A Wedding in Wottfordshire

Trying not to stare, I carefully viewed the shape of each man, his build and his stance, and listened closely to his voice, trying to imagine what it would sound like through a mask over his face or through it partially covering my ears as it had indeed done earlier in the day.

Fortunately, there were only nine guests who'd arrived early, my aunt and uncle, and myself, so I was relieved to only find one who might be a possibility of being Rob. Uncle John invited us to be seated at that point and reality struck when the servers started entering and I made another horrible realization.

With the point where we were accosted being only a league or two from Wottfordshire, who was to say that Rob might not be a member of Uncle John and Aunt Eliza's own household? My suspicious looks and fertile imagination turned to the male servants as our food was brought in. There were three male servers but one was a possibility and there were a number of other men on the estate working in numerous other capacities who might be. Feeling sick to my stomach at the thought and the mess I'd helped create for myself, I only picked at my food while participating in small talk around the table and learning when the early guests had arrived.

It wasn't too long before Uncle John, completely oblivious to my state, asked with a chuckle, "Tell us, my dear, how are things in the outer provinces?" Having grown up in a city, he'd moved to Wottfordshire to marry Eliza and help manage the estate for my grandfather. When my grandfather died without a male heir, Uncle John had become the baron. As such, he'd always joked that his adopted hometown was something of a backward mess and anything that happened beyond, such as in Humden, was rather inconsequential. He tended to tease me lovingly as a result.

I glanced at Aunt Eliza, hoping she'd save me with some question of her own, but she only nodded, as if interested in my tidings. Thus, I shared with them and the others at our table what little news there was of Humden, realizing then that it sounded even more humdrum than when I related it to Suzie earlier in the day. I sighed on completing it.

My sweet aunt, finally spotting my unease, leaned over to me and whispered, "Are you tired, Catherine?"

"Somewhat, Aunt Eliza. The journey today was more...taxing...than I believed possible."

My aunt touched her husband's wrist, drawing his attention as she said, "And yet, I suspect, Susannah is probably working you to the bone with her final preparations while she spends the evening in leisure though her guests are here. Do you need to retire, dear? Tomorrow will be a busy day, with the bulk of the guests arriving then and the day after."

"That might be wise," I agreed.

"Then be off, girlie," directed Uncle John, matching Aunt Eliza's whisper. "Get some rest and you can join us for the ride tomorrow morning before the crowd arrives. Do you some good, it will."

Thanking them, I took one last sip of my wine, kissed my aunt and uncle goodnight, and then excused myself and said goodbye to all.

As I made my way back toward my room, I noticed that I was doing it under the watchful eye of one of the house maids who followed along behind as if she was more like a bloodhound or maybe a jailer than a maid. When I reached my room, I entered and quickly closed and locked the door. Slumping against the door jamb, I breathed heavily at the pressure I was feeling only to hear a knock.

"I'm Matilda, milady. Anything I can help you with?" called the maid from outside. "Anything I can get you before bed?"

It was only then that I realized that Aunt Eliza probably sent her to assist me rather than sending someone to spy on me. Feeling foolish but still not wanting to open the door, I called, "No, thank you, Matilda. Good night."

I'd given Hilary the evening off, so I suspected that she was cavorting somewhere with Renald after their unexpected interaction earlier in the day. She'd long held a flame for the young coachman, but due to his shyness, she'd been unable to express her interest until Rob had tied them together in a most unusual fashion that left it difficult for me to free them, as much from trying to avoid observing their resulting condition as to the quality of the actual rope or the knotwork itself.

Putting them out of my mind, I concentrated on what I'd seen and learned during the evening. Based on his early arrival and the fact that he'd been present in the manor, I was able to eliminate the guest as a suspect of being Rob, but I wasn't able to do the same with the servant. I'd need to do more checking, to see if I could learn where he was at the time, in order to eliminate him and any other staff members who might turn out to be possibilities. Therefore, more investigation was in order.

Taking a quill in hand, I dipped it in the inkwell and started writing.

***

Sometime after 11 o'clock, tied on a bonnet and slipped a dark shawl around my shoulders. I'd switched from the evening gown of dinner to an everyday working outfit; with the wrap pulled tight, I hoped I could make my journey unobserved, or, if not, be mistaken for a maid if seen from a distance. If observed, I had no wish to give away my identity or my task.

I slipped out of my room, quietly pulling to and locking the door behind me. The heels of my shoes made small hollow clicks as I scampered down the hall, made my way to the main house and across to the east wing, so I could go up to the third floor. Having spent countless hours dancing under Mum's tutelage in my youth despite how much I hated it at the time, I switched to my tiptoes, moving almost silently and even quicker than before.

Hearing footsteps, I stopped, sliding into an alcove where, I recalled, Suzie and I had sometimes read on the seat. The lack of a book in my hands or a suitable candle eliminated that as a possible excuse if I were to be caught, forcing me to fall back on my "going for a walk," which would necessarily put an end to my hopes to meet privately with Wilfred Doyle-Hyde this evening. With my back against the wall, my breathing stopped as the footsteps neared and then passed me by, heading on down the hall.

The footsteps faded so I was on the move, quiet as a tomcat on the prowl, checking the room ahead before entering. The stair from the second floor to the third wrapped both sides of the atrium-like room before continuing down to the main level. I could, I knew, scoot up the stairs to my left and be up to the third floor quickly, but not knowing what awaited me above, I moved silently around the atrium toward the stair on the far side.

Someone downstairs looked up and saw me as I neared the far stair, but, since I'd seen them first, my hand covered the side of my face and I could see them looking up at me through the gaps in my fingers. Not waiting to see who it was or whether they had interest in me, I moved from the rail to the stairs and ascended as quickly and quietly as I could.

Moments later, I'd slipped down the hall to the fifth door and I tapped lightly with caution. When there was no response, my taps grew louder, more urgent. A third set was almost complete when I heard footsteps approaching and then the click in the lock and the knob turned.

A gorgeous man stood behind the crack of the door. Tall and strong, he had a defined face with a cleft chin and an upturned mouth all topped by dark wavy hair.

I put my hand through the crack on his chest and pushed in, none-too-gently, I'm afraid, knocking the door open more through his shock at my apparent aplomb than the actual force used. I stepped inside, shutting it quickly, before closing the door and throwing the latch.

His hand closed on my wrist at once, softly but firm enough that I wouldn't be removing it without his consent. "I fear you have the wrong room, milady," he said with a smile, "though if I were not betrothed to be wed to a wonderful young lady, I do believe your error would be my good fortune."

"Shh," I told him, trying to hear the footsteps outside. On hearing nothing after listening intently through a silent count of thirty, I nodded and turned back to him, now practically a silhouette with the single candle behind him and the candles in the hallway no longer illuminating him.

"I am Catherine Debane, sent by Susannah," I whispered as I pushed back my bonnet. "We must talk."

He released my wrist suddenly, as if it burned him. Stepping back, he took the candle and raised it between us before whispering, "My Susannah! What's wrong? Is she well? Has she considered my note?"

The big, strong looking man of only seconds before appeared to melt before my eyes as he showed his concern for her.

"Can we be seated, please?"

He nodded to the chairs and placed the candle on the table to the side between us. I removed the bonnet the rest of the way and took off my shawl.

"What word do you bring? Will she go through with our wedding? Or...does she wish...to renege?"

Seated with the candlelight nearby, I saw dark eyes filled with concern and hope. "My Lord—" I said, but he raised a hand.

"Please, call me Wilfred."

"Thank you, Wilfred. Catherine. Susannah is well though quite distressed at your message. She sends her love but wishes for more information so that a final decision can be made in the best interest of all."

His face fell as he looked down at the floor. "Best interest," he said with a slow nod. "I wish only the best for her, hopefully with me, but with another fully capable of meeting her needs if that is her desire."

Susannah had mentioned that he was 17 or 18 years her senior, but in the soft light of that single candle with his heart aching, I would have thought him my own age or little more. I pulled the candle closer, picking it up and holding it before him, to better illuminate his face.

He looked up at me then, exposing the lines at his eyes, his mouth, and his cheeks, as well as the cleft in his chin. Yes, older, definitely. A scar marked his cheek and another was visible on his neck. "You were in the wars?"

"An officer on the rise but Waterloo, nine years ago last month, was my last battle. A French cannonball put an end to my career and my...my..."

"What, Wilfred? I'm here to help, however I can, for I want my dear cousin to be happy, with you if the good Lord wills it. Now, you said a cannonball. I've never been in battle but I understand it is rare for one to survive, especially intact, when cannonballs are involved. Tell me."

He sighed mightily. "I was directing my men forward when a French cannonball sliced through the rank in front of us. Remarkably, it hit no one there but sheared the top off of a Belgian fencepost, sending it flying. The post struck one of my men, killing him instantly, but throwing him bodily into me. I awoke hours later with the surgeon examining me, debating how much needed to be removed if I was to survive."

"What, your leg? You walk surprisingly well for an amputee," I said, having seen no limp as he took me to the chairs. His hands were visible in front of me so I knew he retained those.

"My leg was swollen, but I would survive that, he felt. It was my...manhood...that took the brunt of the blow and was most severely injured."

Oh, it made sense now, but I could say nothing, reeling from his revelation. If this was the case, all could be lost. "What? What happened?" I forced out.

His face was tortured as he remembered before telling me. "The surgeon said that it must all be removed, but I gripped his arm in a death grip, telling him that to do so would be the death of me...and that I would take him with me."

I couldn't help but grin. "You lived, so he didn't go through with it, I presume?"

"True, I lived, and he didn't go through with it. He went running out of the tent screaming like a banshee for a guard when I relaxed my grip and another surgeon, on learning the situation, took my case. He was able to, ah, save part of me. I spent months recovering and the quack told me, when I was as healed as I ever would be, that he saw no reason I couldn't have children someday."

"What was your condition? How bad was it?" I asked.

"Ahem...milady?"

"Out with it, lord." Calling each other Wilfred and Catherine seemed to have been forgotten.

He gave a big sigh. "My cock was injured and terribly bruised as was my left nut, though both were reasonably intact. My right...it was destroyed, crushed to a pulp, and had to be removed or the black blood would have killed me."

"And your cock functions?"

"I can piss, if that's what you mean."

"No, Lord Wilfred, I will be perfectly blunt. My father and I breed horses. One does not purchase a horse without being sure it is intact, and even more so if the seller leads the potential buyer to believe there might be a problem. In this case, you yourself raised the issue, so you must help resolve it or my recommendation to my dear cousin will be that she is forced to renege on her agreement to your proposal, no matter how much she loves you, with the announcement that the, ah, merchandise, didn't match the proposed bill of sale. Understood?"

He looked at me with apprehension in his eyes but finally nodded. "Yes, milady."

"Then answer: does your cock function properly?"

He closed his eyes as he blew out a long, slow breath. "A year after the injury, it, ah, responded to appropriate stimuli, and over the years that followed, I had no problems when...the situation arose."

"I'm sure you didn't. So, you have...been with a woman...since you were wounded?"

He studied the floor, closely it seemed, before looking up at me. "Yes. A serving maid at my father's estate. We were old friends and lovers, but she was beneath me."

"I'm sure she was," I replied, frowning, "many times, I'm sure."

He was clearly upset and missed, or maybe ignored, my gibe.

"I...I didn't believe that. No, I would have gladly married her, and wished to many times, but my father objected and sent her away. I haven't seen Deidra or been with anyone since. It was sometime later when our parents arranged for Susannah and me to meet and we fell in love."

He sighed. "Milady, it's been hard, very hard, loving Susannah dearly and wanting her as my wife, but she has refused any sort of, ah, physical pleasure...prior to our nuptials. My cock hasn't, ah, been on a bender since Deidra, so I had our new surgeon examine me recently. He did everything possible to excite me but could not, and has told me of his doubts about my ability to perform and to have children as a result."

"How did he determine this?'

"A very thorough examination, of course."

"Lord Wilfred, have you had the opportunity to take matters, ahem, into your own hands?"

His eyes grew wide at what I was suggesting, but he finally nodded. "I could...and did, on occasion, in the days following my recovery, but...not recently. I've tried milady, but have not had any success since Deidra was sent away, which is why I went to see Doctor Capshaw in the first place. His diagnosis has seemed to make my condition even worse."

"Indeed. Well, take off your trousers and let's take a look."

"Milady!" he said indignantly, staring at me in disbelief.

I glowered at him. "Remember what I said about purchasing horses? Remove them."

It wasn't that I wanted to do it, but Susannah was counting on me, putting her future happiness in my hands so I gave him a determined frown when he just looked at me.

He continued to glare at me but slowly rose from his chair, his hands unsteady as they reached for the button. Undoing it, he held the waistband in his hands.

"Is this really necessary?"

"If you love Susannah and truly wish to marry her, yes." I gave a little wave and he released them, allowing them to fall away. A slight rise in my eyebrow caused him to grimace as he loosed the tie, allowing his drawers to fall too.

His shirt covered him so I gave a backhanded wave, more forceful this time to overcome his recalcitrance, to tell him to raise it. Angrily, he ripped it over his head and tossed it, so he was standing before me fully nude except for his trousers and drawers bunched around his feet.

My eyes widened, giving away my surprise, and my breath caught, if only for a moment, for Lord Wilfred Doyle-Hyde, despite being 37 or 38 years of age and being injured in the war, was a fine specimen of a man. A very fine specimen. He stood over 6-feet tall and weighed almost 14 stone, I suspected, with a muscular chest and none of the loose flab that my father, still a strong-though-aging man at almost 61, exhibited. His chest was covered with dark, curly hair, perfect for running fingers—

The perturbed look I received told me that I should get to the heart of the matter rather than indulging in such fantasies. My gaze moved down and focused on his equipment in question.

I've seen relatively few male cocks in my life and only at a distance. Surprisingly, the only one with which I had personal experience, earlier that very day, I'd never actually seen due to Rob masking me, though I experienced it in glorious detail. This one I judged to be small, very small even, as if trying to bury itself deep within the thicket of dark curly hairs surrounding it. Incredibly, it appeared to be getting even smaller as I looked at it. Then I saw what hung below.

There was a walnut-sized pouch with a single nut. While it had some hairs, the scar was visible where the surgeon had stretched whatever was left after Wilfred's frightful injury and had stitched it to whatever remained on the far side. My eyes were transfixed on the little number and I waved my hands outward without saying a word, causing him to look up at the ceiling, avoiding looking at me as I started to reach out.

I took his little worm in hand and moved it up out of the way to get a full view below it, but then saw that, though scarred, the pouch appeared to be tight around the remaining nut and to be fully healed.

Of course, I thought, it's healed. It's been nine years!

My hand ran over the sack, feeling its soft but bumpy texture as well as its surprising heft. I gave a little squeeze.

Wilfred grunted, apparently not happy with my examination methods, but I was checking like one would a horse's sack, observing for the shape and feel, not rock hard but not overly soft and spongy either. Twisting a little one way and then back the other, I was making sure it had the proper feel and movement, though I was only guessing due to my lack of experience with human anatomy. Though smaller and stitched tight rather than hanging loose, it seemed to scale in comparison to a stud horse, so I was—

"Ah!" I cried, jumping back, for the damn little worm that I dropped from my left hand had doubled in size and appeared to be getting larger by the second!

Wilfred was looking down at me, his eyes wide. "It's working!" he exclaimed. "Keep doing that, milady! Please? It's working!"

Nodding and overcoming my surprise, I took his member back in hand and felt it continuing to lengthen and expand while I started massaging his sack again. The little worm was no more for it was hardening, becoming stiffer as it grew. That allowed me to push down on the skin to peel it away from the head that was looking darker and more serious by the moment.

"Ahh," he breathed, his eyes closing.

I felt the throb as I firmed up my grip and gave him a stroke, causing his breath to shorten as a smile formed on his face.

His cock was now too large for my hand so I switched to two, finding him to be not quite two hands long. Now my hands are smaller than the standard measurement but I still judged it to be somewhat over six inches in length and a good girth around. I pumped it again to make sure of my measurements, only to see Wilfred's pelvis move, a tiny circle, seeking more. That gave me an idea.