Chapter 11: Complications

After Chloe left I returned to repairing the stable door, but my mind was not completely on the task. The wild idea that had entered my mind, of remaining at Château Blanchard and having Annette and the three girls as my mistresses, had become a more tangible thought.

I still had not heard from Caroline, and all I had was Krish’s assurance it was me that she loved. Even if Krish was correct regarding her feelings towards me, she may have reassessed her priorities now she was widow. I knew her main objective would be to retain the Ashford lands and titles when her father eventually died.
There had been a cause celebre some two years ago, when James Carr, the Viscount of Markham, was on his deathbed. His only child, a daughter, was unmarried, and had little or no prospect of marriage and bearing an heir before he died. It would seem his title and lands would revert to the Crown, and fat Prince George was already counting the money and deciding where to spend it.
Then, quite surprisingly and unexpectedly, James Carr’s daughter married a widower who had a new-born son — the mother having died giving birth. Viscount Markham died a week after the wedding, his title and land being inherited by his three-month-old adopted grandson, whose father’s name had been changed to Carr by deed poll. The Prince Regent was furious, and tried by all means to have the marriage and deed poll revoked, but to no avail. A year later the daughter produced a son with her newly acquired husband, and the Carrs are still the Viscounts of Markham.

My fear was Caroline might be driven to do something similar, and although when married she would want me as her lover I had no wish to share her. Living so intimately with Annette Blanchard had given me a taste of what marriage could entail, and quite frankly I was enjoying the taste.

Dinner that evening was served by Chloe. Her long hair flowed around her shoulders, but occasionally the love bite I had bestowed on her could be seen when she tossed her head, obviously to show off the mark. Annette saw and smiled.

“You may serve the coffee in the study, Chloe my dear. And may I say how pretty you look tonight.”

In the study Annette sat in her armchair, feet tucked underneath her, for all the world like a cat curled in comfort.

“Tell me, Jacques, do you believe in love at first sight?”
I responded with a definite affirmative, saying I had fallen in love at first sight at least twice.
“There is no such thing; what you experienced was infatuation or lust. Love comes with time; the shared experiences with, and the respect for, your companion.” Her face showed she had known such love.
“Tell me about those girls with whom you fell in love — I take it you did not marry either of them?”

“My first love, when I was fourteen, was a girl in Grantham. She was aged about sixteen, the daughter of the town’s grocer, and was a beautiful, blonde haired, blue eyed enchantress — not unlike Amy Fairfax, who was the other girl I fell in love with at first sight.”

“So what happened to the blonde enchantress from Grantham?”
Annette was clearly amused at my early passion for Margaret Roberts, for such was her name.

“She ignored me. As you can imagine she was much sought after. I followed her around like a love sick pup — which is what she called me—besides another, uncalled for, name.”

Annette prompted me. “Go on — what else did she call you?”

“She called me ‘a little farmer’s boy with a little sickle’. She said she only wanted grown men with big scythes.”

“Well, your little sickle has grown into a huge, wonderful, scythe, and she is the loser. What happened to her?”

“An itinerant thatcher, Dennis by name, put her in the family way with his big scythe. She left Grantham for London, and was never heard of again.”

“And what of the other love of your life, — Amy Fairfax — did she too berate you on account of the size of your sickle?”

“She loved me as I loved her, and we became lovers.”

“But you did not marry?”

“She would not marry for love, but for position. She is now a Countess.”

Annette got out of her armchair with feline grace and sat on my lap.
She put her arms around my neck, and gave me a warm, embracing, comforting kiss, before gently drawing my head onto her breasts.
“She was a fool — and probably regrets not having you in her bed at nights.”
I lay there, my head pillowed on her bosom, listening to the steady beating of her heart. It was comforting, and consoling, to know that in a few hours’ time I would be making The Beast with Two Backs with this comely, alluring, and sometimes wanton, woman.

“Forgive me asking these questions, Jacques, but I know, even when we achieve the peak of pleasure together, there is someone other than me in your heart, and in your mind.”
I sat up, astonished at her perception. It was true, I often thought of Caroline Ashford at those times, and cursed myself for doing so. I tried to stammer out an apology. Annette smiled, sweetly and compassionately.

“You do not have to apologise to me. When I make love — because for me it is always making love, even when I behave like a harlot and say and do things that might shock—I give myself completely to my partner. He has my body, my soul, my brain, my bones, my blood, and yes, my love.”
She looked at me tenderly. “I know that men, especially Englishmen, use the word sparingly, but when I am taken to rapture I become in love with he who provides me with that experience. After the experience fades so does my love—in fact it is the feeling of rapture I love, and the only man I continued to love, after the physical act, was my husband.”
She gave a slight sigh, in remembrance of times past, and continued.
“You take me to rapture each time we make love – few of my lovers managed that. The love I feel for you, when in rapture, is complicated by the respect and gratitude I also have for you. I know, if you remain much longer in my company I will fall in love with you, as I did with my husband.”

I did not what to say to this woman, who had shared her innermost feelings with me. I kissed her, with as warm and loving a kiss as I could manage.

“The woman who shares my heart I met for just one night. It was not love at first sight, but as we talked, and then made love, I fell into love with her, and I believe she fell into love with me.” I sighed. “The love I bore for Amy Fairfax evaporated when I fell in love with Caroline Ashford. Does that make me capricious, or fickle?”

“It is quite possible to love more than one person at the same time, often in different ways, and for different reasons. And it is quite natural for lovers to part but still hold their previous lover in a special place in their heart, as I will for you when you return to England.”
I looked at her in surprise, did she just mean she would remember me, or did she mean she would remember me with love?
Annette got from off my lap and went and sat in her armchair.