The Wicked Confessions Of Lady Cecelia Stanton (novella) Read online

  William turned away, clearly stung by my cruelty.

  I regretted my words instantly. ‘My apologies, I have forgiven you. It is a wicked thing and an inopportune time to air my grievance again,’ I stammered and drew him back to me. Despite having forgiven the man, I still very much wanted to rebuke and chastise him. Absurdly perhaps, by equal measure, I wanted him between my thighs again. I wanted to feel like a married woman.

  He came willingly back into my arms and kissed me.

  When he raised his head, he was smiling broadly. ‘On to the bed with you wife,’ he smiled and I obeyed.

  Lord William Stanton, as I have oft said, is a man of voracious carnal appetite. I learned in those first few highly educational weeks of our marriage that he is very fond of some unusual acts within the marriage bed.

  His preferred position with which to take his marital rights is from behind, a most bestial fashion, I admit. I believe he sometimes imagines himself a beast at these times, such is his enthusiasm for this unseemly position.

  This night, I found myself leaning down on my elbows with my rear high up in the air, anticipating my husband’s mounting. Although I do get intense pleasure from Bess’s careful and skilled ministrations, there is an undoubted thrill that I receive from William’s rigorous exercise.

  ‘Now that,’ he commented, ‘is what I want to see when I come home.’ William laughed, and I could hear him untie his breeches. ‘Ceecee, you look magnificent.’

  I imagine that most men praise their wives beauty when bejewelled and dressed for a ball. William, however, finds me most beautiful when unclothed and outrageously undignified in positions for coitus. He truly is quite barbarous, or perhaps I am more barbaric for enjoying it – I cannot tell.

  I felt my husband’s hand knead my backside, with firm hard motions. The sharpness sent a spike of pleasure straight towards my most intimate place. I moaned, and he dipped a finger into me. I tightened involuntarily.

  ‘Relax, dearest,’ he chuckled and began to mimic the motions of bed-play with his finger.

  I did relax, and soon found passion mounting in my womb.

  ‘Are you ready for my cock, Ceecee?’ he asked. ‘Your wet little quim certainly is.’

  I moaned my assent, and swiftly I found his finger removed from my throbbing heat. The head of his manhood nudged and pushed at my secret entrance. I worried slightly then that after the trauma of Alexander’s birth my body may not be ready nor willing to accept anything greater than a finger. But I had little time to fret. Within a moment my husband thrust sharply, at the same time gripping my buttocks and pulling me down onto his shaft.

  I cried out. It felt as though I were a virgin again, unused to the abuse of my husband’s large and hard staff.

  ‘Oh, William. Hold still, stop,’ I cried. I had expected him to laugh, but he did not. Instead he stilled immediately releasing only a groan of frustration.

  My body felt fit to burst, I scarce dared take breath. The tightness around the mouth of my womanhood burned, so stretched it was.

  ‘Lord save me,’ William grunted, and I could feel him pulse thickly within me. ‘I cannot hold still much longer.’

  ‘Please, just one moment,’ I gasped, fighting the urge to pull myself away from him. ‘I must adjust to your size.’

  He did laugh then, ‘That’s what a man likes to hear.’

  I struggled to make my body relax around him, and at length it did.

  He held still a long moment before asking, ‘May I?’

  ‘You may.’

  He began to move then, with steady, solid thrusting. Each motion nearly winded me, such was the force behind them.

  Yet that coil of heat that grew in my womb continued to burn, and as my husband’s pace became frantic, and the sound of his thighs slapping my buttocks echoed throughout the room. I felt something deep inside me give.

  My body tightened around his pounding staff and I released a high, keening cry. At that same moment, William shuddered above me, roaring and laughing his pleasure.

  We collapsed onto the bed. I sank onto the soft mattress and William sank onto me. I could feel his heart racing against my back.

  We did not move for quite some time. At length I felt his manhood shrink within me and finally slip free. He rolled off me then, and lay next to me. His bright eyes met mine, and his lips curled in a smile.

  ‘You please me very well, Ceecee,’ he said softly, and delivered the lightest of kisses on my cheek.

  Chapter 6

  Monday 12th July 1813

  The days went quickly with my husband returned. I spent as many hours in the bed as out of it, such was my husband’s appetite.

  When William left the house for reasons of commerce, society or hunting, I would seek out Bess. The pretence of tutelage in the pleasurable arts that we had long used to excuse our bed-play had been abandoned.

  I confess here and now, I took pleasure in Bess and she took pleasure in me. But our love was not exclusive and we both knew this. If truth be told, I was also under no illusion that she also had male admirers and lovers. Surprisingly perhaps, unlike my discomfort with my husband’s whoring, Bess’s relations with other men did not bestir ill-will. I would not begrudge her male attention. How could I when I so frequently indulged in my husband’s passion? All intrigue aside, I knew one true fact – in William’s absence, Bess had become more to me than just maid or a lover. Her affection for me, and mine for her, extended well beyond illicit meetings, and the perfunctory acts our roles in society had us play. She had in some sense filled the role left empty by my husband, she had become my companion and confidante in all things. Yet it was undeniable that whilst William was in residence, she became more subdued, deferring her position to William and remaining my maid cum lover. At times she seemed no more than a passing shadow in the night. I suspected she found William’s presence in the Hall trying, as I could not accept her so frequently into my bed, nor sleep beside her. Still, my gentle Bess ever guided me, offered sage advice, loved and cherished me when opportunity allowed – and I shall forever adore her for it.

  During these times, when I had William and Bess both in residence, I felt most at peace with my lot. Call me wanton or wicked, but to have the love of a man such as William and a woman such as Bess made me rich beyond worldly goods.

  Alas my happiness was short-lived, for within four months I found myself with child once more.

  Again, my memories of this time are tainted with grinding sickness and the depressing knowledge that my husband would leave me to seek his release with the whores of London. To give William his due, he lasted somewhat longer on this occasion, but by the time I was well into my confinement, he had returned to London.

  A pattern damnably repeated with every successive child.

  When in the family way for my third and fourth children, I tried most ardently to disabuse William of the misguided notion that his attentions upon me would harm the babe. I knew from the acts I partook in with Bess that no amount of vigorous attention to my sex would cause the child harm. I even tried to convince the physician as such, though he paid me no heed.

  ‘You are a gentlewoman, Lady Stanton – gently bred women do not partake in the conjugal act during breeding. It is a well-known fact. I believe it is best that your husband retreats to London during this time. He is thus ensuring the safety and wellbeing of your child, milady. Something you would do well to thank him for.’

  Odious man. Had he any notion of what William did while in London?

  I found his condescension so disgusting that my confinement malaise struck and I was verily sick upon the carpets as he spoke.

  On each and every one of William’s departures, I was disconsolate. Although William, true to his word, did not gamble our fortune away, he still debauched the months away. My feelings could then only be tempered by Bess and the complex business of caring for my ever-increasing brood.

  Despite it all, my body craved my husband’s touch, and my heart missed his sm
ile. Over the passing years William and I had grown skilled at pleasuring one another. I no longer balked at the notion of kissing his staff, and I loved and missed the weight of him against me, his heavy-handedness with my body and the sheer brutish passion he gave me. William’s lovemaking was wild and left me breathless and spent, while Bess’s was a slow, coiling pleasure that smouldered for long hours.

  Was I blessed or cursed to have these twin passions? Twin loves? It certainly added a level of complication to my life that was not entirely comfortable. Yet, I could not and did not want to imagine an existence without them.

  So it comes to my confinement with my fifth child. I delayed disclosing the existence of this child for as long as I could, so as to keep William in Stanton Hall with me and away from the whores of London. But I needn’t have bothered.

  For soon, everything changed.

  One morning, a few months past, Bess entered my rooms to dress me. Circumstances in the household were pleasant and cordial. William had been in fine form and a doting father of our four children, and because he believed I was not with child he was robust in his attentions with me.

  This particular morning, I was feeling surprisingly well. The usual sickness had not yet stirred, and thus I greeted Bess warmly when she came to dress me for the day. I reached up and kissed her on the lips.

  Sinful aren’t I? But kissing Bess has always been one of my most favourite pastimes. Her mouth parted, allowing my tongue access. She groaned and leaned into me. I raised my hands and ran them down the clothed length of her arms. My hands it seemed were as hungry as my mouth and I found myself kneading the ripe swell of her breasts through the cloth of her uniform. She moaned, and the sound made my body start. I wanted to pleasure her this morning, as much as she had pleasured me the day previous.

  ‘Bess,’ I murmured as my breath mingled with hers. ‘Remove your dress.’

  I wrapped my arms around her, preparing to un-hook the clasps, but she pulled me away, and ran her hands down my face. My body ignited and my nipples hardened. My breasts were swollen with milk, swollen with pregnancy or a little of both. Despite this, I am pleased they have ever remained objects of fascination to William and Bess both. Yet another thing they share in common, though Bess would never deign to admit it.

  I kissed her little more savagely. ‘Help me remove your dress,’ I whispered into her neck, kissing the fine arc of flesh. ‘Would that I have you naked next to me, William shall not be back for hours…’ I kissed her again.

  She pulled away.

  I ignored her with a smile, and stroked the warm mounds of her breasts again. ‘What are you doing?’ I murmured, my hands moving and attempting to unclasp more hooks. ‘Come to bed.’

  It was then she spoke the words I had never wanted to hear from her.

  ‘We must stop.’ Her words bore pain. ‘We cannot continue this.’

  I felt my body hesitate for just a brief moment.

  ‘I disagree,’ I replied, ‘There is no place else I would have you, Bess Miller, than by my side, or betwixt my thighs. Be damned with everything else.’

  I do not often speak so crudely, but I had noticed her reticence of late and it perturbed me more than I shall admit.

  We both knew it would only be a matter of time before William left for London, once my condition was revealed, and I was not prepared to go through my confinement without Bess as well as my husband. I could no more survive her absence than I could withstand the cessation of the beating of my heart.

  Some nights I lay awake, listening to William’s breath, pondering whether I should disclose my wicked feelings for my maid and confess a desire for no more children. We already had three sons and one daughter – I cared for no more. Yet, William wished for a house full of them and with every confinement, he would whore in London rather than risk the health of his offspring. Nothing I could do or say would sway him. I had no intention of losing Bess, either as my maid or lover, when my husband’s absence was pending.

  Bess pulled away and sank down beside the bed. Her eyes were unusually hard. ‘There are rumours,’ she said, tucking a stray curl of hair beneath her cap.

  ‘There are always rumours,’ I heard myself retort. ‘William seems to attract them.’

  Bess shook her head slowly. ‘You mistake me. The rumours are about you, milady.’

  This, I had not expected. ‘What could I have possibly done to warrant intrigue and gossip? I’ve done naught but bear children for years – the entire county knows it,’ I said as worry fluttered in my throat. I was not speaking the truth.

  There was of course one thing I did…and she sat beside me.

  ‘There there is speculation about your unnatural desires and lack of virtues,’ she paused her hand which was absently fussing with her apron.

  ‘My unnatural desires? Lack of virtue? What could you possibly mean? I am a married woman – married to Lord William Stanton no less.’ I replied in an attempt to brush aside her concern.

  Bess shook her head and ‘Are you being deliberately obtuse, milady? Gossip such as this is damaging to your reputation. Someone wishes to create scandal for you, and word in the village is that you have a paramour.’

  Why should I give fig about reputations after what my husband has done? I thought. Yet when I opened my mouth to say as such, I was made mute by the worry that swam in her eyes.

  My brow furrowed. ‘Forgive me,’ I replied and clasped her hand tightly. ‘From where did you hear this foul news, and with whom am I alleged to have these unnatural desires and tarnished my virtuous reputation with?’ I offered her an amused smile. She shook her head and looked away then, and I was able to discern a sense of shame from her posture and expression. ‘Who speaks of me thus?’ I repeated.

  I state here, at this initial discovery, I wasn’t overly concerned. After all, the eyes of society were steadfastly fixed upon my profligate husband rather than I. Aside from my intimate relations with Bess – which we carried out with utmost discretion – I had never otherwise been untrue and thus had little to fear.

  Or so I reasoned then.

  ‘The origin of rumour is from one Mister Brentwood.’ Bess whispered.

  I hesitated then, trying to place Brentwood’s family and name.

  ‘The Farrier?’ I asked. Of course, I knew the Brentwood family. They made a decent income from their business and were a well-respected family within their own circle and society at large. They always paid their rent and cared for our horses well. I failed to see how Mister Brentwood could possibly be the origin of such maliciousness.

  ‘This all seems terribly unlikely, Bess,’ I commented, but proceeded to humour her. ‘With whom am I supposed to be tainting my virtue with?’

  Bess’s face was stony. ‘Mister Brentwood believes I am the root of your unnatural desires.’

  I was stunned.

  What would possess him to come to such a conclusion? I personally had little to do with the man. Most of our interactions with the Farrier were through William or the groomsmen. Brentwood was a comely young man, and I fancied that many a village lass cast doe eyes in his direction, perhaps even Bess herself. So why would he need or wish to sully my name with rumours of my unnatural habits, whether they were true or not? I spent a moment in contemplation. How was it possible that the Farrier could suspect my relations with Bess, when mine own husband did not suspect a thing? What evidence did he have to accuse the lady of the house of such a puerile, basal, wanton indiscretion and to whom had he disclosed his suspicions?

  ‘What would arouse such wicked gossip in the Farrier?’ I asked eventually.

  Bess looked away. ‘One can only imagine,’ she murmured.

  I knew my Bess, and I knew she lied.

  I fixed her then with a particularly hard stare. ‘Speak plainly, Bess.’

  She sighed, though her face remained as stone. ‘Ceecee,’ she began and my hand tightened around hers in wordless comfort and support. ‘It is’ I who has been indiscrete.’

  Surpris
e made my jaw drop. ‘You? Indiscrete? My darling, you have always been the model of discretion and I am thankful for it!’

  She shook her head and gazed away from me, her finger went to her mouth and she worried at her fingernail.

  ‘Then you have misjudged me, milady. I have been terribly indiscrete and…’ she hesitated and worried at her lower lip. I stroked her arm in comfort as she did often with me. ‘Foolish.’

  It was not often that I heard Bess speak so, and concern swelled in my breast.

  ‘How so? I cannot believe you responsible.’

  She turned to face me again. ‘I have been offering my affections to Mister Brentwood,’ she confessed. ‘Upon my days off, I have taken to visiting him and tumbling with him in the stables.’

  She blushed but her words sent heat to my quim. I envisioned Bess bent over the stables gate her round buttocks bare, and the devilish Brentwood grunting over her as he rutted.

  Arousing as the vision was, I did not allow myself to linger on it long. Instead I shrugged. ‘He is a significant improvement on Carter and his teeth no doubt.’

  Bess chuckled softly. ‘He is,’ she agreed, ‘I held him in high regard.’

  These were strong words from one such as Bess, but I let the sentiment rest. There were more important issues at hand.

  ‘You speak as if in the past. You no longer hold him in this regard?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I have grievously mistaken his character,’ she confessed.

  ‘Bess, my dear, you have always been an exemplary judge of character. Don’t doubt it. Still, I do not understand. How is that Brentwood suspects our…unconventional friendship?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I am ashamed!’ Bess exclaimed and pulled placed her hands over her mouth.

  I wanted to kiss her then, so much so that I leaned forward to stroke her face.

  She pulled away abruptly, and my hand fell listless to the bed.

  ‘Then explain this to me Bess.’ I ordered, unable to keep the sharpness from my tone. ‘Would that I have the news now, then at a later time when the county is filled with gossip.’