Chapter 9
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"It's only a summer gown," she added, uncertainly, "a bit chilly for the day, but it packed smaller."
He nodded, and to the other man he said, "We're not quite ready for the coach after all Andrew." The man nodded, and exited via the outer door. And then, "Come with me," Lord Waverly insisted, pulling her hand over his arm, and walking her through the inner door.
Deeper in the house, in what she presumed was his bedroom, he turned to her and began unbuttoning the coat she wore. "What are you doing?" she asked, a little shocked.
He looked her in the eye and said, "You're carrying my child," he paused. "At least, I guess you did not actually say it in so many words, but I presume that is why you're here?" he inquired.
She nodded, and flushed. "Yes."
"Then, what does it matter if I see the rest, or do more?" he asked, and then pulled her into him and kissed her softly on the lips.
Her flush deepened, but she made no other response. He pulled back a little, touched her cheek and asked, "Do you dislike it?"
She replied, "No." Her lips felt hot from his gentle kiss. She leaned her cheek into his hand hesitantly.
"Then," he said with a small smile and a gleam in his eye, "I shall continue." And he did.
"What have you done to your hair?" He asked after the coat was removed.
"Ah," she replied, embarrassed, "I thought it was a clever idea. For girls in novels are forever cutting their hair, or getting caught with it bound in braids beneath their hat." She lifted the layers of loose hair to show the braids beneath.
"Oh," he said, and kissed her again. "I'm glad you didn't cut it."
"Is it very awful?" she asked.
"It's rather awful," he replied, guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed. "But somewhat convincing, though I think you'd get your pay docked for sloppy appearance," he commented with amusement.
Then he knelt and removed her boots, she'd worn her own riding boots. And then, he sat beside her on the edge of the bed and removed his own boots. And his coat, and waistcoat, came off next. And Elizabeth began to guess what "do more" probably included. But she felt curiously disinclined to prevent it. Nor quite able to ask if he was planning to keep her as his mistress.
He stood and pulled her to her feet again, and once more, her trousers fell to the floor as the Marques Waverly unfastened them. Then he surprised her, scooping her into his arms and settling her onto the bed, which he then followed her onto.
He kissed her some more, while working the lace on her shirt open. She felt she might become rather fond of kisses, for they seemed to warm her all the way to her toes, in soft waves.
He pulled her shirt off, then ran his hands down her back, and back around to the front, seeking to undo the scarf wound around her. Finding the folded over end, he removed it easily and dropped it over the side of the bed, to where the rest of her clothes already lay. And then he gently pressed her back against the pillows, running fingers down her arms, her side, and her belly.
She found she wanted to touch him too, and fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt. She had just started to get it open when the door to the room opened, and two footmen carried in a copper tub.
She gasped, and tried to hide against him. He laughed at her, just a little, then reached out and up and undid the ribbons holding the bed's canopy open. He rose onto his knees and loosed the other three corners. The draperies swung closed around them.
"Better?" he asked in the dimmer light.
"Yes," she replied, "I know it doesn't really hide what we're doing, but it does make me feel better."
He leaned toward her again, pulled her hands back up to his shirt fastenings, and said, "Then let's continue." And he resumed running his hands over her and kissing her lightly, though the kisses were wandering now, from mouth, to cheek, to ear, to neck.
Finally she had his shirt unfastened, and touched him tentatively. He smiled against her cheek. He slid out of the shirt, and moved his hands down to her hips then back, to his own trousers. Which he loosed, lowered, and kicked off the end of the bed. She burned with his heat. A phrase from scandalous novels, but not as far off as she'd imagined.
She said, "Mark?"
After a moment he replied, "Yes love?"
"I like this, much better, than, what you, did in, the library." She got out between breaths.
"Good," he replied, "we'll do it this way often." And he continued.
After a while more she shuddered and could not stop the strange little moan that escaped her. He finished, cuddled her against his chest and laughed. She looked at him. "And now that you've had your way with me a second time," he said, with a chuckle.
"My way!" she protested.
"Your way," he grinned, "or were you entirely passive this time? If so, what happened to my shirt?" He laughed again. She flushed. He cuddled her and stroked her hair. "To the question," he said against her temple, "won't you tell me your name now, love?"
Aghast she replied, unbearably embarrassed, and somewhat stiffly formal, "Elizabeth Anne Dowen, fifth daughter of the Lord Justice of Appeals Matthew Dowen and his Lady Constance Dowen."
"Oh," he said. He went very still.
"Is that bad?" she asked, and raised up a little to look into his face.
He stroked her cheek with one hand. "Not bad, in hindsight rather obvious, but," he paused and then continued, "I hope obtaining permission and license won't be too difficult."
Now Elizabeth cuddled into him. Not a mistress then.
"Fifth daughter?" Mark asked.
"I have four older sisters, and two younger, two older brothers, and one younger," she replied.
"Goodness. Your mother has born ten children?" he inquired with surprise.
Elizabeth frowned and answered, "Twelve I think, ten living, though I don't know the circumstances as I wasn't born yet."
He hugged her tightly, and then pushed her over and away. At her rather forlorn look, he bent and kissed her stomach. "That gives me some hope for this then," he said quietly.
"Oh," she said. "Yes, I don't know of any reason it shouldn't go well?"
He grinned a little at her and asked, "Shall we see if the bath is ready?"
Elizabeth blushed, "First, I rather desperately need to relieve myself," she confessed quietly.
"Sorry, at this estate, all I can offer you is a chamber pot," was his quick reply, as they scooted off the bed. The pot was put into use.
The bath was ready, and all the servants gone. Standing naked beside the tub and Mark, she shivered, just a little, and asked, "Are you going to take a bath with me?"
"It will be snug, but if you're willing to suggest it, I'm willing," he replied, and stepped in. He held his arms out to her, and she joined him, sinking into the warm, but already cooling water gratefully. It was snug, but they fit. He fiddled with her hair awhile, and then said, "I confess, I'm not finding the trick of it. Where is the end of the braid?"
"There are several," she replied, "the ends are all loose, that's the covering part, and the braids are wrapped over each other and pinned."
"Ah," he said, "I have it now." Mark began removing pins. The braids fell free as the pins came out, and he unwound their bindings. Loose, her hair fell fairly long, trailing in the water around them. "I found eight pins," he said.
"I put in twelve, but I often lose them, it's likely the others fell out along the way," she replied. In a strange way, bathing together felt even more intimate than the activity that had preceded it.
Mark washed her, almost as if she were a child, but interspersed with quick kisses here and there. And then he began to wash her hair, and a groan escaped her, not far different from the noise that she had made earlier.
He laughed and asked quietly, "Does it feel that good then, love?"
"It does," she replied. "No one has washed my hair for me since I was a small child, I had no idea it would feel so good."
He pulled her tight against him, and bit her ear lightly. "But if you make such a noise for me, it makes me want to have you again," he said softly. And then commented, "Elizabeth is such a mouthful, do you have a short name?"
She flushed again, "I'd rather you didn't use the one my family uses, not that it's really shorter anyway." She bit her lip.
"How would you prefer to be called then?" he asked.
"How would you prefer to call me?" she countered.
He laughed a little breathlessly. "Love, dear, easy pet names, no trouble for calling out the wrong one?" he suggested teasingly.
She stiffened a little, but then relaxed against him. "Alright," she said, "but once in awhile I'd prefer that you call me Elizabeth, to show that you haven't forgotten my name," a little sadly, "again."
"Elizabeth, love, I swear that I will never forget your name again." He promised seriously.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, so that her cheek rested against his. He fondled her for a few moments, then dropped his hands to her hips in the water, which had grown cloudy from all the dust caught in her hair.
When they at last climbed from the tub, he eyed the water ruefully. "I'm not sure I'm cleaner coming out than I was going in," he commented.
"I'm sorry," she replied, "I didn't dare request a bath along the way."
"It's fine" he said. Lifting a wide woolen shift from the towel pile, he added, "I presume this was meant for you."
"Oh, good," she replied. To his raised eyebrows she said, "If it's alright for me to wear it? It shouldn't show and will be much warmer?"
"Of course," he said and caught her up in a towel.
When they were done drying off, and Elizabeth was just picking up the messenger bag to pull her other clothes out, he slid his arms around her waist and asked, "Before we dress, can I have you once more?"
"Again?" she replied with shock.
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"It's only a summer gown," she added, uncertainly, "a bit chilly for the day, but it packed smaller."
He nodded, and to the other man he said, "We're not quite ready for the coach after all Andrew." The man nodded, and exited via the outer door. And then, "Come with me," Lord Waverly insisted, pulling her hand over his arm, and walking her through the inner door.
Deeper in the house, in what she presumed was his bedroom, he turned to her and began unbuttoning the coat she wore. "What are you doing?" she asked, a little shocked.
He looked her in the eye and said, "You're carrying my child," he paused. "At least, I guess you did not actually say it in so many words, but I presume that is why you're here?" he inquired.
She nodded, and flushed. "Yes."
"Then, what does it matter if I see the rest, or do more?" he asked, and then pulled her into him and kissed her softly on the lips.
Her flush deepened, but she made no other response. He pulled back a little, touched her cheek and asked, "Do you dislike it?"
She replied, "No." Her lips felt hot from his gentle kiss. She leaned her cheek into his hand hesitantly.
"Then," he said with a small smile and a gleam in his eye, "I shall continue." And he did.
"What have you done to your hair?" He asked after the coat was removed.
"Ah," she replied, embarrassed, "I thought it was a clever idea. For girls in novels are forever cutting their hair, or getting caught with it bound in braids beneath their hat." She lifted the layers of loose hair to show the braids beneath.
"Oh," he said, and kissed her again. "I'm glad you didn't cut it."
"Is it very awful?" she asked.
"It's rather awful," he replied, guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed. "But somewhat convincing, though I think you'd get your pay docked for sloppy appearance," he commented with amusement.
Then he knelt and removed her boots, she'd worn her own riding boots. And then, he sat beside her on the edge of the bed and removed his own boots. And his coat, and waistcoat, came off next. And Elizabeth began to guess what "do more" probably included. But she felt curiously disinclined to prevent it. Nor quite able to ask if he was planning to keep her as his mistress.
He stood and pulled her to her feet again, and once more, her trousers fell to the floor as the Marques Waverly unfastened them. Then he surprised her, scooping her into his arms and settling her onto the bed, which he then followed her onto.
He kissed her some more, while working the lace on her shirt open. She felt she might become rather fond of kisses, for they seemed to warm her all the way to her toes, in soft waves.
He pulled her shirt off, then ran his hands down her back, and back around to the front, seeking to undo the scarf wound around her. Finding the folded over end, he removed it easily and dropped it over the side of the bed, to where the rest of her clothes already lay. And then he gently pressed her back against the pillows, running fingers down her arms, her side, and her belly.
She found she wanted to touch him too, and fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt. She had just started to get it open when the door to the room opened, and two footmen carried in a copper tub.
She gasped, and tried to hide against him. He laughed at her, just a little, then reached out and up and undid the ribbons holding the bed's canopy open. He rose onto his knees and loosed the other three corners. The draperies swung closed around them.
"Better?" he asked in the dimmer light.
"Yes," she replied, "I know it doesn't really hide what we're doing, but it does make me feel better."
He leaned toward her again, pulled her hands back up to his shirt fastenings, and said, "Then let's continue." And he resumed running his hands over her and kissing her lightly, though the kisses were wandering now, from mouth, to cheek, to ear, to neck.
Finally she had his shirt unfastened, and touched him tentatively. He smiled against her cheek. He slid out of the shirt, and moved his hands down to her hips then back, to his own trousers. Which he loosed, lowered, and kicked off the end of the bed. She burned with his heat. A phrase from scandalous novels, but not as far off as she'd imagined.
She said, "Mark?"
After a moment he replied, "Yes love?"
"I like this, much better, than, what you, did in, the library." She got out between breaths.
"Good," he replied, "we'll do it this way often." And he continued.
After a while more she shuddered and could not stop the strange little moan that escaped her. He finished, cuddled her against his chest and laughed. She looked at him. "And now that you've had your way with me a second time," he said, with a chuckle.
"My way!" she protested.
"Your way," he grinned, "or were you entirely passive this time? If so, what happened to my shirt?" He laughed again. She flushed. He cuddled her and stroked her hair. "To the question," he said against her temple, "won't you tell me your name now, love?"
Aghast she replied, unbearably embarrassed, and somewhat stiffly formal, "Elizabeth Anne Dowen, fifth daughter of the Lord Justice of Appeals Matthew Dowen and his Lady Constance Dowen."
"Oh," he said. He went very still.
"Is that bad?" she asked, and raised up a little to look into his face.
He stroked her cheek with one hand. "Not bad, in hindsight rather obvious, but," he paused and then continued, "I hope obtaining permission and license won't be too difficult."
Now Elizabeth cuddled into him. Not a mistress then.
"Fifth daughter?" Mark asked.
"I have four older sisters, and two younger, two older brothers, and one younger," she replied.
"Goodness. Your mother has born ten children?" he inquired with surprise.
Elizabeth frowned and answered, "Twelve I think, ten living, though I don't know the circumstances as I wasn't born yet."
He hugged her tightly, and then pushed her over and away. At her rather forlorn look, he bent and kissed her stomach. "That gives me some hope for this then," he said quietly.
"Oh," she said. "Yes, I don't know of any reason it shouldn't go well?"
He grinned a little at her and asked, "Shall we see if the bath is ready?"
Elizabeth blushed, "First, I rather desperately need to relieve myself," she confessed quietly.
"Sorry, at this estate, all I can offer you is a chamber pot," was his quick reply, as they scooted off the bed. The pot was put into use.
The bath was ready, and all the servants gone. Standing naked beside the tub and Mark, she shivered, just a little, and asked, "Are you going to take a bath with me?"
"It will be snug, but if you're willing to suggest it, I'm willing," he replied, and stepped in. He held his arms out to her, and she joined him, sinking into the warm, but already cooling water gratefully. It was snug, but they fit. He fiddled with her hair awhile, and then said, "I confess, I'm not finding the trick of it. Where is the end of the braid?"
"There are several," she replied, "the ends are all loose, that's the covering part, and the braids are wrapped over each other and pinned."
"Ah," he said, "I have it now." Mark began removing pins. The braids fell free as the pins came out, and he unwound their bindings. Loose, her hair fell fairly long, trailing in the water around them. "I found eight pins," he said.
"I put in twelve, but I often lose them, it's likely the others fell out along the way," she replied. In a strange way, bathing together felt even more intimate than the activity that had preceded it.
Mark washed her, almost as if she were a child, but interspersed with quick kisses here and there. And then he began to wash her hair, and a groan escaped her, not far different from the noise that she had made earlier.
He laughed and asked quietly, "Does it feel that good then, love?"
"It does," she replied. "No one has washed my hair for me since I was a small child, I had no idea it would feel so good."
He pulled her tight against him, and bit her ear lightly. "But if you make such a noise for me, it makes me want to have you again," he said softly. And then commented, "Elizabeth is such a mouthful, do you have a short name?"
She flushed again, "I'd rather you didn't use the one my family uses, not that it's really shorter anyway." She bit her lip.
"How would you prefer to be called then?" he asked.
"How would you prefer to call me?" she countered.
He laughed a little breathlessly. "Love, dear, easy pet names, no trouble for calling out the wrong one?" he suggested teasingly.
She stiffened a little, but then relaxed against him. "Alright," she said, "but once in awhile I'd prefer that you call me Elizabeth, to show that you haven't forgotten my name," a little sadly, "again."
"Elizabeth, love, I swear that I will never forget your name again." He promised seriously.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, so that her cheek rested against his. He fondled her for a few moments, then dropped his hands to her hips in the water, which had grown cloudy from all the dust caught in her hair.
When they at last climbed from the tub, he eyed the water ruefully. "I'm not sure I'm cleaner coming out than I was going in," he commented.
"I'm sorry," she replied, "I didn't dare request a bath along the way."
"It's fine" he said. Lifting a wide woolen shift from the towel pile, he added, "I presume this was meant for you."
"Oh, good," she replied. To his raised eyebrows she said, "If it's alright for me to wear it? It shouldn't show and will be much warmer?"
"Of course," he said and caught her up in a towel.
When they were done drying off, and Elizabeth was just picking up the messenger bag to pull her other clothes out, he slid his arms around her waist and asked, "Before we dress, can I have you once more?"
"Again?" she replied with shock.
"It's only a summer gown," she added, uncertainly, "a bit chilly for the day, but it packed smaller." He nodded, and to the other man he said, "We're not quite ready for the coach after all Andrew." The man nodded, and exited via the outer door. And then, "Come with me," Lord Waverly insisted, pulling her hand over his arm, and walking her through the inner door. Deeper in the house, in what she presumed was his bedroom, he turned to her and began unbuttoning the coat she wore. "What are you doing?" she asked, a little shocked. He looked her in the eye and said, "You're carrying my child," he paused. "At least, I guess you did not actually say it in so many words, but I presume that is why you're here?" he inquired. She nodded, and flushed. "Yes." "Then, what does it matter if I see the rest, or do more?" he asked, and then pulled her into him and kissed her softly on the lips. Her flush deepened, but she made no other response. He pulled back a little, touched her cheek and asked, "Do you dislike it?" She replied, "No." Her lips felt hot from his gentle kiss. She leaned her cheek into his hand hesitantly. "Then," he said with a small smile and a gleam in his eye, "I shall continue." And he did. "What have you done to your hair?" He asked after the coat was removed. "Ah," she replied, embarrassed, "I thought it was a clever idea. For girls in novels are forever cutting their hair, or getting caught with it bound in braids beneath their hat." She lifted the layers of loose hair to show the braids beneath. "Oh," he said, and kissed her again. "I'm glad you didn't cut it." "Is it very awful?" she asked. "It's rather awful," he replied, guiding her to sit at the edge of the bed. "But somewhat convincing, though I think you'd get your pay docked for sloppy appearance," he commented with amusement. Then he knelt and removed her boots, she'd worn her own riding boots. And then, he sat beside her on the edge of the bed and removed his own boots. And his coat, and waistcoat, came off next. And Elizabeth began to guess what "do more" probably included. But she felt curiously disinclined to prevent it. Nor quite able to ask if he was planning to keep her as his mistress. He stood and pulled her to her feet again, and once more, her trousers fell to the floor as the Marques Waverly unfastened them. Then he surprised her, scooping her into his arms and settling her onto the bed, which he then followed her onto. He kissed her some more, while working the lace on her shirt open. She felt she might become rather fond of kisses, for they seemed to warm her all the way to her toes, in soft waves. He pulled her shirt off, then ran his hands down her back, and back around to the front, seeking to undo the scarf wound around her. Finding the folded over end, he removed it easily and dropped it over the side of the bed, to where the rest of her clothes already lay. And then he gently pressed her back against the pillows, running fingers down her arms, her side, and her belly. She found she wanted to touch him too, and fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt. She had just started to get it open when the door to the room opened, and two footmen carried in a copper tub. She gasped, and tried to hide against him. He laughed at her, just a little, then reached out and up and undid the ribbons holding the bed's canopy open. He rose onto his knees and loosed the other three corners. The draperies swung closed around them. "Better?" he asked in the dimmer light. "Yes," she replied, "I know it doesn't really hide what we're doing, but it does make me feel better." He leaned toward her again, pulled her hands back up to his shirt fastenings, and said, "Then let's continue." And he resumed running his hands over her and kissing her lightly, though the kisses were wandering now, from mouth, to cheek, to ear, to neck. Finally she had his shirt unfastened, and touched him tentatively. He smiled against her cheek. He slid out of the shirt, and moved his hands down to her hips then back, to his own trousers. Which he loosed, lowered, and kicked off the end of the bed. She burned with his heat. A phrase from scandalous novels, but not as far off as she'd imagined. She said, "Mark?" After a moment he replied, "Yes love?" "I like this, much better, than, what you, did in, the library." She got out between breaths. "Good," he replied, "we'll do it this way often." And he continued. After a while more she shuddered and could not stop the strange little moan that escaped her. He finished, cuddled her against his chest and laughed. She looked at him. "And now that you've had your way with me a second time," he said, with a chuckle. "My way!" she protested. "Your way," he grinned, "or were you entirely passive this time? If so, what happened to my shirt?" He laughed again. She flushed. He cuddled her and stroked her hair. "To the question," he said against her temple, "won't you tell me your name now, love?" Aghast she replied, unbearably embarrassed, and somewhat stiffly formal, "Elizabeth Anne Dowen, fifth daughter of the Lord Justice of Appeals Matthew Dowen and his Lady Constance Dowen." "Oh," he said. He went very still. "Is that bad?" she asked, and raised up a little to look into his face. He stroked her cheek with one hand. "Not bad, in hindsight rather obvious, but," he paused and then continued, "I hope obtaining permission and license won't be too difficult." Now Elizabeth cuddled into him. Not a mistress then. "Fifth daughter?" Mark asked. "I have four older sisters, and two younger, two older brothers, and one younger," she replied. "Goodness. Your mother has born ten children?" he inquired with surprise. Elizabeth frowned and answered, "Twelve I think, ten living, though I don't know the circumstances as I wasn't born yet." He hugged her tightly, and then pushed her over and away. At her rather forlorn look, he bent and kissed her stomach. "That gives me some hope for this then," he said quietly. "Oh," she said. "Yes, I don't know of any reason it shouldn't go well?" He grinned a little at her and asked, "Shall we see if the bath is ready?" Elizabeth blushed, "First, I rather desperately need to relieve myself," she confessed quietly. "Sorry, at this estate, all I can offer you is a chamber pot," was his quick reply, as they scooted off the bed. The pot was put into use. The bath was ready, and all the servants gone. Standing naked beside the tub and Mark, she shivered, just a little, and asked, "Are you going to take a bath with me?" "It will be snug, but if you're willing to suggest it, I'm willing," he replied, and stepped in. He held his arms out to her, and she joined him, sinking into the warm, but already cooling water gratefully. It was snug, but they fit. He fiddled with her hair awhile, and then said, "I confess, I'm not finding the trick of it. Where is the end of the braid?" "There are several," she replied, "the ends are all loose, that's the covering part, and the braids are wrapped over each other and pinned." "Ah," he said, "I have it now." Mark began removing pins. The braids fell free as the pins came out, and he unwound their bindings. Loose, her hair fell fairly long, trailing in the water around them. "I found eight pins," he said. "I put in twelve, but I often lose them, it's likely the others fell out along the way," she replied. In a strange way, bathing together felt even more intimate than the activity that had preceded it. Mark washed her, almost as if she were a child, but interspersed with quick kisses here and there. And then he began to wash her hair, and a groan escaped her, not far different from the noise that she had made earlier. He laughed and asked quietly, "Does it feel that good then, love?" "It does," she replied. "No one has washed my hair for me since I was a small child, I had no idea it would feel so good." He pulled her tight against him, and bit her ear lightly. "But if you make such a noise for me, it makes me want to have you again," he said softly. And then commented, "Elizabeth is such a mouthful, do you have a short name?" She flushed again, "I'd rather you didn't use the one my family uses, not that it's really shorter anyway." She bit her lip. "How would you prefer to be called then?" he asked. "How would you prefer to call me?" she countered. He laughed a little breathlessly. "Love, dear, easy pet names, no trouble for calling out the wrong one?" he suggested teasingly. She stiffened a little, but then relaxed against him. "Alright," she said, "but once in awhile I'd prefer that you call me Elizabeth, to show that you haven't forgotten my name," a little sadly, "again." "Elizabeth, love, I swear that I will never forget your name again." He promised seriously. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, so that her cheek rested against his. He fondled her for a few moments, then dropped his hands to her hips in the water, which had grown cloudy from all the dust caught in her hair. When they at last climbed from the tub, he eyed the water ruefully. "I'm not sure I'm cleaner coming out than I was going in," he commented. "I'm sorry," she replied, "I didn't dare request a bath along the way." "It's fine" he said. Lifting a wide woolen shift from the towel pile, he added, "I presume this was meant for you." "Oh, good," she replied. To his raised eyebrows she said, "If it's alright for me to wear it? It shouldn't show and will be much warmer?" "Of course," he said and caught her up in a towel. When they were done drying off, and Elizabeth was just picking up the messenger bag to pull her other clothes out, he slid his arms around her waist and asked, "Before we dress, can I have you once more?" "Again?" she replied with shock.
