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Rose Light
Praise for the writing of Sharon Maria Bidwell The Swithin Chronicles 1: Uly’s Comet A good read that will have you thinking and make you want to call your best friends and thank them for all they do and who they are. I recommend this book to all that like to read about political intrigue, magical powers, and the more emotional aspects of relationships and how they form. Tara, Two Lips Reviews …sensual love scenes are all entwined together to make for a very entertaining read. Wateena, Coffee Time Romance
WARNING This e-Book contains sexually graphic scenes and adult language. Store your eBooks carefully, where they cannot be accessed by under-age readers.
Sharon Maria Bidwell
Rose Light Sharon Maria Bidwell
Aspen Mountain Press
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Rose Light Copyright © 2006 by Sharon Maria Bidwell This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental. Aspen Mountain Press PO Box 473543 Aurora CO 80047-3573 www.aspenmountainpress.com First published by Aspen Mountain Press, September 2006 www.aspenmountainpress.com This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. ISBN: (10) 1-60168-010-4 ISBN: (13) 978-1-60168-010-5 Printed in the United States of America Editor: Cyn Witkus Cover artist: Jinger Heaston
Sharon Maria Bidwell
Dedication To the love of my life, always, and to Ann, because she's always believed (and because if I don't dedicate one book to her, she'll never let me forget it). Sharon
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Rose Light
Rose placed a single white lily on her mother’s grave. Sparing a glance for the three people attending the burial plot directly behind her, she became quickly lost in the disturbing pleasure of offering up a small prayer. Lost in memories and engrossed with making the sign of the cross, her lips moved in rhythm with the words as she stood and then retreated. The holy petition fractured on a gasp as she collided with a warm body. As the fates would have it, the man had also chosen the same moment to step backwards. He faired less well than she, falling to the ground in disgrace. He turned towards her, his furious aspect darkening his face. At first glance, she ascertained him to be a gentleman of good position, neither young nor old though exceeding her by a few years. However, she was immediately aware of their distance in society. She watched him bite back whatever retort formed in his mind. “My apologies, kind sir,” she said demurely, keeping her head slightly lowered in deference. “I was lost in prayer and failed to notice you.” “I will hear no such thing,” one of the young ladies who accompanied the gentleman replied. “Mr. Bennett, you really should be more careful.” “I would say it is the other way around. The working class should step out of the way of the gentry.” The second lady possessed eyes of blue ice, a fair complexion and an equally fair crowning glory. She approached Rose and examined her minutely.
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Rose lifted her head to meet the woman’s gaze. Her hard and piercing stare displayed all the attributes of the type of gentry to whom she referred. “I find it surprising that one such as this should have a grave to attend here.” Although the woman spoke generally and not directly to her, Rose replied, “Appearances can deceive and the woman I visit once had the ear of the Queen.” The eyes now shone with the chill of pure bitterness. “Come, Mr. Bennett. I find the atmosphere here disagreeable.” With that, she stalked off, leaving Mr. Bennett on the ground and the other young lady wringing her hands. She turned to Rose imploringly. “I am so very sorry.” Apparently, she apologized for the other woman’s behaviour and Rose had the uncanny feeling she often had just cause to do so. A sharp, chill breeze blew, biting at her lips but taking the distasteful scent of the blonde woman away with it. During this time, Mr. Bennett managed to regain his feet. She witnessed the moment when he straightened his clothes, brushed them down and regained his composure. His gaze fell on the gravestone and then flickered up to her face. “A relative?” he enquired, hat in hand. “My mother,” Rose allowed, although she kept her gaze directed away from the headstone. A sudden, hard grief brought pain to her throat. She resolutely swallowed it down. “I am sorry,” the lady said with some hesitancy. “I pray your bereavement was not a recent one.” Her voice contained a soft, calming quality, which Rose welcomed. The woman’s penchant for apologizing both amused and saddened her. The lady’s face exhibited a gentle countenance but something like anxiety tightened her eyes. As for their colour, they were almost the same shade of brown as the hair that peeked out from beneath the bonnet. Glancing toward the gentleman, Rose saw the same eyes regarding her. Clearly, these two were related. “No. It has been a few years,” Rose said in reply to the woman’s question. “Yet you miss her still.”
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Rose inclined her head choosing to say nothing as it was true. Still, she did not have to share her feelings with strangers. No one referred to the lily adorning the grave. Rose could only afford the single bloom and there would be trouble if any in her family discovered how she spent her money. “Mr. Bennett! Miss Bennett!” The voice flew towards them on wings of darkness. The sky responded in kind. The wind picked up, stirring their clothes. Glancing up at the sky, Rose watched clouds gather over their heads almost as though they answered the blonde woman’s beckoning. “Oh!” Miss Bennett sounded harassed. “That woman is so infuriating,” she confessed suddenly, and then flinched, her small gloved-hand flying to her mouth. The gentleman’s colour deepened possibly due to embarrassment or anger. “Really, dear sister, should we discuss our business in public?” “I am so sorry, John.” The young lady removed her apologetic gaze from her brother’s face and turned once more toward Rose. “Madeleine Bennett,” she introduced herself, “and this is my brother, John Bennett.” John rolled his eyes. “Need I remind you it is hardly a woman’s place to introduce oneself?” Madeleine looked perplexed. “Then who is there to do it for one?” Her attention flickered back and forth between them. “I have you, dear brother. This woman has no chaperone. I thought to complete the introductions so she should not feel awkward in telling us her name.” “You presume,” John commenced, “that this woman should desire to tell us her name when there is no reason for her to do so. She may not wish it.” “On the contrary,” Rose spoke up. “My name is Rose Light and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Madeleine gazed at the grave now. “Lily Light,” she murmured, reading the name aloud. “A lily for a Lily. How delightful.” “Forgive my sister. She speaks too quickly and too freely.” Rose looked at the man, taking in his measure. His scarf and gloves shone white against the pale grey fabric of his suit. The long frock coat reached almost to
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his knees. The top hat matched the colour exactly and contrasted with the walnut and silver-trimmed cane he carried. The rich fabric of his sister’s dress fell to a ruffle at the hem, below which fine calf leather boots peeked out. The sleeves gathered most voluminously at the shoulder, the cuffs and front offset with white ruffles. The bonnet matched her outfit accordingly. It was obvious by the quality and fit of the clothes that their family had money. In sharp contrast, Rose stood in her threadbare coat though she honestly cared not if she had a penny to her name. For all their differences, those of polite society usually behaved a certain way in mixed company and this man had shamed his sister in front of a stranger. “I would think you would be proud that your sister speaks freely and that she possesses the strength of character to announce her mind.” John flushed and Madeleine blushed pinkly. “I would believe,” John replied, “that a stranger would not interfere with affairs they have no previous knowledge of.” “A stranger would not do so if they had not been led to interfere. However, for you to remark in such treatment of one’s sister in public begs a well-mannered person to intervene.” John opened his mouth while his sister attempted to hide a small smile. Whatever he had been about to say was lost for eternity as a sharp voice rang out. “John!” The command traveled clearly all the way from the main gate of the cemetery. “Oh!” Madeleine glanced around. “John, your fiancée…” John coughed. “Yes, we should be going.” Rose turned her head and gazed down the path. “Before you take your leave may a stranger ask why one would be marrying such a shrew?” Madeleine giggled and then dissolved the sound into a squeak as her brother glared at her. He then turned the glare on Rose. “If you were other than a lady…” “According to your fiancée…” she gave the word special emphasis, “I am no lady. You are gentry and I am commoner, yet I would not speak in such a way as to
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reprimand my sister. If I were a man, I would not cow-tow so openly to a woman of any aspect or relationship.” Aware her words were challenging she paused for effect. “As man or woman, I would not marry someone I had no love for.” Her statement seemed to have far more reaching affects on Madeleine than John. The young woman’s deep brown eyes opened wide, possibly in shock, and then narrowed in realization. “You do not love her?” she asked, searching his face. Her manner changed on the instant, to a state Rose could only describe as irritation. She could swear the woman came close to gritting her teeth. “Then why on earth, John, am I putting up with her?” Practically huffing, Madeleine flounced away a few paces. Then she paused and glanced back towards Rose. “I’m sorry,” she said, and went on her way. After staring at the ground for a moment, John’s gaze made its way to Rose’s face. He looked quite calm. Just as calmly, he dipped his head in a slight gesture of farewell, and then followed his sister towards the gate. *** The humid overbearing heat hit Rose as soon as she pushed open the door of the kitchen. Seeing no sign of her stepmother she let out a breath she only then realized she had been holding. She refused to call this house her home for she owned little in it and cared for less. Even when her father was healthy he deserved better than this. She worked as harder than any maid but did not receive even a servant’s wages. Stepping inside, she placed the pork purchased for that evening on the table. Unpinning her straw hat first, she then proceeded to remove the rest of her outer garments, taking care where she stepped. If she spread mud from the street in the house not only would she face her stepmother’s wrath, she would be the one to clean it. Having changed her footwear, she walked across the uneven, gaping boards to the other side of the kitchen, snatching up her apron from the corner of the
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dresser where she had left it in haste on her way out. Her trip to the grave left her no time to waste. If she did not hurry, dinner would be late, so she quickly set to work preparing it. Tying on her apron, she moved to the large, dark, overbearing wooden table that dominated the room. Unlike rich houses, they had no separate space for preparing food and only one small, cold area for storage. This room served them as kitchen, dining, and living area combined, as they often huddled together for warmth by the large walk-in fireplace where a fire almost constantly burned. Scorch marks on her apron spoke of many hours of cooking and risk. The inadequate fabric barely protected her fingers when lifting the hot, heavy pots that hung on chains and hooks from over the open fire. The only thing she had to be grateful for was that she had never set her skirts alight. She undid the package, her nose wrinkling a little as it always did at the smell of raw meat. Although she hated the constant sooty smell in this room, which always brought to her mind an image of black ash, she preferred it to the smell of raw flesh. It was not as though she was squeamish yet the unpleasant smell of uncooked flesh always seemed to gain pungency in this kitchen. Like everything else in the house, there was ‘more’ of it – more of an odour, more noise, more solidity to the touch, more taste and texture, more darkness, more doom and gloom generally. How it could smell more pungent than the rank sewers and drains on the streets escaped her. Placing the slab of pork onto the chopping board, Rose took up the knife and severed the flesh. Pausing periodically, Rose pressed the back of a hand to her brow, chasing away the sweat so it would not drip into the food. Not that she cared if she spat in it for neither she nor her father would get any of the meat unless she purloined it, but one either had a conscience or one did not, and hers would not allow it. While she worked, Rose listened to the sounds of the house. Raised voices told her the two older girls – young women now – sat situated as she expected. Charlotte and Regina argued in the room they referred to as the parlour, as they preferred it
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to the kitchen, and they would not enter until Rose called them in to eat, even though the rest of the house smelt damp and it meant they sat shivering at times. Rose shook her head at their pomposity. Regina probably embroidered while Charlotte sewed as she had recently acquired employment as a seamstress. The small yelps she gave when the needle pricked her fingers while she stitched in poor light made Rose struggle to hide a wicked grin. Woe-betide Charlotte if she got blood on the fabric for she would lose the job and face her mother’s fury. She already knew the younger children were taking care of chores in the yard as she had walked passed them. Rose had little choice but to disregard the ambiguous feelings she suffered whenever she considered the young ones’ plight. She passed enough ragamuffins in the street to know their future – vagrants begging; hollow empty sunken eyes appealing without artifice. She could do nothing to help any of them. Meanwhile, the bump and thump sounds emerging from over her head indicated that Margaret currently paid her husband, Rose’s father, a visit. Transferring the meat to the pot, Rose began to prepare the vegetables. She scraped and chopped, ignoring it when the knife slipped to nick her skin and letting the blood fall onto the vegetation. Bump thump, bump thump, bump thump; the noise caused Rose to bite at her lower lip in recognition, her movements growing furious. Her eyes grew wide with an inner light that she could see reflected in the swiftly moving blade. The sight alarmed her, but she could not change her expression. Beads of moisture perpetually sprung out on her forehead as quickly as she tended to them. Bringing up the hand holding the knife, she almost sliced her cheek by accident. She gave up wiping her brow and worked on the chore of preparing dinner, the sound of her father’s defilement growing louder by the second. Plates shook on the dresser. Something creaked; springs strained. Rose pulled back her lips over her teeth and grimaced to keep from screaming. Heated, anxious sweat rolled down from her brow stinging her eyes and she cried out in pain, jumping back, flinging
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the knife away from her. Falling into the chair, she listened to the sounds of her father’s ravishment going on above her head, no longer denying them. Bump thump. The image of that white sow, naked as the day something other than God allowed her into the world, rose up before her. The pudding stomach resting on the thighs as the great white sacks of breasts swung back and forth in front of her father’s eyes would be making slapping sounds as they made contact with the body they hung from. Rose had walked in on them once. Indeed, one only had to go to the top of the stairs and the chances were Margaret left the door open. The woman likely did it on purpose. The great gregarious sow’s teats had stuck out lewdly at her even as Margaret played with them, pulled on them, held the great weight of her breasts out in front of them by the tips alone. It had looked painful but Margaret had thrown back her head in pleasure, or perhaps her own twisted kind of revenge. Bump thump, thump bump. The frame of the bed rocked as Margaret pistoned herself up and down on the ravaged body beneath. The old man suffered from an aging disease of the mind, they said. Rose had watched while he turned violent, and then shit himself before finally confined to bed. Still, incredibly, he could grow as hard as iron, Margaret said. Having married him for money and position, she had first cursed him when he lost it all in a business matter, and then cursed him for growing old and useless on her. The only thing he had to offer her now was a solid cock. While she could, she would make use of it. After six girls, she still wanted a son. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Unable to respond, he just lay on his back, eyes glazed in some distant past. Did he know that Margaret humped him, that his cock serviced the great white cunt? Maybe he dreamed of Lily. Rose liked to think so. She could not bear to imagine him lost in the horror of his own mind aware that a pig rode his member with such ferocity it was a wonder she had not damaged it. Thump, thump, thump, bump… the sounds ceased. “Rose! Is that girl here? Rose, get your arse up here!”
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Rose sighed and rising from her seat, she then scooped the vegetables into another pot, blood and all. The protesting springs of the bed told her that Margaret climbed off the wasted man. Checking that everything boiled and bubbled in preparation for dinner, Rose made her way upstairs to wipe the dribbled spunk from her father’s penis and stomach. ***** “Pork. I hate pork,” Regina complained, glaring at Rose as though it were her fault. Although, perhaps due to the fact that it looked as if someone raised pigs in the neighbouring streets, Rose could hardly blame her. “It is all they had.” Charlotte sneered. “It is Wednesday. You mean it is all they had left after you fucked around going to visit your mother’s grave.” “Charlotte!” Margaret admonished, waving her fork in front of her daughter’s face and narrowly missing stabbing her. “A lady does not say fuck.” “Sorry, Mother,” Charlotte hung her head, and then as Margaret went back to forking the food into her mouth as fast as she could manage it, she snapped at Rose again. “You do not care what meat we have because you do not eat it.” “You mean I do not receive any of it.” She kept her tone light and bland, putting none of her emotion into it. Margaret stood up so suddenly her stomach threatened the table. Impossibly, the table lifted by several inches and then skirted forward as it fell back to the ground. Crockery clattered but nothing fell to the floor. Out of nowhere, a knife passed by Rose’s eye – she felt the air disturbed by its flight. She refused to pay it any attention. “You get what you earn and you have earned fuck all, my girl,” Margaret said, forgetting what she had just said about ladies swearing. She thumped the top of the table. The sound reminding Rose of this woman humping her father caused bile to rise into her throat. She swallowed it down in fear of losing what little food they allowed her, or she had managed to pilfer.
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The little ones sat in silence, their eyes shifting from one adult to another. Hatred and amusement as well as weariness lit their collective gaze. Charlotte and Regina were from Margaret’s first marriage. The others were her siblings, or so Margaret said. Rose supposed they meant her to disregard that they looked nothing like either her or her father. They were girls all: Elise, Jane, Emily and Georgina. “Finish serving,” Margaret ordered. Rose had only placed the main course on the table. She had not even taken her seat and already the great sow feasted. Rose brought the vegetables to the table and served the others. The only sound in the room was the great smacking of two rubbery lips as the pig masticated. A sudden knock at the door froze them all. Surprised glances met each other and passed over. Rose would have wiped her hands on her apron and answered it, but to her amazement, Regina, possibly overcome by the sight of pork on her plate, did it for her. No doubt, Regina thought it was her benefactor. A wealthy man came to call on her and a promise of marriage hung in the air. Rose suspected he had already wed, but his gifts helped to keep the roof over their heads. Much to Rose’s personal surprise, a young man she certainly recognized entered the house. Regina, no doubt taken aback, brought him into the kitchen with her. John Bennett removed his top hat and glanced around the occupants of the room. Rose hovered behind Charlotte who had risen, and so remained hidden. “Forgive me,” he said. “I regret disturbing you. I am looking for a woman by the name of Rose Light.” In shock, Charlotte looked over her shoulder directly at Rose and moved to the side, revealing her. At the same time, Regina turned her head and smirked at her. As was so often the case, her eyes looked lazy and evil. Rose stared at John Bennett as he inclined his head a little at the sight of her. Returning to her senses, Margaret must have realized that gravy and spittle adorned her chin. She mopped at her face with a napkin, and then stood. “I’m sorry, sir,” she began. John Bennett regarded her. “Sorry for what, madam?”
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“For whatever it is that my ungrateful stepdaughter has done, sir.” She waved a hand in the air as though illustrating her explanation. The gesture seemed to encompass all things as though the hovel they lived in was Rose’s fault and no other. John Bennett moved further into the room. He gripped his hat as though it were the only thing separating him from the inhabitants. Rose lifted an eyebrow at the way he nervously clung to it. Lifting her gaze to his face, a peculiar notion overcame her that he had seen her speculation. He turned to her stepmother. “I assure you, Madam Light, she has done nothing other than speaking unexpectedly and forcing me to face a truth I did not wish to hear. In that, she has done a stranger an act of kindness. I wished to see if there was some form of benevolence I could repay in like manner.” His declaration seemed to stun everyone and they exchanged the same wandering glances of confusion before staring inanely at the table. Everyone, including John Bennett, shifted awkwardly – everyone except Rose. Margaret, unused to company, looked in apology at the dinner. “We were just sitting down to eat, sir.” John inclined his head deeply. “My apologies for the intrusion.” Margaret smiled thinly and actually fluttered her eyelashes. “I admit I am a little at a loss what to do, sir. In a more presentable abode, I would offer you a place at the table, yet I fear that our food would prove unpalatable to one such as yourself.” John’s gaze swept over the table. “I am sure your palate is as refined as my own and if you can dine on this repast then so can I.” In nodding agreement, they returned to their seats, moving aside to make a place for their unexpected visitor. Rose moved to set him a serving. “You prepared the meal?” he asked her, as she spooned vegetables onto his plate. Glancing up, his face so close to her was startling. His eyes stared directly into hers. She nodded without speaking.
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They consumed the meal in silence. The pork was thinly sliced and tasteless but tender. The gravy was cabbage water but he ate with the rest of them as though he consumed such meager offerings daily. Rose glanced at the bowl she had set aside for her father. Later, she would reheat the food and spoon-feed him. As they finished, Margaret waved the others away from the table and turned her attention to John Bennett. The children left the room. Charlotte and Regina lingered. Rose moved to clear the table. “Pray, sir,” Margaret resumed. “I remain somewhat amazed and skeptical that Rose could do or say anything that would warrant a gentleman to call on her, or indeed visit this district.” John offered up a smile but failed to show his teeth in the donation. “Do you doubt my word?” Margaret looked suitably shocked, her hand rising to press her fingers against her throat. The fat arm wobbled. “No, sir, upon my word. It is just that…well, you see Rose was born endowed with her mother’s tactless temperament and it has always been left wanting. It was a strain to her poor father and I attribute it to the poor man being taken ill.” Margaret’s gaze lifted to the ceiling as though towards the room where the old man lay, his body wasting and his mind unaware of such petty behaviour. Rose gritted her teeth, banging one plate with a little too much force into the other. Both John and Margaret hastily glanced in her direction but Rose sent her look of hatred solely to the sow at the head of the table. Whatever John thought of the display, she neither knew nor cared. Apparently, it seemed he had enough to say on the matter without her complaint. “I am sorry to hear that the man of the house is ill yet I am amazed, madam, for it is hardly as though we speak of the same person.” A smile twitched at the corners of Rose’s mouth and she did all she could to pull her expression into one of calm deliberation. She listened quietly to their conversation while she finished clearing the dishes, moving back and forth, giving them little glances. Having done so, she now turned her full attention back to the
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table and moving around the end of it, she approached their guest. Both Margaret and John watched her progress. Quite aware a woman of her age and position should not behave in such a fashion, it took all her willpower to control the smile that tugged at her lips. However, if John saw the mischievous glint in her eyes that would serve her purpose. Tonight she would do battle. Pulling out a vacant seat, she sat sideways upon it and faced her visitor. At the end of the table, Margaret’s skin took on a peculiar pallor. Although Rose had an inkling of the woman’s feelings, any guesses on her part would likely prove erroneous. Besides, neither did she care nor did it matter. John saw none of this for he no longer looked to her stepmother. His gaze was all for Rose. Crying out in horror, Margaret exclaimed, “My girl, whatever do you think you are doing?” Ignoring her, Rose placed one hand calmly over the other in her lap and spoke directly to John Bennett. “Kind sir, though it amazes me that you found my location so quickly, I am sure you have your resources and will not waste time as to enquiring of them. While I thank you for the graciousness of your visit, I did merely speak my mind. I fail to see how my words affected you so as lead to such an extreme avenue. I am lost for words,” Rose said, being no such thing “as to understand why a gentleman would seek me out.” Margaret gasped as though suffering some apoplexy. “My girl! Sir, I do apologize.” John lifted a hand and waved it as though dismissing the apology. He spoke to Rose. “Upon contemplation of your words I changed my mind and chose another course. If I had not done so, it might have directed my life upon another path entirely, one that would have led me to abject misery. What may have seemed a mere trifle to you was a severe grievance to me, yet one I needed to face directly.” Rose mimicked his earlier smile, compressing her lips then breaking it off before speaking, “I assure you it was no trifle. My feelings were quite indignant at
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the time and remain so. However, tell me, do you often require strangers to help you with life-altering dilemmas? Do you have no true friends to advise you?” For a moment, he looked quite nonplussed, while in the background, Margaret positively snuffled in consternation. Then John Bennett burst out laughing. The laughter infused his face and he took on the appearance of a much younger man. Rose found this face attractive. John spoke to her stepmother without looking at her, which Rose also liked. “Why, Madam,” John chortled, “I can see how you feel your stepdaughter is headstrong, and why in certain circles of society you might find this vexing. However, I assure you, she is delightful.” Rising from the table, he placed his hat upon his head and then retaining hold of the brim, he first bowed to Rose and then to Margaret. “I must take my leave of you. However, if both of you fine ladies will permit me, I should like to call another day.” Saying nothing, Rose offered an incline of her head. Margaret stood. “Thank you, kind sir. We should be delighted to receive you. Show him to the door, my girl.” Rose moved to do so, though he walked ahead of her. At the threshold, he turned, presumable to say goodnight once more. He paused, his gaze flickering over her from her head down to her feet. In the evening light, no doubt he saw how poor a garment she wore even compared to those of her stepmother and sisters. When his gaze reached her feet, it lingered. For the first time, Rose felt touched by horror. She wore no shoes. Glancing up into his face, rather than disgust, she saw he looked pleased by the sight of her naked feet. His smile was even more curious. ***** Far later than usual, Rose sat on the side of the bed feeding her father. Mostly, he swallowed automatically, but sometimes during this quiet time they shared, his gaze would find hers. These brief moments of restitution, of comprehension, were delightful. The contact might last for a few seconds or a few
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minutes but they were sweet moments. Sometimes, he spoke to her and each word uttered was precious. This evening, with the only light being the soft glow of a candle, it seemed he would remain silent. He swallowed the watery soup and the few scraps of meat she had salvaged for him. She had chopped the meat so finely he had no need to chew. Although he did not know the meat was there, he needed the nourishment. The creak of a floorboard alerted her to Margaret’s presence. Rose let the spoon fall still in the bowl and sat immobile. She waited for her stepmother to speak. “I am tired tonight so I cannot be bothered to punish you for whatever insolence brought that man to this house. Give yourself airs and graces if you want. It is no use pretending to be better than I am. I come from a good family and my daughters will marry nobility.” Rose bit her tongue and refrained from reminding her that her father had been nobility before making a bad investment. In the world outside of fairy tales, it seemed anyone could be laid low. “I will not forget though and I shall punish you tomorrow.” Rose refused to react. No emotion played over her face. Margaret stood watching her for a few moments more and then turned away. Rose had no idea what expression had masked the woman’s face for she refused to meet that gaze. For a few seconds more, she sat, her thoughts wandering to the fine lines that marred her back. Margaret liked to use the switch and the first time Rose had screamed and cried. The second time, Rose had not uttered a single moan and that had been the worse beating she had ever received. Margaret, in her fury, had been a woman possessed. The next day, something like horror flittered through her eyes when she came to see what was keeping her errant stepdaughter from preparing breakfast. Rose, unable to rise from her bed, had been vaguely aware of panic in the house. The woman attended to her for three days, by which time Rose was able to regain her footing. Still, for another week Margaret plied her back with salve. It could have
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been that Margaret expected some reprimand, yet Rose suspected she anticipated a time when Rose could use her body in some other way rather than just to cook and clean that might benefit the household. Still, that did not mean Margaret had lost her fondness for the switch – just that she was more careful in the use of it. Rose was equally careful never to react though afterwards, Margaret would stare her in the eye as though to say she had her measure. Whatever the woman believed, Rose cared not. “Rose. Is that my lovely Rose?” Rose looked up into her father’s eye. “Yes, Father. Here, finish your dinner.” He smiled as she spooned the last two helpings into his mouth then wiped his lips with a napkin. He reached out and took hold of her hand. As always, the feeling of weakness in his grip had a strange underlying strength to it, as though it wanted to fight its way back to the surface. “Are you happy, my Rose,” he asked her, and she blinked in surprise. It took her a moment to consider his question and the first thing her thoughts flittered to was John Bennett. She smiled, and in turn, her smile seemed to light up her father’s face. “Yes, Father,” she said. “Right now, I am very happy.” The truth of her statement surprised her further. *** The morning came but no strapping with it. Another knock sounded at the door of the house. Two unknown men carried in several baskets of foodstuffs, the disturbance bringing all members of the household to the kitchen. There were herbs and spices, milk, cheese, fresh bread they had not needed to bake themselves, fresh meat, vegetables and fruit. Over this sea of provisions, Rose met Margaret’s eye. The glint in them was calm and calculating. Both of them ignored the small gasp that escaped Regina, who no doubt took a certain satisfaction out of being the only one of them up until this moment to acquire a benefactor. Charlotte remained silent, gaping at the food.
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It seemed Margaret thought the time had arrived for Rose to do something for the family other than housekeeping. Margaret made her intentions clear. She spoke directly to Rose as soon as the men left. “Well, this is an unexpected turn of events. I have no idea how, my girl. Nevertheless, it seems you have caught the eye of a gentleman.” As Regina uttered a protesting “Mother!” she actually stamped her foot and Charlotte looked as though she were about to vomit. The younger girls each pulled out an apple and were soon busy munching. Margaret ignored everything, just stared at Rose with her eyes occasionally flittering up and down in examination. “No doubt he sees an easy lay. The rich do not care if their sluts are pretty. Take heed, my girls. This is a fat goose for the taking. We will milk him. If he wants Rose to spread her legs, so be it. In the meantime, if he should call again, we will welcome him, and you, my fine daughters, will work on acquiring a husband. Between you, surely one of you is up to the challenge.” Regina lifted both her hands to her face. Her expression was difficult to read but it occurred to Rose that her stepsister might cry. Rose could not decide whether shock or despair was the cause. “Mother, I have a suitor,” Regina whined. “Surely you do not intend that I should take part in trying to woo Mr. Bennett.” Margaret glanced at her. “A suitor? How many years has he remained a suitor for your obvious charms? We all know there is slim chance of him marrying you now if ever there was one.” Regina changed colour to an interesting shade of purple that almost matched her frock. “Mother, of course he is going to marry me! Do you think I would lay with a man I believed had no honourable intentions?” “I do not care about his intentions. I intend that Mr. Bennett marry one of you. Rose is just the bait. If she is as incompetent in the bedroom as with the housework, he will soon grow tired and look to one of you. It will be your job for one of you to console him.” The two young women exchanged anxious-looking glances. Rose could understand their feelings even if she had no sympathy. Charlotte spoke up. “I have
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to agree with Regina. Surely you do not intend us to have relations with a man if he has had his cock inside Rose?” Rose would have barked out a laugh. Many years of practice, where she had learned to hide her emotions now served her well. Rather than feeling enraged, the fact that they discussed this with no regards to her emotions only amused her. All this was rather comical. Margaret breathed heavily, her nostrils flaring. “One of you will have him and be glad about it if he will take you. I have no care if his dick has been up a donkey’s arse!” Both girls squealed in unison and it was all Rose could do not to smirk. Neither of them had a hope in hell of enticing John Bennett. He was hers for the taking. ***** Gifts arrived over the next ten days. Mostly food, but boxes contained other things including clothes, some of those addressed specifically to Rose so suitably chosen that she suspected his sister’s hand in the decision. One day along with the gifts, John turned up at the door. He bade Margaret’s indulgence and said that he wished to walk with Rose, offering assurances that they would be suitably chaperoned. He need not have bothered bringing the escort, though Margaret managed to keep a look of disappointment from her face. Her glittering gaze told Rose her duty well enough. “Do you like the dress?” Rose looked down at the soft drape of the linen fabric. The garment was a good choice for one in her position, well fashioned enough to disguise her situation so that she could be upper working class or lower gentry. “I like it very much.” “You also like the other gifts?” “My stepmother looks forward to them.” “You do not?” He stopped walking and faced her.
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Behind them, the carriage followed with the driver and a maid sitting up front to watch them. Their purpose was to intervene if the young couple should suddenly fall about in the grass in wild abandonment. Rose wanted to laugh. By their glances, she ascertained they would rather be rolling about in the grass themselves, than interfere between her and John. “Your gifts are generous,” Rose told him, “yet they are not the way to my heart.” They began walking again through the park, following the path along the side of the duck pond. “I hope you are aware that my stepmother means me to seduce you, and then palm you off as married to one of my stepsisters.” John looked to her face a moment with an incredulous look. Then he laughed. A moment later, his face sobered. “I would have realized that for myself if I had spared it a thought. However, they do not concern me.” Up ahead stood an empty conversation chair and he led her to it. “Come sit with me … may I call you Rose?” She nodded. “Come sit with me, Rose. Tell me about your life. Speak of your father and tell me how he came to be in such a sorry state. I will first confess that I have made enquiries into his background and his current predicament, as well as that of the rest of your family, and it pains me to hear of it.” Rose’s expression hardened and his reaction told her that he noticed. She lowered herself to the seat and John quickly settled himself in the empty side turning his head to face her. The s-shaped design of the seat intended courting couples to talk only. After a moment of silence, he said, “I know these silly seats are designed to separate us and yet when I can speak to you like this and watch your face, somehow they feel obscenely intimate.” “I would not have thought you considered much obscene.” She had no idea why she said it like that and almost bit her tongue, aware that her forthrightness would likely get her into trouble one day. “Tell me, Rose. Speak as you have hereto always spoken to me, with honesty, sparing neither you nor I.” His voice grew deeper as he continued – his softly spoken plea calming when she expected it to annoy her.
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Despite her desire to marry for love, time had made her practical and with each day, she grew older. Now, she warmed to him and with that came contentment. The very gentleness of his questions as well as their nature made her want to answer. “Tell me how you feel about me, how you feel about your family, all that has happened to you and how I can best help.” ***** The driver and maid had laid a picnic blanket out for them under a nearby weeping willow. After serving them, the maid returned to the carriage to share her meal with the driver. The carriage sat a short way down the avenue so that Rose and John remained in view of their chaperones but could continue their private conversation. Rose sat with her back to the tree, her legs out before her. John lay across the ground at her feet, watching her. The look in his eye was bright and wild. Earlier, she had made a small sound as they continued their walk and when he asked as to her discomfort, she complained that the new boots rubbed her feet. Upon the instant, John searched for a suitable spot where they could eat. The day held a slight chill and the wind kicked up so the park was now deserted. John said he liked it this way and now she understood why. Another tree stood to the left, a hedge to the right, thus providing them with shelter, or so he said. She now knew it had another purpose. As soon as they were left relatively isolated, he had drawn the boots off her feet. Now he rubbed them, tickling the soles until she giggled. It was all she could do not to squirm and kick out at him. She took a small sliver of cucumber into her mouth and slipped it onto her tongue. The cool, wet texture amused her. Cucumber sandwiches and fresh strawberries among other delicacies surrounded her. Confronted by so many unusual delights she was unsure which of her senses to indulge first. Should she pay attention to the luscious flavours bursting ripe upon
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her tongue, or enjoy the unfamiliarity of having nothing to do, no one shouting at her? The wine relaxed her but she could not blame her mood entirely on the alcohol. Her attention wandered from the swaying branches, to a flying bird, back to John’s face. His smile brought contentment. So did the knowledge that her life was about to change. “We are lucky the ants have left us in peace.” The statement sounded silly, but she could think of nothing better to say. In reply, he ran a finger up the center of her arch. His eyes looked darker, more absorbed with her. “You have given me your answer,” he said referring to an earlier topic of conversation where he had asked her an important question. “However, we will converse on that later. There are other things I wish to discuss.” Aware of a lump forming in her throat that had nothing to do with the food, Rose swallowed as she gave a small sign of acknowledgement. Although she still felt peaceful, some of the contentment receded. “Have you ever touched a man?” he enquired unexpectedly. Wondering if this were a test, she almost shook her head, and then reconsidered his question. “Not in the manner I believe you suggest, except in rendering physical care.” He nodded at her response. “Would you do something for me now, if I asked you?” Rose swallowed again and scanned the park. Unease made her heart beat faster but only a fool would deny she felt an underlying thrill of excitement. When she spoke, her voice emerged unexpectedly subdued. “I believe a lady would refuse.” A smile played about his lips. “I believe you would be surprised by what a lady would do.” His expression changed. He looked serious now, despite the smile. His gaze even looked feral. “No games between us, Rose. We both know where this is leading us. As far as I am concerned, we are united. We were the day you knocked me to the ground almost senseless.”
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His tone mocked her a little but the mischievous look in his eye told her he was gripped by some deeper emotion. She understood, for it echoed within her. “You have beautiful feet,” he said, the mockery now absent. Letting go of her feet, he reached down with his hand. She watched him deftly unfasten his trousers. Unable to look away despite the growing heat in her face, she stared at the semitumescent phallus as it came into view. Shock at how easily he handled his cock ran through her. Feeling suddenly cold and distant, she lowered her gaze only to look up again when he shifted towards her. Seeing him lying there at her feet so exposed to her view made her breath catch in her throat. Reality gripped her and with it came a strange combination of fear and desire that she failed to understand. That they should do this in the open set her heart pounding. Slowly, he drew her right foot toward him until the heat of his bare flesh burned into the curve of her toes. Ridiculous that he should be so hot with his cock here exposed out in the open. The cool air had to be circulating around it, kissing it, cooling it. She almost withdrew her foot but unable to move, his grip too tight on her ankle, she wriggled her toes instead. A strange sound came from the depths of his throat. The sound pleased her though she was unsure why. She glanced to his face but he looked at her feet and that disappointed her. Still, she offered no resistance when his grip continued to guide her, drawing her toes across the length of that satin skin while the flesh beneath swelled with each stroke. Still looking at his face, she watched his head fall back and his eyes close, his mouth fall slightly open. His breathing deepened and a small frown of concentration marked his brow as he moved her foot in the rhythm he so clearly desired. Why escaped her, but together with the amusement she felt playful. So far, she had remained quite passive. Now, snagging her lower lip between her teeth, Rose eased her left foot towards him. Tentatively, she stroked his groin, feeling the hair curl around her toes and heard him grunt. Then his eyes shot open and he gazed at her as the big toe on her left foot circled the heavy sac below his cock. The flesh felt odd against her foot, yet soft and undeniably vulnerable.
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Somehow, the knowledge that she could hurt him changed everything for her. Seeing the combined look of shock and adoration on his face enflamed and encouraged her. Unexpectedly, his desire became her pleasure. The trust he placed in her warmed her heart and other intimate places. Pulling her right foot free from his grasp, her right toe joined the left in stroking his balls, lifting them, moving them, rolling them against each other in the velvet pouch that wrinkled and tightened under her gaze. A sudden wild longing to giggle threatened her composure, but she did not have the heart to do so and that saved her. When he gasped, she finally moved her attention to his cock. The moment her toes slid against his cock, it twitched and swelled. John swallowed audibly and appeared shaken. The movement delighted and surprised her. Never having seen a man harden, her gaze lingered on his growing erection. How could something so hard feel so soft and smooth? How could flesh remind her of velvet even though it felt entirely different? As lost as she was in giving him pleasure, so many unanswered questions made her hesitate. “Aha…ahhh.” John rasped out. “Do not stop, I beg you.” She quite liked the sound of that. A small, wicked smile that felt quite out of place on her lips threatened her. Now she curved her toes inwards, capturing that long fleshy column between them. Moving her feet down tugged the skin backwards until the ripe plum emerged, shocking her a little yet holding her attention riveted. Already, it glistened. The wind chose that moment to rise and a cold breeze hard enough to stir tendrils of her hair blew across them. Even through her clothing, the chill wind caused her nipples to harden. John moaned making her jump a little. She usually associated such sounds with pain. Curiosity caused her to watch his face and he did indeed look uncomfortable. As he moaned again, her concern dissipated. Pain had nothing to do with this, or if it did, it was in a manner she failed to recognize. The breeze rose again and Rose had no need to speculate where it touched him. The wind kissed her cheeks, the backs of her hands, her naked feet. It tickled
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her toes, so surely it did similar things to his manhood. What would that feel like against such tender flesh? She forced herself to look around, afraid someone would see them, but even the driver and maid had disappeared. The horses were well-trained and stood patient, but it seemed foolish to leave them unattended, particularly if the maid and driver had moved inside. The carriage rocking a little confirmed her suspicions. Passion was often reckless but she knew this only as a spectator, never having felt the emotion before today. Even now, she possessed mixed emotions. Looking back at his darkening phallus, Rose saw John’s thumb gather up his own moisture and spread it over the head of his cock while her feet held him at the base. At first, it puzzled her and then as the wind blew again, the answer came to her. Popping the tip of a finger into her mouth and wetting it with saliva, she held the digit up to catch the next breeze. Undoubtedly, he moistened his cock deliberately so that the wet skin felt the chill breeze more fully. The rumour of cold-water cooling a man’s ardour now seemed erroneous. The sky had also darkened, turned grey as though a storm brewed in the distance. The wintry aspect seemed to do nothing to cool John’s erection. The turn in the weather made her more aware of the intimate heat warming her toes. The wind blew again and John shuddered, which made her smile. The idea of John quivering pleased her, although she did not entirely understand why. “Faster,” John grunted and she obliged, struggling to conceal her reaction and appear demure. Licking her lips, her gaze moved to his mouth. She longed to hear more sounds tumble from him and knew she could be the cause if only she learned how. Her skin tingled, she wanted to pay attention to it, to explore her reactions more fully but questions and anxiety chased the sensation back. How did one know to behave like a whore or lady when she had no experience of being either? Soon the soles of her feet were slick with his moisture so that he slipped and slid in the tube formed by her toes without effort. Her womb grew warm and moist.
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Instinct warred with her ignorance. Part of her felt oddly detached, mostly due to fear. She feared placing her trust in this man, what he wanted of her. As peculiar as this act appeared, the expression on his face intrigued her. Yet another smile played about her lips as she experienced joy at witnessing his pleasure, knowing she affected him, knowing he had chosen her. Unable to understand the game entirely, an odd delight that contained laughter and darker things came over her. His body tightened, then jerked, a milky-white fluid erupting over her skin. A strangled sound caught her attention as his whole body arched into the air so that if someone had walked by there would have been no way to hide their machinations. John bucked, howled, fell backwards, rolled to his feet even as he seemed to recover and stared down at her, eyes and hair wild, his cock sticking straight out at her even now, though his sac had emptied. She could feel the warmth of his seed sliding slowly down the soles of her feet. “I am glad you said yes, Rose.” It took her a moment to realize he referred to his earlier question, the very one he had asked her at the commencement of their picnic. It felt as if it had happened to someone else or taken place days ago. John’s lips peeled back from his teeth, in something far from a smile. “I am glad you said yes because so help me, if you had refused to marry me it would have taken all I had not to drag you to the altar!” ***** Never would Rose forget the astonished looks from her step-family when they returned to the house and John announced his proposal and Rose’s acceptance. Margaret’s fleshy cheeks turned pale and then almost immediately a deep flush appeared in the center of each, slowly spreading outwards. Margaret was furious. Having anticipated her reaction, John clicked his fingers claiming everyone’s attention and taking charge. He announced to Margaret that Rose would leave
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immediately into his sister’s care and that she need not concern herself over her ailing husband either. Indeed, within an hour of their return, John’s servants arrived to carry the good man over the threshold, transporting him to a home where they could provide nurses and a good physician’s care. Rose packed up the few dresses and even fewer personal items she possessed and wished to take with her. She entered her stepsister’s rooms in their absence, while they glared at their mother downstairs, and reclaimed her mother’s brooch which Regina had stolen from her. She left with no regrets. Now, a few short weeks later, situated in her new home, Rose stared into the mirror amazed to see the healthy young woman who looked back at her. The flesh had filled out on her bones and her hair had regained its luster. Madeleine had nursed her back to health. She was Rose Light no longer. Meanwhile, physicians had nursed her father so that his condition had stabilized. In many ways he was no better; he was certainly no worse and he slept in unsoiled sheets daily. For that, she would be forever grateful but that was not the only reason she gave thanks in her prayers. Rose Bennett had more than a kind man for a husband though she feared and anticipated the things he would teach her. A slight knock at the door alerted her to her husband and she bade him enter though she had to clear her throat a little to do so. A pang of guilt suffused her as she saw him reflected in the mirror alongside her. As well as the two of them, the vision of numerous roses reflected as ghost-like images. At John’s insistence, servants had festooned the bedroom in her wedding flowers. As much as she looked forward to this, her wedding night, trepidation seized her and John deserved better than that. Mentally and physically, he needed more than a docile wife. He also deserved better than her gratitude. They both deserved better than a deceitful marriage.
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He seemed to notice her consternation for his expression was one of concern as he approached. “What troubles you, my dear?” She turned a little in the chair and looked directly at him. “Do you believe I seduced you? That I married you to escape the life fate had placed in my path?” A smile touched his lips. “If that were fate’s plan then we were never suited to be together. Perhaps all of this was as much fate’s design as the unfortunate circumstances that brought you to my attention.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder and then moved closer. He stood in front of her now and placed his fingertips along the sides of her chin, lifting her head with the gentlest touch, forcing her to look at him. “You are a woman nobly born, as much gentry as I, yet I would not care if you were a true commoner. I saw a rose that day when I set eyes on you, as beautiful as any bloom. When you spoke your mind, I realized heaven had sent me an angel in disguise. I do not, for one moment, believe you would have married a man without some affection for him.” “I have more than affection, sir. Still, I suffer from some slight dismay that you might find it difficult to believe I have feelings for you. We have known each other for so short a time.” John truly smiled now. “Do you doubt my feelings then? Have you any idea how quickly society marriages are formed and without the spouses caring for one another? We are both fortunate that my previous wife died so suddenly.” He waved a hand in apparent disgust at his choice of words. “That sounds dreadful and not how I intended. She was a good woman and I despise her fate although I did not love her. We married to consolidate our families, as is often the case. I simply meant that without those circumstances our union would have proved impossible.” Rose understood very well. The woman often brought the fortune to the marriage. If John were not a widower, with her unable to provide a dowry, their union would have meant poverty for both. His family would never have allowed the marriage. In the cemetery that day, John visited his deceased wife’s grave despite his then betrothed’s objections.
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“That we should visit our loved ones gone from us on the same day and that we should so catch one another’s eye does seem fortuitous.” John laughed. “There now, you see what little good it does to question destiny. I am if anything relieved. I thought perhaps it was the idea of this your wedding night that so alarmed you? I promise to be gentle.” Inclining her head, Rose stood and allowed him to pull her into his embrace. The touch of his lips on hers so suddenly surprised her while sparks of desire coiled downwards into the depths of her abdomen. His tongue slid past her lips, demanding she open her mouth to his invasion. Despite his assurances that he would be gentle, his movements were insistent. When he broke the kiss, Rose trembled in his grip. “I must confess, sir, I thought I was prepared for this. Now I find myself a little breathless.” “You have seen the act of love yet you possess no true knowledge.” His fingers stroked her cheek. Then he brushed a thumb across her lips while his gaze followed the movement. “Let me guide you.” She found it odd to feel inspected and admired all at once. Hesitating a moment, she then nodded, letting him lead the way. Once again, he amazed her. Many a man would not wait for her permission. Promptly, his expression changed. “Have no fear,” John whispered, pulling her close so he could talk directly into her ear. “I will not be too rough with you. This nightgown, however,” he said, pulling back with a wicked-looking glint in his eye, “does nothing for you.” Gripping the white fabric of her nightgown, he ripped it from her. The sound of tearing cloth sounded harsh. Two white halves fluttered to the ground. Rose stood naked, her hands flying to cover her. Although he kept his voice soft, John sounded impatient. “Come, you are a married woman now. I have no time for shy.” One hand covering her breasts, one in front of her sex, Rose gathered her courage and looked him in the eye. If he wanted her respect then he could give it in return. Resentment washed through her, and for the first time since she met him, anger “Is this how I am to pay?”
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A look she failed to interpret came into his expression, then his gaze widened. He looked horrified. “No, my dear. Never think that. My first wife…” His voice trailed off. Rose watched him gather his thoughts. When next he spoke, his voice emerged softer. “It is wrong for me to speak of her. This is what we are about when others have gone to their beds and leave us to our peace. I want to teach you, guide you. I cannot do that if you fear me. Nothing I do to you will harm you. It is no enjoyment for me if it is no enjoyment for you.” Moving closer, he took the hand at her breasts and moved it aside, kissing the back of her fingers. Her gaze never left his face until he bent toward her and kissed her lips. Her eyes closed instinctively, so that the sudden heat of his hand against her breast made her jump a little. He cupped her left breast, lifting its weight into his palm. The slight rough texture of his thumb stroked her nipple, teasing it into prominence. The sensation against such tender skin shot through her body touching her in places where no finger could reach. How was that possible? She gasped and it opened her mouth to his plundering. Their tongues danced together while his hands wandered over her chest. She had never considered her breasts in a sexual manner before but then that was hardly her fault. The double onslaught weakened her. When he stopped fondling her breasts as well as kissing her, she had no idea if she wanted him to cease or to continue. John led her to the bed. “This moment is not always the stuff of erotic tales,” he said. “Many women detest the memory of their virgin night, especially if they have never touched themselves in an intimate way. A woman or man should know his or her own body, do you not think? If one does not know how to take pleasure how can one give it?” His words should have shocked her. Instead, they made her feel inadequate. How little she knew of love. Constant work and daily physical exhaustion eradicated desire. Before this night, bed meant only one thing to her and that was sleep. Could such a woman ever hope to please a man? Nevertheless, the husky yet
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calm quality of his voice both reassured her and aroused her. She lifted her chin in defiance of her doubts. Pulling her down, John arranged her on the bed and she lay back compliant. As she watched him shuck his clothes, she bit at her lip in anticipation of ensuing pain. Expecting him to penetrate her without hesitation, she was shocked when he lay between her legs but did not enter her. First, he devoured her with his kisses, his teeth and tongue exploring the open cavern of her mouth. His relentlessness left her gasping for breath, a sound emerging from the depths of her throat she at first failed to recognize as hers. Then he slowly made his way down her body, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight, reverent, as he made her body a carpet of flowers, bending, swaying in the wind. Where his lips kissed, he licked, and then blew, so that gooseflesh rose and sent a similar spike to the depths of her belly, made her nipples harden and rise in response. Wherever his lips touched, her skin tingled. Her heart sped up. At no point did he force her to touch him yet, though she licked her lips, beginning to imagine such a time. She liked the light brush of his fingers. Surely, he would like her to return the gesture. Only when she realized she clutched at the cover did she acknowledge that she wanted him. Then when she thought she might just have the courage to clasp him with her fingers, shame of shames, he slid down the bed, separating her legs with ease that spoke too eloquently of experience. Heat flooded her face and other places, as he kissed the entrance to her womb as he had kissed her mouth, his tongue delving into her obscenely in his passion. Hands fluttering, Rose gasped in consternation. She almost reached down to stop him, shocked that he would do this so soon, if at all. The warm fire his tongue created gave her pause. His teasing, hot delicate licks and scraping tongue on her intimate folds made her twist her hips. Her lewd behaviour only spurred him on.
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Rose writhed on the bed but this time without anxiety. Though a little embarrassed, the sudden unexpected intensity of such an intimate intrusion sent her mind spiraling into hereto hidden depths. She had known men and women did these things – she had lived in the poor quarter long enough and had learned much from overheard conversations as from things she saw – but she had thought that he would take time and it would be many months into the marriage before he did this to her, if at all. Some men, a local woman had told her, did not care for such things. Why not escaped her now for her frenzied writhing and gusty moans incited him rather than dissuaded. He clung to her and pressed his mouth against her sex more fully. It vaguely occurred to her that she should repay him in kind; if he had reared up in that moment to press his throbbing member between her lips, she would have accepted it gladly. John seemed to know what he was about and already due to his unrepentant onslaught she could feel an unfamiliar though at the same time instinctively recognizable sensation gathering inside her. Twisting on the bed, she flaunted her body, offering it to him, to use, as he desired. His teeth nibbled drawing discomfort and bringing a little trepidation into play, but even this she welcomed. The disquiet fled as the sensation changed to an ache of wanting him inside her. His movements changed again, almost in answer to her need. Although he did not enter her, his licks grew light, so delicate she almost forgot his tongue caused this joy, made the burning recede and some other sensation to uncoil within her. Only when she felt him move away did she realize she had closed her eyes. She kept them closed, biting at her lips a little afraid that pain would now take the place of pleasure. A sharp intake of breath drove back other sensations as a soft tickling stroked over her skin and she inhaled the scent of roses. Opening her eyes, the first thing she saw was a rain of petals; they fell over her, carpeting her body in little tickling kisses. John’s eyes were a backdrop to the
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flower he crushed in his hand and released to tumble down in soft velvet droplets upon her. “A rose for my Rose,” he whispered, lowering himself over her to claim her mouth again. His right hand clasped her leg and raised it, opening her body to him. As their bodies brushed together, the heady fragrance of bruised rose petals perfumed the air. His swollen hardness eased into her tight entrance and all the while, he held her gaze with his until he lay buried inside her. She let not one cry leave her lips though her eyes widened. “Forgive me,” he said, starting to move. “I have such need of you.” She shook her head, silently telling him not to worry, reaching up to clasp him behind the head, weaving her fingers into his hair. His mouth kissed her neck, her ear; all while he drew out, and then thrust into her. His scent surrounded her, a warm musk that spoke of hearth and home, a family and a future. As more sounds escaped her throat, he found her mouth and crushed her lips as his cock dragged and bruised her nether regions. Between kisses, he whispered endearments but what he said was lost to her as she arched her back, lifting her hips as her body instructed, to heighten her pleasure. She hungered for something that instinct told her lay barely out of reach. She breathed one tiny word, “Harder,” and he gave it to her, slipping one hand beneath her, holding the small of her back, helping her. Vaguely she caught one sentence, “That is the way, my darling, take your pleasure,” and her womb convulsed, clenching him, making them cry out in unison. Even as her sex throbbed in orgasm, her release flowed through her taking consciousness with it as though some drug subdued her. The last thing she knew before sleep claimed her was that she ached within from their first time together and John lay at her side, curled tight against her. *****
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Margaret had indeed taken her husband’s seed the night Rose met John. Her stepsisters had reported their mother’s pregnancy. Now, nine months later, Rose entered a house where the woman’s cries sounded muffled only by the floor above her head. Regina turned frightened eyes towards her. “Charlotte is up there with her, although she snarls and snaps at us. Something is…wrong. The other births were easier than this.” “Margaret is older,” Rose said. “She knew the risks.” Regina hesitated and then nodded in agreement. Taking pity on her, Rose patted the woman’s shoulder. Since Rose’s marriage, her stepsisters had at least been civil to her. They would never be friends but things were better. Although John had done nothing to move them out of Cheapside, with Rose’s agreement they continued to supply the house with provisions. Possibly, her step-family feared the loss of regularly donations. Certainly, they all looked healthier and better groomed. Their attitudes much improved, along with their physical condition. It seemed to take all Regina had to give but finally she looked imploringly into Rose’s eyes. “Please, help her.” “Help is on the way though it may be awhile yet before it arrives. I will go up to her and see what I can do.” Charlotte’s obvious gratitude far outshone Regina’s quiet acceptance when Rose set eyes on her. The young woman had never looked so harassed. It was not difficult to understand why. Margaret growled now, turning her vengeance on Rose. “You! Get out. Get out, you whore!” “Mother!” Charlotte admonished. “She is here to help.” “As if I want her help.” “You have been willing enough to accept the provisions my husband sends to you.” Rose removed her bonnet and approached the bed. “Evil witch!” Margaret snapped.
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Charlotte seemed at the end of her patience. “For what? Speaking the truth? I am amazed she has treated us so graciously considering how we once behaved.” When Rose looked up in surprise, looking directly into her eye, Charlotte added. “Do not think you are the only one with scars on your back. We received them when we were far younger.” “You betraying bitch!” “Enough!” Charlotte snapped. “Enough, Mother. We have all had enough of you and yet we try to save you.” “You do not try to save me. You think only of this unborn brat!” “What if we do?” Regina said, entering the room. Margaret was now thrashing around on the bed in her hate. The covers were drenched with sweat and other fluids. Rose grew anxious. The woman’s waters had broken. “I’ve left Elise to answer the door,” Regina said. Rose nodded and turned back to Margaret who now struggled to sit up and push Charlotte away … or not. As she watched, Margaret bunched her hand into a fist and swung out. It landed inexpertly against Charlotte’s shoulder, yet made her cry out and jerk away. “Margaret, stop thrashing about. You will hurt yourself or the baby,” Charlotte admonished. Yet, whatever demon possessed Margaret right now, she was far too gone to hear. She screamed curses at them. Hurrying around the bed, the three women tried to hold her down, one at each arm and Rose pressing down upon her stepmother’s legs. The great sow reared up despite their combined weight and the last thing Rose saw was that great fist swinging towards the side of her head. *****
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Rose opened her eyes and John’s anxious face swam into focus. Something cool and damp rested heavy against her brow. Charlotte held a soaked cloth against her head. Winching, Rose managed to ask, “What happened?” “Margaret died giving birth,” John said. His gaze looked almost apologetic. “Before she did she gave birth to a fine, healthy boy.” “Only barely,” Charlotte added. Rose looked to her and saw her reddened nose and eyes red-rimmed from crying. “The cord wrapped around the baby’s neck. He might have died save but after she… after she hit you, the fight went out of her. I believe she feared the consequences. We managed to make her lie still until help arrived.” Charlotte lifted her gaze and stared into Rose’s eyes. “This one is your father’s child. Elise may be also, we believe, although by then, Margaret, wishing so for a boy, went out in search of someone who might provide her with one. To think she got her wish and died without knowing it….” Charlotte swallowed. “Some women are foolish and never realize it until it is too late. I neither deserve nor ask for your forgiveness. Our fate is in your hands.” “Your fate,” John rose to his feet. “I will take care of your fate. The children will go to an orphanage and you can earn your keep out there on the streets!” Knowing he spoke only from fear of what he had almost lost if her injury had been serious, Rose reached out and took his hand. “No, my husband. Do not speak so quickly out of rage. Things can continue as they are.” She turned her gaze to Charlotte’s face. “The provisions will continue. I also suggest that you and Regina learn some better etiquette. John and I will see you move in better circles. Nonetheless, I stress that if I ever hear a dishonest word from either of your lips again, I will turn my back on you. The girls will be educated for a better life and the boy we will take home with us.” Anticipating at least a slight rebuttal or argument, Rose looked to John’s face. To her amazement, his expression was indecipherable. His eyes looked lidded and his mouth grew slack.
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When he saw her watching him, he moved to bundle her up in his arms. “Come, my darling,” he said, with greater affection than she had hitherto perceived in him, “let me take you home.” ***** John, naked, joined her on the bed. Rose was equally bare to the waist but the coverlet modestly concealed her sex. He had something in his hand, which he hid from her for the moment behind his back. With his free hand, he took hold of her fingers and raised them gently to his lips. Kissing the back of her fingers, he glanced into her eyes. Allowing her hand to drop, still he kept hold of it and sighed. “Rose, my darling, you are my wife; I am your husband. In this union, we should be able to speak our hearts and minds, lay each other’s soul naked before the other. I cared for my first wife save for I could not love her for she lacked your spirit. Later, I thought I had found what I wanted. However, you opened my eyes to the fact that there is a difference between a shrew and a strong woman. You saved me from a fate worse than death.” He made a movement of denial with his head as she opened her mouth to speak, silently begging she hear him out. “Today you stood up against me in my foolish rage. I assure you the heat of the moment caused me to speak too recklessly. When you made your determination plain, it set my heart beating within my chest. I will never attempt to crush your spirit. It is why I fell in love with you. I love you just the way you are. In some things, it is up to me to take charge. I have better ways for you to use your strength of mind.” For the first time he looked uneasy. “I had thought to wait some time before I revealed my heart to you yet I believe now more than ever you are the woman I might have searched a hundred years for and never found by design what I found by accident. To understand what drives me is a simple thing. Do you know what this is?”
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Rose Light Bringing his hand forward, John dropped the object he had kept hidden into
her hands. Sitting back, he sat quietly while she examined it. It was a harness constructed of finely stitched leather straps. The centre reared out into her hand in the shape of an erect phallus, wood, she presumed, covered with leather. She fingered the texture, savouring the underlying hardness, the consistency of the hide, soft, supple, reminding her of her husband. From the other side a smaller erection protruded. Despite her background or perhaps because of it, it did not take much of a leap of her imagination to determine its use or understand the design of the smaller phallus was that it should fit inside her, the slightly larger one for John. “Before you ask,” he said, his eyes downcast yet flittering about the room and occasionally rising to her face, “I do not like men. This is not about that. It is about…changing the rules which society determines we must live by.” She understood that even before he said it. She had seen it in his eye back in the room when she had declared her intentions regarding her stepsisters’ fate. She felt certain this was not the only toy John possessed, though it amplified her mind and made her wonder where he kept them hidden. The object so incongruous, so odd, so…comical in its way, explained many things – small hints, glances, the way he behaved with her particularly when they lay quiet and intimate, always telling her to take her pleasure. All of them led to this moment. In many ways, he would like her to dominate him. Her imagination sparked, her mind already working overtime. When she remained silent, the sudden anguish in his gaze sent a spear to her heart. His fear of her rejecting him was so potent she could almost taste it. Unfortunately, for John, she discovered she relished such a taste. Although, it saddened her to witness his anxiety, it made her pulse speed up. Her heart thudded in her chest so hard she imagined that he heard it. There was no reason for him to fear her for she was not about to refuse. In her mind, she shouted recriminations at him, threw the object in his face as though she found both he and it offensive. These were fancies only for she would
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do no such thing and she certainly was not offended. Other desires brought forth these images. Although she loved John well enough, and felt certain her love would grow, the sudden urge to see him on his knees engulfed her. She meant no harm by that and no true injury to his person. Still, a craving she had only felt the stirrings of and failed to understand previously now fell into place. How would it feel to wear this? How would it feel to have John under her? How would it feel to him to let her take over? As he gave her his trust, she gave him the last piece of her heart. A strange but welcome combination of contentment and satisfaction overcame her. She smiled and loved the uncertainly that came over John’s expression. Quickly, she stood, the bedcovers falling away. She had already determined how to slip into the harness and was amazed how well it slipped into place, how prepared she was to receive it. In part, she had little interest in the contraception other than its intended purpose. The item itself did little to arouse her, although it fit her well. The vision of John on his back made her grow moist so that it glided in easily. Feeling a little silly wearing it, she needed only to look at John’s expression for her womb to cramp in longing. If she told him to take it his mouth, would he argue or obey eagerly? Running her hand up and down the length of it, she watched his eyes for his reaction. She squeezed the rigidity inside her as his eyes widened. Transfixed, his gaze followed her moving fingers and instantly, the answer came to her. He would be uncomfortable with the suggestion, yet that would be part of their shared pleasure. If she waited until they knew each other a little better, he would do what she requested. For now, it served her purpose to let John have his way…a little. All doubts fled. Leaning forward and looking into his face, Rose lowered her voice, setting an edge of steel into it. “I want you on your back,” she told him.
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Rose Light Minutes later as John’s well-greased rim opened to receive her, she looked
down into his flushed and wholly contented face. He looked as though he had discovered his own personal nirvana. “Ah, yes,” John murmured, “his lips peeling back over his teeth in a far too satisfied grin that she was determined to wipe it from his face another day, some other way. “Ah, yes, that is just the way, my love. I knew you were the woman for me.” The End
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