Page 27 of A Very Roguish Boxing Day
That was not the only time she thought of Tom.She had known little of physical desire before their night together.But now, when she lay in her bed at night, she found herself picturing his broad chest, heavy with muscles.She found herself recalling the feeling of his weight, pressing her down into the mattress.And she could hear his voice, dark with desire, saying, “You cannot imagine the things I would show you if you were my girl.”
And, just as it had happened when they were together, she would find herself growing warm and slick between her thighs.
The first time, it had happened by accident.She’d been having a dream.Tom had been on top of her, saying the most wicked things as he pounded into her.He found his release, but hers remained frustratingly out of reach.
In her dream, he slid down her body, hands caressing as they went, and then buried his face between her thighs.
When Gwen woke, gasping for breath and clammy with sweat, it was her hand that was between her thighs, her fingers working desperately at that little nubbin Tom had titillated to such good effect.And she knew that what she was doing was a sin, knew it was the worst sort of wickedness to touch herself there.
But it feltso good.She didn’t stop that night.Or the night after, or the night after that.It became a part of her bedtime routine, thinking of Tom and touching herself between her legs.
And sometimes, her morning routine or her mid-afternoon routine, when she’d been thinking about him all day and was craving a release.
And so, there were many changes to Gwendolyn’s life.As the days grew short and the threat of Joseph seemed to recede, she settled into a peaceful life in Frogcroft Cottage.She had friends in town, friends who would look out for her.She was a part of the community.She had her independence and her bees to look after.She was happy, happier than she had ever been in her life up to that point.Which perhaps wasn’t saying much.But she knew how lucky she was.
And yet… when she was alone in her cottage at night, when Mariah went to the Feathers Hotel to flirt with the half-dozen men who were sweet on her, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was all her life would ever be.She found herself dreaming more and more about having a family, about having children of her own.But having children required a husband, and when Gwen tried to picture herself performing the marital act with someone other than Tom, her brain seemed to balk.This was what she got for making love with the most attractive man in all of England.It was no wonder nobody else could compare!
But even leaving aside the more intimate elements of a potential union, she couldn’t picture herself marrying any of the farmhands or other working men who lived in the village, and indeed, they seemed to regard her as beyond their reach.But nor could she picture herself with any of the more genteel men of her acquaintance.She was the odd bluestocking who spent her days outside, working with her hands, tending her bees.There were a couple of gentlemen who made halting attempts to court her.A cousin of Miss Mercy’s, the youngest son of a youngest son, whose father had exhausted what little influence he had securing livings for his first five sons and had not been able to find even a curacy for his youngest.Their conversation was stilted, and Gwendolyn could tell he would not have given her a second glance had she not been in possession of Aunt Agatha’s fortune.
There were two other gentlemen of a similar vein.All had eventually concluded that the prospect was hopeless and moved on.But not before Gwen saw the way they wrinkled their noses at the plain clothes she wore when they came to call upon her at Frogcroft Cottage and found her out back working amongst her bee boles.
She was too educated to marry a groom and too unrefined to marry a gentleman.
She fit in, and yet she didn’t.
She probably needed to accept that this was the best she could hope for, the way it would always be.
Chapter12
The invitation arrived on the first of December:
Your presence is requested
At the Wicked Widows’ annual Christmas Ball
To be held at Matron Manor on Christmas Eve
Commencing at eight o’clock in the evening.
An additional slip of paper was tucked inside the invitation with a handwritten note from Lady Sylvan:
Don’t even think of declining.I have the perfect gown for you—red velvet, trimmed in gold.It belongs to Mrs.Johnstone, who has agreed to lend it to you.It will fit, and you shall look divine!We’ll make up a room for you at the house, and I want to hear all about your cottage.
Charlotte
In truth, although Gwendolyn wasn’t much for balls, she was grateful for the invitation.Mariah was making the short journey back to her parents’ home south of London, meaning Gwen would be alone for Christmas.Of course, she would see the entire village at church, and she was confident some family would invite her to join them for Christmas dinner.
But she knew already that, were she to accept such an invitation, she would spend the whole evening fretting about what she perceived to be an imposition.It would have been different if there were a handful of spinsters in town who might gather for their own celebrations, but there were not.
Well, no matter.It happened that Gwen was a member of a circle of such women.
The Wicked Widows.
And so, the day before Christmas, Gwendolyn went up to London.She was greeted by Lady Sylvan and Mrs.Johnstone, the owner of the dress she was to borrow for the ball.
Gwendolyn felt a bit self-conscious as they ushered her up the stairs at Matron Manor.Lady Sylvan and Mrs.Johnstone were both sophisticated and confident.Lady Sylvan had on a gown of gold brocaded silk, and Mrs.Johnstone wore one of midnight blue velvet with a daring neckline.Meanwhile, Gwendolyn was wearing a plain gown of olive-green wool, which was practical both for beekeeping and carriage travel in December.But she could not help but feel like a cabbage next to these hothouse flowers.
Lady Sylvan’s voice was warm as she said, “Tell us all about your cottage.Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”
