement the jewels in her earrings, the only jewellery she wore.
Mrs Bainbridge was seated in the front row of pews, behind James and to his right. She watched Clarissa and her escort over her shoulder, dabbing at her eyes with a large white handkerchief.
The Reverend Hins
ley stood before the altar, perfectly splendid in his ecclesiastical robes, his hands clasped as though in prayer. He smiled his encouragement when she entered.
James watched her enter the church, his expression one of wonderment when he caught his first glimpse of her dress. Clarissa tilted her chin up. She knew she appeared every inch the viscountess and silently blessed her new friends for their generosity. Simple and unfussy was one thing, but dowdy would have been quite another.
Mr Bainbridge patted her hand, his signal that they should move forward. He led the way, Clarissa beside him, her smile more and more radiant as she neared the small group assembled, waiting for her. At last, she was there, beside James. Mr Bainbridge lifted her hand from his arm and placed it in James’. He gave a brief nod and stepped aside to take a seat next to his wife.
“You are beautiful,” James whispered. “Stunning.”
“You, too,” she murmured.
James peeled back the veil and quirked his lips in a smile. He bent to kiss her but was halted by Reverend Hinsley’s subtle throat-clearing. They both turned to face the vicar.
Head tilted to one side, the clergyman regarded the pair of them with his solemn gaze. Then he raised his hands as though addressing Heaven itself.
“Dearly beloved,” he intoned, his voice ringing around the huge empty space, filling the church to the rafters. “We are gathered here together….”
“Congratulations, my lord, my lady.” The landlord at the Royal Oak, who Mr Bainbridge introduced as ‘Our Albert’, beamed as he ushered them into the best room at his inn. “Come in, come in. I hope everything is to your satisfaction, sir.”
Food had been laid out on a long table to one end, a selection of sandwiches and cooked meats. Several bottles of good champagne waited to be called into service to toast their future happiness.
“It’s all quite perfect, thank you,” James assured him. “I wonder, was that a telephone cable I saw outside?”
“It was, my lord. I had it installed a few weeks ago. The only telephone in the village, as far as I know.”
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