The bliss subsided. Holly glanced guiltily over at the closed door. Relieved to see it remained tight shut, she reasoned that she hadn’t actually promised not to touch herself. With a clear conscience, she snuggled down and slept.
Holly entered the drawing room with some trepidation, but she need not have worried, for Gregory welcomed her with a kiss and made no allusion to her punishment.
They finished their tea and visited the nursery where they found Libby sound asleep under the influence of laudanum. Meanwhile, her sisters were happily engaged with cutting out stars from sugared paper. Under Miss Evesham’s guidance, they painted each one either yellow or white.
They left them in the capable hands of their nanny and governess, returning to the withdrawing room.
“I would very much like to decorate the house on Christmas Eve. Would you ask someone to cut a fir tree, one small enough to fit inside?” Holly asked.
“I have never held with this new German fad that Prince Albert brought into the country,” he stated.
“Oh, Gregory, please say yes, for I know the girls would love to decorate it. I want us to have our own traditions, something new and different so the girls don’t associate this Christmas with the past or with mourning,” she pleaded.
“Where do you suggest we place it?” he asked.
She clapped with glee.
“Oh, thank you! Over there, I thought, in front of the second set of French doors.” She went and stood in the spot with both her arms spread wide like a tree.
He chuckled.
“I haven’t actually said yes to you yet.” He was teasing her, and she knew it.
“What are you giving the girls as a gift this year?” she asked.
He frowned.
“I haven’t… Bunty dealt with that, and I—well, we haven’t celebrated Christmas since her death.”
“But, Gregory, we have to give the children gifts. Did Bunty have any beads or bracelets that you could bequeath the girls, one bauble each, perhaps? It would be nice for them to have something that belonged to their mother as a keepsake,” she suggested carefully.
“Yes, that is a good idea. I will leave you to sort through her box of trinkets and make the choices.”
Holly relaxed. “Would you allow them a kitten or two? They would be something for them to play with and also teach them responsibility. Not just something to love but they will learn how to care for them, too.”
He nodded. “I’ll ask Silas if he knows of any litters hereabouts. Talking of the baubles, I was wondering if you would mind sorting through Bunty’s gowns and other paraphernalia. Donate them where they are most needed. I cannot stomach doing the chore myself and I don’t want a servant rummaging through her personal effects, or worse still, wearing something I shall recognise as Bunty’s.”
She went to him and stood on tiptoe, kissing his cheek. He immediately wrapped her in his embrace, resting his chin on top of her hair.
“I will gladly help with the task,” she told him softly.
He gave her a squeeze. Her heart felt full, and all at once she knew she was right where she belonged.
Later, she was startled by Gregory’s appearance in her bedchamber. He entered without knocking, whilst she was still at her toilette. Matilda was in the process of brushing out her hair.
“You may leave us. I shall finish this for your mistress.” He took the brush from the maid’s hand and tugged it through Holly’s thick waves but did not speak until the maid had completed her tasks and departed.
“This afternoon while you were alone, did you touch yourself?” he suddenly asked.
Her eyes flew to meet his in the mirror. Her cheeks flamed red, and her mouth formed an ‘O’ of shock. How could he ask her such a thing?
“Tsk, tsk, I see guilt writ right across your face, naughty girl.”
She gaped at him in the reflection of the looking glass, but he gently pushed her head forward so he could continue brushing her hair.
“I shall give you two choices of retribution for your naughtiness. The first is to accept another spanking; the second is to show me what you did in bed after I left you alone. Which is it to be?”
She snapped her head up at his words.
“I cannot, I am… Oh, Gregory, please, I am so sorry. It was very…quick, and really, there is nothing to tell, or…or to show. Please don’t…” She faltered in dismay.
“I shall be taking you afterwards, either way. Make your choice, or I shall decide for you.” He laid the brush aside and drew her to her feet, turning her to look at him.
She covered her face with her hands, mortified, but he chuckled and pulled them away, he led her to the bed.
“I should like to watch you touch yourself and play with your bounteous breasts while you make yourself wet and ready for me, but if you feel that you can’t, Holly, then I shall gladly take you over my lap and spank your delectable arse again. The sight of your creamy buttocks shivering and bouncing under my palm has had me hard on and off, all afternoon. I could barely contain myself through dinner.”
She stared at him in surprise. Her very proper and gentlemanly husband was talking extremely crudely, yet instead of disgust, a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine, and a pool of slick dampness formed between her thighs.
He cupped her chin in his palm. “Your answer, if you please.”
“I…all right, I will. I shall t-touch myself…” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, then leant down and took hold of the hem of her nightgown and, whipping it over her head, he cast it aside. Hastily, she scrambled into bed and pulled the sheet up to cover herself.
Without the trappings of his everyday attire of starched shirt, waistcoat, jacket, and trousers, Gregory looked every inch the highwayman she had first thought he’d resembled. His dark hair was tousled while his shaded eyes gleamed with lust; he was every inch male. Pulling his nightshirt down over his head, she sucked in her breath. The garment slid up to reveal his manhood. Holly marvelled at the solid veined protuberance; she knew the pleasure his shaft could bring and regarded his manhood with awe.
He yanked the bedclothes off her, and lay beside her, elbow bent, his head propped upon his hand. Gregory studied her naked form.
“Begin,” he said. His hand slid down to his cock.
Holly watched, fascinated as he gave his erect appendage several tugs. Her hand snaked out of its own accord and touched his swollen flesh. His own instantly dropped away. She grasped him by the thick root, moving her palm over his velvet-clad, iron-hard member.
“Enough. Play with your quim,” he ordered gruffly.
Gregory resumed his own manipulations of his manhood. She put her fingers in the slickness betwixt her legs and circled her folds, centring her fondling on the raised nub of her clitoris. Her feverish gaze watched, mesmerized, while Gregory tugged harder on his cock, a clear bead of liquid welled from the head. Without thinking about what she should or shouldn’t do, Holly leant over and swiped it away with her tongue; the taste, salty and wholly male, was not unpleasant.
It seemed her action was some sort of catalyst for Gregory suddenly rolled her onto her back and reared over her, nudging her legs apart with one of his own. He settled between her legs and plunged his cock into her slick channel, pounding her into the mattress until she flew apart. She culminated with a gruff cry, his name upon her lips. He stiffened, groaning, while his shaft swelled and fluctuated against the walls of her sheath. Another paroxysm shook her. Smaller waves of pleasure overwhelmed her. Gregory collapsed atop her but after a moment moved away to lie beside her.
“I think I have found something far more delightful than an evening of dancing,” she mused, stretching languidly.
“Strumpet,” Gregory growled, pulling her into him where she rested her head on his shoulder.
Within moments, she was asleep.
Chapter 14
The following morning, Matilda and Holly entered Bunty’s chamber. Holly glanced around in fascina
tion.
“Where shall we start, milady?” Matilda whispered.
“Nothing has been moved. It is as though she could walk back in at any moment,” Holly marvelled reverently.
“I know, ’tis strange to leave it this way, untouched for over two years,” Matilda replied, sotto voce.
“Why are we whispering?” Holly asked, still in a hushed tone.
“I don’t know,” Matilda said.
Glancing about the chamber, Holly’s gaze came to rest upon a large oil painting. “Oh my,” she gasped, pointing to the wall opposite the bed where a large family portrait leant against the wall. She crossed the room and gazed at a woman so like Libby that Holly knew it to be Bunty, Lady Beatrice Caulderbury, Gregory’s first wife. Bunty was seated cradling a chubby baby on her lap. Two little girls, identically dressed, stood either side of her chair. Gregory stood behind his family, his face a much younger version of his present self. To Holly’s chagrin, he appeared very much happier. Her gaze returned to Bunty.
Envy flooded her veins as she studied the contented group. What had she been thinking? Gregory could never love her like he had loved this woman, the mother of his children.
“She was so beautiful,” she observed quietly.
“Yes, but then so are you, milady,” Matilda reassured her mistress.
Holly glanced across at Matilda then returned her gaze to the portrait. Her own mother had been a rare beauty. Both her father and stepmother had kept her portrait in the house. In fact, Henrietta had raised her with such love and compassion that Holly had not missed out on a mother’s love. Naturally, she would have liked to have known her mama. Her father kept his first wife’s memory alive for her; he had spoken of her often while she was a child, sharing anecdotes about her with his new wife and daughter. Henrietta had never shown any jealousy towards her husband’s first wife, only compassion.
Holly shook herself out of her reverie. She was determined to be like her stepmother and raise her stepdaughters as she herself had been raised, with love and affection. She turned and crossed the room to the bell push.
“This needs to be hung back up in the nursery where the girls can see their mother and feel that she is watching over them,” she stated firmly, knowing that Gregory might hold an entirely different view but she was prepared to cross that bridge if she came to it.
Matilda had opened the dressing room door where rack upon rack of dresses hung. Lifting out a couple of girlish-looking gowns, she said, “These will be perfect for Libby after I take them in a bit. My, but the previous mistress must have been tiny.”
Holly stamped down her feeling of envy; after all, the poor woman was dead. She moved away and left her maid sorting through gowns.
She spotted a dome-top casket set upon Bunty’s dressing table. Holly found it full to bursting with trinkets and beads of all colours and descriptions. She decided the girls should have the entire box. She could find no precious gems in amongst the baubles. This held no surprise to her because Gregory had previously explained that all the valuable jewellery had been securely locked away in the safe he kept inside his study.
Holly then searched the chest. She found ladies’ undergarments; hastily, she began to push the drawer shut, but something snagged and forced her to reopen it. A rolled package tied with ribbon had stuck on one side. Holly extricated it and undid the bow. She unwound the cloth and found three separate necklaces inside, each one a string of pearls.
A piece of paper fell to the floor. Holly bent and retrieved it. Tears filled her eyes as she read the handwriting. For L, K, and C. Bunty had obviously kept the pearls for her daughters, a strand each, perhaps to be held until her daughters’ confirmation days, or maybe their coming of age?
Holly raised her gaze to the portrait and met Bunty’s soft, sherry-coloured eyes, as portrayed in the oil painting.
“I promise I shall take good care of your daughters, Bunty. I will love them as my own,” she vowed softly.
Christmas would be a good time to give each of her stepdaughters this special gift from their mother. Holly decided she wouldn’t consult Gregory over this. She would simply wrap each little parcel and label them from Bunty to her children.
A footman arrived, and Holly gave him instructions for the portrait to be returned to the nursery.
By mid-morning, she’d had enough and left Matilda and another upstairs maid to carry on packing the belongings into trunks. She went to visit Libby and the girls.
She found them scattered around the girls’ bedchamber with Miss Evesham showing them how to make and decorate cornucopias using sugar paper. Clemmy jumped up and dragged Holly into their midst. She hugged and kissed Clemmy and then Kitty but moved to seat herself beside Libby on the bed.
The child looked pale but happy. She plaited then stitched ribbon onto the cone-shaped baskets so they could be filled with sugar almonds and sweetmeats. These would be hung upon the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.
“How are your battle wounds today?” Holly asked her and kissed Libby’s cheek.
“They itch but don’t hurt so much now. I am sorry Papa scolded you.”
For one dreadful moment, Holly thought Libby knew Gregory had spanked her, but then she realised the child meant the verbal dressing down she had witnessed in the drawing room yesterday, and she relaxed.
“It was my fault, and I am sorry you were hurt. I should have listened to your father,” she apologised.
Libby giggled. “Mama would have done the exact same thing. Papa was always scolding her for not listening to him,” she confided.
Holly’s heart warmed at the knowledge. Had Gregory ever spanked Bunty, she suddenly wondered? Dare she ask him?
There was a commotion in the nursery, and the younger girls ran to investigate. Before Holly had shifted from Libby’s bed, they were back, round-eyed with excitement.
“It is Mama, she’s back!” Kitty announced dramatically.
A soft gasp had Holly glancing down in time to see Libby slump sideways in a dead faint. She gathered her close and called to Nanny. Between them they revived the girl with smelling salts.
“Mama?” the child asked as she came around.
“No, darling, the portrait of your mother has been returned to the other room. Kitty did not mean to startle you,” Holly gently reassured her stepdaughter.
Libby nodded, saying nothing.
An excited shout came from the other room, then the rumble of her husband’s voice in reply as he spoke with his youngest daughters. She went to greet him, wondering what his reaction would be to finding the portrait back upon the wall.
“I came to see how Libby fared. Is she feeling better?” he asked, making no comment on the painting.
“I think so. She will be so pleased to see you.” Holly left him to go in alone and hunkered down to play tic-tac-toe with the two younger girls.
She kept one ear tuned to the conversation in the other room, tensing when Libby mentioned the return of her mother’s portrait.
“I want to see her, Papa, will you carry me?” Holly overheard her say.
“I do not think it wise just yet. You know how upset you become, poppet,” Gregory answered.
“Holly, it is your turn!” Kitty insisted.
“Oh yes, so it is,” Holly replied absently, still eavesdropping, she rejoined the game.
“I have forgotten what Mama looked like. I only see her as a skeleton in a coffin in my dreams. Please, Papa, I want to see her.”
Holly turned to the doorway, expecting to see Gregory there with Libby in his arms. She was not disappointed. He came into the room, an anxious frown creasing his forehead, with Libby held carefully against his chest. He ignored Holly and his younger daughters and crossed to stand beneath the portrait.
“Hullo, Mama,” Libby whispered. She fell silent for a while before adding, “She was lovely, wasn’t she, Papa.”
“Yes, darling, she was, and we will always remember her even though she is gone from our midst,” Gregory tol
d her gently.
“Thank you for putting her picture back, Holly. Mama would have liked you, wouldn’t she, Papa?” Libby reached out and touched the top of Holly’s head as Gregory passed by, returning her to bed.
“Yes, she would, and Holly, you were right to have the portrait rehung. Thank you, darling.” Gregory cast Holly a warm smile.
Her heart swelled with pride and joy at his praise and endearment.
After luncheon, Holly went to discuss the Christmas menu with Cook. She need not have worried, for the experienced woman had everything under control, from a fattened goose to an already rich-fruited, baked cake which she assured her mistress was regularly soused with brandy. They discussed the girls coming down to the kitchen the following day to make biscuits to hang upon the Christmas tree. Mrs Hicks said she would make enough sweet treats to fill the cornucopias the children had made.
Satisfied that the staff had all the necessary preparations for Christmas in hand, Holly decided to go and find Silas and, failing that, another groundsman would do. She wanted to ask about choosing a suitable tree. Entering the boot room, she found Gregory there shrugging snow from his greatcoat and stamping it from his boots.
“You were not intending on venturing out in this blizzard, were you?”
“I had no idea the weather had turned. I was going to find Silas to ask about a tree,” she informed him.
“I told you that I would see to that and I have. Come and join me for some tea. I need warming up, it is freezing out there. I have decided to send a footman over to Wooton Hall. Once this infernal snow stops, I shall pen a note informing Bunty’s parents that due to Libby’s accident and the icy weather, I am postponing the girls’ visit to them until after the New Year. I think you have the right of it, darling, the girls will be much happier staying here with us.”
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