Diana in the Offing Ch. 01

Dear reader:

All the characters in this story are over 18 at the time of any naughty behavior.

This little tidbit is the background to the beautiful historical story created by PixieHoff, Meet Me In St. Louis. It fills the background for some of our characters in her lovely story. I apologize for the delay; the holidays got in the way.

Thank you, Pixie, for allowing me to contribute to your story.

Diana in the Offing

Charlotte Marie Archer (nee Abadie) was gifted an old soul. It must have been, you see. Otherwise, the weight of her circumstances would have crushed her as similar conditions had done so many others.

She entered the world in her parents' bed on a chilly spring morning. Her loving father was away making a living, while her beloved mother, having given life to her one and only baby, survived just long enough to kiss the infant and give her the name Charlotte, a name the failing mother had dreamed of the night before her water broke.

That bed was in the Soulard neighborhood of Saint Louis, Missouri, on January 9th in the year of our Lord 1901.

Charlotte was beautiful even from the start. Her late mother, Marie, was considered an uncommon beauty, tall at five foot five, with midnight black hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin as delicate as the best porcelain in any house in Saint Louis. Of course, Marie was poor, as were most in her neighborhood, but Marie was loved and educated by her family as best they could, hoping an education might secure her a future. In a way, it did, as it was that education that brought Pierre into her life.

Pierre Michel Archer was a handsome young man with a keen intellect, but he lacked motivation and could not seem to apply that gift in any materially beneficial way. Finally, in desperation, his parents engaged Marie as a tutor for Pierre, who was neglecting his studies. Marie was gifted with the patience of Job, which was required to teach the easily distracted Pierre, leading to long hours of study.

Unsurprisingly, nature took its course, and Pierre asked Marie to be his bride.

Neither family was sanguine about the match, but truth be told, Marie's parents were happy to have the girl out of the house as times were tough in the French Quarter. Pierre's family was better connected and certainly wealthier. There was talk, but Pierre would hear nothing ill said of Marie and, by extension, her family. The young couple married in the spring of 1900. Soon after, a blessing was on its way. Happily, his pending fatherhood provided Pierre with a reason to focus and to become a good provider. He found work on the railroads, and his studies allowed him to advance quickly as one of their top engineers; now with his keen intellect engaged he became an exceptional asset to the Union Pacific railway. That value found him miles from home when his beloved Marie breathed her last.

Baby Charlotte inherited many magnificent gifts from her parents. Marie was loved by all who knew her, kind, generous to a fault, a devout Catholic but not a pretentious one. Her father, Pierre, was brilliant, charismatic, tall, and handsome. Charlotte Marie gained her mother's gentle nature, innate wisdom, and love for learning. She gained her father's keen intellect, of course, which melded with her mother's. Further, she blended her father's rugged features with Marie's loveliness to make Charlotte grow into a tall, elegant, well-formed woman early in her life.

The single dark cloud in Charlotte's life was the relationship with her papa. Pierre did not take Marie's passing well; who would, after all? However, even with his pain and melancholy, he was a good, if distant, father and the baby was loved for Marie's sake if nothing else. Many local women came forward to help Pierre so that baby Charlotte may have lost her mother, but she gained a dozen aunties who loved her as their own.

As Charlotte grew to resemble her mother more and more each day, poor Pierre grew more distant, never emotionally abandoning the child, but work, somehow, always seemed to draw him away.

Although she had all the education that a young girl of her station could desire, what she wanted was her papa's attention. She was gifted in music, playing flute and harp, but her true love was the piano. So, she threw herself into its study so that when her father returned, she would play for him. She would play the songs, especially one that he and Marie had shared, bringing tears of joy and sadness for a woman that Pierre grieved and Charlotte never knew save through that one song.

She was playing that piece when the telegram arrived. Pierre had been helping inspect some new switchyards in Omaha. Someone became confused, and signals were improperly given. Pierre died instantly, there was no pain, but there would be no traditional funeral. His body was shipped back by the railroad at no charge, so well-liked was he that they also covered the cost of a respectful and well-attended funeral.

That left Charlotte an orphan at 15, with no family financially able to aid her. Her maternal grandparents had passed from scarlet fever in her youth, and her paternal grandparents had fallen on hard times due to her grandfather's fondness for drink and cards. No one bothered her, as there were so many others in greater need, and Charlotte was poised and capable of taking care of herself. After all, she had been doing so for years. Everyone was more than happy to let her blaze her trail.

Charlotte was a pragmatic sort, with a will of steel forged in the white-hot furnace of loss, then sharpened and tempered by her pragmatism through loneliness and the necessity to fend for herself as best she could.

Her father's legacy exceeded his debts, but not enough to allow her to live without income, and that left her few options as she was still too young to work in a proper position. Luckily one of her mother's friends helped her secure a living playing piano at a lady's club. A club frequented by the upper echelon of the community. She was beautiful, poised, well-mannered, and a talented musician — all the attributes required of a desirable young woman. Of course, no one would have suspected that she was a girl of only 15.

While she played piano, Charlotte learned by watching the ladies. How they moved, interacted, dressed, spoke, and held themselves was an invaluable education. She took in all on the surface, but she was bright enough to also learn much from the unseen. Saint Louis has always been an insular community with unique customs and behaviors, so she learned.

It was at the garden club that Charlette made the acquaintance of Lady Emily. Emily was a widow but also a woman of some means. Everyone assumed it was wealth she had brought with her from England, but there were whispers of other sources of income. Charlotte learned that Lady Emily was a philanthropist and was well respected.

Things changed with the war in 1914. America was not directly involved in combat, at least not yet, but many young men and even a few women volunteered in England and France. One such young man was the nephew of one of the ladies of the club. His name was Johnathan Andrews, a handsome young man who was a law student at Saint Louis University, an athlete who loved rugby, but his secret love was aeronautics.

An older Charlotte, now 17, met Johnathan at a garden party; she was moving through a Brahms piece accompanying a string quartet when the handsome young man came to stand beside her piano. Within minutes the piano was abandoned, and she was dancing with the gorgeous boy in his brand-new British airman's uniform. He went on about his plans, becoming a pilot, becoming a hero, and coming home to be with the right girl.

His smile melted Charlotte's heart.

"I am off to the front after my training," Johnathan said as they danced. "Would you do me the honor of dining with mother and me this Friday?"

What was a smitten girl to say? "Yes," crossed her lips before the thought fully formed.

The romance was a tornado, and the week before his taking ship to England, on the way to France, the wedding was held before a small intimate gathering of family and friends.

"Mother, I promise we will have a grand affair once I return," Johnathan vowed.

Margaret knew her son, and once he had a desire, nothing would stop or dissuade him.

"So be it; she may move in with me until you return." Margaret could be as stubborn as Johnathan. "I have one proviso that I will not rescind."

Margaret was not cruel; she simply did not want to see her son marry and, God forbid, leave the girl a widow with an infant to raise.

"She is an orphan not yet 18," Margaret continued, her voice a blend of motherly compassion and sharp negotiating skills necessitated by the untimely death of her husband and the attempted theft of the inheritance by his business partners.

"Although, under the law, she may marry, we must be pragmatic. You are both very young, and with you off to this foolish war, well ... I stipulate that you may not consummate this marriage till she is 18. By that time, you will be over 21 as well and in full possession of your inheritance from your grandparents. This is my final word on the subject; otherwise, I shall forbid the union and make certain your would-be blushing bride is sent packing. Do you understand me, Johnathan Nathanial Andrews?"

Johnathan felt he had no choice, he wanted his mother to keep Charlotte safe, and besides, regardless of how mature she was indeed young. So he chose to honor his mother; the war would be over soon, and he would be home in months.

Charlotte was not happy with this outcome, but she was a blushing bride and glad to have her husband and a bright future. So Margaret and still virgin Charlotte traveled to New York to watch Johnathan take ship. He waved from the railing, and Charlotte stood watching until the vessel could no longer be seen.

She stood only weeks later as a widow before Lady Emily's door. A single tear made its slow progress down her cheek as she looked to the east, thinking of the handsome young man who lost his life over German lines.

Margaret showed little remorse when she expelled her daughter-in-law. Although Johnathan's marriage was a phantom to her, she refused to acknowledge the legality, and with her wealth, she could afford to be cruel. After all, Margaret was one of the grand dames of Saint Louis, and poor Charlotte was a gold-digging waif of no consequence. Besides, the girl reminded her of what she had lost, and the depth of her own despair consumed her.

Lady Emily, a woman of kindness and profound but pragmatic faith, was quick to offer succor to the traumatized young widow.

The door opened, and a lovely little strawberry blonde girl with a thick Irish accent in a very tight and perhaps inadequately sized dress curtsied and bade her enter. Crossing the threshold, Charlotte entered the beautiful home to begin a new life.

She would never speak with Margaret as mother and daughter-in-law again; their future conversations were very different. Months passed before they would see each other again.

A breeze blew through the open windows of Charlotte's room. She lay sleeping in fitful dreams; she was searching, always searching.

"Jonathan, where are you?" She ran in her shift down the endless shadow-shrouded hall. From some unseen window, the wind blew the thin fabric behind her. It was his wedding gift for her to share with him when he made her a woman; it was white as snow, as pure as she was.

"Please, my love, come to bed. I need you, and I have waited so long." Searching room after room, bare feet whispering over dark wood and soft woolen carpets.

Her voice carried a note of desperation only matched by the need of her body. It was her wedding night, and Johnathan had been delayed, always delayed; like the brides of the bible, she waited and waited, the oils of her lamp drawing low.

"Please, my love, come to me." Her voice broke as she ran, room to room, always seeking her love in the house that was his ancestral home.

"You don't belong here!" The crone appeared from a room, as if from the shadows themselves, as if from the pits of Hell.

"I am Johnathan's wife. Get out of my way." Charlotte whispered, then tried to push past her, but she fell through the woman to find herself alone in the hall again as she moved to the next room.

She took another step when rolling thunder shook the room; DOOM, she started running, DOOM, covering her ears, she continued running, DOOM, the booming continued, time after time, over and over. Over and over, the gong sounded while she ran faster, finally coming to the end of the hall. Before her was an enormous clock striking midnight; something tickled her memory, something important.

She stood before it, the last of the rumbling strikes had faded into silence, when arms surrounded her.

"Happy birthday, my love," She knew the voice instantly.

"Johnathan!" She squealed and twisted round in his arms, for it was him after so long. "But how?"

He only smiled and kissed her, and his chill lips felt beautiful on her burning ones. His strong arms held her tight; she smelled his aftershave and felt the wool of his uniform, the same he had worn on their wedding day. He kept her so close that even the threads of his coat reached for her through her silk negligee, the fine fibers teasing and biting into her nipples, causing them to spring immediately to their firmest, seeking more of the taunting touch. She moaned into his lips; her body yearned for more than his kiss and the playful caress of fabric upon her breasts.

"Take me to bed," she whispered between kisses. She knew his smile; scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the bedroom of his house, their house, her house? Laying her down upon the bed, so gently and kindly, softly and delicately. Nothing like she had thought a man might treat her.

"Shhhhhh," he whispered as his lips stroked hers, his brushing softly over hers. Charlotte's eyes closed as his lips took hers, her fingers entwined in the man's short curly hair, following that head as it began a journey down her chin to her throat, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites on its route.

Charlotte had never witnessed the act of love between man and wife, but she knew some of the basics. At tea, the day before the wedding, Emily had quietly given her a forbidden booklet that detailed the essentials in ways that had made Charlotte blush. Emily also blushed but still took Charlotte's hand and promised to answer any questions that Charlotte had.

Now, his hungry lips answered many of those questions. Nibbling and suckling Charlotte's breasts, the teats stood proud upon her areolas, which in turn reached high above their mounds.

His lips circled her nipples; she arched her back to their soft touch. Rough hands played down her sides, and she felt his weight pressing into the bed on either side. She longed for him to take what was his, to make her a woman, his woman, his wife. But, instead, he moved down her body, her fingers intertwined his hair as he traveled, feeling his body diving below, lips kissing, cool breath blowing through her nightgown.

His body moved between her thighs, feeling him pushing up the hem of her gown.

"Yes, oh my love, yes," she sighed as his lips found her inner thighs, the thighs she opened to give him access. His lips moved from right to left, from thigh to thigh, then up toward their goal. The lips, his lips, seeking, searching, causing her heart to pound in her chest and her head thrashing. In little movements, his lips marched along their perfect path, kissing along the valley that narrowed at the center of her being, up toward her soaking sex.

His head was hidden now; he playfully hid beneath her gown, lifting her bottom to let him explore. He gathered the fabric up as a wrap and hid from her gaze as he consumed the delicate tissues of her hot and open center. She would have screamed in pleasure had she been able to take a breath.

"Soon, soon he will," her back arched, the thought of that think veil being torn, that cursed barrier broken, opening her to her husband was more than Charlotte could take, and pleasure washed over her as a damn ripped open completely.

The explosion swept over her, starting at her curled toes, then from her belly up and down her legs; her breathing stopped, her belly taught, her nipples a flame. Breasts being clawed, pawed, mauled with increasing ferocity as one orgasm subsided and another built, as the burning hot lips of her lover found her nub and latched onto it like a suckling child.

Each subsequent explosion was greater than she had ever known, washing over her like great waves on the ocean, waves that consumed any vessel they encountered. Then, she felt the cool lips again, brushing her own, only to be gone again as fingers stroked her hair. Her befuddled mind slowly worked the sums, and her eyes flew open in shock.

The loving eyes of her beloved stared down at her with a look of sadness so profound it threatened to break her heart again. He cradled her head in his lap and stroked her hair.

She was nude now, the silk sheet covering her body and shrouding the one making love to her desperate sex. The head she was guiding was still hard at work on her mound, attempting to coax one more orgasm from Charlotte.

"I am gone, Charlotte, I cannot love you as I wished, but there are those around you who can." The apparition of her dead husband stroked her hair, and she turned her head into his cool touch, nuzzling his fingers as tears fell.

At that moment, the head of her lover, with tousled hair, emerged from hiding; it was a face Charlotte knew well. A face that had haunted her nighttime need for release, a face that had been the subject of her evil desires, which had been so shameful that she had not been able to discuss them at confession.

Below the riotous mop of hair and under the thick coating of her juices was the lovely face of her mother-in-law's housemaid, Amanda; although older than Charlotte in years, she was younger in spirit and in need of constant attention. The smiling face beamed up at Charlotte in love and admiration.

"I cannot be with you, but I know she wants to; I have seen her dreams" Johnathan's eyes never left hers, and they were filled with sorrow-tinged love. "Let her love you; let others love you, my darling. Perhaps one day, another will come to make you his bride. I cannot see that far, but if he does, know I will love you forever."

Charlotte's tears were streaming now, as they often did since the telegram.

"But my husband, it is a sin; I... I can't," Charlotte's hand never left Amanda's head, and whether she knew it or not, her hand had encouraged the girl back to her ministrations, and the girl took her duties very seriously. Charlotte's back arched as Amanda's lips found her mistress's secret lips and began to kiss them with passion.

"I don't know about that, my darling, above my pay grade as they say," Johnathan laughed in a way that brought back memories, painful ones but ones she would cherish forever. "But I can't imagine a God of love finding much fault in two lost souls discovering solace with each other."

He continued to gaze at her as the light began to break through the windows of the room the three shared. Amanda happily grazed on the fruits between Charlotte's thighs as Johnathan continued to stroke his young bride's hair.

"I must go soon, my darling; I don't know if I will be allowed to see you again" he kissed her forehead, "I do know you will likely forget our time together, but remember, always accept love, and forgive, please my darling, for my sake — forgive."

"Miss Charlotte, rise and shine! The day ain't going to get longer." The little Irish tornado, Grace, threw open the door to Charlotte's room, moving across the floor without notice of the occupant, pushed the curtains open, and then threw up the sash.