Again, I wander in my narrative from the straight path of time. Edward’s new life and death were still in that unknown future when I found myself the center of attention of all the single girls in the county. With Elizabeth at my side, I was shielded from most of their attentions since the mothers believed Elizabeth was the path to the throne.
Elizabeth was often at my side when the local gentry brought their daughters for a visit. She would be invited when I was to some local party or luncheon. In all, this ruse made her almost my wife. Had we but slept in the same bed we would have been as married.
What was truly comic was while we so openly acted as married, mothers of eligible girls swarmed around Elizabeth trying to convince her of the suitability of their daughters as mates for me. Elizabeth would take such opportunities to talk to the girl in private, speaking of many things that would never have been discussed in public, such as the girls’ opinions on the probity of certain types of relations, what she expected of a husband.
As for me, I treated it all as a game for I had no intention of marriage. I loved Elizabeth and was happy with her, glad that I had again, what I had lost before.
But since I have promised truth in this narrative, I must then admit that not all of the girls escaped my eye. There were several most fetching young ladies in the tumult of pursuers. One who caught my eye was Hope Thomas. A girl of fifteen, just blossoming, fair with flashing green eyes which could catch me with their daring, then leave me hoping indeed as she would look away most demurely. The other girl who always seemed to catch me was Ada Woodard, seventeen, a tall and well-built young woman whose blonde hair, blue eyes, and square face seemed to come directly down from the Viking raiders who once ravaged the British Isles. Ada was also a very quick-witted woman, as well read as Elizabeth.
It was after one party that Elizabeth asked me as we rode the trap back to the barony, “So Jeremy. If you could have one of the girls at the party, which would it be?”
“Would that be for marriage or for sport?” I asked.
“Jeremy,” Elizabeth said in shock. Then she smiled, “Sport of course. I’ll decide whom you marry.”
I glanced at her and saw she was serious even as she smiled making light. “In that case, I would say I would have trouble deciding between Ada Woodard and Hope Thomas.”
“I am surprised,” Elizabeth said. “Hope is a beautiful slip of a girl. But Ada? She’s near tall as you.”
“I am drawn to Ada not by her physical charms but by her quick wit and grace. I am drawn to her by the degree to which she reminds me of you,” I said.
“Ah, Sir, you seek to charm me by something you have read in a romance,” she said.
“Elizabeth, that is from my own heart. I never read any such words. They are true feelings,” I said.
Elizabeth leaned in and took my arm, pressing her soft bosom against it and exciting me thereby. “When we get back, please take me to your room,” she said breathlessly.
I yelled up to the groom to whip up the ponies to a trot all the sooner to return.
It was several days later and we were lying in bed having played the rape game. Our clothes were scattered round the room, I no longer ripped her garments in our game, when Elizabeth asked me, “Have you thought more of Hope?”
Having just been acquitted of one woman, I was surprised to be asked about another. “I admit, dear lady, that my thoughts have not strayed to Hope. They have been taken up in pleasing you.”
She patted my arm. “Always the proper answer. But wouldn’t you like to introduce little Hope to the joys of sex?”
“Yes, I suppose I should like that. She is a beautiful young girl,” I agreed.
“I worry I shall lose you as I did your father,” Elizabeth said.
“Madam, you are the one who broached this topic.” I said.
“Sir, you are the one who would like to broach young Hope’s virginity,” she said. “And such is what caused your father to flee.”
You, dear reader, may notice how this conversation recurred again and again. It is something I have seen recur endlessly and yet have never understood in my relations with women. They latch on to some perceived wrong and it is voiced again and again, no matter how much or how little it might really be, it never seems to lessen in the woman’s fascination. And a woman will continue to use it again and again until she will drive a man away. It is some perverse mechanism that women have that is self-destructive and yet they seem unable to overcome such perverse impulses.
I soothed Elizabeth’s fears as best I could, knowing that they had only fled the light and were waiting to reappear. But her comments did make me think of Hope, she of the flashing green eyes. The ring burned on my finger from desire to be used. I would be more opportune this time, not making the same error. There were ways, even in those backward days, to prevent unwanted pregnancies, if one were careful. Most were unknowing and uncaring, but the fallen women in Europe knew them and I had become acquainted with them in Paris.
My chance occurred soon after. Hope was attending a luncheon and it so happened that I was as well. I had a chance to talk with her alone and used the ring to make her appear the following morning at the vicarage.
The poor Vicar was surprised to see the son follow the father I think, but in his state he had no choice but to accede to my suggestion that he visit some parishioners. He was trotting away in his trap in minutes.
Some time later Hope came through the door and into the chapel. She gasped a little in surprise when I told her the Vicar was gone, it was she and I alone. Her apprehension was evident in her stance, as if she were readying to flee. “Hope,” I said, the ring humming on my finger. “I would have you make love to me today and I would have you enjoy it.”
Her stance changed and she came to me. I led her into the bedroom reserved just for these trysts, or so it seemed to me. I pulled her into my arms, where she came willingly, and kissed her most passionately. Releasing her I told her to undress and proceeded to do the same. I admit I have always found it easy to allow the woman to lead the undressing since I am always confused by the tangle of ribbons, ties, latches, buttons, etc., that women sport on their persons.
I admired her spare beauty, so young, and yet her body was womanly, high breasts, rounded hips, full lips below and a narrow waist. Her skin was almost like alabaster, except the subtle reddish tone made it seem warm rather than cold stone. I led her to the bed, joining her on it.
We kissed anon, our lips molding against each other, our bodies following so that skin pressed against skin along our whole length. My hand found her high hard breasts, not yet softened by age. Her nipples were standing up a prodigious amount. Hope had perhaps the longest nipples I have ever seen, and among the most sensitive. She mewled like a cat in heat when I touched her nipples. When I sucked on them, she reached her first time, bucking and flooding with her climax.
It was easy entering her after that, she in the afterglow. All I had to do to bring her to another peak as I fucked her, was to take a nipple between my lips and suck and the girl would spasm below me. I found myself getting close and let it rise until I too spent, filling young Hope with my seed.
Hope’s face was suffused with satiation, as I am certain mine was as well. We lay together happy and fulfilled. When at last she spoke it was to say, “I must be off, Jeremy. I am overlong already at the chapel. I could have said my prayers many times already.”
“Indeed, you answered my prayers,” I said.
We quickly dressed and Hope left. I rode back to the Manor, happy and satisfied.
I do not know by what method such communications occur, but I have had such experience that I know they do. Somehow, despite my command to Hope not to disclose anything, which I am sure she could not violate, news of the tryst reached Elizabeth. What strange methods do women possess to achieve their knowledge of the men to whom they are attached? It is a greater mystery than Transubstantiation.
When next I called on Elizabeth, she met me coldly. I inquired and was met with stone. Finally, after much pursuit on my part, she hissed out a single word, “Hope…” Once breached the topic could not be contained. What followed was a long and discordant lecture and accusation calling into question all of my traits and habits. Elizabeth paced the library, in fine fettle, gesturing wildly and hissing whenever the name Hope passed her lips. When she turned to me indicted me, “You Sir, lied to me,” that I could not accept.
I stood, “Madam, I did not.”
“You deny everything?”
“I deny I lied to you,” I said.
“But you promised…” she said tears coming like a summer storm.
“Madam, I promised not to make the mistakes of my father. And I have kept that promise,” I said.
She sniffed, then dried her eyes. “But you do not deny the rest?”
“Well, in truth Madam, I do not consider myself quite as low as your words have made me. But I cannot deny the central charge you have laid on me,” I said.
“But you promised,” she said again.
“I promised not to make the mistakes of my father, and I have not. I will not father a child on any young girl,” I said reasonably.
“That is not the mistake I was speaking of. It is having the young girl in the first place,” she shouted.
“But you didn’t seem to hold his dalliance with Meg against him,” I said trying my best to understand this dichotomy.
“Meg was different, she was my cousin, and she instigated the whole affair. Jeremy, I cannot continue if you will see other ladies. I simply cannot.”
And what had happened to her European views of finding me a wife while we had at it? Gone, they were gone as she had grown attached to me and she had lost her objectivity. “I see,” I said. I thought for a minute trying to imagine giving up Elizabeth and I could not. “Well, that’s for it then. I shall give up the ladies for I cannot give you up,” I said my heart aching. I almost said, again, but stopped myself.
“Do you mean that?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Do you promise?” Elizabeth asked, worry tingeing her voice.
“I promise dear Elizabeth. But I do ask that if ever another Meg comes along you will let me know that I may enjoy her company,” I said laughing.
“Oh, you are an incorrigible brute, thinking about possible dalliances while expressing your…” she hesitated.
“Yes, you can say it, my love for you,” I said.
Elizabeth launched herself into my arms, kissing me wildly. And so, we became married in all but abode. It quickly went round the local gentry how close we had become. The mothers were surprised that Elizabeth, instead of making a match for their daughter, used her wiles to ingratiate herself to me. They were quite put out. I could not but laugh since none of their daughters had the least hold on my heart.
We did abide by some of the accepted mores of the time and place, never sharing a bed overnight. She always returned to her house or me to mine. Our words and gestures remained correct in public, always she addressed me as My Lord and I to her as Miss Woodhouse. We never touched, except in dancing or similar entertainment, or I to take her hand in getting out of a coach.
But alone, our hands never strayed far from each other. I had orders to the servants never to enter my private rooms when Elizabeth was visiting. We played such games, her rape game, my Indian maiden game which she found delightful, speaking gibberish as I took her, and other wild entertainments. She was endlessly inventive in sex. I thought I had at last found my paradise on earth. And so it seemed for some time.
What then changed? Only time. Cruel relentless time. For I had the ring and did not age, or I aged on such a different scale that it seemed I did not age while sweet Elizabeth did age. And she was at that point in a woman’s life when age overtook her in many ways, cruelly. The small differences occasioned by our apparent age disparity became a chasm. I was young; she was old.
It was during this period of introspection, both about my own life and about the life of those dear to me, that I truly came to certainty of the power of the ring. As dear Elizabeth approached the end of her term here on Earth, I knew that I was not approaching mine. I was as strong and hale as ever.
It began to prey upon her mind. She became less willing to bare herself, shy to have me gaze upon her body, covering, unwilling to pursue our lustful games, retiring. I remained patient as I could. I told her she remained beautiful, but time's ravages continued their relentless march. Finally, Elizabeth grew despondent. One morning, she refused to see me. I was distraught for I truly loved her. I sent her an impassioned letter imploring her to see me. It was returned unopened. I called upon her again and again, but was refused entrance. I went to parties expecting her attendance but she had withdrawn from society. I became frantic, but all was for naught.
One day, I received a letter.
Dearest Jeremy,I am aware of how you seek me out. I really must insist that you desist in these attempts. They are too painful for me and for you. When I see you, when I think of you I am only reminded of my own mortality and how I approach that dark door. I can sometimes forget the approach of the dread scythe when I am alone. Please, let me be.
Yours,
Elizabeth
I sat in my study and cried as I had not cried since I had lost my Marie. I knew I had lost Elizabeth. For trying to regain her could only add to her misery. That was my choice, to hurt her or to hurt her and in each case to hurt myself. Truly, it was a devil’s bargain.
I had made a sacred promise to myself never to use the power of the ring on a woman I loved for I wanted her love for me to be genuine. And I had not used it with Marie or Elizabeth. But in my anguish I contemplated its use. I even went to her house with such intention and only the stalwart efforts of her staff kept me from bulling my way into the house. I was even more despondent as I rode home.
My mind turned to the New World where I had taken refuge before and where I was still a man of wealth. The next day I sent a letter to my dear Elizabeth telling her I was leaving and that I would love her without end, a promise I have kept until this day.
I took passage on a ship for Boston departing from the old for the new and new adventures.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007, 2012