As I pondered in Boston, I hit upon a scheme that would help me recover my place in England. It was now many years since I had fled but I had not aged. How could I return to the estate, having aged not but a day or two in appearance? I wrote a letter to the estate informing them that I was sending my son, Jeremy, to the estate to learn of his past. He had lost his mother, my wife, and I wished him to assume his place as my heir designate in the manor. I then took passage to England as my own son, arriving without much delay and was greeted warmly. Those that remembered me, commented how much Jeremy junior resembled his father as a young man. I was suitably surprised saying how the adventurous life had aged my father.
I had sold my partnership share to George, investing such funds in several ventures before departing. In this, I turned out to be both lucky and wise. I knew that the leaders of the colonies wished to promote their own traders so as to be not dependent on the British companies. I invested in several fledgling trading companies who used the capital to obtain ships of sail. While several failed, several grew to be great trading companies and whaling concerns. Those investments would continue to pay well into the following century making me a wealthy American as well as a British Lord.
Part of the funds I used to establish a trust for Mrs. Chatham so that she would not suffer from my departure. She had been a goodly companion sharing not just my bed but almost acting as wife for years. I had also left a letter with my partner, George, to be posted some months later. George, unknowing of the contents, posted the letter as asked. So it was with great sorrow that I learned several months later that my father had passed in an epidemic of small pox in Boston and I was now the new Lord Northam.
This ruse performed so admirably that I have followed it to this day, disappearing from the estate as I ‘age’ only to return once a generation, as my own son each time, to reclaim the manor and to meet a whole new lot of single women interested in the charming heir and Lord. The older generation is always amazed at how much the son resembles his father. Well, blood does run true.
I was introduced to the local gentry. Mr. Bennett, he of the pregnant daughter, had passed on. I met Mary and her son, who was universally considered my brother but no one mentioned it to me. Mary was still single as no man would have her after her disgrace. She lived with her mother and sister Lydia whose husband ran their farm. I must admit that facing my own past like that was difficult. I once again had to face my shame. I truly considered marrying Mary and erasing her shame, but she had become quarrelsome and a vixen. She was unpleasant to even be around. I came to know, with sadness, that I could not right the wrong at this remove; too much water had passed under that bridge.
The boy, named Edward after her grandfather, my son, thought to be my brother, was a handsome man, still unmarried. He worked with his brother-in-law on their lands. Because of the taint of his birth, the bend sinister, he had little prospect of a good alliance. I determined to do something to at least right this wrong if I could do nothing else. I must admit that my heart was filled with a fondness for the lad, knowing he was in fact my own.
I also met again, Elizabeth, my dear lover. She had become a stately woman, still reading and still writing and still single. Her father had also passed so she ran her own house. She came to visit one morning after I had been back a few days. I almost swept her into my arms, so glad was I to see her again but thankfully remembered the ruse under which I was there.
“Mister Northam,” she said holding out her hand, for I still waited at that point for the letter announcing my death to arrive. I was heir, not Lord.
“Miss Woodhouse. My father has spoken to me much of you,” I said.
“I hope well,” she said.
“All he has spoken has been said with love,” I told her.
She blushed a little. I was surprised to see this, since I never considered her a blushing girl. “Mister Northam, your father was a married man.”
“So he was and I believe he loved my mother. But a man may have more than one love in his life. I heard his voice as he spoke of you. And now, I can see why he spoke they way he did,” I said.
“Yes, your father was certainly a man of many loves,” she said.
“Ah, you mean poor Miss Bennett,” I said.
“You know?”
“Miss Woodhouse, my father prepared me for my return. He told me many things, things for which his shame ran very deep, things that made me also ashamed, but he felt I must know the truth so that I would not be surprised at what I might learn on my return. I know he had dalliances when he was young, but I also know he had but one love before he fled to France,” I said.
Miss Woodhouse was quiet for several moments, I think surprised both at my knowledge and forthrightness as well as the statement of my, or my father’s, love. “Your brother…” she started.
“I’ve never had a brother and I always wished that I had one,” I interrupted letting her know I would take my responsibility seriously.
She smiled, “Of course.”
And so, I once again pursued a relationship with Elizabeth. It was strange in some ways since she was now a mature woman and I physically was still a youth. I know she thought of any possible entanglement that way. After we had exchanged several visits, I was attending her in her library one afternoon. It reminded me of that fateful day many years earlier. “My father told me of how much he enjoyed his visits and how you would read to him in the garden.”
She paused before answering, “Yes, we did enjoy those readings.”
“He is well versed now in Latin and French and still enjoys reading. He made me learn both as well,” I said. I pulled down the book which had led to the tryst. “Perhaps we could read this,” I said holding it out to her.
She saw which book it was and withdrew her hand. “Mister Northam.” She turned away, then turned back to me. “How much did your father say about…”
“Little directly, Miss Woodhouse. I believe he really thought he was discreet. But after my mother passed, his feelings could not be hidden. I know it is perhaps wrong of me to use this knowledge that my father unwittingly passed on, but maybe I am the sort of scoundrel he was.”
“Your father was not a scoundrel,” she said with some fire.
I bowed, “Thank you, Miss Woodhouse, for rising to his defense.”
She blushed with the realization of what she had acknowledged.
I changed the subject. “My father also told me about Meg.”
“My cousin,” she said.
“I gather that she also pursued my father,” I said. Elizabeth nodded. I continued, “I gather from some few comments and much inference that Meg knew of your…”
“Trysts,” Elizabeth said. “You might as well just say it as we’ve been dancing round it quite enough.”
“Trysts, and used that information against my father. He spoke with some anger about Meg.”
Elizabeth nodded, “She so admitted it to me much later, after her marriage. She did take advantage.”
“I have no such desire for advantage, only concord.” I held out the book again, “I would like it very much if we could read this. Perhaps out on the lawn…”
“Mister Northam, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Yes, Miss Woodhouse. I am,” I answered serenely.
She started to look cross but could not, instead she burst into laughter, a most joyous sound, trying hard to suppress it. “I am sorry, Mister Northam. I am not laughing at you.”
“I know. You are laughing at how ridiculous it is for a man of my age to be pursuing a woman of yours, or so you think. It isn’t really. Would you join me? I’d like to read to you,” I said holding the book and extending my arm towards the garden door. She hesitated, then stood, and I followed her out to the garden. We sat at a table far from the house and screened by hedgerows.
We sat and I opened the book. Her eyes were wide whether from anticipation or fear, I knew not. I closed the book and set it down on the table. “I cannot read this book,” I said.
“Why not, Mr. Northam?” she asked.
“I would be no better than Meg. I will tell you, Miss Woodhouse, after I met you I know why my father loved you so and I had formed every intent to use my knowledge to seduce you. And every fiber in my being seems to be willing me to do just that. But I cannot. I hope you will come to dinner tomorrow. Good day, Miss Woodhouse.” I rose and strode across the lawn and back to the house, mounting, and riding back to the manor in a whirl.
I had acted on a whim, and as I rode, I thought I had been precipitate. But as I considered, I came to believe that I had done well. Elizabeth had been close to surrendering. Leaving her in that state, her desire would work upon her. As well, she would respect my leaving, trusting me the more. I was quite satisfied by my conduct by the time I reached the manor.
I waited for Elizabeth to appear for dinner the next afternoon. It was well after noon when I sat to dinner. I was about to start when Burnstone, the son of the man I had known, announced Elizabeth. I stood and she was brought in. “I am so happy you came.”
She looked at the table. “You had it set with two places. Were you so confident I would attend?”
“No. I hoped most eagerly. Please, join me,” I said pointing at the place set at the table.
“Thank you,” she said as I helped her into her place.
Dinner was splendid and we chatted about various people of the area, she telling me much that I would not have known about the county. After dinner, we retired to the library. Miss Woodhouse found one of the French poems that she and I had read. She came to sit by me. She opened it without looking at me and began to read. It was a romance. I knew then that she was accepting my advances. And why should she not? She had desires and I was sure little opportunity in the staid English countryside to satisfy them.
I watched her carefully and recognized the rising passion in voice and her face, both from past experience with her and the other women whom I had met in my journeys. When it had reached a peak, I stood. She looked up surprised by the interruption.
“Miss Woodhouse, I would be pleased if you would join me. I have something I would ask you, privately.”
She gasped, quietly composed herself, and stood. “Of course, Mister Northam.”
I led her quickly to my chambers. I closed the door behind us. She looked at me, anxiety on her face. I knew I must ‘take’ her so that her overpowering would free her to act as she wished. I stepped up to her and took her face in my hands, roughly kissing her.
She pressed her hands against my chest, but made no sound. I kissed her again, just as roughly, before taking her to my bed. I picked her up and dumped her on the bed. She made no move to run and no sound. I knelt on the bed above her, lifting her dress. She eyed me but said nothing. Reaching in, I grabbed her undergarments and ripped them in twain. Elizabeth gasped as I did. Her eyes were now piercing, almost dare I say, lusting. Pulling my trousers down, my manhood stood proudly. I tore the rest of her clothes from her body and she lay on my bed nearly naked, just a bit of cloth on her shoulders. She jumped up as if to flee naked from the house but she paused at the end of the bed with just that little cloth covering her.
I took her shoulders and pressed her to the bed as I discarded my clothes. Elizabeth awaited me and I lay between her legs, my staff finding her sex and we were joined. Once seated completely in, Elizabeth seemed to come to life. She pressed against my chest as I began moving in her. She turned her head away as I leant down to kiss her. There was to be no romance in this coupling.
Taking her cue, I began thrusting hard and fast into Elizabeth. She fought, but not so hard as to dislodge me or even interrupt my taking her. I knew I had no need to be concerned with her pleasure, hers would be in the submission. I did not last overlong, excited as I was by once again making love to Elizabeth. With a cry, I spent into her. She quit resisting and pulled my head to her bosom, holding me hard against her. I once again marveled at how she felt the need to resist that first time.
Afterwards, we lay on the bed talking, “Jeremy, how much did your father tell you about us?”
“Elizabeth dear, I can state truthfully that my father told me little directly about you,” I said.
“Then how…” she paused.
I laughed, “Then how did I know how you wished to be taken?” She nodded. “I understood only after I met you, bits that my father said. I cannot say how I knew, but I knew.”
“Well, dear boy…” she said.
I held up my hand stopping her. “Elizabeth, please. I intend to be your lover. Please treat me as such. Do not try to patronize me.”
She blushed. “I am sorry, Jeremy. It is just that I find myself once again in a situation… Truthfully, your Father’s mistake hurt me very deeply. And now, here I am with his son about to make myself vulnerable to the same fate.”
“I am a different man than my father. But I will hold myself accountable for any actions which displease you. I hope I have learnt from his mistakes.” That was true in a way she would never know. I had become a different man.
“Life can be so bewildering,” Elizabeth mused. “Here I am, having gone many years without the touch of a man, hurt as I was…” she paused and looked at me. I tried to show that I understood and that she could continue without fear of upsetting me, though in truth, it hurt me equally deeply to think of what I had lost for those years of separation. She continued, “Now I find myself caught up as if no time at all has passed, feeling just as I did those many years ago.”
I took her hand in mine, “Elizabeth, you cannot know how glad I am to hear you say that.”
She looked away, sadness on her face. “But Jeremy, now I leave myself open to the same fate…”
I smiled, “But Dear Elizabeth, with one difference. I have the benefit of learning from my Father’s mistakes.”
She returned the smile, “Perhaps. But you will have the same will as your father. How can the outcome be so different?”
“Tell me, did you wish to marry Father?”
Her face aghast, “No!” Then she composed herself, “Forgive me for seeming so hard. It is that in England, when a woman marries, all of her property becomes his, by law. A married woman is not much more than property herself. No, I will hold my property myself.” Her mien softened, “Please excuse my boldness, but I want to retain what is mine.”
“Then you never intended to marry Father,” I said.
“No. I knew he would marry some day to carry on the Lordship if for no other reason. But I would carry my own name,” she affirmed.
“I accept your wishes. Does that not mean that our relations can be established to both our benefits? If you do not intend to marry and I should some day, does that not mean that we can share what is a true love of the hearts, and I feel mine is, even while I pursue the mundane requirements of my position?” I asked
“You mean be lovers while you look for a wife?” she asked a bit of scandal in her eyes.
“It does sound very French, I admit. Not British at all,” I said.
She burst into laughter. “Why Jeremy. I am in one of my novels. How very unusual,” she said. “You intend to make love to me while making love to others, and have me accept that?”
I moved over her, my hands by each shoulder so that I looked straight down to her face as she lay back on the bed. “I intend to make love to you and make you desire it with all your soul and body.” She gasped. “I intend to make love to you with my heart and soul, now. Let us make love, not a rape, but an equal desire of a man and a woman, both acknowledging the rights of the other.”
I was thankful of my readings for I knew of the thought that women deserved equality of treatment in social intercourse. It is not surprising that Elizabeth should recognize my words and respond to them. In them, she heard her own desire for freedom speaking.
“Jeremy,” she said with longing.
I bent down and we kissed. We held each other as Adam and Eve, making love in a pure and generous spirit, with no thought of sin.
After, we lay exhausted and sated. My hands stroked her soft skin. She tried to reach for a cover. I pushed it away. “Jeremy, I am naked,” she said.
“Gloriously so,” I agreed.
She blushed. “But I am so old…” she said with some sadness.
“Oh Elizabeth, I wish you could see yourself with my eyes. I find you the most beautiful woman in the world. I desire you above any other woman. Helen of Troy is not worthy to hold the hem of your dress. Please my love. Let me gather in your charms.”
She blushed again, but the air between us was different. It was a blush of pleasure.
And so, I regained my love. Our love grew greater over time. Elizabeth came more and more to trust in me as she came to know I would not make the mistake of my father, well, me of course. But I once again fly ahead of the story. My love with Elizabeth matured over many years and many were the adventures while our love grew.
The letter had arrived and I was again Lord Northam. Immediately, the fervor of the families with single women grew. Since I was sharing so much of my life with Elizabeth, and since we did wish it to appear respectable, she let it be known that she was helping me tread these very serious waters ahead of me. In short, I let it be known that I had asked her to help me find a wife. The irony of this was delicious and we shared much laughter over it.
Astonishing, to me anyway, was that Elizabeth took her part to heart. She actually did set out to find me the proper wife. Once I realized her intent, I pleaded with her to desist since she was my desire. She laughed and reminded me of our promise to never marry.
“How will you find me a wife who does not mind sharing her wedding bed with you, my dear?” I asked in a fit of pique one day.
“I admit, that makes the task more difficult, but not impossible. Hercules essayed his labors. I shall essay mine,” she said blithely. I could do not but shrug and drag her off to my chamber and ravish her in pure delight. That day, we played the rape game as she fought to keep her virtue, not successfully at all, to both our delights.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007