Repercussions Pt. 01

"How does the prick get into our bellies? Through the navel?" Juliana asked.

"No, silly," said Frances. "There's a hole at the bottom of our bellies where it goes in --- in our cunnies. The same place from whence our courses come...I've seen it with my mirror." She paused, looking at each in turn. "Shall I fetch my mirror? We can all look at our cunnies and see the hole."

Juliana and Constance nodded with sly expressions, but Chloe demurred, saying that she was presently having her courses.

But she was not. Later, alone in her own room, she took her ivory backed hand mirror to the bed. Leaning back upon the pillows and drawing up her knees, she brought the candle close. The nightgown was pulled up and she slowly spread her legs. As she stared at her naked cunny, she found that she did not feel as wicked as she had anticipated.

After a lifetime of seeing it from above, or from the front in the looking glass as she stepped out of the bath, she saw that the small mound with the split was more elaborate when viewed straight on. It seemed to her quite pretty in fact, resembling a flower --- somewhat like a rose and somewhat like a jack in the pulpit. As she moved her knees together or apart, she noticed that the petals of her cunny pressed together or parted. But she did not see a hole. Of course, there was her bottom hole --- her first glimpse of that as well --- but surely 'twas not in there that the prick went.

Frances said it was the same place from whence the courses came. Maybe it was between the petals. Opening her knees wider, she reached down and gingerly touched the pink flesh with a fingertip. The contact did produce a pleasant tickling sensation, she had to admit. She thought of the nice feeling it gave to wash there in the bath...and the funny feeling she felt scooting along astride a tree limb with her cunny rubbing upon it through her clothes.

Between the tips of two fingers now she cautiously spread the inner petals further apart. With her other hand, she angled the mirror closer. There towards the back end she spied a tiny dark opening, smaller even than a pencil's diameter. That might be where the prick goes! Never having beheld a prick however, she was not able to confirm or refute her supposition.

.

That pole protruding from Mr. Calhoun's trousers must have been his prick, Chloe realized. 'Twas not at all as she had imagined it. For one thing, 'twas much larger than she had supposed. How could that thing possibly fit into such a small hole? Why, it must hurt dreadfully! For another thing, she had not found it as repulsive as Frances had described it. Should she have? Would a proper lady have been disgusted by it? She had been frightened, yes, but she had been fascinated in equal measure.

She blew out the candle on her bedside table and got into the bed, pulling the bedcovers up to her chin. Images of Mr. Calhoun and Lucy filled her mind...his head between her legs, her mouth upon his prick...the expressions upon their faces...the sounds emitted from their open mouths. Even now the memory made her face and her belly grow warm. Chloe considered that she took pleasure in many pursuits --- drawing, riding, walking in the countryside, gardening, reading, sewing --- and the pleasure made her laugh, skip, smile, or simply bask in contentment. Never had it made her moan. There was something about this entire matter that eluded her understanding.

Well, she thought wryly, if she married, the answers would soon be discovered in her marriage bed.

*****

Chloe clattered through the door to the stable in a most undignified manner the following morning. She had lost track of time whilst dashing hither and thither in the woods east of Greystoke Hall, searching for bluebells and early purple orchids. Upon realizing that the appointment time she had agreed upon with Edwin at breakfast had already passed, she ran full tilt to the stable. The sound of the bell upon the door froze her in her tracks. Last night in this very place --- what she had seen!

There at the far end of the stable, Edwin and Mr. Calhoun were conversing next to Edwin's grey gelding Macbeth. After hesitating a moment, she began to walk slowly towards them, struggling for composure but feeling her face flush as she drew near.

Mr. Calhoun bowed. "Good morning, my lady."

She nodded, scarce able to meet his eyes. She had to look away before an image of his face in the throes of pleasure sprang up in her mind.

"Sissy, you heartless creature! I see you're becoming well versed in the feminine art of keeping a gentleman waiting."

"I-I'm sorry to be late. I ran as fast as I could."

"'Tis no wonder, your face is a fearsome red."

She turned to Mr. Calhoun, forcing her gaze upward. "Mr. Calhoun, may I have my side saddle today, please?"

"Aye, miss. 'Twill be but a moment while I fetch it down and clean the dust off." His demeanor was as pleasant as ever. Behave normally! When he returned from the tack room (!) with her saddle, she busied herself tying a ribbon around the stems of the flowers she had gathered. He set the saddle over a stall door and briskly wiped it down with a rag.

"Where do you propose we ride today?" Edwin asked.

"Shall we visit Mama? I picked these for her."

"Excellent plan. How is the road to Ashborough, Mr. Calhoun?"

"The storm last week blew a big tree limb down across the road near the village, sir. But ye can go round it no problem."

As Mr. Calhoun spoke, Chloe continued to fiddle with the ribbon, but she stole a glance from under the brim of her bonnet at his trouser front. A subtle fullness was visible under the fabric, but nothing corresponding to the pole she had seen. She was mystified...how did he contain it so discreetly? How did men go about their day with their pricks projecting from their bodies? It must be quite awkward! When the stable boy brought Lizzie around, she peeked at his trousers and spied a bump there as well. There must a secret to its successful confinement, she suspected, or else even innocent, blithely unaware maidens such as herself would have long since noticed the blatant projection.

With Lizzie saddled, Mr. Calhoun bent to present his cupped hands for her foot. She hesitated, but then scolded herself. Don't be a goose! He's always touched you so...'tis no different than ever...just because you saw his prick. He boosted her into the saddle. But when he stood next to her leg and adjusted the length of the stirrup strap, she looked down and beheld his face at the level of her cunny. Again, she saw his nodding head between Lucy's thighs. Her face reddened anew...she fussed with the bouquet of flowers, wrapping the ribbon around the saddle pommel.

At last they were on their way, and with the lovely morning Chloe was able to direct her thoughts to a less perturbing subject. Leaving through the wrought iron gate at the end of the long drive, Edwin turned and regarded her with a mischievous grin.

"I am all astonishment at your full transformation into a fine lady." He waved his crop at her dark blue velvet riding habit. "A side saddle even. One might venture to say that you are attempting to gain Eveline's approval."

She raised her chin. "I merely supposed that if we are to be seen in public, then at least one of us should represent the Trimingham family with elegance and dignity."

"Touché!" He laughed, but then his expression grew serious. "Hmmm...I do wonder now whether I did Dalton a disservice..."

She eyed him. "In what regard?"

"Well, it seems he met you at the Christmas ball and was quite taken with you. He's been begging me for more information about you. I obliged him --- but when I mentioned your penchant for carrying frogs and dirty kittens about in your pockets, he hastily disavowed any interest in becoming better acquainted."

Chloe swatted at him with her crop, but laughing he reined Macbeth prancing out of her reach. "Not so ladylike now," he teased. "It does beg the question: what have you been doing this past week with no Eveline and no headmistress to scold you?"

"I've been practicing my curtsey for my presentation at court."

He gave her a dubious look.

She shrugged. "Mostly drawing --- in the woods, in the conservatory, out at Cedric's Castle."

"Cedric's Castle? Oh yes, that old place. You climbed all the way up there? So, you still are...what did Grady used to call you...a wood sprite."

For some moments they rode in silence. Chloe had the urge to ask him about Grady but found herself unaccountably embarrassed. She thought instead about Lord Dalton, Edwin's friend at Cambridge, whom she had met at the Christmas ball at their London residence. They had had a lively conversation and dance, she recalled. "Edwin, Did Lord Dalton really ask about me?"

"He did. But don't invest any anticipation in that quarter...as much as I should dearly love him for my brother."

"Why not?"

"His father is only a baron...and has no particular connections in court." At her baffled expression he continued. "Father is seeking an appointment in the Queen's cabinet and must improve his standing and connections to support his candidacy. Your marriage to a high-ranking peer is essential for his ambitions. Indeed, he has identified three particular gentlemen who would suit his purposes in this regard."

A bitter lump rose in her throat. "Must I marry all three?"

"Oh, one at a time should suffice."

"Why cannot you marry a duchess or a countess?"

"I probably shall...as long as I can find one whom I fancy."

"Why are your preferences a consideration?"

He reached over and prodded her arm with his riding crop. "That is what makes you so charming, dear sister --- your wonderful sense of humor."

They were arriving at Ashborough now. Chloe bit back her response and devoted her attention to courteously acknowledging the bows and curtseys they were receiving from the townspeople as they passed. They dismounted at the church and walked slowly through the churchyard, stopping at the mausoleum Father had had constructed for Mama --- the three of them had agreed that Mama would prefer to be outside rather than in the crypt inside the church.

Edwin stood with his head bowed while Chloe knelt and placed the flowers upon the step. Removing her gloves, she touched the marble and closed her eyes. I miss you Mama.

*****

The ride home was without event. The conversation was of inconsequential matters, with no further discussion of Chloe's marriage.

Upon returning to the manor from the stable, Chloe stopped at the gold inlaid table in the center of the great hall. Mr. Scofield placed the post here in front of the flower vase when unable to deliver her letters directly to her. There were two: one from Juliana, her classmate at the academy, and one from Aunt Francoise in Paris. As she started to open her aunt's letter, a motion to her right caught her eye.

A suite of three rooms spanned the right side of the hall, opening one into the other through pairs of carved oak doors: the library, her father's private library, and the estate steward's office where Grady now worked. Grady was in his office, she saw through the open hall door; he was standing by the bookcase, but then she realized that he was not alone. The parlour maid Lucy was there too! She stood before the desk holding a feather duster.

They appeared to be engaged in conversation, although Chloe could not hear what they were saying. She could however see that Grady was smiling at her. Lucy was twirling the duster in the air...she was indeed pretty, wasn't she... Chloe felt a twinge in her belly. Was Lucy his light 'o love? Was he getting his leg over her? Was he too kissing her cunny?

There was a clatter behind her as Edwin came through the front door. He strode to Grady's office calling out, "Woodbyrne, you old devil!" Grady turned to the hall door --- Chloe snatched up her letters and hurried to the stairs, hoping Grady hadn't seen her watching him. From the corner of her eye she saw Lucy leave the room. Edwin's strident voice could be heard as she started upstairs. "Enough of this wretched bookkeeping. I must have you join me in some sport."

In her bedchamber, Chloe undressed herself, not bothering Harriet for assistance. She threw her corset upon the bed and donned one of her simple cotton frocks. The morning's conversation with Edwin had disconcerted her. She had never considered that her father had a particular interest in her marrying, and that marrying a specific lord would have important ramifications for the family. She had assumed that her family's desire to see her married was merely in keeping with Society's expectations for a young lady of her age and rank.

She opened the letter from Aunt Francoise and found some diversion with the news of her cousins and the descriptions of the exotic flowers blooming in the jardins. Her aunt had enclosed a handful of rare blue marigold seeds wrapped in paper. Chloe shook the packet, absorbed in thought for several moments. Then she crossed to the wardrobe and retrieved from the shelf scraps of muslin fabric and her tin box of sewing supplies. With the shears she cut out a rectangle of fabric. Next, she fetched her satchel from where it was hanging upon the back of a chair, emptying it and turning it inside out. She pinned the pocket to the lining.

Taking the satchel to the window seat, she started sewing the pocket in place. For some time, she worked, rethreading the needle as necessary, whilst contemplating where she might plant the seeds. Presently, activity outside attracted her notice. Her windows overlooked the veranda and rear garden. Looking down, she saw Edwin and Grady upon the veranda. They had removed their coats, waistcoats, and cravats. Clad in their shirts and trousers, they were holding foils and preparing to fence. In a few moments they were facing each other some dozen feet apart, en garde. Mr. Scofield, standing to the side, had apparently been solicited to call the bout.

Chloe watched the action, momentarily forgetting her sewing. They were quite evenly matched --- no wonder, for she knew that they had been schooled by the same master. As the play continued --- points being scored back and forth --- she perceived their differences. Grady was several inches taller than Edwin and had the advantage of a longer reach; Edwin was quicker in his lunges and ripostes.

As she observed them, Chloe was struck by the arbitrariness of Society. Here were two young men ---both alike in dignity --- the same age, the same education (Grady's scholastic achievements arguably even greater than Edwin's), capable of the same social graces. Her eyes traveled over Grady; in figure and features he was as fine as any lord. In a just society, there would be no question of his worthiness. Yet Grady would forever be a steward, while Edwin would always be Lord Trimingham.

The bout drew to a close. Grady appeared to have bested Edwin, but they shook hands cordially, laughing even. Gathering their clothing, they passed under her window and out of sight.

Chloe resumed her stitching, eventually finishing the last side and knotting the thread. She packed her sketch book and slipped her pencils and the packet of seeds into the new pocket. Grabbing her bonnet, she headed downstairs. She stopped in Father's library and found him engrossed in writing at his desk. When she informed him that she would be in the conservatory, and would not be at luncheon, he glanced up and nodded. "Yes, fine, my dear."

The cook Jenny, however, was scandalized when Chloe informed her. "Go without? I'll not hear of it. A young lady such as yourself, with all your running about." She made Chloe wait while she prepared cucumber sandwiches and wrapped them in a linen napkin.

"Thank you, Jenny," she said gratefully, tucking them into her satchel.

She left through the veranda door and headed across the west lawn towards the conservatory, veering to walk under the canopy of low branches in the grove of pines. The bed of fallen golden-red needles was springy under her feet and the scent of the fresh pine heady. It was after she ducked out from under the last boughs that she saw them: Edwin and Grady, walking towards her across the lawn, wearing only their trousers. They were carrying their boots and shirts, and as they neared it became clear that they had been swimming, for their hair and skin were wet.

She was startled, not being accustomed to seeing partially naked men --- and still agitated by the provocative scene she had witnessed last night in the stable. Her gaze involuntarily went to Grady's bare chest. Years and years ago she had seen his chest when he was but a slim lad --- 'twas now quite altered, being wide and strong-looking with a tracing of light-colored hair. She wondered if the years as a builder's apprentice had put him in such good trim.

She could not help a brief peek down his lean belly at his trouser front --- the fabric was clinging slightly to the wet flesh under it, highlighting the telltale bulge that had become an object of fascination for her. Her eyes darted back up. They were passing each other now; Grady bowed his head --- his brief grin a divergence from his usual formal demeanor.

"Skipping luncheon, Sissy?" Edwin asked.

She nodded and continued past them.

The next few hours were spent in the conservatory. She planted the marigold seeds in two separate flowerpots, placing one upon a shelf on the south side, and the other upon a shelf on the east side. Next, she followed Mr. O'Malley's recommendation and sought out the Lady Banks' rose. She marveled over the lush white blooms, lowering her head to breathe in the scent, letting the cool, delicate petals tickle her nostrils. Capturing them upon paper occupied her next. She brought over the stool that Mr. O'Malley kept there for her and perched upon it with the sketch book in her lap, intermittently taking bites from the cucumber sandwiches.

Her artistic inclinations not yet spent, she wandered through the tables laden with plants until the blooming Venus slipper caught her eye. She was engaged in drawing it when the sound of footsteps interrupted her. She looked up surprised. "Harriet?"

"Oh, thank goodness! I've been searching everywhere for you, miss. His lordship bade me tell you make haste in dressing to dine at Lord Lancaster's."

Chloe had a vague recollection of her father informing her of this outing. She packed up her satchel and hurried back to the manor with Harriet. Lord and Lady Lancaster lived some ten miles distant, and the two families often entertained each other. Their daughter Georgiana had been a year ahead of Chloe at Haversham Academy, and the two girls were amiable acquaintances.

Soon suitably garbed, Chloe was donning her velveteen jacket as she walked along the second-floor gallery overlooking the great hall. Hearing her name spoken below, she paused. Her father --- dressed for dinner ---- and Grady were standing in the hall near the library. He handed Grady some folded papers. "Here are the letters from the Duke of Leeds and the Marquess of Titchfield; the former is enquiring about Lady Chloe for himself, the latter on behalf of his son. Write to their stewards for their proposed terms."

"Yes, sir." She could see Grady's impassive face as he bowed. He disappeared into the library as Chloe descended the stairs, slowly buttoning her jacket as she frowned at her father's back.

In the carriage, her silent demeanor remained unnoticed by Lord Trimingham and Edwin, who were absorbed in a conversation about hunting. Upon their arrival at Braden Park, however, Chloe endeavored to assume a cordial air.

The task grew less arduous as the evening progressed, for the visit proved to be a timely distraction from the uneasiness at Greystoke Hall. The dinner party was supplemented by the addition of Lady Lancaster's effusive mother Mrs. Hamilton. Following the meal, the ladies repaired to the drawing room where Chloe and Georgiana sat at the pianoforte, chatting and intermittently playing at the instrument. Edwin, Lord Trimingham, and Lord Lancaster had withdrawn to the smoking room.