Chapter 27

When Cynthia burst through the door to her father's cottage, he was sitting in a cloth covered chair, an old cast off from the manor, stuffed with horse hair. He sat beside the unlit hearth in the weak light of an afternoon sun trying to pierce a layer of clouds that filled the sky. She skidded to a stop. He seemed so still.

"Is it true, Papa?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Is what true?" came his deep voice.

"Did Mistress Penelope find you? Did she tell you? Did she ask you if you would..." Her heart quailed, because he still hadn't moved ... hadn't risen to greet her ... hadn't offered her as much as a hug. What if he was here to say no?

"She did," he said. "She did," he said again. One big hand patted the leg of his leather pants. "And yes ... if you truly want this ... I will."

She almost fell to the floor as her knees turned to water. At once she was seized with equal measures of elation and panic. As long as she could remember, she had yearned to be able to love her father completely. Even after he pushed her away, and left her to make her own lonely way in the manor, her dreams had comforted her. The hope that had filled her heart after she spoke with the Lady ... and the lady had understood ... that hope had grown into a hot ball of longing inside her that sometimes threatened to make her burst into flames.

And now he was here. And he said he would let her love him.

And suddenly she was terrified, because there would be something huge happening soon, something so much bigger than simply petting each other and feeling excited. Would it hurt? Would she cry? If she did, would he abandon her again?

He patted his leg again.

"Come, sit with me, let us talk a bit."

She made her knees work to carry her that short distance. She wanted to sit down before she fell down, and even though the fear brought tears of angst to her eyes, his lap was still the only place in the room she wanted to rest.

She was calmed almost immediately when all he did was put his arms around her and hug her to him. He kissed her hair, but that was all.

"You've grown," he commented, bouncing his knee. "You weigh as much as a full grown doe."

"Papa!" she chastised him, but she burrowed into his chest.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I thought you hated me," she sighed, letting the fear leak out of her in steady waves.

"I could never hate you," he said. "I loved you. I thought I loved you too much. I was ashamed that I wanted you as a woman, rather than as my daughter."

"I loved it when you wanted me like that," she whispered. "I was so lonely up in the manor."

"I didn't know what to do," he said. "I thought to send you there for your protection. It was all I could think of."

"I don't need protection from you," she said, hugging him tighter.

"So you say," he replied. "But the lady says you have never lain with a man."

"Of course not," she said. "There was only one man I wanted to lie with, and he sent me away."

He was silent for a long moment. The hand on the arm that went around her back slid from her waist, up to almost, but not quite, cup her left breast.

"She is right, you know," he said, finally. "You must marry ... especially if we consummate our love for each other."

"I know," she said. "I will do anything if I can finally love you as I've wanted to love you for so long."

"What of this boy ... this Louis?"

"He delivers Cook the flour, and feed for the horses to Mister Flannery. Well, not to Mister Flannery any longer. He's gone now. He betrayed Her Ladyship and let bad men into the manor. But Louis seems a nice enough boy. He has a beautiful smile."

"Does he smile when he looks at you?"

"Always. He is an impertinent boy. He once told me I was pretty."

"Have you spoken with him?"

"Of course not. That would be improper. Well, Mrs. Hennesey would say it is improper, although Her Ladyship would probably encourage it. She is so different from the previous lady, God rest her soul."

"God rest her soul indeed," said Harry. "So you are willing to explore what this young man is like, and get to know him better?"

"If it pleases you, I will," she said.

His left hand slid higher, and cupped her breast, squeezing it gently. When she turned her face to his, he kissed her lips.

"It would please me," he said. "I hope very much that you like him, and that he likes you, and that the two of you are well matched."

"I am already well matched," she said, wiggling in his lap. She had always been aware of his stiffness when she was younger, and had always wiggled on it. "I am staying here tonight. You cannot make me go back to the manor."

"I will not try," he said.

"Have you had your supper?" she asked.

"Food is the last thing on my mind," he admitted.

"Then it is time to get ready for bed," she said, with only a tiny quiver of fear. "Will you comb my hair, like you used to?"

"I would love to," he said.

She got up, and moved to find her brush exactly where she had left it before she was taken to the manor and turned over to Mrs. Hennesey. The stool she had sat on as a girl was tucked under the table as well. She looked at the shelf that had once held her nightgown and other clothing, but it was bare. All that had been taken with her, and was long since outgrown. She turned to face him.

"I did not think to bring a nightgown with me," she said, shyly. "I did not think to bring anything at all."

"If you had brought a nightgown, and put it on, I would simply have removed it," he said softly.

With that, her fingers went to the buttons and ties of her parlor maid's uniform. She folded each item neatly as it was removed. Again, a tremor shook her body briefly as fear of the unknown gripped her, but she forced herself to pretend she wasn't frightened. Finally she stood, naked. She had wondered if this would feel awkward. It did not. She pulled the stool out, and sat. Leaning forward to pick up the brush, she held it, reaching over her shoulder behind her.

The brush was taken from her hand, and it tugged her hair as he pulled it through her long tresses.

"Your hair has grown," he said.

"All of me has grown," she replied.

She let him take ten more strokes, and then turned.

"I think you should get ready for bed too, Papa."

He grinned, handed her the brush, and then quickly removed his clothes. He did not fold them, tossing them into a pile on the floor at his feet. She stared at his tumescence for a few seconds, and then handed him the brush before turning her back to him again.

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Penelope, Mistress of the Manor

Lubrican

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