Now
she was the one suffering terrible impatience. With her eyes closed, she was
aware of nothing but his warm firm hands playing contentedly over her loins and
buttocks, as though seeking an exact compromise between the assertion of
mastery and the act of courtship.
Then,
aroused to such a pitch that she felt she could never absorb enough of him, her
body opened and with a short reflexive cry, she received him, her body
contracting instantly as though to seal that part of him which soothed her
emptiness.
It
was over in a remarkably short time, the whole ecstatic process of domination
and submission, although it was repeated three more times with her active
assistance, her curiosity extending now to his body, her hands performing acts
she'd never dreamed possible, at dawn, the two of them lying spent in each
other's arms, a brief interval of an hour's sleep, then passion again, their
bodies, with practice fitting neatly together, testing the design, she wriggling
back into his embrace, as though this new sensation, in its very newness, had
to be repeated in order to make up for all the days she'd lived without it. She
ran a hand the length of his firm, muscled back, then drew him close until his
head rested on her breasts.
With
the first light of dawn, she knelt by his side in bed. "Am I very
wicked?" She smiled.
He
pulled her down onto her stomach in a playful manner, and, straddling her,
commenced to kiss each scar of her back, a gesture which commenced with
tenderness and concluded, as all gestures had concluded that night, in passion,
as he stretched out atop her and took her again, his hands cupped beneath her
breasts, his face buried in her hair.
He
rolled to one side, relieving her of his weight. She mourned his absence, then
merely followed after him, settling into his arms, content in her realization
that his capacity to comfort her would be there when she awakened.
A wife!
What a splendid designation! She drew him closer until their bodies were
touching at all points, as though to save time, after an interval of rest, they
might, effortlessly, become reengaged.
He
smiled at her approvingly and tucked her head beneath his chin, and in that
warm cocoon she fell instantly asleep.
Generally
a man or woman charts his or her birth from the day he or she slips from the
mother's womb. But Thomas and Marianne listed a new date of birth, or at best,
rebirth, that incredible interval of five days, during which time neither felt
the slightest compulsion to leave the chambers, for fear a fever of desire
would overwhelm them and they would be too far removed from bed to satisfy it
So for five days, Jenny Toppinger was the only one summoned to their chambers
to bring food, to take care of their physical needs, to ask no questions, and
to close the door softly behind her.
On
the morning of the sixth day, as Marianne stirred sluggishly, every bone aching
after a night as delirious as any they'd ever spent, in a muss of bed linens
and with her eyes still closed, her hands fanned out in search of his body,
always so reliable and rewardingly there.
Finding
nothing but a warm indentation, she opened her eyes in a moment of panic. She
saw him standing in his robe in the center of the room, apparently preoccupied
in some mysterious way with the far blank wall. His hair was tangled and there
was a stubble of beard on his chin. I The faint scents of hair, clothing, skin,
and human breath came to her across the room, all characteristic and familiar
and highly evocative.
She
did not stir further, but froze in order to enjoy an assessment of him. How well
now she knew him, this Thomas, this younger son, for in the intervals between
lovemaking they'd talked intimately, compulsively, a five-day marathon.
Now,
what was he doing? She pushed back the pillow in order to see him more clearly,
as with seeming haste he approached the far wall and lightly knocked against
it, his hands flattened on the wood panels, standing back as though to assess
the wall in relationship to the chimneypiece.
Suddenly,
without glancing toward the bed, he ran from the room, leaving the door open.
Totally bewildered, she sat up, clutching the linens to her, and listened
closely as she followed the progress of his footsteps around the comer and into
the Morning Room where, coming from that side of the wall, she heard similar
knocking.
A
few moments later he returned, obviously quite excited, trailing a length of
twine in his hands, measuring a distance along the floor to the far wall.
Tired
of her bewilderment, she asked softly, "Thomas, what are you doing?"
At
the sound of her voice, he whirled about, an apology on his lips. "Did I
disturb you? I'm sorry."
She
shook her head and again assessed him, standing beside the bed now. "I was
awake," she said, "but what are you doing?"
Before
he replied, his hand moved, uninhibited, to her breast. "We must be up
today," he said softly, the movement of his hand arousing feelings within
her that made that proposal seem absurd.
"Why?"
she asked.
"Because
there will be construction going on in here," he said, the pressure from
his fingertips increasing.
"What
kind of construction?" she asked, wondering how long she could merely
endure.
He
moved closer, applying both hands to her breasts, the same caressing motions.
"Because," he whispered, "I never want you farther away from me
than that door." With a bob of his head, he motioned toward the far wall.
"There's
no door there," she said, smiling. It could not go on much longer.
"There
will be," he replied, becoming quite breathless. "And beyond the door
will be your new chambers, the finest in all of England."
Her
aching increased. "Your mother's apartments are—"
"—too
far away," he interrupted. "We'll both stay there, however, until the
work is done here."
"Live
in the same room?" she asked, smiling. "It's wicked, even for man and
wife."
"It's
necessary, A man cannot survive without his—"
Suddenly
there was a soft knock at the door. They heard Jenny call out, "Milord,
breakfast-"
Thomas
looked first at the door, then at Marianne. "Shall we surprise them
all?" he whispered.
Regretfully
she nodded.
He
called out, "Jenny, we'll take breakfast in the dining hall."
There
was a moment's pause as apparently the woman adjusted to this change of plans.
"Very well, milord."
"And
send a serving girl," he added.
Marianne
sat up. "For what?"
"To
assist you."
Lightly
she scolded him. "I need no assistance, Thomas. I just need clothes."
Quickly she ran to the door and called for Jenny to bring certain pieces of
apparel.
A
short time later, Jenny returned followed by two young girls. She handed the
clothes through the door, then two pitchers of steaming lavender water and
fresh linen. Robed now, Marianne received them all, received as well the
lowered eyes and slightly embarrassed expression on Jenny's face.
Marianne
longed to reassure her of the propriety of their passion, the moral and legal
privileges of every husband and wife. But she caught herself in time and after
Jenny had left, she turned back to Thomas, who was already shaving.
"I'm
afraid she thinks I've fallen into hell," she said sadly.
He
looked up, razor in hand. "Who?"
"Jenny."
He
dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You are no longer concerned with
what the servants think."
"Jenny
is not my servant"
He
looked at her as though trying to understand her. Shrugging, he turned back to
the mirror. With his chin upraised, his voice sounded distorted. "I'm
afraid you'll find it difficult pleasing everyone, Marianne. The servants as
well as the tenants are accustomed to our peculiar behavior. They almost expect
it of us. Your only responsibility now is to please yourself." He turned
and smiled at her. "And me, which you do beautifully."
She
accepted the compliment and felt there was something else she should say, but
decided against it. She could make peace with Jenny later, when the marriage
was publicly announced. Her own conscience was at rest, and that was all that
mattered.
Thomas
dressed quickly while she was still bathing. He settled comfortably into a
chair to watch her. Throughout the entire process she was aware of him watching
her, was equally aware of her own feelings. If she did not clothe herself soon,
she knew they would be back in bed and have it all to do over again.
Quickly
she slipped into a pale green gown, her fingers joining the many buttons up the
front. She brushed and knotted her hair and at last stood to face him, who
throughout the whole long process had never taken his eyes off her.
At
the center of the room they met for a kiss. Playfully he commanded, "Close
your eyes and turn around."
When
equally as playful she demanded "Why?" he ordered her with mock
sternness to do as he said and she obeyed. In the next minute she felt his
hands around her throat, felt a cool circle drop lightly around her neck.
He
guided her to the pier glass, where she saw an elegant strand of matched
emeralds encircling her neck and heard his explanation, "They belonged to
my mother."
They
were beautiful and she thanked him with a warm kiss, all the time wishing that
such things meant as much to her as they did to him. She knew him well enough
now to predict the exact pattern of his behavior on such occasions, as though
he must seal her allegiance with a gift. Somehow in their life together, she
must teach him the joy of love freely given.
Still,
"Thank you, Thomas," she murmured and received a gift far greater
than the emeralds about her neck, received his smile, the light on his face
suggesting that he had never known such happiness.
This
gift she accepted willingly and drew herself up and took his arm. A sense of completeness
stole over her and she surrendered to it with a gratitude that she could not
have expressed in words.
It
did not take Eden Castle long to decide that the presence of someone in
authority had arrived and was now essential to the well-being of all at Eden
Point.
A
curious kind of democracy settled over the grand old fortress, which in the
past had known the reassuring division of master and servant. Now at all hours
of the day, "Miss Locke," or Lady Eden as she was already being
called by some of the younger staff members, could be found in the servants'
kitchen, planning the menu, having a cup of tea with Jenny and Dolly, or simply
sitting quietly with her father before the fire.
As
Thomas had predicted, by December Marianne's sister Jane and her serving woman,
Sarah, had arrived to take their places in his household. There had been no
word from William Pitch, and the allotted money had been exhausted altogether.
So they had closed the house on Russell Street and had taken refuge in the
plenty of Eden Point.
Of
course the problems were complex. Where was one to put the sister of one's
mistress? Certainly not in the servants' quarters. Likewise, Marianne had
thoughtfully decided that the winter's dampness in the lower confines of the
castle was hard on her father and Jenny and Dolly, thus the three of them had
been moved up to first-floor guestrooms.
All
during the winter months, Thomas occupied himself with the construction of the
new chambers next to his own and tried to move with comparative ease through
the fireworks of equality that burst about him. He could endure anything as
long as he had her to himself at night. The fever, instead of healing with
intimacy, had only increased. When he was away from her, as he was frequently
now, he found it unendurable. The ambitious and expensive chambers, to be
merely the grandest in all of England, seemed to require more and more of his
attention as master artisans arrived from London to do the woodcarving and
marble work. If, at night, he found himself at table, surrounded by a covey of
Lockes, as indeed he did, for they ate communally now, he endured it all, the
chattering, simpering Jane, the arrogant Russell, the silent, staring Hartlow,
all made palatable by the presence of his sun and moon, Marianne, upon whom he
was becoming increasingly dependent, not just for solace at night, but for the
entire new order, the smooth-running, beautifully functioning castle itself.