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Authors: Freda Lightfoot
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wedding night, she made absolutely certain that he had no opportunity for an untimely approach. Should he lightly kiss her cheek, tuck back a stray curl or put a comforting arm about her waist to draw her close, Kitty always managed to wriggle free and find something of great urgency to attend to elsewhere.
‘Don’t you worry Duchess,’ he would say, smiling fondly. ‘I can wait,’ and she could almost sense his mouth watering. If the whole thing took on a dreamlike quality, leaving her suffering from a strong sense of unreality, Kitty put this down to the speed of events.
She did not for a moment doubt that he was sincere.
The night before the wedding, Frank offered to take everyone out to the pub for a drink, except for Kitty of course who, as the bride, was expected to get an early night. In theory the outing was meant only for the men and even Archie was coerced into joining the party but she noticed that her mother considered herself included, without even being asked. In a way Kitty was thankful. Such residents as were left in the boarding house were female and content to remain in their own rooms. Kitty welcomed the prospect of time alone like a drowning man might gasp for air.
The moment they’d gone, on a swirl of finding hats and scarves and much ribald laughter, Kitty flew upstairs, two at a time, ran a deep hot bath and sank her cold, tense body into it. She lay back, telling herself that the moistness on her cheeks was caused by steam. Then dressed in her comfortable old check dressing gown, she sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her damp hair as she gazed at the familiar chimney-pots.
‘It’s the garden suburbs for me now,’ she told them. ‘Cooking my husband’s breakfast every morning, handing him his morning paper and his bowler hat; spending my days cleaning our lovely new house; tending the garden, going shopping and deciding what to cook for the evening meal. After which we’ll play backgammon or chess. No more smog, smoke or grit, so do your worst, chimneys. It won’t bother me.’ At which point she burst into tears.
A long time later, worn out by worry and exhaustion, she slept.
It must have been well past midnight when Kitty woke, wondering what, exactly, had disturbed her. It was usually quiet here, in the top part of the house, where she was rarely bothered by the comings and goings of guests. Then she heard the bed springs creak next door and the sound of muffled laughter. Of course. Clara, back home and up to her old tricks. Her animal-like grunts and groans increased in volume, as they so often did when she was the worse for drink.
Kitty considered slipping down to the kitchen to get herself a cup of cocoa until it was all over. She’d always hated the thinness of these walls. Before she was half way out of bed however, she heard her mother cry out in her ecstasy the name of her lover. Kitty froze, and in that moment realised that her engagement was at an end.
Chapter Five
In the two years since she married, Charlotte had come to understand how very easy it was to make a mistake, and how difficult to right it. She smiled at the enchantingly handsome young man so comfortably ensconced in her bed and permitted the satin dressing gown to slip an enticing inch further down her shoulder, revealing the pale orbs of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach and the promise of secrets that lay below. She could almost feel his eyes roving hungrily over her body, see his tongue licking lips gone suddenly dry, as if desperate to slake his thirst.
‘Have you cooled the wine?’ Charlotte asked, her voice sweetly matter of fact.
‘It’s ready poured.’ He was almost drooling, his breath coming short and ragged.
‘And my husband sleeps like a baby.’ She slid a finger tip into his mouth and felt him nip it gently, his tongue flicker urgently against the pad of it. Ever tantalising, she moved swiftly away. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to check.’
‘Lottie, don’t leave
‘Don’t you worry Duchess,’ he would say, smiling fondly. ‘I can wait,’ and she could almost sense his mouth watering. If the whole thing took on a dreamlike quality, leaving her suffering from a strong sense of unreality, Kitty put this down to the speed of events.
She did not for a moment doubt that he was sincere.
The night before the wedding, Frank offered to take everyone out to the pub for a drink, except for Kitty of course who, as the bride, was expected to get an early night. In theory the outing was meant only for the men and even Archie was coerced into joining the party but she noticed that her mother considered herself included, without even being asked. In a way Kitty was thankful. Such residents as were left in the boarding house were female and content to remain in their own rooms. Kitty welcomed the prospect of time alone like a drowning man might gasp for air.
The moment they’d gone, on a swirl of finding hats and scarves and much ribald laughter, Kitty flew upstairs, two at a time, ran a deep hot bath and sank her cold, tense body into it. She lay back, telling herself that the moistness on her cheeks was caused by steam. Then dressed in her comfortable old check dressing gown, she sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her damp hair as she gazed at the familiar chimney-pots.
‘It’s the garden suburbs for me now,’ she told them. ‘Cooking my husband’s breakfast every morning, handing him his morning paper and his bowler hat; spending my days cleaning our lovely new house; tending the garden, going shopping and deciding what to cook for the evening meal. After which we’ll play backgammon or chess. No more smog, smoke or grit, so do your worst, chimneys. It won’t bother me.’ At which point she burst into tears.
A long time later, worn out by worry and exhaustion, she slept.
It must have been well past midnight when Kitty woke, wondering what, exactly, had disturbed her. It was usually quiet here, in the top part of the house, where she was rarely bothered by the comings and goings of guests. Then she heard the bed springs creak next door and the sound of muffled laughter. Of course. Clara, back home and up to her old tricks. Her animal-like grunts and groans increased in volume, as they so often did when she was the worse for drink.
Kitty considered slipping down to the kitchen to get herself a cup of cocoa until it was all over. She’d always hated the thinness of these walls. Before she was half way out of bed however, she heard her mother cry out in her ecstasy the name of her lover. Kitty froze, and in that moment realised that her engagement was at an end.
Chapter Five
In the two years since she married, Charlotte had come to understand how very easy it was to make a mistake, and how difficult to right it. She smiled at the enchantingly handsome young man so comfortably ensconced in her bed and permitted the satin dressing gown to slip an enticing inch further down her shoulder, revealing the pale orbs of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach and the promise of secrets that lay below. She could almost feel his eyes roving hungrily over her body, see his tongue licking lips gone suddenly dry, as if desperate to slake his thirst.
‘Have you cooled the wine?’ Charlotte asked, her voice sweetly matter of fact.
‘It’s ready poured.’ He was almost drooling, his breath coming short and ragged.
‘And my husband sleeps like a baby.’ She slid a finger tip into his mouth and felt him nip it gently, his tongue flicker urgently against the pad of it. Ever tantalising, she moved swiftly away. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to check.’
‘Lottie, don’t leave
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