Repercussions Pt. 02

Grady coughed behind his napkin. "Indeed? It must truly be a remarkable spirit." He glanced quickly at Edwin, wondering if he had somehow detected his wayward thoughts. Edwin however had turned to Lord Trimingham.

"Father, shall we have Woodbyrne order some cases of it?"

"A splendid idea. Order twenty cases: ten for here and ten for London."

Grady pulled out his small book and pencil from his inside jacket pocket. "Jameson's you said?"

"Yes, 'tis from Dublin."

He made a few notes. The pencil halted momentarily at Edwin's next words.

"Sissy, you are very dull tonight. What ails you? I thought that silly academy of yours schooled you in the art of senseless banter."

From under his brows, Grady glimpsed Chloe's calm smile. "When it comes to the art of senseless banter, I dare not even attempt to challenge your accomplishments."

Grady was unable to contain his laughter; fortunately, Lord Trimingham was laughing too. Behind Edwin's back, the maids were covering their giggles with their hands. Edwin looked quite wounded. "If you were a man, I'd give you a thrashing," he said in a wistful tone.

Chloe sipped from her wine glass. "There is one request I would make of you, Mr. Woodbyrne," she said. His body surged as her lashes flicked up and her beautiful eyes looked directly at him. I want you to kiss me here. He swallowed hard.

"Yes, my lady?"

"I've been hoping to draw a portrait of the blacksmith in Ashborough, Mr. Reed. He is your cousin, I believe."

"He is."

"Would you be willing to convey my request to him? Please assure him that I won't interfere with his work."

"Most assuredly, my lady. I will speak to him on the morrow." He made a note in his book, wondering if this was an earnest request or was merely a ploy to distract from her unusually silent demeanor.

Lord Trimingham interjected. "Remember that you will be departing for London in a few days. If you intend to undertake this portrait, you had better do it quickly."

Grady could see her fingers twist the napkin in her lap.

"Speaking of London," Lord Trimingham continued, "Have we our train tickets for tomorrow?"

"Yes, my lord. They are in my office. Two first class tickets on the 8:10 tomorrow morning."

"Perhaps Woodbyrne should go with us, sir," Edwin suggested. "'Twould be instructional for him to be at this meeting."

Grady maintained a neutral appearance as he cut a portion of squab with his knife.

"Ordinarily I would agree with you, but he has plenty of work to occupy him at this moment."

He breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Presently the pudding arrived, eliciting a happy exclamation from Edwin. "Egg custard! Capitol!" He partook in large spoonfuls. Soon he leant towards Lord Trimingham and addressed him with his mouth still full. "Father, shall we discuss the horse now? You have eaten and drunk, and you have your favorite pudding before you...you cannot help but be in a good humor." Lord Trimingham regarded him with amused tolerance, holding out his goblet for the footman to refill his wine.

"What horse?" asked Chloe.

"Yesterday we went to a farm near Cheadle to look at horses, and your brother had his heart...and indeed his wits...stolen by a chestnut filly. Her sire is purported to be a Derby winner. But I took her around the pasture myself and found her a bit sluggish."

"She's but two years old! She's not sluggish --- she's simply inexperienced and hesitant. You must mount her with assurance and give her a touch with the crop."

"I do not favor correcting horses by whipping them."

"Not whipping! I'm talking about just a little tickle --- just a tickle, tickle of the tip upon her hindquarters, and she becomes quite lively indeed."

Grady felt his face growing warm as the memory of his tongue upon Chloe's clitoris sprang up in his mind. The conversation tonight seemed particularly designed to torment him! He reached for his wine glass, then saw Chole's small, pale hand simultaneously reaching for hers. Hastily he withdrew his hand and picked up his pencil. With his reddened face inclined towards the book, he started writing --- anything --- Cheadle...chestnut filly...2-year-old.

"Well, if you have your heart set upon her, then proceed," Lord Trimingham was saying. "But you'll not be getting another in the fall."

"I shan't want another. She will be my top hunter. Calhoun will bring her along to perfection."

"So be it. Grady, the owner's name is William Davitt. I'll give you the particulars and you can open a negotiation with him."

"Yes, my lord." He wrote the name in his book.

*****

The next morning, Grady awoke at dawn and dressed himself in his old clothes from his apprenticeship days. He stepped outside into the crisp air, breathing deeply. As usual, he was the first one up in the household --- next would be the cook Jenny. Today he chose the path north for his unique constitutional. Although he had adapted his work to spend as little time as possible at his desk, it still did not satiate his restless body. He broke into a run. The mist and the shimmering dew upon the leaves in the first rays of the sun cast over the landscape an ethereal aura. Indeed, everything about life seemed truly magical to him in his state of buoyant joy.

Last night, dinner had concluded without further event. Chloe had said goodnight immediately following the meal, leaving the three gentlemen to their own devices. Grady had joined the others at billiards in accordance with past similar evenings.

When finally able to return to his own quarters, he had undressed and allowed his thoughts to fly directly to the encounter in the deserted laundry chamber...where the beam of slanting sunlight had illuminated a most charmingly exposed mossy mound. Again he had frigged as he relived every sight and sound and sensation --- frigged until he had a spasming release. Having awoken with a throbbing cockstand, he had refrained from a repeat performance only by the strength of his determination to accomplish certain tasks before Chloe rose for the day.

The path eventually took him to Cedric's Castle, where he leapt from rock to rock up the steep hill at full tilt, the muscles burning in this thighs and arse. At the summit he paused, breathing hard. 'Twas two days ago that he had similarly stopped here and discovered a tiny pencil shaving in a crevice in the rock and had thus known that Chloe had been here recently. He had wrapped it in his handkerchief and transferred it to his watch case upon returning home. His foolish romanticism had made him laugh --- he envisioned a scene wherein other gentlemen boasting of their sweethearts' beauty produced little locks of hair from their watch cases as evidence. When it was his turn, he would have this pencil shaving to show off.

Now he hurtled down the hill --- an even greater challenge, staying upon the rocky path with his momentum building. Reaching flatter ground, he took a circuitous route to the east woods, and presently found himself dodging and weaving and ducking tree trunks and branches. For a mile more he continued so, eventually spotting a particular maple tree ahead of him. He sprinted the last fifty yards and leapt up to grasp the horizontal branch above his head. Stilling his swinging body, he bent his arms and pulled himself up, bringing his chin up above the branch, repeating again and again until he exhausted his strength. He dropped to the ground and lay for several moments recovering his breath. Seeing the increased light through the canopy of leaves above him, he rolled to his feet and hastened back to the house.

Bathed, shaved, dressed, and fortified with fried eggs and toast from Jenny, he headed to the stable to embark upon his next task: Ashborough. Not wanting to wake the stable boy, he saddled his horse himself and set out. His intent was to be back in his office by the hour at which Chloe usually rose, and there remain, accessible to her should she, Fate willing, wish to punish him again.

In Ashborough, as promised, he paid a call upon his cousin Charlie Reed, whom he found in his forge, stoking the fire. Chloe's request to make his portrait gave him so much honored delight that Grady found himself jealous of his cousin. Why had she never expressed an interest in drawing him?

Next, he stopped at the mill. Having already assessed the inventory of tools and wood in storage upon the estate, he was readily able to order the planks and beams he needed to repair the farm cottages.

Lord Trimingham and Edwin had already departed for the train station when Grady returned to Greystoke Hall. He busied himself in his office, leaving the hall door open. First, he documented his order at the mill in the expense ledger. Then he looked through the bookcases for the city directory for Dublin; he had directories for several towns and cities where the estate might conduct business including London, Paris, Derby, Sheffield, Manchester, Liverpool, Dublin, Belfast, and Glasgow. Locating it, he was pleased to find the address for the Jameson distillery. He composed a letter detailing the requested whiskey order.

By and by, Grady became aware of the unusual quiet in the manor. There were no footsteps upon the stairs or in the hall, no doors being opened and closed, no servants saying, "Good morning, Lady Chloe." He also had not seen her through his window --- the veranda and garden were empty --- although there were of course other means by which she might leave the house. The crushing possibility that she had gone with Lord Trimingham and Edwin to London occurred to him. Requesting an audience with her was certainly out of the question, and he must not reveal an unseemly interest in her whereabouts.

He took the letter and stepped into the great hall. No one was in sight. He placed the letter in the box by the front door. Walking the length of the hall he glanced into the open doors of the various rooms as he passed --- not a soul. Passing back under the grand stairs he made his way down to the kitchen. There was Chloe's maid Harriet, chatting with Jenny. She would know! "Hallo, ladies," he said smiling. "Jenny, what can I eat? I'm famished."

"I told you to eat more for breakfast...a big young man like you. Here." She unwrapped a linen cloth from a loaf of bread and prepared a thick slice with strawberry jam, then poured him a cup of buttermilk.

"Someone would think I'm still thirteen, looking at this," he said with a grin. He sat upon the table to eat.

"Someone would think you're five, sitting on the table like that," Harriet teased.

He laughed. "Harriet, I've a message for Lady Chloe. She sent me on an errand into Ashborough, and I've a report to give her."

"I believe she went riding. I can give her the message when she returns."

"Well...yes, that should suffice...thank you. Please tell her that Mr. Reed would be pleased to have his portrait drawn --- anytime at her convenience."

"The blacksmith Mr. Reed? Your cousin? Yes, he would be a handsome man to draw." She and Jenny exchanged an amused look. "I'll give her your message."

Grady left feeling a bit nettled. Were they teasing him? He returned to his office. At least he had determined that Chloe was here. For the next couple of hours he kept himself occupied --- writing a letter to the owner of the filly that Edwin wished to purchase, reviewing the household accounts, and updating the tenants' rent records --- all whilst keeping an ear upon the hall and an eye upon the view outside his window. Still no sign of her.

His vigil was interrupted by a calamity in the kitchen. "Come quick, Mr. Woodbyrne!" cried the scullery maid Sarah, running into his office. "The chimney is afire!" Running thence, the kitchen was indeed thick with smoke, which was billowing out of the fireplace, but he did not see flames. Jenny, the maids, and a footman were cowering behind the big table.

"Open the windows!" Grady shouted. "Is the flue open?" He tossed linen towels to them as they opened the windows. "Fan the smoke out!" Crouching by the fireplace coughing, he used a towel to reach up and check the flue --- 'twas open. "I'm going to look up top," he said running out. He fetched a ladder from the stable and climbed up to the roof above the kitchen. Christ, his father never would have been asked to tend to these problems! But, then again, he admitted to himself, 'twas his own fault for having demonstrated his cheerful facility with these matters.

The source of the problem was immediately apparent as he scaled the steep slope to the peak: a large oak branch, no doubt broken off by the storm, had landed upon the chimney. The ceramic flue liner for the kitchen had cracked and apparently had just given way, crumbling upon itself. Extracting the branch and clearing the broken flue liner occupied the greater part of an hour.

He fretted over his prolonged absence upon returning to his office. Had he missed her? He looked in vain for a note from her, knowing there would be none. What if she never sought him out again? What if yesterday's incident was all there was to be? A one-time occurrence? She had seemed quite disturbed when she fled.

A deep sigh expanded his chest. To fill his time, he turned his attention to the ongoing task of searching for a missing document. Well, not missing...yet. In the matter of a dispute between the Trimingham estate and the township of Ashborough concerning a parcel of land, there was purported to be a deed in favor of the estate. Lord Trimingham believed it to exist and was convinced that it dated from his grandfather's time. The papers predating Grady's father's tenure were stored in wooden boxes upon the shelves in the office. He had been pulling them down one at a time and looking through them. There was no particular organization of the documents, so each had to be scanned for content. Finishing the box that he had started yesterday, he hoisted it to his shoulder and crossed to the stepstool by the bookshelf.

"Mr. Woodbyrne."

He spun around. 'Twas she! The sight of her sent the blood surging throughout his body. He hastily set down the box and bowed his head. "Lady Chloe." Looking up, his eyes searched her face, unable to discern her mood.

"Please meet me in the laundry yard at half past five." She turned abruptly and walked out.

*****

Grady could feel his heartbeat in his chest as he entered the laundry courtyard. He checked his pocket watch, assuring himself that he was a few minutes early of the appointed time. Quite deserted, the courtyard was oddly beautiful in its quiet simplicity. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows about the angles of the eaves, doorways, and windows of the barracks. Along its whitewashed front, the tulips had overnight burst into bloom in a swaying bank of pink, red, and fuchsia cups. The intermittent breeze rustled the leaves of the oak. He checked the tree to confirm that Chloe was not up there.

The ache of anticipation rose in his belly as he looked at the first chamber of the row. He glanced about, tugging upon his waistcoat and straightening his cravat. He mustn't be observed loitering here without cause. Pulling out his small book, he made a quick diagram of the barracks, numbering the rooms from one to twelve. He proceeded to note what was in each chamber, with number 1 being the laundry work room. He was at room 5 when he saw her. Oh, sweet Chloe! She was approaching along the back of the garden wall, clad in a gown the color of violets and surrounded by the green of nature...her skirts and bonnet ribbons were stirring in the wind.

Stowing his book, he walked towards her, his heart beating faster. They stopped in front of the laundry work room, facing each other some five feet apart. Grady removed his hat and bowed. "Lady Chloe."

"Mr. Woodbyrne." With a brief, stiff nod, she indicated the door. "If you please."

Just as yesterday, he ducked under the door frame and into the chamber, stepping back with his head respectfully bowed for her to enter. He observed her closely, holding his hat, as she made a methodical circuit of the room, her fingertips grazing over items --- an iron, the stones of the fireplace, the lace curtains. Finally, she came to a halt next to the tall ironing table.

She was facing him, but her eyes were distant. In one hand she held a book; the other hand was fiddling with a red ribbon bookmark hanging from the pages --- again and again her finger wound and unwound the red satin. She had kept her straw bonnet on, which did not bode well. The inside brim of it was lined by a light blue fabric the color of forget-me-nots. Wide ribbons of the same fabric were fastened in a bow under her chin. Encircled by the faerie blue, her pale face with the big eyes and dark, lush lashes had an unearthly beauty. But, neither from her face nor her posture could he guess at her intent.

Fear started to mount in Grady at her demeanor. This rendezvous might have some purpose other than the continuation of yesterday's amatory adventure that he had been praying for. Was she about to tell him to keep his distance for she was to be married? Was she truly going to punish him this time, or announce her intention to report him to Lord Trimingham? Had he only augmented his guilt by the liberties he had taken yesterday? But she had ordered him to kiss her there! Yes, but she had not ordered him to lick her there, nor to attempt to pull down her pantalettes, nor to grasp her bottom. He did not think her capable of such capriciousness...but this was all uncharted waters.

Perhaps he should take this opportunity to pour out his heart to her?

Instead he found himself saying, "My lady, my cousin Mr. Reed would be honored to have you draw his portrait, at any time that suits you."

She appeared not to have heard him, for her abstracted gaze was unchanged for some time.

After several moments, she set the book aside and her eyes abruptly rose to focus upon his. "Mr. Woodbyrne, there is a matter between us that yet remains unresolved." Her voice was quiet, without emotion.

"Yes, my lady." He cleared his throat. "'Tis my earnest desire to give you full satisfaction...for the wrong I have done you." He saw the pink spots of color appear upon her cheekbones as she looked up at him. She turned away slightly, the curve of her downturned lashes visible, and pulled slowly upon one dangling ribbon of the bow under her chin. Although still in suspense as to her next words, even the simple disappearance of the bow was sufficient to set his cock astir. Freeing the ribbons, she removed her bonnet and laid it upon the table. Two loose braids tumbled down her back...he had seen her hair so this past week, but only from a distance. Never before had he been this close to her when her hair was in such a state of intimate disarray. The pressure grew in his organ.

She faced him again from the end of the ironing board. "Kneel down, Mr. Woodbyrne."

In an instant he was down upon his knees, thrilled by the irony of this petite young lady nigh half his size ordering him about. The protrusion of his trouser front visibly increased by the second...as did the blush in her face as she observed it. She reached down to grasp handfuls of her skirts and began lifting them. He held his breath as the deep blue-purple hem rose, revealing a white, lace trimmed petticoat, then the low black slippers with the ribbons wound around her ankles, then the white stockings...then more of her white stockings?...then her garters at her knees...then the shock of bare skin! His mouth fell open as he realized that she wore no other undergarments. Now his breaths came fast as her pretty knees and thighs were exposed.

She shifted to hold the gathered fabric with her arms, then drew up the remaining folds. All at once the magic bauble at the top of her thighs was exposed. Oh God! Sweet Heaven had taken pity upon him and granted him this unparalleled vision: save for her shoes and stockings, she was naked from the waist down. Grady stared with all his eyes, his heart beating in his cock...she was even lovelier than he had imagined. What a graceful, compact creature she was! Her nubile figure was as unspoiled and erotic as befitted a wild nymph...smooth, cream-colored skin...hips curving most alluringly out from her slender waist...legs lissome and strong.