Chapter 18: The Willing Bride

Three days later, several events happened that furthered Anson's wedding plans. Firstly, Mr. Carling had his first day with neither pain nor laudanum. To be sure, the stomach wound still hurt, but it was tolerable to the point that he did not need pain relief. Under these conditions, Colonel Maynard was able to interview Carling and ask him for permission to woo Mrs. Thorpe, a permission that was instantly granted. Another consequence of this development was that Mrs. Thorpe would be willing to attend the planned wedding of her future stepdaughter.

Secondly, HMS St. George came to port, flying the flag of Sir John Brent. The Admiral hosted his victorious captains in his flagship on the same evening. It was a merry occasion, followed by a fiercely played game of whist in which Anson managed small winnings whilst Sir John won decisively. This put the admiral in a very good mood, and when the boats were called for the captains, Anson asked for a furlough of two weeks. He explained about the damage sustained by Syren, but also about the unique chance to have a wedding with all relevant persons able to attend. Good-naturedly and slightly under the influence of a heavy Sicilian wine, the Admiral wrote Anson a twenty-day pass.

Armed with the pass, Anson called upon the Maynards who were still supping at the Rodney. Much to Colonel Maynard's embarrassment, Elizabeth reacted non-verbally to the news by flying into her fiancé's arms. Maynard assured them of his attendance at the wedding, and in turn visited Mrs. Thorpe to alert her to the plans to sail for London on the next morning.

By four bells of the forenoon watch, the entire party was sailing upriver in another barge. Vanessa had already returned to London to alert her parents of the impending wedding, and when the barge made fast a while after dark, two coaches were waiting for the weary party.

The two Maynards were then driven to the Emersons' house where they would stay for the next days, Miss Heyworth would be given transport to her house in Chelsea, whilst Anson and the Thorpes would enjoy the hospitality of Sir Robert Connington.

The next three days were spent in a whirlwind of last-minute purchases. Nothing of Anson's wardrobe was good enough in Lady Connington's eyes excepting his Nº1 uniform coat and his best hat. Shirts and shoes had already been ordered for him, but there were a myriad of items without which his wedding would be impossible as Lady Connington ordained. There was also a new dummy hand, spotless and tanned to the colour of his right hand. His self-consciousness over his crippling had waned almost completely in the recent successful months, and he now regarded the dummy hand simply as a tool to give his left arm some usability.

Of course, a wedding dress for Elizabeth had been ordered weeks ago, but now Lady Connington had the Widow Thorpe and her son as new victims for her well-meant efforts. Young Emmet would be leading his mother into the church, and he would wear very fine white breeches and the coat of an army ensign, without insignia of course. Even Libby Mason had been called to attend, and she beamed at her employer and at her future mistress.

On the morning of his wedding, Anson dressed with Stevens's help, and when he inspected himself in the tall mirror afterwards he had to admit to himself that he cut a splendid figure. He was tall, and his sun-bleached hair made a nice contrast to his tanned skin. The uniform coat fitted to perfection, and the sash and sword certainly looked splendid.

As was proper, the Conningtons with Anson arrived first at the church, and there Anson found that a very large number of Sir Robert's fellow Members of Parliament were attending. Sir Robert was very proud of his adopted son, and rightly so. Anson had not even known that his name had become popular due to his successes on the Dutch coast. The newspapers had gleefully reported the capture of the Eendracht, in which Syren had played an important role, and Captain Melrose of Hyperion had truthfully reported that it had been Captain Anson to whom the Dutch captain had to surrender. The newspapers had also made much fanfare of the fact that Anson, a one-armed officer, had led his boarding party to victory.

Thus, he had to shake many hands and hear the praises of the ladies and gentlemen. This helped him to bridge the time until finally the Emersons' coaches arrived. Then he walked along the aisle and waited in front of the altar. Soon enough, Colonel Maynard entered the church with Elizabeth at his arm. She was wearing a veil of course, but Anson could see the cream colour of the raw silk contrast with the rich, dark brown tresses of her waist-length hair. She walked briskly, almost pulling her father along the aisle in her obvious desire to be at her bridegroom's side.

Only when Maynard pulled back Elizabeth's veil and placed her hand in Anson's, did Anson look at the Colonel. He, too, cut a fine soldierly figure in his regimental coat, and he gave Anson a measured nod.

"Take good care of my only child, Captain," he said in a low voice.

"I shall, and I thank you for giving me your greatest treasure," Anson answered earnestly, getting his arm pressed by his bride as a reward.

Then they stood before the priest who celebrated the wedding ceremony according to the iron-clad rules of his church. The only thing that mattered to Anson was when Elizabeth blurted a resounding "I do!" and smiled at him.

The rest of the morning was a blur of faces and names, announced and instantly forgotten by Anson who had eyes and ears only for Elizabeth. In turn, Elizabeth was swooning any time a person addressed her as Mrs. Anson. They had the reception at Sir Robert's London house, and the worthy man had not shied from expenses either. A string quartet played the music, and no fewer than four chefs had prepared the pastries and roasts under which the tables bent. It was a wedding to remember, and even Colonel Maynard could be seen drinking toasts to bride and groom with the host whilst Mrs. Thorpe never left his side.

Close to the end of the reception, Colonel Maynard announced his betrothal to the Widow Thorpe, setting off another round of toasts. A decidedly merry Elizabeth kissed her future stepmother who was blushing deeply, but then the newlyweds had to leave for Aylesford Lodge. Four horses where pulling the fine Landau coach, and it was indeed barely 8 o'clock when they arrived at their new home.

Anson had rarely set a foot into the small manor house, but Libby Mason had spent months to prepare the household for the new squire, and she rushed ahead to inspect the work done in her absence. Most importantly, the bedroom was ready with fresh linen on the bed when Anson led his bride upstairs. Elizabeth changed out of her bridal dress into a simpler garment. Anson too took off his heavy uniform coat before they sat down for a light supper of chicken pastry. They had a delicious white wine from Portugal with it, and before long, they were finished.

They both felt nervous anticipation when Anson led his new wife upstairs again. In their bedroom, he quickly stripped off his breeches and stockings, leaving only his shirt. Then he helped his wife out of her garments. Layer by layer, he unveiled her beauty to his eyes, and he drank in the view of her slender yet womanly body. At last, she stood naked before him and unpinned her dark brown hair, letting it fall down over her shoulders and onto her back. Anson had to swallow.

"You are so beautiful, Elizabeth!" he said with a thick voice whilst drinking in the view.

She developed a full blush hearing the adoration in his voice. She gasped a little when he pulled the shirt over his head and she saw his engorged member. Her hand went to her mouth in an involuntary gesture.

"Oh, dear!" she said in awe.

The last thing Anson shed was the stuffed glove. Then his hand was on her shoulder pulling her close. The first touch startled them both and they stared at each other, reading each other's expression. Elizabeth pressed herself against her groom.

"Make me yours," she whispered.

Anson nodded and his face broke out in a smile. His hand pulled her face close to get the first taste of her full, bee-stung lips. He had kissed her before, but never had he felt the overpowering lust that gripped him when she opened her mouth for him, yielding to his probing tongue and whimpering with barely suppressed arousal. He bent low then to sweep her up in his arms and to lay her naked form on top of the blankets, in the centre of the bed.

He made sure that his stump never touched her, but rather used his right hand, his lips and his tongue to explore her naked form. From her calves and her knees up along her thighs he let his lips trail, raining kisses on her flawless skin. He skirted the downy-haired mons pubis and rather worked his way up over the fluttering muscles of her tummy, even spending time to taste her belly button – here she let go a shuddering sigh – and continuing up to where her twin globes lay waiting, her small areolas forming tiny but stiff nipples. His lips closed over the left one and he suckled gently, using both his his lip and the tip of his tongue to tease her sensible flesh. Again, she shuddered under his ministrations.

He spent what felt like hours tasting, licking and nibbling on her delicious boobs, never tiring of the taste, view and feel. It was Elizabeth who finally pushed his head up.

"Please!" she pleaded breathlessly.

If she expected him to mount her now, she was mistaken. Anson was determined to celebrate this first night with Elizabeth, and he could draw on the experience he had gained when he had been a young lieutenant on shore leave visiting the taverns of many harbours. He moved down from Elizabeth's swollen nipples, down over her tummy again, and to where her cave of treasures lay. Elizabeth was lying stock-still when he blew his hot breath on her wet folds, but when his lips and tongue parted her inflamed flesh she held her breath in anticipation. He let her stew for a few heart beats, but then he swiped her opening from bottom to top with his extended tongue, causing her to exhale explosively. He repeated that to much the same effect, but then Elizabeth's hands took a firm hold of his hair and she pulled him up with surprising strength.

"Now!" she commanded giving him a stare that did not brook dissent.

His heart swelled with pride. The downtrodden, docile and shy girl he had met in Salcombe was no more, and he had played a big part in the transformation she had undergone.

"Now?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes!"

It was slightly awkward to rest on the stump of his left arm whilst aligning his straining member with her slick opening, but then the tip caught purchase and he slowly, carefully sank down into her hot core. Anson was no novice to the pleasures of the flesh, but the moment when Elizabeth's maidenhood yielded to his pressure, when he finally gained penetration into her tight channel, when her head was thrown back and she was taking shallow breaths to will away the sting, was the most intense experience he had ever felt. She was his, irrevocably and indisputably, but he also felt that this archaic act bound him to Elizabeth with finality. They were one now.

Deeper and deeper he pushed whilst her legs closed around his hips to lay claim to him, to seal their unity, and to urge him on. He looked down into Elizabeth's eyes, and they were wide open, green pools.

"Je ... re ... mi ... ah!" she breathed with each push, and when he was finally seated to the root in her tight sheath, "how I love you!"

"I ... have ... been ... wai ... ting ... for ... this ... so ... long!" he panted as he started to pump into her.

"So ... have ... I! Oh, Jeremiah!"

The feel of her tight canal around his member was incredible, and it took him all the self control he could muster to delay the inevitable eruption. Again and again he withdrew and plunged in, listening to Elizabeth's urgent moans and feeling the tight grip around his straining tool. Her legs were now clamping around his midsection whilst her heels dug into the back of his thighs, spurring him on, and her head was thrown back in lust. Her moans turned into a constant, high-pitched wail, and then her eyes rolled back in her head whilst a silent scream broke from her lips. This brought Anson over the limit too, and he exploded deep into his bride.

He collapsed on top of her, his member still turgid in her sheath, whilst he fought for breath. Elizabeth lay under him, her eyes closed and panting with an open mouth.

The eyes fluttered open when Anson planted a kiss on her lips. She was a little cross-eyed at first, not able to focus on his face. He softly kissed her eyelids, and a blissful smile widened her lips. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"I shall never let you go again," she stated with conviction.

Suddenly, Anson became aware of the change and he stared at her.

"Your ... your speech, Elizabeth! You speak normally!"

Her eyes flew open. "You mean... ?" She checked. "Oh, dear!"

"Oh, dear is not quite adequate. This is a miracle," Anson marvelled.

"You wonderful man! You healed me," she purred then, pulling his face down for a soulful kiss. "You are everything for me, Jeremiah."

"I didn't do any ... Do you think it was..."

"Your love healed me," she said earnestly. Then she crinkled her nose and giggled. "What shall I ever say when people ask how I regained my speech?"

Anson grinned down at his wife. "Miss Heyworth will give you a teasing, no doubt, and so will Vanessa."

Elizabeth buried her face in his neck, and he could feel her cheeks radiating heat. Then she lay back and looked at her husband. "What does it matter, my love? We have each other now, and the rest of the world be damned!"