Sir Thomas’s Bride_Masterful Husbands_Book One, page 7
"Thomas, ah, Thomas," she moaned huskily. He stilled, waiting and not daring to move aroused as his senses were by the sight of her laid before him like a succulent banquette: her rosy, swollen globes, her splayed and restrained legs, that exposed every soft and womanly part of her and lastly by her tantalizing scent. The alluring scent of a woman wreathed in desire, honeyed yet tangy, held him spellbound, locked in rapacious lust.
With his manhood pulsing, demanding release, he drew himself almost fully out and with deep, slow and even strokes, thrust up against her punished rump repeatedly. All the while she moaned and sighed with the pleasure of it. Then suddenly he withdrew from her.
Thomas realised he didn't want to take her this way. Margaret shifted, squirming slightly in her restraints as she mewled softly in frustration. "Hush." He placed a reassuring hand on her back as he bent to undo the first of the cuffs holding her ankles. When she was released, Thomas helped her off the ottoman, steadying her onto her feet.
He cradled her to his warm chest and ran a hand over her silken hair to sooth her. She melded her soft curves to the length of his naked, masculine form and gave a deep shuddering sigh. His arms tightened around her and they stood quietly for a moment, each savouring this tender moment. Margaret's body tingled as he held her, bending his head to her catch her lips with his and stealing her breath with his kisses. Her senses spun and she was lost.
Thomas swept an arm under her legs and lifted her to their bed. He kissed her lips and then his mouth moved down to worship her breasts, savouring the swollen buds of her nipples. "Please," she murmured, squirming on her toasty hind quarters.
"What's that, my darling?" he mumbled, his mouth full of her succulent flesh.
"Thomas, please... take me," she whispered hoarsely.
He rose up on his forearms and looked deep into her eyes. She stared back at him mesmerised; what was happening to her? She was confused, flooded by emotion and sensation. She realised that she had unknowingly parted her legs for him and she felt the fullness of his swollen flesh as it moved like a hand into a glove, deep inside her welcoming warmth.
Waves of pleasure rocked her as he rode her to blissful orgasm and it was a relief for him to empty himself at last, flooding her with his potent seed. With his head and face buried into the side of Margaret's neck, his mouth to her ear, he whispered that he loved her. Margaret quivered beneath him, her senses completely overwhelmed.
Chapter 13
Margaret lay on her side in the circle of her husband's arms. She shifted to rise, when Thomas pulled her back into the shelter of his chest.
"Where are you going?" he asked drowsily.
"My nightgown," she replied.
"Leave it." His breath tickled her ear, his arm tightened around her, solid and safe as he drew her back firmly into the shelter of his chest. Margaret sighed and settled, comfortable and warm.
She thought about the day and the events that had led to this moment. She realised that she didn't resent Thomas punishing her tonight. Why was that? Why did she feel so cherished and loved instead of angry and hurt? Recalling all the occasions that her husband had punished her, Margaret remembered his kindness and concern for her. Tonight he had calmed himself before coming to her and asking for her side of the evening's events. That he even troubled to do so, listening to her explanation was perhaps more than most husbands would do.
Margaret thought about how she had felt when she had seen her husband dancing with that American hoyden, Rose Mortimer. It had been an uncomfortable moment when she realised how jealous and angry she was. Had she opened the gate and let the children out to cause mayhem? Margaret froze as she realised that a part of her had wanted to spoil the evening and so she had been acting maliciously.
Thomas had known this about her intention, she was certain of that and yet at the height of his fury, he had stepped in front of her and protected her from Rose Mortimer's wrath.
It dawned on her suddenly that she actually loved Thomas. This was a complete revelation to one who had never loved anyone except herself before!
Margaret turned her head towards Thomas. "I-I love you, Thomas," she said softly. There was a moment of silence and she held her breath.
There came a shockingly loud snore and Margaret jumped. She smiled into the darkness, then turned her face to the pillow and slept.
All through breakfast the following morning, Margaret surreptitiously studied her husband as he talked, smiled and ate. Despite her tender rump, the sore reminder of last night's punishment as she sat at table, Margaret realised with wonder that she actually did love Thomas. Once when he was talking about Longetlestone and musing on when they would leave for the country, he stopped midsentence, cocked his head to one side and lifted an eyebrow at her enquiringly.
"What is it, Thomas?"
"You, my dear. You are gazing at me rather adoringly and it is making me feel quite uneasy! Are you perhaps feeling unwell?" Margaret giggled.
"Now that is a lovely sound!"
"Thomas, now you are wigging me!" Margaret blushed prettily and giggled yet again.
He grinned, that wolfish pirate smile of his and Margaret felt a tug deep in her gut. Shame flooded her as she remembered that throughout the year of their engagement she had called him 'the nincompoop'. She and her mother had belittled him and taunted him, but throughout, Thomas had remained a gentleman, mild mannered and kind. How could she have ever seen those traits as weak characteristics to be mocked and derided?
Thomas's mother had died at the beginning of their engagement year and not once had she asked him how he felt at her loss. Her mother had muttered 'good riddance' when they had word of her demise.
Margaret felt truly ashamed of herself and her mother. Her mother, Margaret knew to be a disdainful woman, unkind and bitter. Margaret's father was long dead and her mother, once pretty, had never married again. Margaret had wrongly assumed that her mother had loved her father so much that she had no wish to re-marry but now she realised that perhaps she had been wrong in her assumptions and her mother had become sour due to the lack of suitors and her countenance now reflected her inner bitterness.
"Where did you go; you haven't heard a word I spoke?" Thomas asked.
"I was thinking of my mother and of yours. Mine is not a very nice person but I have never asked about your family. Thomas, do you miss your mother?"
Thomas was flummoxed. His Margaret was interested in his feelings and someone other than herself. Hallelujah, the strap had done the trick! He set his features to an appropriate one of serious contemplation and not of jubilation. Margaret's character was finally sweetening and he was simply delighted.
"I do miss my mother on occasion, yes, but she was far closer to my sister Fenella than to me."
"I recall your sister and her husband at our wedding. Are you and she not close then?"
"Not really, no. Fenella married the curate near our country estate shortly after I had to sell it. He is now the Vicar there and a pious man of good character but he has absolutely no humour in him and I avoid visiting them. They are happy enough I suppose and we write occasionally."
"How sad. I have no siblings and would have loved to have had a sister or brother growing up. I feel strongly that we must have more than one child, Thomas, to avoid our children becoming lonely and sad."
"Were you then sad as a child, my darling?" Margaret nodded, she did not trust herself to speak but his tenderness was her undoing.
Thomas moved over to her chair and knelt beside her upon one knee and cupped her face in his hand. "Margaret, you must remember that you are not alone anymore. We will fill our nursery at Longetlestone with babies, I promise you."
Margaret loved the way he said 'our nursery.' Longetlestone had been her family's country home for generations, but upon her marriage to Sir Thomas, it became his. As head of the family, he took ownership of all Margaret's estates and assets. Thomas had removed her mother, the Lady Amelia, into the Dowager House that was set within the grounds.
Margaret was glad she would not have to contend with her mother under the same roof as herself. She looked forward to being the only mistress of her delightful country house.
Longetlestone was not nearly as grand or as large as Lord Mortimer's country estate, but it was a pretty stone manor house; built of butter coloured stone set with old fashioned mullioned windows and a studded solid oak front door surrounded by perfumed wisteria in spring and soft pink roses in summer. Margaret loved it.
"Come, I have something for you." Thomas stood and held out his arm to Margaret and she placed her hand through the crook of his elbow as he led her from the room into his study. Once inside he gestured Margaret to sit, which she did, albeit gingerly, respecting her sore posterior. She glanced about nervously. This room had boded her no good up until now. Thomas went to his desk drawer and rummaging about, finally produced a large bundle of rattling keys.
"Your chatelaine keys, milady!" He handed the heavy bunch of keys to Margaret with a flourish. She took them with a delighted smile. To be trusted as proper mistress of the house was an enormous honour for her and a huge step forwards in trust within their relationship.
She recalled the house needing to be kept locked and secure only a few weeks ago to stop her from escaping. What a little simpleton she had been not to recognise which way up her bread and butter had fallen!
"I am meeting Benedict at our club today and hopefully he will have good news about our departure date. I cannot see that we are needed by the King at present and I overheard the King telling Charles that he wanted to leave London and take the Queen and their children to Kew Palace for the rest of the summer. I shall take luncheon at the club today and see you at dinner, my dear. I would like you to write a note to Lady Mortimer and apologise for your part in the misadventure at the ball last night, but apart from that, do you have plans for the day yourself?"
"Actually, Thomas, I want to visit the Foundling Home today and chose another kitchen maid to replace Molly. I want to move her up a station as she is a kindly, willing girl well suited to service who will progress given the opportunity."
Thomas nodded, pleased at Margaret's involvement with the household. It was more than he had hoped a couple of days ago and he wondered at the change in her.
Chapter 14
Margaret penned her note and left it on the silver letter tray in the hall for a footman to deliver. She pulled the bell cord and when Gates appeared, she asked him to fetch Molly to her.
The kitchen maid seemed nervous and Margaret wondered why this should be. After all, the girl had been kind and helpful when she had found her mistress up in the attic.
"Molly, I wish you to accompany me to the Foundling Home to help me select another scullery maid. I am going to promote you and we shall need another gal to replace you."
Molly perked up at that and she bobbed a curtsy before saying, "Ooo thank 'ee, milady, ter Master insisted I aided you when you was in ter attic an' I was worried I was, that you'd be cross wiv me, after you found out that I was following 'is orders."
Margaret was stunned... Thomas knew that she had been hiding up in the attics?
"Hmm, I see. Do you recall about what time of day it was that the Master asked for your help, Molly?"
"Aye, milady, I do, t'was ter morning after your wedding night."
Margaret mused on this revelation. She didn't know what to make of it at all. Why, if he had known that she was in the cold and dirty attic, had Thomas not come to find her? He had left her there to suffer over night! She looked at Molly and saw the girl was chewing her lip with anxiety.
"Molly, are you happy in your present position, or would you like to move up to kitchen maid?" she asked. The girl had still been kind to her in her hour of need.
"I'd like to become a kitchen maid, milady, if'n that's all right?"
"Of course! Well then, be ready to leave promptly for you shall accompany myself and Hockley to the Foundling Home. Molly, who selected you for service within this house?"
"T'was the Master, milady, he turned down the two girls the home had selected for him to see and spoke to all the girls my age before he offered the position to me."
"Why do you think that was, Molly?" Margaret was curious to hear the girls answer.
"Well 'm, I thinks ter Master be a good judge of character, milady, he's a canny man ter Master is!"
"I tend to agree, Molly. Now then we must be away and select your replacement. Fetch your cloak and we shall depart."
"Begging yer pardon, milady..."
"Yes?"
"I um, I have a sister younger than me in the Foundling Home an' I jus' thought, milady that maybe she could be the new scullery maid?"
"Yes, well, we will speak with her when we arrive but I promise nothing, Molly. You do understand that I shall choose the gal I think is best suited for the position."
"Oh yes, milady, of course!"
Gates arrived and coughed discretely before saying, "Mrs. Blunt wondered whether you wish her to accompany you to interview for the scullery maid, milady. As housekeeper she does prefer to select her own kitchen staff."
"Please thank her, Gates, but the answer is no, I intend to find a gal myself. Have Jackson bring the coach round to the front please and inform Hockley that I am leaving soon and I wish her to accompany me."
"Very good, milady." Gates bowed his head and left to impart news he knew would prove an insult to the redoubtable Mrs. Blunt.
After a short while, the three women were bowling along the streets of London, toward the Foundling Hospital situated at Bloomsbury in Camden. Margaret knew that the home had been founded by a retired sea captain called Thomas Coram in 1739 and was rebuilt in Bloomsbury, Camden in 1742. He had enlisted the help of King George II and Queen Caroline to build the home and the King and Queen continued to support it most generously, encouraging members of the ton to donate regularly and raise money for the running of the institution.
Not a word was spoken during the journey but that was to be expected, for social conversation did not take place between servant and mistress, unless instigated by the mistress.
When they arrived at the Foundling Home, the women were shown into the Beadle's office to wait for him by one of the older girls living within the home. After some five minutes or so the door swung open and Lady Rose Mortimer swept inside. She stopped dead at the sight of Margaret and her maids patiently waiting for Mr. Smart, the Beadle in charge, to arrive.
Margaret standing, due to her sore hindquarters, curtsied to the higher ranking lady and waited as etiquette demanded, for Lady Rose Mortimer to speak first. Both women were fully aware of the spectacle that they had made at last evening's ball and neither wished to repeat the social gaff today. Also unbeknown to one another, the ladies' husbands had both driven the point home by tyrannizing their respective wives' posteriors.
"Good day, might I ask what business you have here with Mr. Smart, Lady Wiggington?" Rose asked frostily.
Margaret bristled but remembered to remain calm and answered in a measured tone, "I am here to acquire a scullery maid. Molly here is moving up in the household and leaves the post empty."
Margaret could see that Rose Mortimer was struggling to remain polite. "May I ask if you have received my note of apology as yet, Lady Mortimer?" she asked as amiably as she was able.
"No, I have not, but since you achieved your aim last evening by discrediting the fund raising event held to raise funds for this very Foundling Home, I have to tell you that I am astonished to find you here so boldly today!"
Margaret flushed but kept a damper on her temper. "I regret that you have not yet read my note but I tell you now that I did not disrupt the ball last night at all deliberately. I confess it was foolish of me to open the gate and allow the children their freedom without first finding someone to aid me. But in my defence, I was thinking foremost of those children."
A loud snort of disbelief interrupted Margaret's explanation but before she could react, Mr. Smart the Beadle appeared and led Lady Mortimer off to her Trustee meeting with obsequious bows and flattering remarks. Margaret took a deep breath to steady herself, Ooo, how she detested that bloody woman!
When the Beadle returned, he organised a succession of girls aged fifteen and sixteen years, to come and stand in front of the now gingerly seated Lady Wiggington, so that she could speak with and question each girl in turn. Finally, fourteen-year-old Sally, sister to Molly, came in for interview by request. Sally was a shy, sweet looking girl, very like her sister with her soft, mousey looks. She appeared to be a quiet, respectful and modest young girl, who answered Margaret's questions sensibly. Margaret liked her immediately and decided she would like the two sisters to be reunited under her roof. Should another household employ Sally, they would be parted for most of the year and most probably lose touch with one another.
The Beadle fussed about Sally's age being under the usual age for entering service but seemed convinced by a gold sovereign and Margaret's plea to keep the two young sisters together. On their departure, they once again met Lady Mortimer, who glared silently at the little entourage of females as they made their way out of the building toward the waiting carriage. The two ladies nodded their heads at one another but tight lipped and mindful of their husband's salient lessons in decorum, given them the previous eve, neither spoke a word; their dislike of one another was self-evident.
On their return home, Margaret summoned Mrs. Blunt and asked her to arrange for the young sisters to share a servant's bedroom. Mrs. Blunt was most indignant. Scullery maids slept on the floor in the scullery! Margaret was not her mother's daughter for nothing and she soon had her way. Mrs. Blunt returned to her housekeeper's sitting room below stairs, feeling herself to be in the wrong, how on earth had that happened?
