Lady Elsa Takes a Lover

Lady Elsa
Takes a Lover

Amelia
Wren

“Oh,
please don’t go!” I cried, taking my mother by the hands and beseeching her
from the bottom of my heart. “I simply cannot endure one more day—nay,
one more
moment
of this wretched
isolation!”

“I’m
terribly sorry, my darling girl. I do wish I could stop a bit longer, but as
you well know, I have certain social obligations that I must attend to,” Mother
said.

“You
can’t leave me alone, Mother! You simply can’t!”

Dropping
to my knees, I clasped my hands together under my chin as if in prayer and
looked up at her through the tears in my eyes.

“If
you leave me here on my own, I will most certainly go mad,” I informed her. “The
next time you see me, I shall be wearing a straightjacket, for I will have been
carted away and locked up in a lunatic asylum.”

Mother
sighed.

“Don’t
you think you’re being a tad dramatic, Elsa, darling?”

“I’m
not!”

“If
I were you, I would make every attempt to enjoy a life of quiet solitude. Spend
your days strolling about the grounds or reading or painting. You might find
that you’ve come to cherish the time spent on your own. And after all, you’ve
only eight months left to go. Eight months is not very long at all.”

Flabbergasted,
I replied, “Are you mad, Mother? Eight months is an eternity. It might as well
be eight years!”

“All
right, Elsa. That’s enough.”

She
reached down to take my hands and pulled me to my feet.

“I know
you’ve always been a bit theatrical, and I’ve always found it to be rather
charming, but it’s starting to become tiresome. I haven’t the energy nor have I
the inclination to indulge you at the moment. I do so want to return to Hartford
Hall before nightfall.”

I
buried my face in my hands and allowed the tears to fall freely from my eyes.
How could my very own mother be so hateful? How could she leave me in this big
old drafty house all on my own without a single soul to speak to? I knew
without a doubt that I’d go mad before the mourning period ended. I’d go mad!

Mother
evidently didn’t give a fig that my life was rapidly falling apart. As my body
racked with sobs, I heard her speaking to one of the servants as if she didn’t
have a care in the world.

“Has
Jonah brought the brougham round?”

“Yes,
milady. Mr. Murray says your cases have already been loaded onto the carriage.”

“Very
well.”

I
heard her footsteps increasing in volume as she crossed the room once again, and
I gathered that she was returning to me.

“Elsa
Elizabeth Hollingsworth, I demand you stop this nonsensical weeping at once.”

I
was so shocked by her sharp tone that I obeyed her without a moment’s
hesitation. I looked up to find Mother gazing at me with a stern look in her
eyes and her lips tightly pursed.

“You
must rein in your wits, my darling,” she said in a much softer tone of voice.
“I’m perfectly aware that you thrive when you’re surrounded by friends and
admirers, but it simply isn’t possible for you rejoin society until the proper
amount of time has passed. Think of his lordship, Elsa. I know you were fond of
your dearly departed husband. Don’t you agree that he deserves to be properly
mourned?”

“Richard
would most certainly
not
wish for me
to be secluded against my will, miles away from all my family and friends,” I
told her.

“Oh?”
She arched a doubtful eyebrow. “He’d rather you bring down a scandal upon yourself
when you appeared in society before it was acceptable for you to do so?”

I
was stumped for a moment, unsure of how to answer that question.

Mother
took my hands and gave them a comforting squeeze.

“Leave
it to me, darling,” she said. “Once I settle back in at Hartford Hall, I shall
see about penning some letters. I daresay I know of a few individuals who would
be happy to pay you a call if they were invited to do so.”

And
with that, my spirits soared.

“Who,
Mother? Who?”

“Well,
to start with there’s my dear cousin Gertrude.”

And
with that, my spirits sank just a little. Cousin Gertrude was a colorless old
maid; she was an absolute bore. Be that as it may, she was at least another
living soul to converse with.

“And
my dear old friend Lady Chatham lives not far from here. You remember her,
don’t you, Elsa?”

“Vaguely.
Am I correct in recalling her as the matron with an exceedingly large number of
sons and daughters?”

“Exactly,
yes.” Mother smiled. “Lady Chatham has a rather large brood with three daughters
and four sons, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Good
heavens.”

“And
I’m quite certain that my dear friend would simply love to pay you a call. And
if that should be impossible for any reason, I know she would be happy to send
one or several of her children in her stead,” Mother said.

That
was splendid news indeed. My memory of Lady Chatham’s children was quite hazy,
for it had been nearly a decade since our families visited with one another,
but I looked forward to the possibility of associating with callers of any
sort, especially if they were close to me in age. Lady Chatham and Cousin
Gertrude were fine ladies and I would have been terribly delighted to welcome
them in my home, but I daresay it would probably be a bit more amusing to
entertain callers who were closer to me in age.

After
Mother departed Hollingsworth Manor, I flung myself down on the fainting couch,
feeling rather sorry for myself, indeed. Whilst the promise of visitors had
undeniably lifted my spirits, it would be quite some time before this came to
pass, and in the meantime I would have to endure the solitude.

Oh, Richard, how could you leave me on my own like
this?

Contrary
to what one might assume, given the fact that I was keen for the mourning
period to be over and done with, I loved my husband deeply and immensely.
Richard was a delightful chap. He was always up for a laugh, and when we were
alone together… well, I shall just say he made me feel like a sensual goddess
and leave it at that.

I
had been looking forward to a long life with him, but sadly that was not to be.
Richard’s life came to a tragic and untimely end at the age of two and thirty
when he was killed in a hunting accident four months prior.

With
a sigh, I turned over onto my back and sent up a silent prayer for his soul.
And then I asked for the strength to endure the solitude I was condemned to. In
fact I was only partly exaggerating when I told Mother I would surely be
committed to an insane asylum very soon. I do not function well on my own. I
never have.

* * * *

I
know Mother did her best to arrange callers for me, but the length of time it
took for her efforts to come to fruition was positively excruciating! Even if
she penned the letters the very moment she returned to Hartford Hall, one had
to factor in the time it took for the post to reach the proper destinations,
the time it took for the recipients to respond, the time it took for their
letters to reach Mother, and so forth.

Not
one but two fortnights had passed before I received a letter from Mother in the
post. She had yet to hear back from Cousin Gertrude, but she had got a letter
from Lady Chatham who informed her with regret that she would not be able to
pay a call at this time. It would seem that the old dear’s rheumatism had
confined her to her bedchambers for the present and the foreseeable future. Not
to worry, though. The considerate countess arranged for her son George and her
daughter Caroline to pay me a visit.

I
was beyond thrilled. I couldn’t quite recall George; Lady Chatham’s sons
blended together in my memory, but I did remember them being a boisterous and
rowdy bunch. I did, however recall spending time with Caroline. She was the
meekest of the girls. I would rather have learned that Grace, the eldest and
most amusing Chatham daughter would be coming to call. But I was hardly one to
complain. Caroline was a pleasant girl, indeed, and I was positively brimming
with excitement at the prospect of their visit.

When
the day arrived, I selected the least hideous of my drab black mourning gowns
and was fairly pleased with my reflection in the looking glass. Unfortunately,
the feeling did not last long. When my maid affixed the dreadful widow’s bonnet
upon my head, I was instantly transformed into a cross between a pinched-faced
old dowager and the Grim Reaper.

I
was in the drawing room when I heard the carriage coming up the drive. Giddy
with excitement, I flitted about the room, trying to decide where I ought to be
standing when they were announced. As it happens, I was standing next to the
chimneypiece when Mr. Grady entered the room.

“Lady
Hollingsworth, may I present Lady Caroline Chatham and Lord George Chatham?”

And
with a bow, the butler slipped away.

“How
very nice to see you again,” I said, crossing the room to welcome them, and I
could not have been more sincere.

Caroline
was every bit as lovely as I recalled. The shy smile on her lips indicated that
she had not changed in terms of personality, that she was still a bit bashful.

On
the contrary, George had a mischievous sort of look in his dark brown eyes, a
playful smile on his lips and a confident, carefree sort of air about him. My,
but he was handsome! Tall and stately, he had a beautifully shaped face and a
head of thick, dark hair. This certainly came as a surprise to me. I didn’t
recall being struck by his good looks during our previous encounters, but then
again, I was but a girl back then, and so perhaps I didn’t notice such things.

“The
pleasure is mine, Lady Hollingsworth,” George said with a bow. “And might I say
you’re every bit as lovely and enchanting as I recall.”

It
was all I could do not to scoff at his remark. I knew I looked anything but
lovely and enchanting in the drab ensemble of a widow.

Instead,
I shot him a look of disbelief and said, “How very kind of you to say. But I
must insist that you call me Elsa.”

“Only
if you call me George.”

I bowed
my head in a slow, deliberate nod, doing my very best to ignore the quickening
of my heartbeat.

“And
you must call me Caroline.”

The
soft, gentle tone of my other caller’s words made my heart beat even faster,
for I fretted that she had somehow sensed a change in the atmosphere. Was it
clear to Caroline—or to George, for that matter—that I felt
instantly drawn towards the handsome man now standing before me?

I
certainly hoped not. For a widow to behave in such an inappropriate way was
unthinkable. It was the sort of thing that caused the worst sort of scandal.

“I
will, of course,” I said to Caroline with my brightest smile.

“Won’t
you please come in?” I said, motioning for them to follow me to the clusters of
sofas and chairs on the far end of the room.

We
passed a delightful hour sharing news of various events that had occurred over
the past decade or so. I was pleased to learn that their sister Grace was now
living in Shropshire with her husband, a marquess, and their two young
children. George told me about his studies at Oxford, and Caroline told me
about her travels on the Continent.

After
an hour or so, Caroline asked me where one might find the water closet. I
explained that there was one on the other end of the hall, and she excused
herself, leaving me alone in the drawing room with George.

Sadly,
the relaxed, amiable atmosphere that had filled the room during their visit
shifted abruptly once Caroline left the room. In any case, that was how it felt
to me. George and I exchanged an awkward smile before turning our gazes quickly
away from one another.

Could
it be that he felt the same powerful attraction towards me that I felt towards
him? It hardly seemed possible, seeing that I was clad in my drab widow’s
ensemble. Even so, I had the distinct feeling that his interest in me went
beyond that of a mere acquaintance. Something about the look in his dark eyes
when he was asking a question or answering one of mine told me that he felt the
connection just as clearly as I did.

I
felt my heart pounding against my ribcage as I sat on the sofa next to George,
unsure of what to say or even where to look. I found my gaze kept being drawn
back to George’s thighs, which was inexcusable of course, but I couldn’t bring
myself to look away. The fabric of his trousers strained against his long,
lean, muscular thighs, and I couldn’t help but imagine my hands sliding up the
sinews of his muscle.

Oh,
how I missed the sensation of Richard’s hands on my body! How I missed his
manhood pressing up against me, nudging my entrance and tunnelling through me.
How I missed the sensation of being filled up by him! I felt a stirring in my
nether regions, and I shifted my position ever so slightly. It was then that I
realized that my drawers were already slick with my own wetness, that the
effect George was having on me was even stronger than I had feared.