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Whatever life brought these Dalfour children, they would at least have these memories of closeness and a shared upbringing. Smiling at the thought, Bea entered the house, finding the housekeeper and cook awaiting her. As usual, they were well prepared for the discussion and accepted her guidance.
“Thank you both for your efficiency. Cook, my mouth is watering already at the thought of your raspberry pudding!” Bea was about to ask the woman to pass word to a kitchen maid to send up some boiled chicken for Ben, but she saw Cook’s eyes move to the clock on the mantle. She addressed the request to the housekeeper instead, remembering Cook’s afternoon rest between luncheon and supper.
“Thank you, my lady,” both women said in unison before departing.
Upon the news that Ben was still asleep upstairs, Bea retreated to a chair with a book. Soon, however, she found her mind wandering, as it often did, to questions about what her life would be like after returning to London. If not for her children, she would be inclined to follow the suit of most of her class and simply reside apart from William. That was not, however, an option for her. Above all, she was adamant that her children would continue to experience the family life they had grown up with so far.
Could she and William re-adopt the pattern they had known before Isabella’s conception? Their conjugal visits had ceased then, but they had been friends. Abandoning her book on the arm of the chair, Bea knew that such a pattern was untenable. With time, she would fall for William’s charms again like a pitiful nincompoop. If she had learned anything about herself these years, it was that she craved the affection from those around her.
Sighing, she wondered how she would resist her husband.
A hound!She giggled, thinking of the litter recently born on the estate. The children were begging to choose one of the pups. What if Bea had a companion and shadow?Who needs a fickle husband’s attentions with a loyal dog to love?
“That’s what I’ll do,” she said to herself, rising. She set off for the stables, where the mother hound was tending to her litter in a corner of a stall.
On her way, she daydreamed about the euphoria of the children upon hearing the news. With luck, the stablemaster would be available to assist her. Mr. Moore had a rough-and-ready air when viewed from afar, and his work required brutish strength indeed, but over the years, she had noticed his affinity for animals and how gentle he was with any of the creatures under his care. Yes, he would be able to advise her about which pup would best suit family life.
Not seeing any signs of him or anyone else, Bea nearly called out his name as she gathered her skirts and stepped gingerly through the straw-strewn corridor in front of the stalls.
What’s that sound?
Frowning, she rushed toward the whimpers coming from an adjacent stall, expecting to find someone in need of help. For an absurd second, she took in the expression on Cook’s face and feared the woman was being hurt by Mr. Moore. He stood behind her with his trousers pooled around his ankles, his trunk-like legs bare.
Just before Bea screamed, understanding dawned and she pressed a knuckle to her mouth. Plump and rosy-cheeked, Cook braced herself on the post at the front of the stall. Her skirts were lifted and she arched back against the stablemaster, who pumped into her with what appeared to be deliberately slow movements. Bea’s eyes widened, taking in the grasp of the man’s calloused hands on Cook’s ample hips. One slid up and his big fingers tenderly stroked her nipple through her pinafore.
Cook’s low moan turned into a strangled sound of shock when she noticed Bea, standing only a few feet away. The two women’s equally horrified gazes met. Bea glanced helplessly at Mr. Moore, whose hips stilled when he, too, saw her.
“Do carry on,” Bea croaked before fleeing.
Oh, heavens!
After stepping out of the stables, she covered her mouth. As Marchioness and lady of the house, it was her duty to be the protector of virtue on the estate, and to occupy and enforce the moral high ground. Searching her memory, she understood Cook to be unmarried and Mr. Moore to be widowed. They were of a similar age, in their forties, and both were respected and hard-working. None of that, however, could justify bodily congress outside of marriage!
A huff of laughter escaped on the way back to the house. Earlier, Cook had not been eager for an afternoon rest, even though her duties began well before dawn. She had been anticipating…ecstasy!
Fortunate woman!
Yet…the problem remained; Bea took her role supervising the servants of the household seriously. While she was a soft-hearted mistress in certain respects, she imposed high expectations for behavior. The proper course of action would be to involve the housekeeper and for both of them to express moral outrage in the most strident of terms.
When Bea returned to the house, a maid informed her that Ben was awake and eating his chicken and mash. She, in turn, instructed that he be taken out to join his siblings as soon as he was finished, then she retreated to the parlor and pretended to read.
Clutching the open book against her bosom, she indulged the sentiments swirling through her as images of the stablemaster taking the cook ran through her mind. As embarrassed as Bea was to have interrupted them, she was also sorry to have ruined their torrid moment.
Mr. Moore hadn’t shushed his lover’s moans, nor had he shown disapproval when her hips had moved toward him, demanding more. Yes, the man’s movements had reflected restraint, but Bea saw plainly how he sought to bring his partner more pleasure, not to deny it.
It was impossible to forget William pacing himself similarly, dragging his swollen tip through her, moving in her with deliberate mercilessness and suspending them both in a cloud of building pleasure. Unlike Cook, however, Bea had been obliged to hide her own pleasure, to enjoy it secretly, as if her reaction was shameful.
In the privacy of the parlor, Bea was unable to muster any real outrage about what she had happened upon in the stable. She knew only envy for her own part and gladness on behalf of dutiful Cook. The woman took pride in her culinary creations, and though she ran the kitchens with a firm hand, she was known as loyal and fair.
Perhaps it was utterly wrong, but today’s discovery charmed Bea. When Mr. Moore’s wife had taken ill and died a few years earlier, his demeanor had become unmistakably reserved and sad. This summer, she had noticed a spring in his step, and now she knew why!
Within an hour, a maid brought word that Cook had asked to see Bea. The woman’s forthrightness was no surprise in light of how seriously she took her own high position among servants, but it did dash Bea’s hopes that she could simply ignore what had happened.
The woman’s eyes were downcast as she curtsied, yet her distress was clear in her expression and the tension in her body.
Even before Cook straightened, Bea reassured her. “There is no reason to fret about…earlier.”
“No, your ladyship?”
Bea bit the inside of her cheek so she would not display undue mirth. “No.”
“Oh, I…” Cook looked taken aback for a moment before hope sparkled in her eyes. “Mr. Moore has proposed marriage, my lady.”
Unable to hide her joy any longer, Bea smiled. “Has he now?”
“We were afraid after today, we would need to leave the estate. But if we might stay, your lady, we would.”
“I hope youshallstay! I am sorry to see you leave service”—Bea paused when Cook shook her head—“No? You would wish to remain, too?” Considering the situation further, she realized it was possible. Most women left service upon marriage, for two servants could not live together within the household. The stablemaster, however, maintained his own lodgings on the estate and the two could live there together after marriage. Smiling widely again, she nodded. “Very well. I offer my congratulations to you and Mr. Moore on your betrothal, and I hope you both shall stay with us.”
Once Bea was alone, she sighed and hugged her book to her body once more. She was truly glad for the woman—though she was both jealous and intrigued by what it would be like to have a husband and impassioned lover in one.
