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December 1st 1812
Rupert Campbell-Black had always despised the final ball of the season. Several months since the insipid society mamas had first released their daughters into the marriage mart, freshly perfumed and trussed up like swans. But now tonight, they’d become truly desperate. The claws were out for one final chance at securing themselves a husband before they all retired back to the country.
All the decent ones at least.
The Viscount Campbell-Black was long past being considered a decent prospect. Despite a large fortune and a sprawling estate to his name, his reputation had been overshadowed by an equally expansive history of adultery and general philandering, both in and out of the confines of marriage. A fact that had found him following the death of his first wife some nine years prior, without a second to his name.
The ball was the definition of ostentatious. The entire great hall had been decorated with innumerate candles, casting ghostly shadows onto the Baddingham family portraits. A lavish centrepiece had been set out in the foyer, fragrant smelling snowdrops and camellias set about an ornate swan.
Servants were milling about the hall, silver platters in hand as it would soon be time for the feast. Rupert was handed slices of cold meat and tarts, nuts and dried, sugary fruit that left a sweet taste in his mouth. The table was overflowing, veal and lobster and fresh salmon encased in aspic. Then in pride of place in the centre of the table, acquired at great cost and most certainly not to be consumed, was a pineapple. An overt display of wealth certain to impress the avaricious masses.
But of course, Rupert would not have expected less from Lord Anthony Baddingham. The man had always been determined to flaunt his imagined wealth, despite the rumours of his rapidly depleting coffers.
Despite finding his mood significantly lightened by the heady effect of spiced port and wine, Rupert could not wait until it was appropriate to leave and be done with this insanity for another year.
Desperate to escape the stifling chatter of strategising mamas and monotonous Lords, Rupert headed for the ornate wooden doors in hopes for a moment of peace.
The patio opened up to the extensive grounds, the night was black as pitch, with stars twinkling in the sky above a frozen lake.
And stood at the edge of it, was a young woman.
A slim girl, in a gown the colour of a fine Merlot. She was staring out at the expanse of the lake, and Rupert followed her gaze to see a small creature out on the ice. Squinting, he recognised it as a lone sheep, frozen with fear, and far from the flock. The woman appeared to be calling to the animal, beckoning it closer.
She was getting closer and closer to the edge with every passing moment, and soon she was certain to be on the lake itself. Glancing at the animal, the woman began to press the point of one shoe tentatively against the ice.
Surely not- surely she is not considering- he thought, but it seemed his faith was misplaced as she lifted her skirts and placed one foot firmly down on the ice, testing the strength of it.
“Have you lost your mind?!” He screamed, but his voice was lost in the biting wind as he watched the foolish woman begin to advance across the sheet of glass. Each step was light and tentative, a slim hand reached out towards that ridiculous ewe.
Rupert took off in a run, his feet slipping on the icy grass as he raced down the bank towards the woman.
She was a good ten foot out on the surface of the lake as he reached the edge. “What are you doing?!”
Shocked, she turned to face him. She was a young girl, barely more than twenty, her hair a mess of auburn ringlets. “There’s a sheep on the ice.” She replied simply, as though he had taken leave of his sight as easily as she had taken leave of her senses.
“Yes, I can see that,” he hissed, “what eludes me is why you are out there!”
“The poor thing could fall through the ice and drown!”
“It’s a sheep! A stupid, brainless sheep likely to be a leg of mutton on our plates come Christmas!” He shouted exasperated, “now come back here slowly.”
Everything seemed to happen within a heartbeat.
The woman sighed, seeming to acquiesce, taking one last look back at the animal before she turned to start her journey back to land. The sheep chose this moment to bolt, running past her and up the bank beside Rupert.
It started as a light trill, barely audible in the clear night. Then with a deep thud the first crack appeared, racing its way across the ice directly towards her. She lifted her foot, stumbling backwards slightly, her eyes wide and panicked, flicked up to his.
And she fell through the surface.
Her arms caught on the shelf of ice, fingers grasping uselessly across the slick surface, unable to make purchase.
Fuck. Without hesitation Rupert lowered himself onto his belly, inching himself across the ice towards her.
Ridiculous girl, stupid, foolish girl, she was going to get the pair of them killed.
“Grab my hand!” Rupert could feel the ice thinning beneath him as his hand made contact with hers. Her fingers were freezing even through the leather of his gloves. Wet as they were, her fingers were sliding through his, and with frustration he pulled off the glove with his teeth, flinging it across the ice.
Her fingers fitted into his, his large hand seeming to envelope hers entirely. Pulling her towards him he hooked an arm around her upper body, and she surged forwards into his arms. The sudden movement caused another set of fractures to scatter and before the dread could even settle in his stomach, Rupert felt the ice beneath him crack and give way.
The water was like a knife to the gut, instantly chasing the air from his lungs and cleaving him down the middle. The woman was clinging to him now, her arms locking around his shoulders as she fitted her face against his neck.
It took all of Rupert’s strength to swim them backwards through the shards of ice, his heavy woolen coat dragging him down. For Christ’s sake he was going to die in this lake, and if there was any fate worse than death, it was meeting it in Tony Baddingham’s lake.
“Keep holding onto me.” He gritted out as he twisted to free himself from the fabric.
With the coat sinking to the bottom of the lake, he finally began to make progress, his muscles screaming in protest with every pull he made through the water.
Just as he thought his final breath was about to be pulled from his lungs, they reached land and he hauled them safely onto the shoreline. They lay there for a moment, enveloped, their chests rising in unison, gasping for breath against the frigid vice the lake still held over them.
With a groan, Rupert rolled onto his back and untied the sopping cravat from his neck. At this the woman quickly moved away from him. He glanced over at her, still shuddering, a thank you uttered between her chattering teeth. She was freezing as was he. They needed to get back inside, he did not wish to see her succumb to illness rendering his heroic gesture useless, and not to mention, he was rather fond of his manhood besides.
“We should rid ourselves of these clothes. Come now, can you stand?” Rupert held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. She was immediately unsteady so he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against his side. Her skin was cold as ice and her lips were turning blue.
They were half way back to the house when two men came storming down the bank towards them. “What is the meaning of this?” The first man shouted.
Rupert vaguely remembered him from an introduction at the start of the season. Lord Declan O’Hara, a Baron with ties to Ireland, a tall man with a thick mustache and a temper to match. Himself and his wife had presented a daughter at the start of the season, freshly seventeen, a wild girl who had seemed to flaunt convention at every possible opportunity. She had been amusing to watch at the Baddingham summer ball, an event that would’ve otherwise proved entirely banal.
This woman was most certainly not her.
The Lady O’Hara had never mentioned a second daughter. They had conversed several times at events throughout the social season and he had found the Baroness far more eager to further her own position than that of her children. It would’ve been extraordinarily easy to bed the woman, and though he was no stranger to entertaining other men’s wives, he had found such an entanglement often proved far more trouble than it was worth.
She had however mentioned an eldest son, who Rupert assumed was the second man now hauling him away by his collar.
“Unhand my sister!” He cried, an entirely unnecessary threat, as Lord O’Hara was already grasping her by her upper arms and shedding his coat to wrap around her.
“I will ask you once more, what is the meaning of this?”
“Good evening Lord O’Hara, your daughter I presume?” Rupert asked, shaking the man off and noting that he could not have been past his early twenties.
“Yes, my eldest daughter, Agatha.” Declan replied, his mustache bristling.
“Well you would’ve had only one daughter to your name had it not been for me, your poor Agatha here almost drowned in the lake.” Rupert watched as Agatha drew her father’s coat closer around her, the material completely swallowing her.
“So that is the excuse you are making!”
“Excuse?” At this point Rupert was certain insanity must be a family trait.
“You were seen, not a moment ago, by my son Patrick, the pair of you sopping wet, rolling around in the grass together, you devoid of half your clothes! And then I hear you urging her to remove her own! Your reputation proceeds you Campbell-Black!”
“Ahh yes O’Hara, you have me there, I’ve always found the most effective way to seduce a woman is by dunking us both in ice water!” Rupert replied sarcastically.
“You will marry her!” Declan cried.
“Nothing has happened between us!” Surely the man could not be serious, saving the girl’s life could not be the catalyst for forcing marriage upon them both.
Agatha was now pressing a hand urgently against her father’s arm.“He is telling the truth, father, nothing untoward happened between us. This is not necessary.”
Declan’s eyes glanced down at her and he placed a hand against her face. “Sweetheart, you must understand that I cannot accept this. All of the ton are present here. Word of this is certain to spread and your reputation will be ruined!”
“I will not marry her.” Rupert insisted.
“Then I have no other choice than to demand satisfaction. Tomorrow morn, Campbell-Black.” O’Hara demanded, his eyes flashing as he started to advance towards Rupert. The commotion had started to draw a crowd, vultures all hoping to pick over the bones of the latest scandal. If there had been any chance of turning the tide on this, then it had vanished with the appearance of a dozen society mamas and daughters.
“Father, no! You cannot be serious!” Agatha was glancing between them, ice water dripping from the strands of her hair. Rupert noticed that she must have lost one of her shoes to the lake, her white stockings poking out from beneath the bottom of her gown. They truly must look a sight.
“I will not have him dishonour you!”
“Daddy, it is illegal for a start and secondly, Lord Campbell-Black is telling you the truth. I would’ve died had it not been for him, and now you are saying that you will take his life for it!” She took her fathers hand and moved between them both, pleading.
Lord O’Hara would not yield to reason however, fixing Rupert with a glare. “Which will it be Campbell-Black?”
O’Hara was clearly not to be swayed, stubborn as he was, and Rupert was certainly not risking his life over something as ridiculous as this. The girl was decent enough to look at, and in truth it was perhaps time for him to do his duty and marry again. The girl was young and of good breeding. Like so many of his peers he could keep a wife in the country and install a mistress, or two, of his choosing in the city.
“As you wish O’Hara. I am certain she will make a lovely Viscountess.”
***
Dearest Reader
This author is shocked to announce that what was once deemed impossible is set to occur. The Rake of Rutshire is set to wed! Viscount Campbell-Black had long since been abandoned as a prospect as it seemed he would never wed again following the death of Viscountess Helen Campbell-Black shortly after the birth of their second child. During their marriage and following her death the Viscount has never failed to flaunt his mistresses. After having only ended his long-term affair with Miss Johnson, a prominent London writer in March, he has since been linked with both Miss Cook, an American socialite, and if rumours are to be believed, shared a brief encounter with Lord Stratton’s third wife, Lady Sarah early within their marriage.
But both women can put aside any aspirations of becoming the new Viscountess Campbell-Black as after being caught in a compromising position at the final ball of the season, the Viscount is set to wed Lady Agatha O’Hara- the eldest daughter of Lord Declan O’Hara. As to whether the Viscount can put a life of sordid relations behind him and remain faithful to his new Viscountess, this author will be eager to discover.
***
The O’Hara house was a small one, as Mayfair properties went. A red brick house, a stone’s throw from Grosvenor Square with thick ivy growing around the door.
A wide-eyed maid greeted him at the door and asked him, a little too eagerly, whether she could assist him with his coat. “Miss O’Hara! Lord Campbell-Black is here to see you!” She shouted gleefully.
He had barely made it through the entrance hall before a young woman came scuttling down the stairs in an incredibly un-ladylike fashion. She quickly crossed the hall and came to stand less than a foot away from him. Her hair was wild and messy as though she had not long dragged herself out of bed. The younger O’Hara daughter.
“I thought you might be coming,” she said, “Daddy says that you’re going to be marrying Taggie. Apparently you and her were found naked together at yesterday's ball. She won’t tell me anything about it though, I’ve asked her a lot, and she still refuses. Which is incredibly unsisterly of her if you ask my opinion.” The words were spilling from her faster than water from an upturned pail, and she had a kind of manic energy surrounding her as she bounced on her heels in front of him.
Rupert finally settled on. “We weren’t nude.”
“Shame. Thought that might have been a slight exaggeration, but people do love to talk.” Then she had the audacity to jab a finger at his chest. “But something happened.”
“Caitlin O’Hara! Get back here immediately!” Lord Declan O’Hara shouted from the top of the stairs, advancing towards them again. Was he destined to always be standing perfectly innocently with this man’s daughters whilst the man came storming towards them, seconds away from a conniption?
“Ugh!” Caitlin cried, “You have to spoil everything.” She turned away and ran back up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “You know you could’ve married me!”
Declan glared at her as they passed, and Rupert watched as the girl disappeared down an upstairs corridor. “I’m incredibly sorry, but you may have to settle for me as a brother in law.”
“Now, Campbell-Black, I think it is best for us to speak now, whilst both our heads are clearer.” Declan began.
“You mean when I am not about to meet my maker from the cold, and you’re there threatening to speed it along.” Rupert replied dryly.
Declan’s mustache twitched, “I am certain that you know that you are not the type of man I would ever have wished for my daughter to wed—”
“Complimentary as ever O’Hara.” Rupert quipped.
“Are you incapable of staying quiet for more than a minute?!” Declan spat. “Now, as I said, you are not the husband I would’ve chosen for Agatha— however, I cannot ignore what I saw, deny it as you might. So wed her you will. Preferably before the week is out. You have enough money to obtain a special licence, and with half of the ton present to see your dalliance, and the other half duly informed by Lady Cooper this very morn, I have no doubt it will be granted.”
That damned social rag was truly to blame for all, well perhaps some, of his problems. “I haven’t come here to try to backtrack on my promise. If a wedding before the week is out is what you wish, then it is what you will have.” Rupert said simply. “Now perhaps I could speak to her, we have a wedding to plan. She is here is she not?”
Declan scowled. “You will not embarrass her. Keep your dalliances private.” His eyes flashed, then he nodded over to the maid still standing dutifully to the side. “I assume you know where she is, Shelley?”
The maid nodded and gestured for Rupert to follow her, but he was surprised when she led him not to a drawing room or the like, but down through the servants' stairs to the kitchens.
Agatha O'Hara stood in the centre of the room, her russet curls no longer elegantly styled atop her head, but now sitting looser. She wore a deep blue gown which contrasted with the white apron tied about her waist. The room smelt heavenly, a mixture of spiced and honeyed tarts, invading his nostrils and immediately making his stomach grumble. There was a roasting joint resting on the countertop, alongside a ball of dough that she was working into a flat sheet with a heavy rolling pin.
“Thank you, Shelley.” She smiled, wiping her hands across her apron leaving streaks of flour behind.
“Lord Campbell-Black,” she nodded, “I wish to apologise for the other night my Lord, my actions were foolish. Those of a child, not of a woman grown. But I simply could not bear to see the poor animal suffer.”
A noble sentiment but a foolish one nonetheless. “You ought to call me Rupert. Seeing as I am to be your husband after all.”
“You still wish to go ahead with it?” Her head quirked, and he took a longer look at her. She truly did have the most beautiful eyes, wide and doe-like.
“Your father seemed quite insistent, and I have no intent to lose my life over something like this. So yes, I will wed you. He wishes for us to obtain a special licence and with that, we can be wed before the week is out.”
“Oh, so soon.” She blinked.
“Yes. I see no reason to delay the inevitable after all.
Now Agatha, I am certain you will have read of me—” her face took on a curious expression at this yet still she gave a tight nod. Rupert continued despite a barely concealed giggle from a pair of eavesdropping maids. “I have a large estate in the Rutshire countryside, Penscombe Court. I am due to return there for Christmas and the New Year to be with my children, and though I did not intend for a wife, I would like for you to return with me.”
The news of a new Viscountess would soon reach his staff and tenants, and if this marriage was not to be immediately revealed for the sham it was, then she would need to be seen.
The honeyed smell of the tarts was becoming irresistible and he moved around to stand beside her. “May I?” He asked, reaching to take one.
She nodded, “Yes of course, but be careful they might still be a little hot.”
The pastry flaked beneath his fingers, tumbling to the floor as he placed it in his mouth. Oh, but it was heavenly! Truly the best pastry he’d ever tasted, far better than any offering he had ever received, even at the most lavish of events. Light, sweet pastry to contrast perfectly with the sharp taste of the fruit and honey within.
“If your cook bakes like this, then I insist you bring her with you!”
Her fingers fiddled with the cotton of her apron, “Our cook did not make those, I did.”
Rupert was bewildered, he was certain most ladies of the ton were unable to heat milk on a stove, having never had need to learn. But then if he were honest, he wasn’t certain he would succeed at that either.
She must’ve misinterpreted his expression as disapproval and she sighed, then untied the apron from her waist and folded it neatly. “I know it is not usual for a lady such as myself, but I enjoy it, and I am good at it.” She looked up at him, her shoulders dropping slightly as she met his gaze, “If we are to wed, and I am to move to your estate, I have two requests.”
“Of course.” What on earth could she possibly wish for? A paramour? A weekly stipend? Neither would be a concern, he had plenty of money, and as long as she didn’t produce a brat so blatantly not fathered by him as to cause a scandal, the first did not concern him either.
“Firstly, that you call me Taggie. I despise being called Agatha.”
He nodded, a simple request. “And secondly?”
“That I be allowed to bring my dog with me.”
Rupert’s heart softened at the earnestness of the request. “Of course.” He’d hardly notice another anyway.
“In which case I also have a request of my own. We serve lamb at the wedding.”
***
Gentle Reader
A final wedding for the season. The Viscount and Viscountess Campbell-Black were swiftly wed in an intimate ceremony this very morning. The ceremony was a close affair, attended by only the new Viscountesses family.
Nonetheless an extravagant wedding breakfast was served with wine and spiced cakes, and even a joint of roast lamb.
The bride looked resplendent in a gown of midnight blue, though sources close to this author have revealed the gown was also worn by the Baroness O’Hara at the Trowbridge ball at the start of the summer season. Could this perhaps be a shunning of societal expectations, or more proof to the rumour of the Baron O’Hara much waning funds?
***
“What on earth are you doing?” Taggie cried out as he entered the room. His little wife looked entirely proper tucked up in bed with the covers pulled up under her chin.
“I’m going to bed, the hour is quite late, as I am sure you have noticed.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, perfectly stunned, it was quite amusing, truly. “Yes, of course, but why are you retiring to bed here?”
“These are my chambers. This is my bed.” Rupert replied simply. She looked astounded and shifted a good five inches to the left as he pulled back the covers and slid in beside her. She risked throwing herself onto the floor if she moved any further away.
“I assumed these were my chambers when you showed me to them.”
“They are, as they are mine. We are married, are we not?” He reached for the book from his nightstand and opened it to a random page. He could not remember the last time he had read a book, generally finding them to be boring pieces of literature. He certainly didn’t plan to start now either, but if she was determined to play the part of the chaste lady wife, then he could surely pretend he was naught but the perfect gentleman also.
“I was under the impression that most husbands and wives have their own separate chambers. Especially ones of your social standing.”
“Mayhaps they do. But certainly not on their wedding night they do not.”
She looked affronted, turning onto her side to look at him. Her movement shifted the covers down, revealing a plain white nightgown and pale shoulders. “Surely, you do not mean…”
“I most assuredly do.”
He didn’t, and certainly would never force her, but it was delightful to tease her so. A rosy flush that had started high on her cheeks was rapidly spreading downwards and he wondered just how far it could travel.
“I believed this was to be a marriage in name only. That as you did not wish to marry we would not truly be husband and wife.” She hissed.
“Whatever gave you that impression? Was it I, stood in my finery, professing to ‘love and honour you in sickness and in health’? Or perhaps, the vicar that I paid a large sum to officiate the start of our wedded bliss?” Her lips pursed at his derisive tone. “Ahh no, I know what it might have been,” he paused, his finger raised in mock surprise, “may it have been your father threatening me with pistols at dawn?”
She fixed him with a withering look, before she began to shift uncomfortably. “So do you wish for you, and I, to, erm- consummate- the marriage tonight-”
“I’m certainly not opposed to it, though I would certainly prefer to have you eager and wanting beneath me.” And there would be no shortage of such women if she was truly unwilling for him to share her bed. “That way it has the advantage of being pleasurable for the both of us.”
“Pleasurable for the both of us?”
“Yes, of course.” Oh dear lord, did she truly not know? He had never understood what benefit high society believed was conferred to its young women by leaving them uneducated when it came to the joys of sexual pleasure.
Giving up the charade he tossed the book back onto the nightstand. “Sex is for far more than making children Agatha. Have you ever touched yourself? Between your legs I mean.”
She gasped at the forthright nature of the question before she shook her head minutely. “I’m not sure that I would know what to do.” She whispered.
“Whatever you find feels good. There’s no wrong way, in fact, I’d be more than happy to help you find out.” He winked.
Her colour was almost scarlet now and she looked even younger lay there with her loose hair spilling over the pillows. He felt an ache staring at her, and began to feel uncharacteristically guilty for his teasing.
He brushed a curl back from her face, his thumb tracing across her cheekbone. When she didn’t shy away from this touch he leant in and placed a soft kiss against her lips. “Go to sleep Taggie. You’ve had a long day and we set off for Penscombe early tomorrow.”
When he awoke the next morning, there was an arm slung across his chest and a chin resting against his shoulder, the soft puffs of her breath warm against his neck. And though he couldn’t truly explain it, he felt content for the first time in years.
***
Rupert had missed Penscombe. Missed Rutshire in its entirety, if he told the truth.
His new viscountess sat in the carriage beside him, her hands clasped in her lap as they had been for the entire journey.
As promised, a servant had been sent for her canine companion early in the morning and Rupert had been shocked when the man returned with a scruffy white mutt at the end of the lead. Taggie had let out a gleeful Gertrude! and when released the dog had immediately scampered over to his wife, rolling over to expose her pink belly and loll her tongue.
Said mongrel was now lounging at their feet, her head resting against her mistress's legs. As the carriage came to a halt however, her head bobbed up and she jumped up onto the seat beside them. Taggie ran an affectionate hand through the fur on the top of her head.
“This is our new home, girl. I hope you’ll like it.” She whispered, before glancing over to Rupert and giving him a small smile. She gazed up at the walls of Penscombe, the tall stone walls stark against the lush green backdrop of the land. Around the door, a few persistent roses were clinging on despite the bitter cold.
As the carriage door opened, he held out a hand to help her down, the silk of her gloves soft against his palm. Mrs Bodkin, his long-serving housekeeper, was the first of the household to greet their new Lady. With a polite nod she dropped down into a poor imitation of a curtsy.
“Oh there’s no need to bend down like that. I should hope we could grow to be friends, as I was with my own housekeeper.” Taggie said warmly.
“I keep a small household staff here, what with it previously only being myself in residence. Mrs Bodkin and her husband mostly manage the household and the grounds with a small number of additional staff. Of course, if you wish for a ladies maid now that you are in residence, I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Taggie didn’t answer him, her eyes were busy scanning across the expanse of windows as though she were counting them and finding the number far larger than she expected. The true test was certain to come now however, as he eyed his children standing beside their governess, Lizzie.
Tabitha, his youngest, was near scowling, her thin lips pressed together as she stared at the pair of them. A steady and firm hand was placed against her shoulder, urging her to remain still. Rupert noted with a smirk that the bottom of her skirts were splashed with mud, her slippers stained dark brown. She had almost certainly been running amok in the stables once more, ordering the grooms about, and making a general nuisance of herself.
His eldest, Marcus, freshly returned from boarding school stood slightly behind them, almost hidden. He had grown a good foot taller since Rupert had seen him last, and his dark hair had grown longer, curling at the nape of his neck.
As they approached, Tabitha could no longer be restrained, breaking free and rushing forwards to wrap her arms around his waist and squeeze him tightly. “Daddy, is it true then? You’ve gotten married again? Why have you got married? And is this woman to be our new mother? And why did I have to be told this by Mrs B, who told me she had to read it in a newspaper, couldn’t you have sent us a letter? I’ve been awfully bored here and—”
Rupert laughed, he was sure that if he let her continue for much longer she was certain to run out of air. “So many questions Tab! Yes I have married again, this is Agatha, my wife.” Tabitha eyed Taggie with a suspicious glance. “And I am sorry that I did not send word to you earlier, it has happened very quickly.”
Tabitha huffed at this and addressed Taggie. “Are you to be our new mother then?”
Taggie smiled softly, “I cannot and will never replace your mother, who I’m sure you both loved very dearly—”
“I never knew her. She died two days after I was born.” Tabitha said matter of factly. Rupert pinched his nose, his daughter had always been one for bluntness.
Taggie however took this in her stride. “Be that as it may, I am not here to replace her, but I would like to get to know you both.” She glanced over at Marcus, who had stayed back. The boy gave a small nod and Taggie smiled back.
“Come now Miss Campbell-Black, I’m sure your father would like to show the viscountess her new home.” Lizzie said warmly, placing a hand between Tabitha’s shoulder blades and leading her back towards the house. Tabitha kept her head turned back the entire time, watching them for as long as she could. “I quite like her little dog, even if it is a bit funny looking.” Rupert heard her whisper and he chuckled lightly.
“Quite right, we have been travelling for far too long.” Rupert took Taggie’s arm and led her inside with her scruffy little dog tight at their heels. Stepping back into the entrance hall was akin to feeling a weight lift from his shoulders and the tight band around his chest loosen.
Taggie’s posture was rigid as she took in the family portraits hung on the walls, the thick curtains, the long corridor lined with books and an impressive Stubbs painting that led down to the sitting room. It seemed Penscombe was having the opposite effect on her, as though the very walls were pressing in on her and making her feel small.
“We have plenty of time to explore the house later. Would you like me to show you the grounds whilst it is still light?”
“I would like that, yes.” She said tightly.
“Leave your dog here, I am sure she will sniff out mine in time.” And indeed as Taggie gestured to the mutt that she could be free, she took off scarpering down the hallway, her claws clicking against the wooden floor.
“You have dogs?” Taggie asked suddenly.
“Yes, several actually.”
“For hunting?”
“Some for hunting, yes,” her expression turned sour at this, but he continued, “and also some just because I enjoy their company.”
Her face softened and she nodded. “They are such good company.”
Exiting out of the back patio with him, she stared out over the land. The trees were bare, stark twigs reaching out towards the sky, and the spider webs between the benches were glistening like they were covered in jewels. It was a beautiful, yet harsh, sight and he found himself wishing she could’ve seen it in the summer for the first time.
“Your children are lovely.” Taggie said.
“Yes they are. Tabitha is wild, she truly keeps us all on our toes. She is only nine years of age but she has her governess, and indeed most of the household staff, wrapped around her little finger. She is showing herself to be an excellent horsewoman too, rides as though she were born in the saddle. I purchased her a pony last winter, a simple bay, and she is doing perfectly with him. She reminds me of myself at a similar age.” Rupert said proudly. In truth, it would’ve perhaps been better had Tabitha been born the son. She would’ve likely been better suited to it than Marcus.
It was almost as though Taggie had read his mind as she probed, “And your son? He was very quiet earlier.”
“Yes well, Tabitha speaks enough for them both.” He laughed. Taggie smiled and waited for him to continue. He sighed, “Marcus has always been more reserved than his sister. He was a sickly child, and has always suffered with his lungs so he cannot exert himself too greatly. I am told by his tutors however, that he is progressing very well in his studies and he shall attend Harrow next autumn, as I did.”
Taggie nodded a strange look passing over her features, “Well as I said, I would like to get to know them both better.”
As they walked Taggie tucked her hands tighter against her chest to protect from the cold, pulling her travelling coat tighter around herself. Though the longer they walked Rupert could tell she was growing bored. She was eternally polite of course, smiling and nodding as he pointed out the orangery, the fountains, the formal walled gardens, the gatehouse. Truth be told, Rupert was finding it a little tedious himself too. Remembering her excitement in learning of his pack of dogs, he wondered if it may be extended to all animals.
“And these… are the stables.”
Her interest piqued, she wandered into the stables ahead of him. She immediately smiled when she saw the rows of scratched wooden stalls, and smelled the warm, earthy scent of the hay. At the sound of their entrance a few large heads popped out above the doors to greet them. He walked her past his newest acquisitions, a pair of Clydesdales and a new Irish draught horse, until they reached the stall of a handsome grey thoroughbred.
“This is Rocky. Don’t tell the others, but he’s my favourite.”
She stroked her hand over the gelding’s silky nose and laughed as he huffed. “I think he already knows.” She smiled, her nose crinkling. The light was streaming in through the south window illuminating the side of her face. The loose auburn strands of her hair looked like a crown.
“Do you ride?” He asked, picturing her astride a horse, that long hair loose, her skirts flying out behind her as she galloped.
“A little, but not for a long time now.” She said wistfully.
“Well, now you are here, you can ride a little more if that is something you wish.”
She smiled and nodded, the expression lighting up her entire face, her cheeks now rosy from the sudden change in temperature.
“Come now, we should go back inside, and do not tell Tabitha that we came to the stables without her, she will be most perturbed.”
***
True to his word, as the next day dawned Tabitha was indeed considerably perturbed to learn of their visit to the stables, striding into the dining room before the food had even been placed on the table.
She immediately hauled herself up onto the chair next to Taggie. “Did you meet Biscuit?” She asked urgently.
“Biscuit?” Taggie asked curiously.
“Yes. Biscuit. My pony.” She replied tartly.
“Oh, no, I don’t think I did. Though I did hear about him–”
“Daddy– you didn’t introduce her to Biscuit? But he’s the best horse in the stables.” Tabitha twisted in her chair as Rupert entered the room and fixed him with a look that would make even the most hardened criminal rethink their actions.
Taggie smiled, letting out a gentle laugh as she placed a hand on Tabitha’s shoulder. “Perhaps you will have to take me down to the stables and make the introduction yourself. He is your pony afterall, so you must know him best.”
Tabitha nodded solemnly at this. “Yes, later today.” She glanced sternly between them. “But don’t go without me again,” she warned.
“We will bear that in mind, darling.” Rupert muttered and pulled out the chair on the other side of Taggie, the feet scraping loudly against the oak floor. She looked shocked to see him there, but said nothing.
“Is something the matter?” He asked.
“No, no,” she whispered, then exhaled. “I suppose I expected that you would keep a formal table.”
“What point is there to me sitting over ten feet away from you when there is a perfectly suitable seat next to you?”
She smiled slightly at this and then looked up at him warmly. At that moment Mrs Bodkin arrived with a compliment of eggs and cold cuts, placing it down in front of them on fine porcelain plates. Tabitha immediately wrinkled her nose at the sight, grabbing Mrs Bodkin’s hand before she could withdraw from the table.
“Mrs B, this is not breakfast! Where is the bread, the marmalade, where are the cakes?”
“Tabitha,” Rupert warned, “eat your breakfast or you’ll go without.”
“I will not.” She muttered, but finally released her tight grip on the housekeeper's wrist but only once she had assured her that the cakes would be coming shortly.
“Do you like cakes then, Tabitha?” Taggie asked, slicing her pork and placing a forkful into her mouth.
“Yes, more than whatever this is.” She said, beginning to push the plate away from herself until her father fixed her with a look and she halted.
“I’ll let you into a secret,” Taggie whispered, “I much prefer them too, but I’ve always found that I enjoy them far more at the end of my breakfast, as a sweet treat. What is your favourite kind?”
“Ginger cakes.” Tabitha replied, picking up a slimy piece of egg warily.
“I’m more partial to a fruit cake myself.” Taggie commented. “But how about if you eat your breakfast this morning, I will cook you some ginger cakes for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
Tabitha grinned at this, seeming to find it a most agreeable deal and began to make a show of chewing on her eggs. Mrs Bodkin who had returned with a loaf of bread and fresh preserves, froze at her words. “Forgive me, your Ladyship, but you will cook some?”
She quirked an eyebrow at Rupert as he replied, “Yes, her Ladyship expressed an interest in the culinary pursuits to me before we were wed. And having tried her offerings, I found them most incredible.” Taggie blushed at his praise as he continued. “I think perhaps she would frequently wish to join you in the kitchens, and I’m sure she will be welcomed.” He stated in a tone that conveyed there would be no argument.
Mrs Bodkin nodded, “We would be most grateful for your company, your Ladyship.”
Taggie took a slice of bread and began to thinly spread a layer of marmalade over it. “Tabitha, is your brother not joining us?”
“Marcus prefers to sup alone. I’m sure Mrs Bodkin will take him some food up to his rooms.” Rupert said, his fork scraping against the plate. “I have several matters to attend to this morning. Accounts, finances, contracts for the tenant farmers and such. I will join you again for dinner tonight, but the day is yours to spend as you please.”
He placed his hand atop Taggie’s on the table. “Do whatever pleases you. Walk the grounds, spend time with the dogs, go to the kitchens and otherwise make yourself familiar with the house. I want you to be comfortable here Taggie, and to treat it as your home.”
***
Two weeks passed in much the same manner. They would awake together with the dawn, her auburn hair spread out across the pillows in that manner he was swiftly growing accustomed to. More often than not, they would awaken and find that they had sought each other out in the night. A leg resting against the others, an arm slung about a waist, or a face buried against a neck.
They would breakfast together each morning without fail, sometimes joined by Tabitha, and sometimes, mercifully not. With an assortment of spiced cakes and tarts, and a genuine interest in being dragged to the stables at least twice a day, Taggie had soon gained a much coveted place in Tabitha’s affections. Even his quiet boy seemed to be slowly coming out of his shell under Taggie’s gentle guidance. She had become beloved by the staff, in truth, perhaps more beloved than himself despite Mrs Bodkin having known him since he was little more than two years of age. She treated each and every maid, groom and housekeeper with respect and understanding, soon learning all of their names and enquiring more about their families, their likes and dislikes and how they came into the employ of the estate.
With Yule quickly approaching Penscombe was soon perfectly decorated with holly and ivy, rosemary sprigs and kissing boughs. She had been collecting hazel twigs for days, and had already promised Tabitha and Marcus that they could all journey out together on Christmas Eve to select the Yule Log, having eyed a particularly large oak tree to the west of the estate.
The heart of Penscombe began to grow under Taggie’s attention, and with time she began to bloom in turn, no longer appearing to fear that Penscombe would swallow her whole at any moment.
They had still not lain together but surprisingly Rupert found himself not dissatisfied by this. Though it was unlike any other relationship he was used to, usually prone to fiery dalliances that were quick to spark and even quicker to be extinguished, he found he was nonetheless enjoying the slow and steady burn of getting to know his wife.
***
“Bodkin, have you seen my wife this morning?”
“I believe I saw her heading to the stables my Lord.” He replied.
Grabbing his coat, Rupert headed out towards the stables and found Taggie there, standing ankle deep amongst the hay with one of his mares.
“I thought we were both warned never to come here without Tabitha.” He said warmly.
Taggie jumped a little at the sound of his voice then laughed brightly, a crisp sound that cut through the cold morning air. “We were, and yet here we both are.”
“I don’t think you’ve introduced me to this beautiful girl yet.” She said, running a hand along the mare’s neck, she turned and placed her large head on Taggie’s shoulder nuzzling against her. Taggie laughed delightfully. “The pair of us must look a sight here.”
“Yes.” Rupert whispered. A beautiful one. He stepped into the stable beside Taggie. “This is Sweet Azure,” he said, placing a hand on her muzzle. “And she is a sweet girl really, very calm and gentle. Perfect for you.” Rupert had purchased her for Marcus several years ago until the boy showed himself to have no interest in riding, or indeed, in horses at all.
He dared to place a hand against the small of Taggie’s back and was delighted when she let out a small gasp. “We could take her out for a ride now, if you like. We will both have to face Tabitha’s wrath regardless, we may as well make it worth it.”
She giggled. “I would like to, but I’m afraid I don’t have any riding boots.”
“A shame, we will get some ordered for you and we can—”
“Sorry to interrupt your Lordship, but I am sure your late mother’s pair would fit the viscountess.” A groom said, before disappearing into the tack room and returning with a pair of slim black riding boots.
They did indeed look a similar size and would suffice for today. Taggie graciously accepted the boots and moved to sit, pulling off her shoes. She revealed shapely calves in long woolen stockings and Rupert followed the path of the boots as she pulled them up her legs. He imagined his fingers in their place, tracing up those long legs to the juncture of her thighs.
She wiggled her toes and smiled at him. “Slightly big, but nothing that another pair of stockings would not fix.”
“Nonsense! I will have a new pair ordered for you this afternoon. I won’t have my wife riding around in ill fitting boots.”
Azure and Rocky had both been saddled and Rupert kicked the mounting block across the floor taking Taggie’s hand. “Now let us get you riding.”
She looked apprehensive at first, sitting rigidly with her hands tightly grasping at the reins as though she didn’t truly trust herself to guide the creature. However with a little encouragement, Rupert mounted and led them both from the stables.
It was an incredibly slow ride, scarcely progressing beyond a trot, and though his muscles urged him to dig in his heels and rise in his seat, urging Rocky on, he didn’t. Soon she began to gain confidence once more, relaxing into the rhythmic motion of the horse below her. Slowly her fingers loosened on the reins, the tension in her spine no longer causing her to sit as straight as an arrow.
“See, you are certain to improve in no time.” He commented. “When was the last time you rode?”
“Not since I was a young girl, we were still living in Ireland at the time and I had a small pony there, named Aengus. He stayed behind when we moved to London.” Her eyes took on a glazed quality as she dove back into the past. “He was a lovely little thing really, a little spirited at times, but crucially, he was far smaller than this. I don’t recall ever being quite this high up back then.” She glanced down furtively at the ground beneath her horses hooves and Rupert couldn’t help but laugh.
“How old were you when you moved to England?”
“Around six years I believe, Caitlin was still in leading strings.”
“Ahh yes, your younger sister. This was her first season out was it not?” He asked and Taggie nodded. “That reminds me. I have been travelling to London for countless dreadful social seasons and yet, not once, do I ever remember you being presented?”
She quietened then, her fingers gripping the reins tightly once more. Her words were tight and clipped when they came. “My mother and father did not think it was worth presenting me for a social season. They did not think my prospects would be good enough.”
“Why ever not?” Such a thing was impossible to believe. She was young, and besides that, beautiful in the most natural way, without even trying. Any man would’ve been lucky to take her to wife. Though at the thought of her married to someone else he felt something lurch inside himself.
“I’m not the best with my words, my parents aren’t quite sure why,” she said with a wan smile, “so I never mastered French or Latin, and my playing of the pianoforte leaves much to be desired.”
As if any of that truly mattered, it was all artifice intended only to beguile a wealthy suitor, and he told her as much. “Also from what I saw of your sister this season, I’m sure those things aren’t her forte either.”
“No,” Taggie smiled, a true smile that pulled the corners of her mouth up and crinkled the sides of her eyes. “But mother and father thought Caitlin a little too wild, and believed securing her a husband as quickly as possible would be the solution for that.”
“It won’t be.” Even from what little he had learnt of her and their brief encounters, he was certain there wasn’t a person alive who could tame Caitlin O’Hara.
“No, it certainly won’t be.” She laughed.
They rode out past the west gardens, progressing up to the very highest point of his, their, lands. The day was a clear one and he pointed out the village of Penscombe, the small houses and farmland that made up their tenants. She took a particular interest in the old abandoned priory now visible across the valley, and though it had been uninhabited for decades he agreed that the tower made a striking addition to the landscape.
“What is that?” She asked as they crested the hill.
She took in the white stone arch, staring in confusion at the huge structure. “My father had it built, a commemoration of some great naval battle I believe.” Rupert replied. He had never taken much interest in the thing, it had cost an obscene amount of money and he firmly believed it to be nothing more than an eyesore, especially as his father had never once been at sea.
“It’s impressive.” She whispered.
“We can take a closer look at it if you wish. Come, we’ll tie up the horses.” Rupert expertly dismounted, giving Rocky a pat on the neck. Noting her hesitation, he wandered over and held out a hand. “Swing one of your legs over and then I’ve got you.”
She did so tentatively, revealing her black leather riding boots as the fabric shifted alongside her. He placed two hands aside her waist, and lifted her down with ease. He let his hands linger against the thick wool a fraction longer than necessary. A moment passed between them, something unspoken, before he loosened his grip.
“You say your father had it built?” Taggie asked, staring up at the stone busts his father had insisted be carved into the structure. It was far colder at the top of the hill, her breath now coming out in small visible puffs in the freezing air and her feet crunching against the grass.
“Yes and he was immensely proud of it. I was little more than a boy of ten at the time and he insisted that myself and my brother must attend the moment it was completed, as though he had had it personally built for us.” It had been a day not dissimilar to this, but Adrian had forgotten his gloves and wailed the entire time they were outside. “I am certain I would like to pass on a better gift than some unsightly arch to my own sons.”
She paused, her fingers halfway to making contact with the cold surface. “Your own sons? You wish for more children?” She asked quietly.
“Yes, with time. Do you wish for them?”
Taggie nodded. “Yes, of course, I do love children and always expected to care for my own someday.”
She seemed nervous then, her teeth biting down on a plump lip before she lowered her eyes and addressed the ground. “And, I have also been thinking on what you said to me, on our wedding night, when we were abed—”
A promising start.
She gulped, “— about how a woman could also feel pleasure—”
“Yes?”
“And, I was wondering, if perhaps tonight, you would show me?” She looked up at him through long lashes. It was a knee to the groin with desire. Did she truly not know the effect she could have on a man asking him something like that?
“Of course. But I see no reason to wait until nightfall.” He said, voice gravelly as he backed her up against the cool stone and ran a finger along the line of her jaw. She shuddered beneath him and he was unsure if it was from his touch or the chill as he drew the scarf from her neck.
His lips followed the path of his fingertips and she arched beneath him. Rupert, she whispered as her fingers clutched into the thick wool of his coat. He caught her lips with his own and slid a hand behind her head. She seemed to melt into him, pulling him closer and growing more responsive as his kisses grew more urgent.
Rupert grappled with the fabric of her skirts, frantically pulling them up until he could fit a hand between her thighs. She gasped against his lips and moved her hands up to pull tightly at the strands of his hair. He circled his thumb around that most sensitive spot that he knew would bring her to her peak.
Feeling the growing wetness there, he gently pressed two fingers into her opening. The soft puffs of air that he had grown accustomed to over the preceding weeks turned into breathy moans against the shell of his ear.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yes,” she sighed and she buried her face into the base of his neck as her hips started to rock against him instinctively. “More,” she pleaded and as he twisted his fingers and her moans grew louder he knew she was close.
“That’s it,” he whispered as he felt her clench around him and her nails scratched against his scalp.
They stayed there a moment, breathing in each other's air as her chest heaved against his. Then her brow furrowed, and her gaze dropped down to where his hips were fitted between hers. “Are you not going to— I mean do you not wish to—”
He chuckled, she truly was a delightful creature. “Not out here, it’s far too cold this time of year, although,” he grinned as he dropped to the ground and dove beneath her skirts. He hooked a hand under her knee and placed it over his shoulder as he whispered against her skin,
“Let’s see if we can get you there again.”
***
Gentle Readers
Two months have now passed since the Viscount and Viscountess Campbell-Black were wed and the couple have only this week announced their intentions to host a ball at their Penscombe Court home in a fortnight's time. Is this author to believe that the delay in hosting was because the pair remained ensconced in wedded bliss until now? But as the Viscount leaves for London this week, unaccompanied by his wife, are we to believe that perhaps the Viscountess Campbell-Black has not been capable of sustaining the Viscount’s affections? She has certainly shown herself to be poorly suited to maintaining their estate alongside their place in society. This author can then only wonder if he has found his new wife lacking, and with the return of one Miss Cameron Cook from America, the Viscount has fallen, once more, into his old ways?
***
A week away from his wife had grated on him far more than he expected. Rupert had long ago grown accustomed to spending time alone, and had been certain he preferred it that way, but now, seven days without awakening beside her and he was desperate to return. Another week away seemed like a ridiculous notion.
Rupert took a deep inhale of his cigarette, letting the sweet tobacco penetrate deep into his lungs to calm him. The air of the club was thick with the scent of smoke and alive with the hum of conversation.
“So tell me more of the new viscountess—I never thought I would again see the day, and yet I return from America to find you once again wed.” Said Basil Baddingham, stubbing his cigarette out against a porcelain plate.
“Quite.” Rupert replied absentmindedly.
“She has remained in Rutshire has she not? You did not wish to bring her to London with you?” Basil asked, pushing a glass of brandy across the table. “Perhaps because you have spent most of the week in the arms of Miss Cook?”
Rupert took a swig from the glass. “You know as well as I do, that Miss Cook was most put-out to learn she was not to be the next Viscountess Campbell-Black, and indeed I have not seen her since late November.” He sighed, and finished the glass, the liquid burning as it slid down his throat, though it left a pleasant burn behind it. “We are to host a ball next week, when I return. The viscountess was determined to host, you know how I hate such events, but she insisted. She is of course far better at planning than I am, so she volunteered to stay. That is all there is to it.”
“If you say so.” Basil grinned. “Shall we peruse the latest offering from the illustrious Lady Cooper?” He snatched the paper from a neighbouring table and made a dramatic show of holding it aloft whilst he read aloud. “Now let us see… Lady Stratton is yet again with child, though ‘this author suspects that the child will once again bear no resemblance to Lord Stratton’,” Rupert scoffed, he had never put much stock behind the society gossip rags, but this new Lady Cooper was certainly placing a cat amongst the pigeons with her scathing insights into the ton.
“Viscountess Campbell-Black did not attend the Vereker ball yesterday evening and it is rumoured she has taken ill… mine own brother had once again tried to gain favour with the Queen, with little success…” Basil continued, running his finger down the page, completely unaware his companion was no longer listening.
“My wife has taken ill?”
“It would seem so, yes.” He dropped the paper down a fraction and arched an eyebrow. “Is that of concern to you? I thought it would be of little to you, and besides if she has and it is serious, you may yet be rid of the shackles of marriage.” He laughed.
Against the table Rupert’s fingers clenched into a fist at the sound. The image of Taggie alone, unwell, sent ice water flooding through his veins, leaving behind only a hollowness he couldn’t quite name. Why would she not have sent word to him? Or indeed why hadn’t any members of his household?
“She is my wife Basil.”
At the sight of Rupert’s barely concealed rage, he raised a hand in surrender. “Christ, alright, I didn’t realise you felt so strongly.”
***
The day's ride seemed to span longer than all their days apart, until at last the walls of Penscombe came into view as the sun was at its lowest point in the sky.
Mr Bodkin came hurrying from the garden as Rupert exited the carriage and immediately began to hasten up the steps. “Your Lordship! We weren’t expecting you home for at least another week!” As Rupert’s strides were at least twice the size of his own he was soon panting to keep up.
“Where is my wife?” Rupert urged, “And why did nobody inform me that she had taken ill?”
“I’m afraid she forbade us, my Lord. Gave us strict instructions we were not to tell you she had been hurt.”
Rupert pinched his nose and exhaled. “Just tell me where she is.”
Bodkin looked reluctant still, and Rupert saw fit to remind him that he was the one who paid his wages. “She is in the sitting room, my Lord.” He finally muttered.
“What have you done? Why are you hurt?” Rupert demanded, throwing open the doors to find Taggie sitting with her feet resting on the ottoman. He let out a breath he had been unaware he was holding when he realised that apart from a slight pallor to her cheeks, she appeared otherwise well.
Mr Bodkin, traitor that he was, immediately apologised to her. “I’m sorry, your Ladyship, I can assure you he did not learn of your accident from myself.”
“What accident?! Tell me precisely what has happened in my absence?”
Taggie sighed. “I took one of the horses out for a ride three days ago and took a small fall, injuring my ankle. I had hoped it would be improved by now, but it’s being somewhat stubborn. You need not concern yourself with it.”
“Get out Bodkin.” He said harshly, and the man immediately turned on his heel and left.
“Rupert— that was rude —”
Rupert ignored her, kneeling down and lifting her skirts away from her feet. “Let me see.”
“—there’s no need—” She protested but winced as his fingertips brushed her ankle.
“Taggie… Have you consulted a physician?” The skin around the bone had taken on a deep purple hue and was swollen to twice its usual size. Rupert could not be certain the ankle wasn’t broken.
“Yes. Mrs Bodkin would not allow me to not do so. He told me it was fine, merely a sprain. A bad one, but a sprain nonetheless.” She said, leaning forwards and throwing her skirts back down.
“Be that as it may, what remains to be seen is why I had to find out from the society papers that my wife had been injured, rather than her sending word to me herself!”
“It was reported in the society papers?” She said shocked, her face taking on that delightful blush once more. “I’m sorry, I’m sure it was greatly exaggerated.”
Rupert continued to fix her with a stare as he repeated slowly. “Why did you not inform me?”
“It was not necessary.”
“I believe it was.”
They continued at this impasse, their eyes locked on each other and neither willing to relent. “We shall be cancelling the ball next week of course.” He muttered finally.
“No! We cannot!” She cried, suddenly lurching forwards in her seat.
“Taggie, do not be ridiculous. You cannot possibly host like this.” Did she truly plan to hobble around the dancefloor? And she could hardly be expected to shoulder the burden of arranging such an extensive event when she was unwell.
“We are not cancelling the ball. I refuse. I am certain that my foot shall be much improved by next week.” She swung her feet to the floor and attempted to stand despite the obvious pain on her face as her ankle took her weight. Rupert quickly took her hand and steadied her. “Tell me why you are so insistent on throwing this damned ball!”
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly considering her next words before she finally settled on. “Because society bids it.”
Because society bids it! If there was ever a more ridiculous reason to perform something he had never heard it. But her face remained set, stoically refusing to relent.
“Fine! Do as you wish! But do not expect me to be happy about it.” He said exasperated and turned on his heel to leave her to her madness.
***
The evening of the ball arrived preceded by several miserable days. For the first time since the start of their marriage she had taken up residence in the Viscountesses chambers on the opposite side of the house. Rupert had been informed that she had requested them to be opened a few days after his departure for London, and had stubbornly remained in them upon his return. She had also insisted on a formal dining table for supper, and taken to calling him ‘Lord’ in front of the staff. He did not know what had caused her to grow so withdrawn towards him now, several months into their marriage, but indeed, cold and formal she had grown once more.
Taggie had flitted around the house like a moth to a flame, never truly staying still. For the first few days she had limped, her hands grasping onto furniture to steady herself as she walked, then as the days continued she learned to mask the pain so well that it no longer overtly appeared. But still Rupert would occasionally catch a grimace cross her face, or a shifting of her stance, when she thought nobody was watching.
Although she had barely been seen, by Rupert at least, as her time was taken up so fervently by ensuring that everything would be perfect for the night of the ball. She had arranged various cuts of meat to be delivered, lamb and pork, even fine Scottish venison, alongside enough fine wine and spiced brandy to sink a small ship. Soon the cellar was filled to bursting.
A string quartet arrived as afternoon fell, and a large floral display had been erected in the entrance hall. Musicians and opera singers milled around his halls like ants alongside a whole new host of staff that had been hired for the event alone. Rupert had never felt so trapped and claustrophobic in his own home.
In contrast, Tabitha had been having an incredible day, stealing sweet pies and biscuits from any tray that was left unattended for a moment too long. She had begged Taggie to ensure animals were present at the next ball they hosted, and despite Taggie reminding her that the exotic animals she had read about were better suited to foreign shores than society ballrooms, she scowled until Taggie promised they could visit a menagerie the next time they visited London.
Indeed, Marcus had also seemed to be enjoying himself as after gazing overlong when the string quartet had begun tuning their violins and cellos, they had given him a small lesson in their merit.
Taggie herself looked immensely proud of herself as evening fell and it seemed everything was set for a ball to outmatch all others. That at least was a small balm, as for the first time in a week her brow was no longer creased with stress and her whole being seemed to relax at long last.
The guests began to arrive at nightfall. As Rupert had not handled the invitations, the arrival of each individual came as a surprise to him. As a country rather than a city ball he was glad to note that the guest list had been significantly reduced so that he would not have to spend all evening pulled from boring conversation to simply dreadful conversation. Although as Lords Vereker and Stratton arrived he began to fear he may be forced to anyway. He was sorely tempted to restart the rumours of the latter’s wife’s continued infidelity with the first, purely to entertain himself if nothing more.
But such a thing would be sure to embarrass his wife and as Taggie had done him the tremendous favour of ensuring Lord Anthony Baddingham never received an invitation, despite the snub he knew it would’ve been, he was determined to do this one for her in return.
Mr Frederick Jones was a pleasant addition, as an untitled mister who had recently come into a considerable fortune, he had the money, but not the respect and name the ton so desperately craved. He was loud, slightly boorish at times, and amongst the finest men Rupert considered himself to have the pleasure of knowing. His wife was an insipid little thing, but harmless. Tonight she was wearing a gown of a shocking, sickly yellow that was nothing short of offensive to the eye.
Freddie clapped him on the shoulder as he entered, with a quick, “Hullo, Rupe,” which had several people turning to glance over in judgement. Truly the man would keep him entertained all night, especially if they were to end up in their cups.
Rupert was pouring himself a whiskey when the noise from the guests subsided. Turning to face the grand staircase, he saw what, or whom, had captured their attention. Taggie was descending the stairs in a gown of sky blue, embroidered with thick floral brocade. Her long curls were piled on top of her head and amongst them sat a headband encrusted with diamonds that gleamed in the candle light. At the base of her throat was a row of sparkling sapphires. Never mind a Viscountess, she would have easily passed for a Princess. Rupert watched with pride as she floated amongst the crowd, a little nervous, he could tell, her hand quivering as she reached for a slice of orange from a passing tray.
As the string quartet struck up the beginning chords of a cotillion, she took the hand of Mr Sebastian Burrows and was led out amongst the crowd. She smiled and nodded as he adjusted his grip and spun her around, the fabric of her skirts flaring out like a bell as she turned. She truly was radiant and Rupert felt his hand flex a little around his whiskey glass.
“You ran away from London so swiftly I just had to follow you and meet the Viscountess who has so clearly worked her way under your skin.” A voice commented from behind him and Basil Baddingham clapped him on the shoulder. “She is decent enough to look at. Perhaps I will ask her for a dance myself.” He commented.
“She is more than decent. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what? Dance with her? Is that why you’re staring at that poor boy as though you want to aim your hunting rifle at him?” Basil asked amused. “It is a ball Rupert, a formal dance. Did you expect she would dance only with you?”
The tight set of Rupert’s jaw gave him the only affirmative he needed.
Bas chuckled, “You truly are as bad as each other. Determined to flout convention and entice the tons derision in every way you can.”
“What do you mean by that?” Rupert’s brow furrowed. What derision? Every single person here tonight was in awe of her and everything she had achieved, surely that was clear.
“You truly do not heed to the gossip do you? Mingle, and listen to them. I’m going to the parlour to play cards.”
It took him a moment, several hushed conversations overheard on such thrilling topics as the newest fashion in reticules and the newly published novel by that Austen girl down in Hampshire.
But then finally, as Rupert plucked a slice of game pie from the sideboard, he heard them.
“Can you imagine, I couldn’t quite believe it when the invite came through, she seems a nice enough girl, but it is February, how can she not know this is the time for masquerade balls.” Valerie Jones tutted, her eyes following Taggie as the music changed and she began to join a quadrille in the centre of the floor. “And she is such a poor dancer, look at her, she barely knows the steps.” She giggled loudly then quickly covered her mouth as the sound rang out through the air when the music quietened.
“Speaking of dancing, I even heard that she plans to dance with the Viscount this evening. Has even saved him a place on her dance card… I’ve heard they even plan to dance a waltz.” Lady Stratton replied scandalised as she addressed her words from behind a lavish fan.
Rupert coughed, and watched as twin pairs of eyes spun round to look at him, widening at the sight of him reclined against the wall. “Oh Viscount! Your Lordship,” Valerie squeaked and dropped down into a pathetic curtsy. “We did not see you there.”
“No, I assumed as much from the venom you were spitting towards my wife, who has so graciously hosted you both tonight.” He said coldly.
“I’m sorry, your Lordship, but everyone is saying it—”
“No, but nothing. I have half a mind to throw you all out now and vastly improve my evening.” Rupert’s words left no room for argument and the women seemed suitably cowed.
Turning back to the ballroom, he focused back into the cacophony of noise around him. The low thrum of chatter mixed with the airy sound of the strings and the clapping of feet against the floor. The couples had moved on now, intricately weaving between each other and dancing a lively jig. However within the sea of bobbing heads, there was a face he did not see.
As Mrs Bodkin refreshed the trays on the table with yet more pies and jelly, he grabbed her by the arm. “Where is my wife?”
Mrs Bodkin looked sheepish, her eyes flitting about the room as though she wished she were anywhere else, until she sighed and relented. “She left a moment ago, and she was seen heading towards the library, your Lordship. But I believe she wants some time alone.”
Rupert sighed. They had had enough time alone of late. He pushed his way through the tight throng of people to find his wife. The library wasn’t far and as the noise of the ball faded into the background he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Pushing open the heavy oak doors, he saw Taggie standing in the centre of the room, facing towards the rows of bookcases, her chest wracking with sobs.
“Taggie, what is it? What is wrong?”
She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the leather bound books as she whispered. “Leave me please Rupert. I will be out again shortly.”
“No Agatha. I am not leaving until you tell me what is wrong. What has been wrong since my return.”
“I’m sorry but the way they have all looked at me tonight, the whispers, I think perhaps I was not ready to throw this ball—”
Rupert threw his hands up in exasperation. “I did not wish to throw this ball in the first place! I told you as such, begged for you to reconsider, that we should cancel!”
She sniffed, rubbed at her eyes furiously, “I know, I know. But I thought I could do it. I thought I could prove them all wrong.” She crossed the room suddenly and sat down on the chaise, turning away from him. Her voice came quietly then, and Rupert felt as though his chest had been flayed open as she whispered, “But I suppose I have been a poor Viscountess and an even poorer wife.”
“Taggie, what are you talking about?” He begged.
“I have been a burden to you.”
“A burden to me? How could you have possibly burdened me in any way?” He was perplexed. Such a thing would be impossible, did she not see how she had enriched both his and his children’s lives since her arrival? And tonight she had thrown a ball that was certain to be remembered in the ton as incomparable.
“How could I not?” She cried. “From the moment we met, I have been nothing but a burden! The very first night we met you could have lost your own life in an attempt to save mine! And then from that you were forced to marry me, when I know you did not wish to do so—” She stopped a moment, fighting back a sob.“— and I have been entirely unsuited to the role! I married you and I had no knowledge of how to manage an estate! Lady Cooper proclaimed as much for everyone to hear! We had not even hosted since our marriage, so I had to throw this ball—”
“Wait— stop, for goodness sake, listen to me a moment will you?” Rupert knelt down in front of her. “Lady Cooper proclaimed what?”
Taggie took in a stuttering breath, her eyes now red-rimmed and glassy. “She said that I was ‘poorly suited’ for you and ‘unable to hold your affections’.”
The rage rose in him like an unstoppable wave and soon broke. “Lady Cooper is little more than a gossiping harpy sent to torture us all! You cannot trust a word she says, especially those that would dare to cast aspersions on your character.” Rupert reached for her hand but she snatched it away.
“But she is right, is she not? For goodness sake, I can barely even ride! I was determined to improve in your absence, and then I fell and I didn’t wish for you to know, and then even worse, you were forced to return early because I had once again proved myself incapable.” She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Just leave Rupert, please.”
“If anything was ever truly foolish, it was those words you just said.” He couldn’t explain it, and would likely never understand how in such a short time, this young woman had so thoroughly stitched herself into the very fabric of his being.
Rupert placed a finger beneath her chin forcing her to understand the sincerity of his next words. “Agatha. I assure you, you are not a poor wife, nor a poor Viscountess.” His thumb stroked along the line of her jaw as he whispered.
A tear rolled down her cheek, sliding over his finger and falling to the floor. “You are far from a burden to me. Everyone out there. Every single one of them can disappear. In fact I wish they would, for they are ruining an otherwise perfect evening with my wife.” Taggie smiled weakly, her hand coming up to press against his. “Think of all you have done, the impact you have had on everyone here. I think the Bodkins would go to war for you! Tabitha adores you, and she doesn’t give out her affection lightly—” Taggie laughed, “— and you have understood Marcus more clearly in three months than I have managed in eleven years.”
“Taggie. I love you. I promise you, nothing will ever change that. So please, put aside this farce, this idea you have of becoming the perfect Viscountess. Because I have already found her.”
“You, you truly mean that?” She stammered.
He leant forwards and rested his forehead against hers. “Every word.” He muttered. They stayed there, neither of them willing to break apart, at last allowing themselves to speak what had long gone unspoken.
He felt the words before he heard them. “I love you too, Rupert. And I am sorry.”
“Whatever for?” He whispered.
“For how much time we have wasted.”
“Then let us not waste any more. Come with me.” He stood and took Taggie’s hand, pulling her up. He fit his fingers firmly between hers, his thumb stroking over hers.
“Where are we going?” She said, scrubbing at her eyes one final time.
“To send all of our guests home.”
“Rupert, no. It’ll be a terrible scandal.” She warned, though her eyes couldn’t hide their mirth.
“Yes it will be. A truly terrible one.” He leant in and whispered into her ear, “I’m certain they’ll never wish for us to host again. Which I’m sure will be a terrible, terrible shame.” He joked, moving her hair aside and running his lips along the column of her neck until she squirmed away from him.
Hand in hand they returned to the ballroom. As they entered, all eyes turned towards them. It was uncouth for one host to have left the dance early, but two, that was unspeakable.
Rupert’s voice was booming in the hush. “Everyone out! I would thank you all for coming tonight, but I’m not feeling particularly thankful.”
There was a quiet, as though they were waiting for him to reveal this was simply some strange jest, but when none came, the protests began as a low grumble before they became outright shouts.
“— this is preposterous!”
“— I cannot believe—”
“— after we have travelled all this way—”
“— do they not realise how lucky they are to have a Duke in attendance—”
Rupert’s voice cut through the din once more, “Enough! I do not care if the Queen herself is in attendance. All of you are to leave immediately. You are no longer welcome in our home.”
His hand, still clutching Taggie's, pulled her back through the doors and up the staircase, holding her face tight between his hands. “Let us get away from here. Let them talk, none of that matters anymore.”
He placed a lingering kiss against her forehead, and she relaxed against him. “How is your foot now?” He whispered.
“Much improved. Though it still aches if I stand on it too long.” She slid her hands between his open coat and traced her fingers along the silk of his waistcoat.
“Yes I’ve noticed that.” He felt her smile against him and he shifted and scooped her up into his arms suddenly. She gasped in shock and locked her arms behind his neck. “That is no matter now though, you need not be on your feet a moment longer.”
She giggled, “Rupert, you’ll have to put me down at some point.”
He cocked his chin, as though pondering it as he walked through the halls. She was smiling at him, her eyes never leaving his face and he was certain he’d never been happier. “Mayhaps,” he said, “but if I do, I’ll only be putting you down here. And here, is where you will most certainly stay.”
He placed her down in the middle of their bed and she immediately sat up on her elbows as he moved over her. Her legs fell apart to allow him to a lot himself between them. “We have two entire weeks to make up for. No more separate rooms, not ever.” He said peppering kisses down the side of her neck and watching as goosebumps rose in their place.
She truly was the most responsive creature. Her gentle sighs always sounded almost shocked, as though she couldn’t truly believe that pleasure could be hers. And from that very first night when they had returned home from their ride and she had shed herself of her clothes with trembling fingers, he had made it his sole purpose to discover every sweet sound she was capable of making.
He had not told her that night, but it had not been the first time he had seen her nude. He had walked past their chambers late one evening and he had caught sight of her through a crack in the door. She had been reclined at first, her eyes closed as she gently hummed with contentment. The room was sweet-smelling as though she had added dried flowers to her bath, and tendrils of steam were rising from the bath as she sunk deeper until the water was lapping against her chin. He knew he should’ve left, allowed her to bathe in peace but then she had risen from the water.
She had looked like a Botticelli painting, Venus emerging from her clam shell. Her long russet curls were spilling down her back ending at the dip of her slim waist. Her round breasts sat high on her chest and she had long slim legs that led up to a small thatch of hair between them. It was those legs he exposed now, trailing his fingers up from her ankle to loosen the ties of her stockings and ease them down. The crook of her knee was warm as he placed a kiss there.
“You looked beautiful tonight, truly ravishing, I was jealous of every man who even dared to look at you.” He hitched her gown up around her hips and stared down at her, his breath catching in his throat. Her fingers loosened the cravat around his neck and pushed his coat from his shoulders.
As he kneeled between her legs and rid himself of his clothes she kept her eyes locked on him, deep blue eyes gazing up at him through thick, sooty lashes. Until he kicked his breeches to the floor and she dropped her eyes downwards. As she shifted forwards, he pressed her back down against the mattress with a steady hand, “not tonight, my love.”
Her breath hitched as his fingers ghosted across the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Rupert, please.” And though her begging was so sweet to hear, tonight was not the night for teasing, not when they had both been denied for so long.
He gently caressed her opening, feeling her lips part beneath the pressure and she gasped as his fingers slid home. It did not take her long, a few devastating swipes of his thumb and his fingers curling just so and he was feeling her tighten around him. Waiting for her eyes to flutter open once more, he hitched her leg about his waist and waited for her eyes to meet his again before he replaced his fingers with the hot head of his cock and thrusted forwards.
Her fingers flew up to his back, her nails scratching pleasantly across his muscles. After a moment, he snaked an arm around her waist and shifted them until she was astride him. She looked radiant there, her head tipped back, her hips moving over him in a rhythm she knew would soon bring them both to their peak.
He slid a hand into her hair, removing the pins that held her curls in place until they were cascading down and surrounding them both as her lips met his. As his hand swiped over a pebbled pink nipple she sped up her motion, bringing them closer and closer until her head tipped back once more and she shuddered. At the feeling of her tight heat around him, the stuttering of her hips as she rode through the aftershocks, he felt a familiar tightening at the base of her spine and he swiftly joined her in his own release.
“Well Viscountess,” he whispered, gazing up at her like a goddess above him, “I think that was only the second most disastrous ball we have ever attended.”
***
Gentle Readers
It has now been one year since the wedding of the Viscount and Viscountess Campbell-Black. Following a disastrous ball at the start of the year, where the guests were thrown out before the feast was even served, the pair have widely withdrawn from society, and forgoed returning to London for the summer season.
Those living in the small village of Penscombe report the pair are often seen riding around the estate, frequently stopping to greet their tenants, and on several occasions the Viscountess has even provided the village children with baked goods.
The select few families still permitted to visit their Rutshire estate have remained tight-lipped about the pair, lest they find their welcome swiftly revoked. However this author has always had her sources, and those closest to the couple have heard whispers that the Viscountess Campbell-Black has begun to loosen her stays. So perhaps they will be rewarded for their efforts with a new arrival in the spring.
And perhaps, just this once, this author may have been wrong about them both.