Down the Rabbit Hole

The boathouse was not meant for boats at all but was designed for seduction. Never had it been more clear than the day they had raced there to escape from a storm. The weather had threatened all day, but the rain had held off until they were just far enough from the main house to make the little one-room boathouse a safer place in a storm.

“Even nature is on our side,” Alice had whispered between kisses that convinced them that they needed to lie on the lounge to fully enjoy them. Their bodies pressed together in imitation of their lips.

It seemed as natural as the rain to undress each other in between kisses. Eventually the urgency of their caresses compelled them to rush removing the last bits of clothing. They paused for no more than a breath and came together in a heated coupling that had him forgetting she was a virgin.

Apparently she forgot too, as she made no sound of pain but rather surrendered to him with a moan of pleasure that escalated to a crying gasp as she crushed him to her and welcomed his seed.

There was never a moment of regret, for either of them. In a few weeks they learned there was no need to marry, which he regretted, though Alice swore that would never have been an option.

It was the beginning of the end for them. The first argument that could not be resolved. He could not recall the exact words, but could still recount them closely enough for it to act like cold water on his lust. “You would rather have a bastard child than marry me?”

“Not really. An ill-born child does not have an easy life if they wish any entrée to society, even country society.”

“Then why?”

“I will not ruin your place among the ton, and in Parliament where you have such great responsibilities, by leg-shackling you to someone so far beneath you, the daughter of a divorced couple.”

“That is not a burden you should have to bear.”

“This is an absurd argument, my lord. I am not carrying your child, so it is a moot point.”

Absurd it might have been, but on it went until it became clear that neither one of them would give their ground.

So that hour in the boathouse was the one and only time they had made love. No, neither of them regretted the act, but it had brought too dangerous a subject to the fore, and had crushed his hopes of marrying her. It was better to avoid the action.

In the end the frustration of love unfulfilled had made living near each other too much to bear. He had gone off to London and she had left for Yorkshire and her first position preparing young ladies for their come out.

Now they were beside each other, but miles apart in all that mattered.

As he had the thought she turned toward him, her eyes open but still half asleep. “I did not mean to sleep in your bed.” She made to rise but he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing will happen that you do not want.” He meant that even as he wished that she would want what he did. “I do suspect the brandy left you confused.”

“Never say that word to me again. Brandy.” She shuddered and closed her eyes as he watched her. “I may have been confused before, but now I feel fine. Even the headache is gone.”

“Lucky you, Alice. That is not the norm.”

She gave him a look that said her episode in the bathroom had been punishment enough.

“Can you guess how many times I have wished for this, Wes?”

Now there was a change of subject, but he was not sure the subject was a wise choice.

“Us in bed together? I imagine that I have wished for it at least as many times as you have.” He would wait for her to decide how much more it would be than lying side by side.

She raised her head and, oddly, kissed his shoulder. Then she moved away and turned her attention to the ceiling.

“They no longer have bed curtains,” she said, changing the subject.

“No, the rooms are warm enough that they do not even need a fire, either,” he said, following her lead.

“Without curtains, sleeping feels so much more public to me.”

“This from a woman who made love in a boathouse.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“I am not talking about making love!” she snapped.

“It’s all I can think about.”

“You know, Weston, you know,” she repeated the words with emphasis, “from our one experience that making love makes our world even more complicated.”

Yes, it did. Making love satisfied him, them, physically, but to be satisfied emotionally was something else entirely.

“Only because we allow it to complicate.”

“Perhaps for a man the act is simpler. For a woman it means a kind of commitment. At least for this woman it does.”

“Then make the commitment, Alice. Say you will marry me. That one yes will be as binding to me as any said before a vicar in a church.”