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Tobias sat back on his rather uncomfortable wooden settle in his dusty drawing room, a glass of his father’s best brandy in his hand and gave a contented sigh. A couple of bottles of the fine liqueur had been surreptitiously slipped to him by his papa as a parting gift. He mused that it was very pleasant to be back in his vicarage, having assisted with the harvest at his parental home for a couple of weeks.
A change certainly had been as good as a rest. After a season of constant preparation for services and sermons or spending long hours sitting with parishioners and trying to find words of comfort or advice (often helplessly), being told which field to work in and wielding a scythe at it all day was so much simpler. His body and mind felt refreshed from the exercise, fresh air and the feeling of a practical job well done.
On the farm with the other workers, many of whom he’d known all his life, he was just the youngest Whitmore boy. No one took any notice that he was now a vicar and so someone to have expectations of. He was merely another useful pair of hands to help gather in the crop. It was most refreshing.
Although he had been looking forward to his respite from his ecclesiastical obligations, during the joltingly long cross country journey, he’d had more than a flicker of anxiety about one aspect of his sojourn. Namely, that his mama might take advantage of his being under her wing for an extended period and so hector him about his marriage prospects. He fretted he would find himself engaged to some young lady or other before the end of the fortnight without knowing quite what had hit him.
Fortunately, the day before he arrived, Mrs Whitmore had received the disturbing news that her middle son Tom, currently off soldiering somewhere on the continent, was apparently co-habiting his military quarters with an opera dancer of the unlikely name of Fifi.
The wrath in the maternal breast this information had incited meant that Tobias’ lack of a fiancee had not been broached for the entire visit, so busy was Mrs Whitmore in writing letters of hellfire and brimstone to her absent son. Most mealtimes were taken up with her denunciations on this moral crisis at her husband and two sons currently at her table. Although grateful for the hiatus, Tobias also had it in his heart to feel sorry for the feckless Tom. Given the speaking glances between the three present Whitmore men, this emotion was evidently shared, albeit wisely in silence.
Tom had foolishly reckoned that being many hundreds of miles away from his native shores would mean that his indiscretions (and no doubt excess extravagant expenditure incurred by the temporary possession of Fifi’s favours) would not be picked up by maternal semaphore. This was a hopelessly naive assumption he would shortly come to regret.
Tobias gave another contented sigh and sipped at his fine French brandy, the undoubtedly smuggled origins of which was not best enquired too closely about. Another reason to be cheerful, at least before his normal labours resumed, was that on returning home he had received a letter from Lucy Holbourne. This was a young lady of long acquaintance who had more recently become a good friend, following a tete-a-tete about her late fiance, who had sadly died in battle far away. They now corresponded semi-regularly when not bumping into one another at social events in the wider area.
Lucy had written to say that her parents were holding a levee the next Friday and that he was invited. As, no doubt, his relatives, the Canon and his wife, near neighbours of the Holbournes, would also be guests, he would be expected to stay over at the canonical residence and be home on Saturday in good time to prepare for the Sunday service. As he was about to be yoked, oxen-like, to his normal routine, it would be nice to have some socialising to look forward to, he thought. He took a celebratory sip of brandy.
Thinking of ladies in general, being at home for a fortnight meant there were no adventures for him with any ladies of dubious reputation. Not that there were any likely candidates anyway in the neighbourhood, he mused. But he had been extra wary, given the forbidding atmosphere of outrage chez-Whitmore about the existence of Fifi. He considered it worthwhile to be on his best behaviour if only to have his mother fulminate at one of his siblings rather than himself, for a change.
Anyway, the recent vivid memories of a delightful and unexpected afternoon of bliss with the lovely Meg and her lascivious friend Betty were more than sufficient to necessitate any required relief in the privacy of his bedchamber.
On returning home, there had been no word from Meg. Mind you, he pondered, taking another mouthful of expertly distilled spirit, he had not really expected to hear from her so soon, although that would have been pleasantly distracting. As far as he knew, she and Betty had temporarily gone their separate ways. This was unsurprising, as their livelihoods and direction tended to be dependent on the whims of any current admirer paying for their company and keeping Meg in extravagant headgear.
He consoled himself with another taste of brandy and the agreeable notion that knowing her, Meg would get in touch when he least expected it. The very thought made him smile and his heartbeat quicken a little.
The feeling of relaxation and well-being faded rapidly as the demands on Tobias’ time became apparent over the next few days. This was not helped by the fact that Tobias had given his curate a week’s leave to help with his own nearby family’s harvest. Tobias did not have to do this, but the young man was a diligent and hard-working support to him. Also, his own memories of such kindnesses being shown to him as a curate in a busy parish in Birmingham had taught him to be considerate to his underlings.
Given the avalanche of tasks he now had to flounder through alone, he rather regretted his fairness to his fellow man. Apart from services and parish visits, not only were there perplexing partially recalled verbal messages to decipher from his somewhat deaf housekeeper but also endless, pointless meetings organised by his fussy churchwarden who liked the sound of his own voice. It had also slipped his mind that his curate dealt with services in outlying towns and villages within the wandering bounds of the parish, so now this role fell on him temporarily too.
In this way, he had just held a weekday morning service in the small church of a nearby town with a congregation consisting of three old men and a dog, although he had to admit the dog was very well-behaved. He was walking back to where his borrowed horse was stabled when he thought he saw a familiar profile traversing towards him. This charming visage brought back memories of that idyllic and exhausting summer in Lesser Witteringly.
At second glance, he realised it was definitely the luscious, leggy Mistress Harbury, the first of his conquests in that lubricious village (although he gladly acknowledged that any ravishing and pillaging had been very much incited by the ladies) who was approaching him on the same side of the road. He had forgotten that this town would be within shopping distance for anything out of the way that could not be purchased in the village.
After the initial pleasure of spotting Jane, then came the startling observation that she was not alone. She had a small child, little more than a baby by his toddling steps, firmly by the hand. Stifling his initial panicked inclination to run to the other side of the street and disappear down a laneway, he paused for a moment’s thought.
With a rapid mental calculation, and the observation that, rather than the fair and somewhat nondescript colouring of the Whitmores, the little boy had a full head of strikingly black curly hair, he heaved a sigh of relief and gave a quick prayer of gratitude to the Almighty.
Accordingly, he approached the lady with equanimity and a genuine smile and gave his bow with nothing but the cordiality of briefly renewing an acquaintance. He made genuine enquiries for her health and that of her very much older husband and politely admired the child for his sturdiness and size. Jane was not only in good looks but good humour and answered all his courteous questions happily, evidently delighted to have provided her proud husband with a much-wanted heir.
After a brief exchange of bland good wishes, with the child tugging at her hand all the while, they went their separate ways. As he walked away, Tobias suddenly remembered that there had been a burly blacksmith in the village with the same striking dark locks and permitted himself a wry smile.
The week continued with such an endless stream of demands that he almost couldn’t face the Holbournes' party. However, he did not want to let Lucy down after accepting her invitation and also, he might offend the Canon and his wife by reneging on their kind offer of hospitality at such short notice. The consequences of perceived incivility would not only be potentially damaging to his burgeoning career but would inevitably turn his mama’s volcanic fury from Tom to him, which was the more apparent danger.
So he packed his rather elderly evening breeches that had seen him through his student years, put on his good coat and closed the vicarage door behind him with a certain amount of relief. As he walked past the church, the churchwarden approached him with the obvious intent of engaging him in one-way conversation.
With the ease of long practice, Tobias briskly continued on his way without hesitation, citing rapid excuses of, “The coach is leaving now,” and, “Mustn’t keep the Canon waiting,” before that voluble man could open his mouth and keep them both standing there for a full half-hour.
Once he had tidied himself and changed into evening dress at the spacious canonical residence and had a convivial conversation with the Canon himself, which made him tentatively hopeful that the powers that be didn’t think he was altogether useless, Tobias arrived at the Holbournes' in a cheerful mood.
He was received graciously by his hosts, then he looked around for Lucy. He found himself slightly disappointed that she was not there to greet him. However, as the dancing had not yet started, there was a crush of people in the middle of the room so he assumed she had got caught up somewhere in the fray.
With a glass of good sherry in his hand, he looked forward to the music starting and joining in a few country dances, followed by supper afterwards and the prospect of some cake. The Canon was immediately hailed by some cronies in one corner and so Tobias stayed to attend his mother’s cousin for a while and made his way through the crowd to the refreshment table to fetch her a glass of lemonade.
As he edged towards the table, even over the noise of the chatter he heard a loud braying voice rather more suited to the parade ground than polite company. This emanated from a commanding figure, who from a side view seemed to be sporting a coat of military cut, with an array of gold edgings. He pitied the poor soul who was on the receiving end of that continual cacophony and thought rather more kindly of his voluble churchwarden.
He lifted the lemonade jug and Mrs Holbourne appeared at his side, proffering her empty glass. As he politely poured out the refreshment, she said with as much of a simper as a middle-aged lady could manage, “We might have hopes you know. For Lucy, if she’s so inclined. He’s a military hero and highly decorated.”
Looking around sharply at the roaring gentleman, almost spilling the lemonade in the process, Tobias thought that the decoration must mainly apply to the amount of braid he had attached to his coat, which suddenly looked decidedly vulgar.
He dutifully returned to his relative’s side with the proffered glass, and as she was busily engaged in conversation he was able to peer around the breadth of the gilded gentleman to perceive Lucy. To his unexpected relief, there was no echo of her mother’s simper on her pretty features. Rather, Lucy’s pinched face indicated she was on the verge of a migraine and her eyes were nearly crossed with boredom.
He might only be a junior vicar in somewhat threadbare apparel, but he could certainly try to launch a rescue attempt. The look of relief that Lucy shot him as soon as he came into her view was ample reward. He made his way to her side with no introductions required, as Captain Shouty (as he had now become in Tobias’ mind) merely carried on expounding at his expanded audience.
As if on cue, the musicians struck up and Tobias saw his opportunity to make their escape, using churchwarden deflection tactics. Without waiting for a pause in the deafening monologue, he announced clearly, “The dancing is beginning now,” followed immediately by, “Do excuse us,” and grabbed Lucy’s hand without further ado.
Those who were not dancing had retired to the edges of the room and so they slipped easily into the central space to join the lines of couples. Tobias briefly glanced behind him to see that Captain Shouty, with no pause for breath, had turned to address Mrs Holbourne. He reckoned that after five minutes of the receiving end of his persistent bawling, she wouldn’t be so keen on the notion of a blaring son-in-law.
During the first few turns of the dance, Tobias kept an eye on Lucy until he saw the colour returning to her face as she smiled and laughed with her dance partners, whirling from one to another. After a couple of hectic sets of country dances, she returned to his side at the final flourish from the musicians. They were both panting and overly warm so they made their way to the refreshment table where a large bowl of fruit punch had been placed and helped themselves to a glass apiece.
The decorated military man was still close by, yelling at anyone within a three-yard radius. Mrs Holbourne was nowhere to be seen and had obviously beaten a strategic retreat. Before he could spot them and start shouting interminably in their direction, Tobias poured himself and Lucy another helping of refreshing punch and they swiftly exited through the open double doors and out into the relative cool and peace of the terrace just as the musicians struck up again.
He took her arm as they strolled around the side of the house, chatting comfortably and sipping the rather heady punch.
Once they were around the corner and out of earshot, they paused in their perambulation and Tobias asked, “Who was that terribly noisy man?”
Lucy giggled. “Oh, he’s a visiting cousin of our neighbours the Farrells. They are awfully proud of him when he’s at a safe distance. I think they are delighted to be out socialising to dilute him a little tonight. I was panicking that I’d be stuck with him all evening and I did so want to join in the dancing. It seems you have a habit of coming to my aid,” she said with so a sweet smile that almost made Tobias blush.
He felt the heat of her little hand on his arm and her wide eyes looking up at him were soft and full of warmth. As if by mutual assent and as though it was the most natural thing in the world, Tobias bent his head towards her and Lucy went on tiptoe in her silk dancing pumps and their lips met.
It was neither a totally chaste nor a completely carnal kiss, yet it left Tobias with a feeling of deep contentment as they stood there, leaning together, joined for several heartbeats. Eventually, there came a sound of approaching footfalls and conversation from the other side of the terrace and they parted discreetly but unhurriedly.
From the lights from the ballroom, he could see Lucy’s generous mouth was curved in a smile that must echo his own. He offered her his arm again and they ambled back towards the brightness and laughter of the party to re-join the fray.
The rest of the evening was a whirl of conversation, more dancing, plenty of punch, a delicious supper and the much-anticipated cake. The brief moment of closeness with Lucy was unthought-of until the next day when at home in his study.
Tobias had his books and papers spread haphazardly on the desk. He was trying to put together a sermon for the next day comparing the seasonal grain reaping to God’s gathering of souls in a way that would not put old Mr Hodges a-snoring in the second to front pew. It was only then that the significance of last night’s kiss came to Tobias’ mind and started to nag at him.
Now in the cold light of day, his conscience was pricked. As a Christian gentleman, what was the correct course of action? Had he taken advantage of dear Lucy? Would he have to make her an offer of marriage so that honour could be satisfied? He sighed and put down his pen and stared blindly at the open page of his dog-eared copy of Fordyce’s Addresses to Young Men.
This situation was entirely new to him. He had not been in a position to propose honourable marriage to most of the ladies he had carnally enjoyed, as their husbands might have reasonably raised an objection. And as for asking Meg to marry him? Well, he had a pride-denting suspicion that she would only go off into fits of hilarity at such a prospect.
Poor Lucy had been under enough pressure from her mama to find a suitable husband while still deeply grieving for her fallen fiance. Tobias neither wanted to add to that burden, nor to make her uncomfortable in his presence. He enjoyed her company and did not want to spoil their newly-found familiarity.
Anyway, he reasoned, when he had left the Holbournes' sometime after midnight, Lucy had bade him goodnight most amicably as if their friendship was completely unchanged. ‘Best leave it at that,’ he thought, and with grim determination brought his mind back to wrestling with suitable phrases to express the earthly and divine harvest.
Despite his best efforts, his sermon was not a success. This was not necessarily due to the content, he reassured himself, as even Mr Hodges stayed awake. However, his hard-of-hearing housekeeper and her almost equally deaf sister did not seem to think that his weekly address was reason enough to halt their comfortable gossip.
No one could help but notice their in-depth discussion about which public houses in the town watered down their beer the most. This subject was understandably more compelling to the majority of the congregation than any earnest reflections on earthly or divine harvests.
By the time he stood in the church porch as his parishioners departed and had listened to all their gripes and moans, Tobias was becoming a trifle weary. To compound the trials of the morning, he got collared by the churchwarden who, unlike the experience of Tobias’ sermon, was able to preach at him uninterrupted for some considerable length.
Tobias felt sure that this good man did not mean to patronise him, but his lecturing tone was rather that of a schoolmaster to an inept pupil than a church official to his spiritual leader. The final straw for Tobias was when the churchwarden flourished a two-page list, dictating who he thought Tobias should visit this coming week as a priority.
As vicar of St Margaret’s, Tobias knew he must please his patron and not disgrace the Canon, but giving precedence to the churchwarden’s cronies was a step too far. After all, the vicar did not exist to merely further that man’s social ambitions.
He took the proffered pages to keep the peace (which would be glanced at later and promptly forgotten) and finally wrested himself away with an excuse that the midday meal was waiting for him at the vicarage. Tobias gave the distinct impression that this was a hot meal that would spoil with further delay, rather than cold meat, cheese and bread that he would help himself to from the larder, as his housekeeper would dine at her sister’s on no doubt more appetising fare.
He walked through the churchyard, his head pounding as if he had spent an hour in an enclosed space with Captain Shouty. He let himself into the peaceful vicarage with some relief. Then his heart plummeted as he perceived his drawing-room door was open, indicating that someone had called while he was in church.
Pasting on a somewhat weary smile, he glanced into the room, expecting a parishioner in need, but no one was there. Puzzled, he entered the threshold and glancing around, his eye fell on a foreign object on his settle in the shape of a wonderfully over-decorated lady’s hat.
Miraculously, his headache vanished as his eyes swept from the room and up the staircase. His body followed his direction post-haste as he bounded up the stairs.
In his chamber was Meg, not only without her hat but any garments whatsoever. Tobias looked at her lovely form decorating his bedcover, her hand already idly stroking between her parted legs.
She grinned at him in welcome and said, “I thought I’d start without you,” opening her slender thighs further for his delectation as her busy fingers delved deeper. Tobias was momentarily entranced by such a vista, then recovering himself, he ripped off his clothes at top speed, joining his uninvited yet inviting guest on the bed.
Lying beside her, he watched as she teased herself, her prominent nub now beautifully engorged. In encouragement, he played with those tantalising guinea-sized nipples, which elicited a pleasing moan. Unable to stop himself, he kissed his way down her smooth belly to her soft mound and his tongue joined her fingers in a hectic tussle which led to a gasp and gratifying shudder.
He felt Meg’s hands grip his hips and gladly took her guiding lead as his body covered hers. It was his turn to moan as her warm, wet welcoming mouth engulfed his excited member.
He tried not to thrust too deeply as he continued to lick and suck in a way that sent Meg into a gratifying frenzy, pushing up hard and rhythmically against his mouth. He slid his hands under her firm buttocks to give her purchase as she rocked and pushed and rolled against him frantically. At this point, Tobias forgot about his manners and met her thrust for thrust, with the vibration in her throat of Meg’s squeal of joy tipping him entirely over the edge.
After a moment’s stillness, he hastily moved off her, and right way up, so she could breathe and they could kiss. This embrace was languorous at first but soon turned again to ardour. This time, once he was reinvigorated, Meg slid across his prone form and mounted him. The view of her naked body was beyond delectable. He revelled at the sight of her writhing on him, back arched, one hand busy between her thighs and the other tugging a taut teat, ruthlessly using him for her own greedy pleasure.
In mid-gasp, she opened her eyes, heavy-lidded with lust and uttered, “More.”
Realising it would be rude not to oblige such a fervent request, he grasped her slim waist and bucked for all he was worth until they both exploded together, with Meg’s climactic scream matched by Tobias’ enthusiastic roar of delight.
She sank back down on top of him as if boneless and he gladly held his comely armful who seemed to be settling down to sleep away what remained of Sunday afternoon with him. In his relaxed state, he reckoned that questions like, ‘Why are you here?’ and more importantly, ‘How long can you stay?’ could wait until later, as they both drifted off to dreamland.
Avriella
- 14.12.2020
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- Historical
