Desire and Despair
Chapter 1: Who's that Girl?
Caution: This Historical Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Drunk/Drugged, Heterosexual, Historical, Tear Jerker, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Lactation, Slow, Violent, Prostitution, Military,
Desc: Historical Sex Story: Chapter 1: Who's that Girl? - Jack Greenaway's pathway to happiness is strewn with obstacles: a plagiarized novel and his sister's infatuation with a Romantic poet; an old, 15th century, law; a white lady in Brussels and a Black Guard at Chateau Blanchard; attendance at weddings - and funerals; going undercover in Manchester, and helping to foil an assassination plot. He overcomes these difficulties and his future looks assured until a blast from his past causes catastrophe.
I don't know what woke me; it was barely light. No servants would be moving about the house at this early hour yet I doubted the sound had emanated from outside. My bedroom overlooked St James Park, a place deserted and silent for much of the day, more especially on such a blustery, wet, November morning. More likely it had been the wind which had roused me by whistling in the chimney flue. I lay there, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of a feather bed with my ears pricked, but gradually I relaxed.
The female form next to me stirred, and soft arms wound around my neck and bore my head to her bosom. "I thought you would be still sound asleep, given the number of times you availed yourself of your conjugal rights throughout the night." She said softly in my ear.
I lifted my head from her breast and smiled. "As I recall, cherie, you, insisting on your rights, kept us both awake for such a time." She grinned and kissed me, slyly sliding her tongue into my mouth. For several minutes our tongues entwined and enjoyed each other until she withdrew the honey sweet interloper from my mouth and whispered. "I think it time to once again assert my rights. " Then she bestrode me and rode me.
We had concluded exercising our rights by full daylight, and now there was definite movement in the house. I heard light footsteps outside in the corridor, and then a tentative knock on the bedroom door.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"It's Molly, Master Jack. Shall you and..." I heard a half suppressed giggle, " ... Missus Greenaway be having breakfast in your room, or will you come down to the dining room?"
I gave 'Missus Greenaway' an interrogative look. She mouthed back at me. 'In our bedroom.'
"We shall have our breakfast served in here, Molly. Please ask cook to have it ready in half an hour."
"Yes Master Jack." I heard her walk away down the stairs.
Our tousled hair, flushed faces, and the tumbled and damp state of the bed clothes indicated an energetic night spent exercising rights. We made ourselves, and the bed linen, more presentable and I ensured those parts of my body showing the signs of passionate lust were well covered, as did my bed companion. She laid her head on my shoulder and, as we waited for our breakfast to be served, my mind went back to the day, almost two years ago, I had arrived back in London.
I had returned from France in mid-March of 1818 accompanied by Matilde Gance, who was not only my ward but also my mistress. As I prepared to hand her down from the coach, prior to entering 18 Queen Street, I had come face to face with Caroline Braxton-Clark, who was holding a boy child in her arms. I was shaken to my very core when she had said.
'May I present John-Jarvis Clark-Ashford, Tenth Earl of Hungerford ... your son.'
Flabbergasted, dumbfounded, astonished, and amazed – I could string another ten synonyms here and still not adequately describe the shock at hearing those words.
The child had regarded me with the benign, wide eyed, gaze of an infant, and I estimated him to be at least twice as old as Mimi Renoir's son Jean-Woodrow, which would make him aged six or seven months. His eyes were blue, a similar shade to mine and those of Caroline's former husband Jarvis Braxton-Clark. What hair I could see peeping out from under the child's bonnet was fair, as is mine, and was Jarvis Braxton-Clark's. In truth the baby looked to me like any other child of that age, and I had no way of telling if he was a Greenaway or not – it is a wise father who knows his own child – although I'm sure my mother would have been be able to tell by a single glance.
While recovering from what I just heard Matilde had stepped down from the carriage. She peered at the baby and next at Caroline, who regarded her with equal interest.
"Shall you not introduce me to your attractive travelling companion, Elijah?" Caroline's voice held a hint of mirth, and she handed the baby to a brown skinned girl standing behind her.
"May I present Mam'selle Matilde Gance." My voice had a squeaky timbre, indicating I had not yet fully regained either my breath or my wits.
"Enchante." Caroline came over and kissed Matilde in the French fashion. "Doctor Armityge has told me how you and your cousins' nursing skills saved Elijah's life." She had spoken fluent French with hardly a trace of an English accent, and I saw Matilde was most impressed by Caroline, and by the warmth of her welcome.
This exchange had taken no more than a minute, and then Caroline turned to me. "I understand all the letters I sent you from Bermuda have now arrived at your house, Elijah. Please read them as soon as you are able. I'll be 'At Home' all day tomorrow." She handed me her card – inscribed with her title: 'Caroline, Countess of Hungerford' with an address in Berkeley Square – then gave me a swift kiss on my cheek. "I will not keep you any longer from the welcome of your friends, and I expect Matilde is eager to view her new home."
A smart Brougham drawn by two matched greys, which I had noticed waiting across the road, now drew up alongside Caroline. The dark skinned girl carrying the baby got into the carriage, and as Caroline turned to go she said. "We have much time to catch up; perhaps we should make a start tomorrow afternoon?" She got into the Brougham and blew me a kiss as the carriage pulled away.
Matilde studied me, a broad smile on her face. "Well, Jacques, congratulations seem to be in order. You are now father to a fine looking son." Her hearing must be extremely acute as Caroline had spoken not much louder than in a whisper.
She tucked her arm in mine possessively as we walked towards the welcoming committee on the steps of my house. "Quickly introduce me to your friends, Jacques; the sooner we finish with social intercourse the sooner we can continue with sexual intercourse." She laughed at the look of shock on my face at her lewd suggestion, made in earshot of those on the steps and in quite intelligible English."I am pulling the legs with you Jacques, as the English do." By now we were among the greeters on the steps and I made no reply, but I think she was not just 'pulling the legs', but after meeting Caroline she was emphasizing her position of being my mistress, both to me and all those within earshot.
I smiled in remembrance at Matilde's brazen behaviour on that fateful day, and dropped a kiss on the brow of my wife. She smiled up at me."Well, Major Greenaway, what are your orders ... might we soon be involved in more manoeuvres?" Before any further activity could take place a knock on the bedroom door announced the arrival of our breakfast. The tweenie, Molly March, entered bearing a tray nearly too large for her to carry. She placed her burden on a small table in front of the window. "Shall I serve, Master Jack, or will Missus Greenaway be serving you?"
"We will see to ourselves, thank you Molly." With some difficulty I ignored the stifled laughter of my wife, while Molly gazed from one to the other of us, bewildered at my wife's amusement.
Mrs Greenaway and I had been joined in Holy Wedlock only the previous day, actually on my twenty ninth birthday, and I was still getting used to there being another Mrs Greenaway, apart from my mother and two sisters-in-law. However this was not the name by which my wife would be known in Society, and I hastened to inform Molly of that fact, knowing she would soon spread the information throughout the household.
"Molly, although my wife is legally titled Missus Greenaway she is also titled the Countess of Hungerford, which is how she will be addressed in society." Caroline interrupted me. " 'Lady Caroline' will suffice, Molly my dear." She gave her a sweet smile, and if Molly wasn't already enraptured by my wife, she, and indeed all the inhabitants of 18 Queen Street, would soon be so.
Molly beamed back at her. She bobbed a curtsey and said. "Yes Lady Caroline. I understand now why you laughed when I asked if Missus Greenaway would be serving Master Jack." Ah, the innocence of youth.