There was something to be said for a frictionless fuck, the ointment adding a new impressionable dimension to the concept of unreserved access. He had to deliberately curb his forward progress in order not to batter her and the head of his cock in the bargain. But once he found his rhythm, the lady quickly accommodated him, and with a familiarity of considerable practice now, they made their way to that blissful elysian of orgasmic delight and sensory bewitchment they’d discovered together.
She didn’t know it was as new to him as it was to her.
Nor did he understand she felt the same as he.
For a woman who wrote erotica, he expected a certain libidinous propensity.
While everyone knew, she thought, that Groveland reveled in prodigal sensation.
But rather than discuss nuances of feeling that bordered on fondness and affection, they chose to verify those sensations in more pleasant ways. With a kind of sumptuousness and self-indulgence, with happiness, with gratitude in the end.
Chapter 23
THAT SAME AFTERNOON, in the village of Riverston, in a remote corner of Yorkshire, a barrister from London was seated in the cluttered and noisy morning room of Rosalind’s parent’s. Birds of every size and color chirped and sang from cages, their living presence in contrast to the other miscellany of dead objects from nature in the form of skulls, insects, animal skeletons, and dried flora laying topsy-turvy on shelves and tabletops.
Amidst this repository of nature, Lady Pitt-Riverston and Mr. Symon were having tea and chatting as they awaited the arrival of the Honorable Algernon Pitt-Riverston who had been sent for to lend his expertise to the occasion. Rosalind’s mother was by nature warmhearted and agreeable, and soon Mr. Symon was discussing his wife and children as if he and Lady Pitt-Riverston were long lost friends.
“Perhaps you’d like to bring your little ones a bird or two from our menagerie,” she cheerfully offered. “Little Benjy and Marcella are the most adorable warblers. They understand perfectly when you talk to them,” she added with a smile. “And they know their numbers.”
“Thank you for offering,” Symon politely replied, wary of birds that knew their numbers or people who said they did-however kind Lady Pitt-Riverston. “But the city is no place for birds. The fog, you know,” he said with a grimace. “It’s quite insalubrious.”
“Indeed,” Lady Pitt-Riverston agreed with a little tsk, tsk. “We are fortunate to live in the country. Would your children like that little collection of beetles? ” She indicated a glass-topped box with rows of colorful beetles pinned to a green velvet ground. “Howard is forever bringing more of them home.”
“It’s lovely of you to ask, but with the long train ride, I’m afraid they may be damaged in transit.”
“More tea, then, Mr. Symon? Another cake perhaps? You could use a little weight on your bones.”
“Tea, please. It’s excellent.”
“A China green, Mr. Symon. Howard’s favorite. There now,” she said, pouring tea into his cup. “And I’m just going to put another small piece of cake on your plate,” she firmly added.
He didn’t argue. Having avoided birds and beetles, he could deal with an extra piece of cake. For the next few minutes, it wasn’t necessary to do more than nod his head and drink his tea for Lady Pitt-Riverston was explaining at some length how to teach birds their numbers.
Rosalind’s father was attending to some experiment and was only fetched once Algernon arrived. He appeared in a workman’s smock and slippers, still scribbling in a notebook as he entered the room.
“You must set that aside now, my dear,” his wife admonished. “Mr. Symon has important matters to discuss with us.”
It took the baron a fraction of a second to respond, but after adding a few more notations, he set the notebook and pencil aside, smiled at those gathered around the tea table, and sat down to join them. “I’m told this has something to do with Rosalind,” he said, fixing Symon with his clear blue gaze.
“Mr. Symon represents a client in London, Howard.”
“You’ve come a long way,” Lord Pitt-Riverston noted, “when Rosalind could be spoken to directly.”
“There is a slight problem, my lord,” Symon tactfully replied.
“With your client and my daughter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And who might your client be?” The baron had the direct, assessing gaze of a scientist.
“The Duke of Groveland, my lord.” Symon went on to explain the situation with the Duke of Groveland’s urban development. Their daughter’s bookstore was within the tract the duke wished to acquire, and she was the last property owner who had not yet agreed to sell to the duke. He then cited the sum Fitz had offered. “So you see, the duke is very generous. I’ve come to speak with you today in hopes you might be able to persuade your daughter”-he nodded at Algernon-“and sister to agree to the duke’s terms.”
“She’s refused him? ” Algernon sharply queried.
“Many times, I’m afraid.” Mr. Symon offered the party a pained smile. “The sum she’d realize from the sale would be more than enough to buy another shop in a different location, as well as leave her with a considerable profit.”
“My goodness, twenty thousand!” Lady Pitt-Riverston murmured. She was in charge of household expenses; her husband took no notice of money or more pertinently in their case, the lack of it.
“It’s a bloody fortune,” Algernon said bluntly. “She’s a fool if she doesn’t take it.”
“Perhaps you could apprise her of your sentiments,” Symon diplomatically noted.
“Now, now,” the baron interposed. “Rosalind must have her reasons for refusing. She’s an intelligent woman. Perhaps there are extenuating circumstances. I’m not sure we should interfere.” He and his daughter shared common crusading convictions; he respected the choices she’d made. “Although, I certainly understand it’s a large sum, my dear,” he said, turning to his wife, not unaware of the sacrifices she made to keep their household solvent. “Perhaps we should at least wait to hear from Rosalind.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Algernon responded. “She obviously doesn’t understand the benefits of twenty thousand pounds. It would change her life.”
“I think she’s quite content,” the baron said, understanding his daughter’s feelings since fulfillment for him was a simple matter of puttering around his laboratory.
“Your father might be right, dear,” Lady Pitt-Riverston said, with a smile for her son. “How can it hurt to wait a bit? ”
Understanding his only ally was Algernon, otherwise his business was done, Mr. Symon proposed to have a private conversation with Mrs. St. Vincent’s brother. “Thank you kindly for listening to my proposal,” the barrister said with a pleasant smile before turning to Algernon. “If you’d care to share a pint with me before my train leaves, Mr. Pitt-Riverston,” he said, “I’d be interested in hearing about the local grouse hunting.” Rising to his feet, he picked up his hat and bowed to Lady Pitt-Riverston. “Thank you again, ma’am.”
“I’d be more than happy to help you,” Algernon returned, coming to his feet as well. “Thank you for tea, Mother. Father.” He dipped his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Mr. Symon would have been willing to wait for the morning train if it meant returning with the commitment Hutchinson wanted. Now to see if the brother had a price or more aptly, the exact amount of that price.
A short time later, he and Algernon were seated at a table in the local village pub. Once their cognacs were served, Symon lifted his glass. “Thank you for keeping me company. Cheers.”
Algernon dipped his head, raised his glass, and the men drank down their cognacs.
Pleased to see that his companion was a tippler, Symon signaled for more drinks. “As you may have surmised,” he said as they waited for their drinks, “I wanted to discuss something other than grouse hunting.”