Repercussions Pt. 01

"Are you pleased with your engagement, Georgiana?" Chloe asked after they had caught up on the goings on at Haversham. The news of Georgiana's impending wedding had dominated the dinner conversation.

Georgiana hesitated, then gave her a smile. "I shall be very content, I am certain." To Chloe's questioning look, she added, "I cannot claim to have had a particular preference as to my husband...but..." She lowered her voice. "...he is much older than I would have hoped."

Chloe, having met the subject of their discourse, offered: "He is very gentlemanly, and by all accounts, very generous."

Georgiana nodded. "Yes...yes. I know it will be a fine match and will reflect creditably upon my family. I can at least take comfort in doing my duty in a far from disagreeable manner."

Chloe toyed with the stem of her sherry glass, not wanting to add to her friend's apprehension by voicing her own misgivings upon the subject.

Later, in the carriage on the way home, she pondered Georgiana's words. She leant her head upon the window and gazed out at the moon shining through the tree branches as they passed, growing sleepy with the motion and sound of hooves. Dimly she heard Edwin and Father discussing horses and debating the merits of Irish versus Scottish whiskey.

*****

The next morning when Chloe came downstairs, she found Edwin already gone riding. Well, she could find her own amusements. She decided to go riding herself, eschewing the side saddle and riding habit for the preferred standard saddle and cotton frock, allowing Mr. Calhoun to assist her in mounting, despite her blushing discomfiture in opening her legs --- even covered by her gown --- a few inches from his face to swing astride.

She made a broad circuit of the woods and glens to the west of Greystoke Hall, letting Lizzie gallop across open stretches and jump over fallen trees --- the exhilarating exercise soon improving her spirits. Eventually she drew rein atop a bluff overlooking the slow-moving river, the opposite shoreline of which was dotted with weeping willows and sprays of rushes. Here she dismounted and found a seat leaning back against a stone.

This was not likely the place where Edwin and Grady had swum yesterday --- 'twas too far from the manor. The image of Grady's naked chest came back to her...the water droplets sparkling on his muscles...his wayward grin...the bulge in his trousers...then images of Mr. Calhoun and Lucy with their mouths upon each other's privates. Her hands tightened around the shoulder strap of her satchel...she was puzzled by the sensations she was experiencing...'twas as if her belly felt flustered. It could not be hunger...she had recently breakfasted. She could not account for her discomfited feeling.

And all this merely complicated her other cause for vexation. She was angered by her father's and Eveline's plans for her...and she was vexed by Grady --- yes, that was it! She finally had put it into words in her mind. She knew that he was obliged to follow orders...she knew it...but his emotionless assistance in the search for her future husband rankled.

The call of a loon drew her focus down to the river. Her eyes followed a branch drifting by in the water, reminding her afresh of the beauty that surrounded her. Sighing, she opened the satchel and brought out the book she was reading: The Voyage of the Beagle. For some time, she read and daydreamed, her solitude enlivened by the company of a curious calico cat that she recognized from a nearby tenant farm. She read aloud to the cat, who seemed unimpressed. Much more impressed was she by Chloe's scratching of her back. As usual, Chloe was reluctant to leave when there was a cat with which to play, but at last becoming aware of the hour, she rose and mounted Lizzie again.

The path back took her by the conservatory. Seeing Mr. O'Malley through the window, she dismounted and went inside to consult him upon her rose experiment. They stood by the table as Mr. O'Malley examined the new growth, reassuring her of its progress. "Aye, my lady, just keep on with what ye've been doing." As they walked between the tables covered with plants and flowers, he nodded towards the south side. "A word to the wise, miss --- the strawberries have come out." He winked. She grinned.

By and by, Chloe left the conservatory, her belly lazily content with fresh berries. Back in the saddle, she ambled along the path to the stable. A sudden tugging upon her skirts made her rein Lizzie to a stop...her hem was caught upon a branch of a gorse shrub. Holding the pommel, she leant over in the saddle as far as she could, trying to disentangle the blue flowered cotton from the prickly branch.

At the sound of approaching hooves, she straightened back up. Grady was riding towards her. Of all the times...when she was so disheveled! He stopped alongside her, removing his hat and bowing his head. "Lady Chloe." In the sunlight, she noticed the gold-bronze sheen of his hair... and the lighter golden color of his side whiskers. "Mr. Woodbyrne," she responded tersely.

"A lovely morning for a ride, my lady." As he spoke, she detected the briefest half grin upon his face. Then 'twas gone. Whatever was he finding so amusing?! She remembered the different smile he had given Lucy in the office. Her spine stiffened; she lifted her chin.

"Indeed. Are you going for a ride?"

"Not for pleasure, alas. The storm last week damaged some of the tenants' cottages. I am going to make a survey of the damage."

She saw an odd flick of his blue eyes downward. Glancing down, she realized that her skirts had ridden up on the side nearest him, revealing several inches of bare thigh between her white stocking and her shortened pantalettes. With a quick tug upon the dress she covered her knee...and saw that her fingers were stained red from the strawberries. She could not tell which sight had drawn his notice.

"Well," she said stiffly, "I shall not keep you from your expedition." They nodded at each other and he continued past her. When he was out of sight, she yanked her skirt free of the shrub and hastened to the stable.

'Twas not until she was in her bedchamber washing for luncheon that she saw with mortification in the looking glass that her mouth was similarly smudged with strawberry juice. She scrubbed at it with a wet cloth. No wonder he had been smirking at her!

*****

Edwin had still not returned by luncheon, and Lord Trimingham was preoccupied with reading documents that he had brought to the table. After eating in silence, Chloe took advantage of the earliest opportunity to excuse herself, appreciative that at least she hadn't changed out of her comfortable garments for the meal.

She left the manor through the veranda doors and walked across the garden. The cherry blossom scent was even more intoxicating today...she felt a little giddy as she left the garden through the gate in the rear wall. Immediately she turned left, following the back of the wall for some hundred paces until she reached the open gate to a courtyard that was behind the garden.

One wall of the large rectangular space was formed by the ten-foot high garden wall; the remaining three sides were created by similarly tall stone walls. A long, one story building ran the length of the shared wall and was divided into a series of separate rooms, each with its own door and window to the courtyard. In her great-grandfather's time, it had been a barracks for his private guard. Most of the barracks rooms were now used for storage by Mr. O'Malley and the groundskeepers. The chamber nearest the entrance, however, was used by the chamber maids for laundry duties. Narrow ropes had been strung across the courtyard from the barracks to the opposite wall to serve as clotheslines.

Although deserted for much of the time, the courtyard was kept tidy --- the grass was cut, the barracks were whitewashed, the well in the middle was fresh, and Mr. O'Malley had planted beds next to the doors. Presently, tulips were growing in profusion in the beds, the closed buds on the cusp of blooming.

Chloe glanced about, assuring herself that she was indeed alone, then walked up to the old oak tree near the courtyard entrance. Tying her skirts up in a loose knot, she stood upon her tiptoes to reach the lowest branch. With her feet climbing on the trunk, she pulled herself up on top of the branch. From here she ascended three more limbs to her favorite perch. From this vantage point she could observe the rear of the manor, the garden, and the paths to the stable and conservatory --- all without being detected by those upon the ground.

Currently, she saw no one about. She removed her sketch book from her satchel and paged through her recent drawings. She wanted to attempt more portraits, she decided. Last year she had begun working on them. The one disadvantage was the requirement of having a subject...flowers were more cooperative than people! Taking out a pencil, she flipped to a new page and started a long view of the garden.

After a while, she observed three maids approaching carrying baskets of linens. She had forgotten that it was laundry day. They entered the courtyard; it was the chamber maids Annie, Grace, and May. Annie retrieved apron pouches of clothespins from the first barracks room, and they began hanging the wet linens.

Chloe continued her sketching, intermittently watching the progress below her as row upon row of white bed linens, tablecloths, napkins, undergarments, and shirts were hung out. Not intending to eavesdrop upon their conversation, she was grateful not to overhear any delicate confidences. They did discuss how handsome Master Edwin had grown...and advised each other not to let him take any liberties, for it promised nothing but grief for girls like them. Chloe preened a little when she heard them comment upon "Miss Chloe's excellent needlework" as they pinned up her shortened pantalettes. Beyond that, they spoke mostly of the other servants, and of the handsome butcher in Ashborough.

Their task at last complete, they headed back to the house. Chloe contemplated the rows of gently billowing white fabric --- she turned the page and started a new drawing. In short order, the hypnotic triangle of her subject, her hand, and her eyes lulled her into a trance-like state. She lost track of time until the muted cuckoo echoes about the courtyard awoke her to discover the sun low in the sky.

Packing her satchel, she started climbing down. The sound of hooves made her freeze. Loath to have her hiding place discovered, she remained motionless, lying upon a tree limb, squeezing it with her arms and knees. A horse and rider came through the courtyard gate. Grady! He halted a few feet into the courtyard and swung down from the saddle --- almost below her. She held her breath --- mercifully he did not glance up. His attention was focused upon something about the first barracks room, for he walked up to the front of the building, removing his hat to duck under the low roof overhang. Was he peering in the window?

He stepped back to the horse, setting his hat over the pommel and extracting some items from the saddle bag. She recognized the leather covered book that he was ever carrying around. Back to the window he went, taking care not to tread upon the tulips. He leant close to the window, touching the glass, then straightened and wrote in the book. Chloe realized his object: she saw now that one windowpane was cracked. She observed him as he measured the pane with a cloth tape measure and wrote again in the book.

As he was replacing the book and tape in the saddle bag, something else seemed to have become an object of interest to him. He gazed out towards the courtyard for several moments, then glanced behind him towards the entrance gate. Closing the flap of the bag, he turned and walked a few steps back towards the building. Where the first clothesline was affixed to the stone front he stopped. Chloe watched in confusion as he raised his hand and touched the nearest garment hanging from the line. All at once she saw that it was one of her chemises!

He lifted the damp white fabric and bent his head to it. Was he smelling it? She was aware that female undergarments were by all accounts an inexplicable source of fascination and humor for males. She cringed in embarrassment to see him examining her undergarment. Now he was pressing his face to the front where her breasts would be! The heat rose in her cheeks.

Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the courtyard entrance, then backed up against the whitewashed wall, still holding the chemise. With his free hand he quickly unbuttoned the flap of his trousers and reached inside. Chloe scarce smothered her shocked gasp as he drew out his prick. 'Twas like she had seen Mr. Calhoun's --- ruddy and thick and projecting from his trousers in a most intimidating fashion --- but noticeably larger. Was that in accord with his taller stature? She was aghast at the thought that an object of such fearsome proportions could go up that small hole in the cunny.

She supposed for a moment that he was going to piddle, but he wrapped his hand around the skyward pointing pole and began stroking up and down. Her eyes grew wide. He was frigging! 'Twas the very motion that Frances had described! The nasty thing that young men did for pleasure! Mesmerized, she watched, the blush seeming to spread over her entire body. Indeed, the heat was throbbing in her cheeks and between her legs where her cunny was pressed to the tree limb. She squeezed the branch tightly, feeling her heart pounding.

Whether Grady was experiencing pleasure she could not say...his face wore the same baffling expression that Mr. Calhoun's and Lucy's had: tortured looking while sighing over their excess of pleasure. His hand moved faster, and he braced his thighs, pressing back against the wall behind him. She could hear his panting breaths. Why was he engaging in this supposedly disgusting act while touching and looking at her chemise?! Did he know it was her chemise? Perhaps he thought it was Lucy's! Indignation twisted in her belly and her nails dug into the bark.

All at once she pushed off the limb and dropped to the ground in front of him, some dozen feet away, her eyes blazing. He stared at her in horror, dropping the chemise and gasping, "Oh God!" Abruptly he hunched forward, scrambling with his trouser flap. She whirled away, catching up her skirts and running from the courtyard.

*****

The evening passed in a daze. She was distantly aware of Edwin and her father conversing, of the maids serving her dinner. Her father's announcement that Eveline had written forecasting her return to Greystoke Hall some four days hence did however pierce her consciousness.

After the meal, she was following her father from the dining room when she saw Grady standing in the great hall in front of his office door, fiddling with his book --- peculiar to find him there at this hour. Her father stopped to ask him about some documents for which he was searching. In replying, his demeanor seemed as measured as usual, but his quick glances between Lord Trimingham and herself did not escape her awareness. Archly she turned and continued to the drawing room, where Edwin promptly enlisted her for a game of cards.

It was not until she was at last alone in her bedchamber that she had the opportunity to address her befuddled thoughts. She sat upon the window seat, appealing to the night sky. What should she do? 'Twas inarguably a scandalous act that Grady had committed...wasn't it? Ignoring such transgressions was not considered a proper course. Should she tell someone? Tell Father? Tell Edwin? Tell the vicar in Ashborough? What would happen to him if she told? What did she want to happen? She wondered if Frances and Juliana had reported the young men whom they had seen frigging. Perhaps she could write to them to ask...no...she could not even contemplate how to broach such a subject in a letter! Could she write Aunt Francoise to ask for advice? Again, she was faced with the same difficulty.

The further quandary that beset her was why she had watched for so long without fleeing in outrage? The turmoil of unfamiliar sensations she had experienced as she watched him frightened her...

Should she simply speak to Grady directly upon the matter? And say what, pray tell?

'Twas no use; no matter how she posed the questions, no answers were forthcoming.

The next morning, she rose after a night of troubled sleep. Upon arriving in the dining room later than usual for breakfast, she found Edwin and her father already gone. "They went into Stafford to look at horses with Lord Lancaster, my lady," the butler Mr. Scofield informed her.

"Did they indicate when they expected to return?"

"I believe they intended to return in time for dinner."

She sat alone at the table, lost in thought. Her appetite had deserted her, and she picked at her food for some time before rising and making her way to the morning room. There she started a letter to Aunt Francoise. She had no intention of describing the incident outright but wondered if she might happen upon a turn of phrase to allude to her dilemma. But following the usual salutations and expression of her appreciation for the marigold seeds, she found herself at a loss for words.

Sitting at the writing desk, she stared at the paper, brushing the soft end of the quill pen up and down upon her cheek. Her lashes flicked up as Grady passed before the hall door. She did not acknowledge him, pretending to be absorbed in her writing. When in the space of a half hour he again walked slowly by the door, she rose and pointedly closed it.

She could not find an occupation to distract from her agitated thoughts. She attempted to resume her letter. She tried to read a book, she paced up and down, she even sat down at her embroidery hoop and picked up where she had left off months ago, hoping the repetitive activity would soothe her. At last she gave up and returned to her bedchamber --- perhaps a nap would help. But in this she was thwarted as well, spending nigh two hours fitfully tossing.

Throwing the covers aside, she sat upon the edge of the bed for several minutes. Then she rose, slipped on her shoes, and headed downstairs. The great hall was empty. She marched directly to Grady's office. He was standing by the desk sorting through a stack of papers. Turning at the sound of her entrance, he started visibly, but swiftly recovered himself. He bowed and murmured, "Lady Chloe."

His gaze remained downward, his cheeks turning red --- ironically, but certainly unintentionally holding a sheaf of papers in front of the offending portion of his body. Chloe felt the color begin to rise in her own cheeks. She lifted her chin and spoke coldly.

"Be so good as to meet me in the laundry yard at half past five."

Even as he managed a flustered bow, she turned on her heel and stalked out.

*****

She left the manor at half past five, strolling at a leisurely pace through the garden, carrying her sketchbook --- ambling outwardly even whilst her belly was fluttering with nervousness. The scent of the waving cherry blossoms beckoned her on. Eventually she exited the garden through the rear gate. Once behind the wall she smoothed the finely striped green and white fabric of her gown and straightened the bow of darker green ribbon trim at the neckline. Stiffening her spine, she proceeded with a regal mien to the courtyard, intentionally late.

The washing had been taken down, and the bare clotheslines were glowing lines in the late afternoon sun. Grady was standing by the well as if inspecting it, writing in a small book. Immediately upon seeing her, he pocketed the book and approached, removing his hat and bowing. "Lady Chloe."

"Mr. Woodbyrne." She nodded at the door of the first barracks chamber. "If you please."