Edward drives with me in St. James's Park.
“Will you marry him?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then I won't.”
He sighs. His eyes are puzzled. He talks about Claire. He asks about my doings in London. Am I comfortable in the house? He shows concern for my tranquility. He says we have our sympathies. He says he thinks of me often. He says he thinks of me often when he is with Claire. He knows nothing of the grate. He knows nothing of Ellen Terry. He has no idea how much I've seen. Their privacies. In the evening he drinks too much. I caution him. I speak of complications. He smiles. He says it's of no importance. He says our discovery of each other is important. How confident he is. Has Claire guessed? She always shows such innocence. She displays such benign approval whenever Edward and I speak to each other. Edward says his gravest sin is a lack of impatience. He talks of his club. His talks of his irritations with his acquaintances. He holds my hand. We've had no touching since the evening of Claire's birthday party. Is he randy? I have a yearning to tickle him. He kisses me. “I suppose you think…” He speaks of married life. He says my sister is no longer passionate. One feels so awkward in the midst of false confessions. I have seen them. I have seen Claire's enjoyment. And his own. Poor Edward has no idea I have seen them. He presses my hand. I do know what he wants. He wants me to do it again. What I did in the library the evening of Claire's party. I unbuttoned his flies. He mutters. He says he finds me bewitching. He says he is bewitched by the dexterity of my fingers. His penis is quite stiff, the cowl retracted. I tickle the shaft, the swollen knob. He kisses me. Is there any danger we'll be seen? Edward seems not to care. He chuckles as I explore further. I bring his ballocks out, his full stones. His cods are now bulging out of his flies. His virility is impressive. I tell him we must get home soon. I fondle his root. My hand stroking. “I don't want it on my dress.” His handkerchief again. I stroke and tickle his hot flesh. His chest heaves. He makes a noise in his throat as he breathes. His knob is so polished. Does Claire do this? Does she milk him when she has the inclination for it? Her fingernails are so carefully manicured. What is he thinking of? His root throbs in my hand. Rose pink. The knob is a darker color, the tip glistening. More quickly now. His head back. A spurt. A groan. I cover the point with his handkerchief. Milk him quickly. Milk him into his handkerchief. His essence. No sound except his groaning and the clapping of the horses' hooves. The carriage rolling through the quiet park.
Chapter Seven
“You cant avoid me,” Edward says. “You've been avoiding me for days.”
“It's not true.”
“Yes it is.”
“You're being preposterous.”
“Julie, you mustn't…”
His face is flushed. It's true, of course. I have been avoiding him, refusing his whispers, refusing his touches whenever Claire's attention is elsewhere, whenever Claire is out of the house. Now he puffs at me. I tease him. I smile. I pull away when he touches my arm. I tell him it's too dangerous. I warn him of the eyes of the servants. The maids glide silently back and forth as we stand in the drawing-room. The new girl has ash blonde hair and blue eyes. Her name is Selby. She stares at us. Edward orders her out and the girl blushes as she leaves. He puts his hand upon my arm again. I have the memories of him. The frenzied moments as he poked me in my room. Is Claire suspicious? A breeze arrives through the open window to cool my throat. Then Perkin brings the tea. Edward tells her he will serve it himself. When the maid leaves, he pleads again. I mustn't avoid him. He can't bear it. He thinks of me constantly. He goes on and on.
One thrills to the adventure of it. This new aspect of Claire's house. Does Edward see the humor in it? Is he curious about the outcome? He looks unhappy. He looks to be in the midst of enormous suffering. He wants to be at me again. At least a display. The way I showed myself to him. Darling, you ought to blush for it. But I don't blush. His eyes were so lustful as he looked at my sex. One always wants that. I am not to be reproached for it. Now he lifts teacup in a trembling hand. Then he puts cup and saucer down and he makes me do the same. He takes me in his arms. A kiss. His lips upon mine. His arms about my waist. I can't refuse him. Claire is out and he will not be refused. His mouth is warm. His appetite suffuses his face with a pink glow. Well, how far can it go? Shall we have an idyll under Claire's nose? He whispers at me, tells me how often he thinks of me. His hands constantly move, constantly searching out my body beneath my clothes. Surely one of the maids will see us. Our illicit pleasures. He kisses me again and says he adores me. Yes, the parlormaids will see us. He doesn't care. He's a man favored by fate. Yesterday at dinner he looked at me with such lechery in his eyes, but Claire was oblivious. Now my attention wanders as he kisses my throat. I hear the slow ticking of the small gilt clock on the mantel. The sun falls, the shadows lengthen. I think Claire ought to have that immense sideboard put elsewhere. It looks so ugly here in the drawing-room. It ought to be in the dining-room. Behind Edward. How pompous he is when he advances a toast at the head of the table.
The new girl is completely docile. She kneels as she bathes my feet. Her blonde curls tremble. A girl with ivory skin and blonde curls and empty blue eyes. She blushes at my nakedness. She washes each foot as she blushes. Then I push at her, my foot pushing at her bosom. I amuse myself with a maid. Her eyes are upon my nest. When the wash is finished, she looks at my nest again.
“I want you undressed.”
“Miss?”
“Undressed. Stand up and undress.”
She quivers as she stands. Her maid's clothes fall away, her cotton underclothes. Her body is as white as her face, a pale white with here and there a slight flush of pink. I lie upon the bed. I order her to lick me. “On the bed, silly. You can't do it standing there.”
Silence now as she moves to the doing of it. As she bends. I pull my knees back. How delicious it is. The pleasing. How delicious to be pleased. And they do like it. The girls are born to it. One must keep the order of things. I feel the heat of her mouth. I shall languish under the heat of a sucking mouth. Pity she isn't a man with bush whiskers to tickle me. She washes me now. Her tongue washing my garden. Her tongue fluttering in the groove. There is truth in the fluttering. Now she thinks of nothing but the pleasure of it. She will talk to the other girls about me. The girls will giggle as they talk of me. As they whisper how nice it is. This one with English blue eyes. Her girlish breasts. I wonder if Edward has had her yet. What an immense pleasure it must be to put the cock to such a girl, to hold her waist as she bends. Does she wail when he does it? How extravagant he is. The way he dotes upon his expensive collections. I would see him poke this girl. I would watch the mystery of it, the taking, the stretching of her pink flesh. How sweet she is. How silent she is in her devotions. Does she do the same to Claire? Yes, of course, the maids are Claire's possessions. I should like to see this girl licking my sister's jewel. I should like to see the familiarity of it. Perhaps the maid does it while Edward is watching. I ought to pay more attention to the sounds. I ought to catch them at it through the grate. If only Ellen Terry might warn me. But of course Miss Terry has been struck dumb by the sight of the heavens. One of our finest actresses, the clerk said. Her face and clothes. I would like to touch her. I would like to see her naked. And Edward. Where is Edward now? If he had any sense, he'd be here in this room to amuse me. Claire doesn't know how Edward amuses me. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know me at all. Her eyes see nothing. Sometimes she looks so foreign, so completely un-English. She ought to wear gold earrings. And this maid. She's clever, this one. A palpable difference exists between them. Dobbin is boring, Perkin is stupid, Selby is clever. Edward is clever also. I do hope they refuse that pompous party in Belgravia. I don't want to go. I don't want to go with Walter Bramsby to that pompous party. Does Edward understand that? He looks at me with such lust in his eyes. It's very bad for him. Sooner or later Claire will see it and we'll have a great row in the house. I don't want a row. Lord, what a tongue she has. Here we are. Well, darling, here it is. I can hear it now. The sounds of her lips. Barely perceptible. The licking. What a grand tragedy if Claire discovers me with Edward. Is this a pastoral grouping? Lady and her maid upon a bed of grass in Surrey. No, it's not Surrey, it's Kensington. In Claire's house in Kensington. How cozy it is. I don't think Claire cares for me. She says she does, but I don't think she does. Not as much as Selby does. The girl's tongue is truly marvelous. The zest. One feels on the verge of a new truth. She has me languishing. What can it mean? Perhaps it means I want Edward more than I think. He's not in a good temper these days. Lord, the girl is greedy. She wants me to die. She will take the life from me. All the servants want us to die. She feeds upon me. Now I'm nothing but a ripe fruit for a servant girl. One is as bad as the other. What does it matter when one is as bad as the other. Now, darling, now. The tongue at my bud. Her lips. Dear God, the sweetness of a sucking kiss.