“I have you, Maribel, take your pleasure,” he cried as he joined her in release, pulling out and spending on her back.
Maribel felt at ease in Thomas’s arms, but sleep eluded her. The aftermath of their passion was still humming in her veins. Turning to face him, she propped herself up on one arm, using the other to stroke that devilish grey streak.
“Thomas, are you still awake?”
“I am, Maribel, is something wrong?”
“I have been yearning to run my fingers through these grey strands.”
“Is this why you woke me, to tell me I am an old man?” He asked in amusement.
“No, no, I am just reflecting on how content I feel. Though yes you are an old man,” she teased.
“As do I. Between that unexpected release and all the port, I feel depleted and very relaxed. Could also be my age you minx.”
“Why did you think I would not be waiting for you?”
“Because of my behaviour and your obvious annoyance. You do not have a subtle disposition, my sweet.”
“Why, yes, I was annoyed at your silliness, but not enough to want to spend a night away from you. And it was kind of endearing, seeing you jealous. It had not occurred to me that you would prone to such an emotion.”
“Usually I am not, but you are bringing out all kinds of new things in me, Miss Lewisham. Which Marcus was happy to point out,” he added drily.
“Well, while I am not sure what this is between us, I do know we have plenty of time to understand it all. For now, I am simply content to fall asleep in your arms.”
Thomas decided he would be guided by her. He had assumed she would be pressing him for clarity on the definition of their relationship, but if she was content to just enjoy the moments, so was he. They had plenty of time to discuss the future. And he could use this time to decide how he would navigate defying societal boundaries. Maribel was no commoner, but she still lacked any ties to the peerage. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he closed his eyes and pushed away the thoughts. They had plenty of time to discuss the future. The word future evoked many pleasing thoughts. Maribel, his duchess. Mother to Clara. Belly rounded with their own baby.
“All in good time, my love,” he whispered, comforted by her sweet breath.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Weeks later
Lovely sunlight beamed across the gardens, creating an idyllic setting for reading. Except Maribel was unable to focus on her book, for her thoughts could not be distracted from the unprecedented turn her life had taken. In the weeks since that first night of passion with Thomas, not a day had passed where they had not fallen asleep replete in one another’s arms. By day, she went about her duty as governess, and by night, she and Thomas were ensconced in their own world—where they talked about everything except the future. As naive as Maribel knew she was being, she had refused to stray down that path. She knew what waited at the end of the trail. It was reality. A reality where she and a duke did not find a happily ever after. So, for now, ignorance was where she remained in bliss.
It had been an unusually quiet day where Maribel was able to relax in solitude. Clara was free to do as she pleased, Thomas had gone riding with Marcus, who was visiting, and she was lounging in a moment where she could simply be. Putting down her book, the works of John Donne, she stretched and moved her neck from side to side, hearing a satisfying crackle. Her stomach, not to be outdone, let out an audible grumble, demanding sustenance. Maribel set off for the kitchens, pulled by the freshly baked breads and pies she had smelled on her way to the gardens earlier. To enter the kitchens from outdoors, she needed to pass the laundry, and as she approached, she heard the chatter of young women. Maribel recognised the voices as Mary and Lucy, the scullery maids, and was about to announce herself when her name was mentioned. She took a step back and crouched behind a pile of chopped firewood outside the door.
“…if I had known His Grace was after a bed mate, I would have volunteered gladly.”
“Aye, Maribel finds herself in luck, governess to whore. I would happily go from maid to whore. I am sick and tired of scrubbing the linens. My nails are worn down to ugly stubs!”
“Who is to say you would not still have to work? Maribel still carries out her governess duties?”
“I had not thought of that–she must enjoy her time with Lady Clara. The little brat has become much easier to manage.”
“Maybe her thanks from His Grace was his taking her to bed.” Lucy giggled and Maribel’s face flamed.
“And she walks around all innocent, thinking she and His Grace are the only ones who know, when we all know what is taking place!”
“Aye, for a chit who Is meant to be a clever governess, she is certainly daft when it comes to being a canary bird.”
“Surely she realises it’s just a tup?”
“We will never know unless we ask, and I will do such thing. I will just wait till His Grace’s eyes start to roam for something new.”
The two women broke out in a twitter as Maribel broke out in a cold sweat. Humiliation rose from the depths of her stomach, and she placed her hand over her mouth, lest bilious shame spew forth. Hunger was now the furthest thing from her mind, so she scurried away as quickly and quietly as she could. The need for a haven from people who were laughing behind her back was the only need that mattered. Entering the manor, she dashed to her room and closed the door with a thump. Her heart raced, and the sick feeling had not abated as her mind whirled and repeated what she had heard.
I am naught but a fool, the greatest fool to ever live!
