The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton (8 page)

‘I…’ William began. ‘I had not thought…’

William’s uncertainty offered me a level of strength I had not expected. ‘Of course you hadn’t. You thought to accuse your wife, and mother of your children, of adultery on the word of one
Farrier?’

‘No…I…’

Angry as I was, I could not stand to look upon William’s face a moment more. ‘Go to London, William. Go to your whores, and leave me in peace!’ I turned to retreat to my rooms.

I heard William move swiftly up the stairwell. ‘Ceecee! You cannot order me to go to London like some witless lackey! I am your husband and Lord of Stanton.’

‘So you are,’ I commented my face as stone. ‘Behave like him.’

My throat felt strangled, tight and my heart ached. My confinement malaise churned in my body as I stumbled to my rooms, swinging the door closed.

Thursday 29
^th
July 1813

William did not leave for London as I had expected, which I had thought would bring me great pleasure. Alas, our home was far from the picture of familial bliss with his prolonged presence.

True to William’s word, Brentwood the Farrier had said no more on the matter of my unnatural behaviours, but suspicion lingered. William watched me like the proverbial hawk.

Despite my disappointment in Bess, she offered comfort and solace. Ironically perhaps, she was the only individual upon whom William did not view with suspicion. He was like a caged hound, pacing around the Hall and grounds.

I knew with certainty the situation between us was dangerously unstable and I could but wonder how long it would be until one of us broke.

On the 24
^th
of July 1813, our strange and unhappy situation began to unravel. It was supposed to be an auspicious day, and perhaps in many ways it was. The day heralded my husband’s birthday. He had organised a garden party to celebrate. A gesture, I believe he hoped would settle some of the vilest of rumours that abounded in the county – though I suspect it may have inflamed them for I was now heavy with child.

I walked slowly down the second landing, pausing to admire the fine portrait I’d had commissioned of my four children and I. Staring at myself in oil, I saw a false smile stretched on my lips, and how the Scottish artist had captured the wariness in my gaze. Had William even noticed it?

I sighed and slipped into the upstairs drawing room, passing the Grecian couch and staring out the window. The crowds had gathered in the garden, white marquees and uniformed servants waited on guests offering refreshment. I could see Lord and Lady Bexley arrive. I knew Lord Bexley by his rigid manner. His new wife clung to his side. Such an insipid, slip of a girl she was. I looked over near the table where an abundance of refreshments were laid out, and saw Lady Fielding walking with her husband and his cousin. It would have been nice to speak with her – it had been months since I’d last visited at Fielding Place. For a moment I wished I could be there amongst the guests. The women wore pale, near-transparent gowns, and men strutted about in tight breeches. Parties are fascinating to observe and I felt more than a twinge of jealousy that in my state I could not attend.

The weather was obscenely warm, and despite the open window, I felt uncomfortable. I sank down on the window seat and heard Bess sweep up behind me and wrap her arms around me. We stayed like that some time and watched the social scene play before us.

‘Does it bother you, Ceecee, that you cannot attend?’

I looked at her, and she laid a loving hand upon my distended belly. ‘In a manner, I suppose, but I would not be seen in society bloated as this,’ I replied with a laugh.

Bess’s face grew serious and I reached up and gripped her chin to pull her to my lips. ‘Stay your frowns, sweet Bess,’ I said and kissed her.

‘How was Lord Stanton last evening?’ she asked when I finally released her.

‘He did not come to my rooms, as you well know.’ I winked at her. ‘For it was you who eased my nerves and gave me sleep.’ I looked out the window again, trying to spot William amongst the guests. ‘William is as he is ever,’ I replied. ‘At dinner, he tried to make light of our difficulties but a seed of doubt has remained, I know he does not trust me.’

I heard Bess’s regret in her deep exhalation. ‘It is my fault.’

I reached turned, and kissed her again, milking the sweetness of her mouth and relishing the moment. ‘It matters not now. I can just be thankful he has not returned to the whores of London – a small benefit from an otherwise deplorable situation.’

Bess’s face hardened then and she looked away.

‘Bess?’

She turned to face me again and I could see the anger quite plain in her eyes. ‘Do not make me say it, Ceecee.’

I knew.
I knew then, as I had known it earlier, but refused to accept. ‘He’s finding his release here, isn’t he? In the county or the village?’ I asked.

Bess’s face remained guarded and I watched as her lips parted. ‘Closer than that, milady.’

‘In Stanton?’

She nodded.

I felt tears burn in my eyes. ‘I suspected, alas…I…’

‘I am sorry.’

I turned angry then. ‘Quit your incessant apologies, Bess Miller.’

Bess looked startled, and I immediately regretted my cold words. ‘Please, just leave me for a moment.’

Bess nodded and withdrew immediately. I sank further into the window seat and drew the curtains around me for privacy. William had suggested that our friends and acquaintances might find it rude that we held a party so late in my confinement, but I had assured him that I did not care. I wanted him to celebrate his birthday. I had wanted him to see that I very much appreciated the fact that he had not absconded to London to whore and gamble.

What a fool I was. He’d been whoring in our own home.

My husband was being faithless under the same roof our four children lived, behind the backs of our own staff.

What a witless fool they must all think me.

A few tears fell then, and I tried to reassure myself once more that I too was indulging in impropriety under the same roof as my children. But this self-confession did not hold the same weight, nor did it cause distress.

I heard the door creak, then, but hidden behind the curtains, I knew I would not be discovered weeping for my philandering husband nor trying to justify my own infidelity. Whoever it was would leave shortly, I was certain.

That was, until I heard a giggle.

‘I’m feeling extraordinarily goatish today,’ I heard my husband chortle.

What was he doing away from his party?
My heart thumped wildly and confusion whirled through my mind sending my thoughts into disarray.

I heard an amused feminine giggle.

Something heated in my belly, and it had naught to do with the babe. Was my husband about to rut someone in our own upstairs drawing room? I heard more mutters and subdued laughter.

Something changed in me then. Absurd as it was, the notion of my husband rutting someone else did not seem quite so distressing as intriguing. I wanted to see him, I realised dimly. I wanted to see his face contort with passion. I wanted to see his cock spear another, whilst I hid, and watched.

I realised then that Brentwood’s assumption of me might indeed be correct. I was not only wickedly afflicted by unnatural desires for another woman, but I am also a depraved voyeur.

‘Bend over that lounge there, girl,’ William ordered and I could hear the amusement ring in his voice. ‘Ah. Yes. A man likes to see a round rump in the air like that. He does.’

My innards convulsed with excitement and inwardly I tried to chastise myself for such wickedness. But I have never been good at self-castigation. No, I have ever been one of a decidedly practical mind. It is true that most in my situation would have been repulsed, vexed and otherwise made unfairly miserable by what was occurring. Not I, however, and I say this with some pride. If anything it shows a strength of character and resilience. Though I shall refuse to be ashamed of my alleged unusual desires, they are not something I’d like to be made public knowledge!

‘Milord,’ came the unmistakeable voice of Nancy, my wet nurse. ‘Someone might find us…’

‘So?’ I heard William retort. ‘I’m a man of substantial appetites, girl. God above, it’s been nigh on six months since I’ve had my own wife! Why I’m as toey as a Roman sandal! I care naught for discovery. But would that I could have Ceecee where you are right now, girl. I’d paddle her arse pink for looking at me as she does. All accusations and hurt. If she only knew how much I wanted her.’

If only he knew how much I wanted him.

Nancy giggled. ‘But you got me here instead, milord. You can paddle my rump raw if you like.’

Her voice irked me, and I wished for a moment that I could smack the ungrateful wretch.

Astonishingly perhaps, came the distinct sound of a smack of hand on flesh.

‘You’ve been a naughty girl, Nancy!’ William growled, passion made his voice thick.

The slapping of skin sung out through the room once more.

I found my skirts being moistened by intense arousal. I wished I were the one smacking her flesh.

‘My lord!’ Nancy gave a cry.

The sound of a hand hitting flesh echoed again.

My thighs grew slick. I again attempted to inwardly chastise myself for feeling such rude excitement, but instantly failed and found my hand swiftly and silently lifting my own skirts to find my wet heat. As my fingers sought my secret, dewy inner lips, I silently thanked Bess for her artful tutelage.

‘You know what happens when my maids break something, don’t you, Nancy?’ I heard William growl. ‘Do you, Nancy?’ he repeated.

‘Yes.’ Her answer was quiet.

I wanted to see beyond the curtains then. I wanted to witness with mine own eyes my husband’s amorous reprimand of our recalcitrant wet nurse. I wondered briefly what she had broken, but my wonder faded into lustful dreaming as my husband growled again.

‘What do I do to naughty maids who break things? What do I do, Nancy?’

My fingers danced over the rigid nub betwixt my legs and I shuddered.

‘You spank them my, lord.’ The servant’s voice was tremulous.

Another high-pitched slap rang through the room. On this occasion however, Nancy moaned and the sound echoed the pure longing I felt myself.

‘You want my cock in you too, Nancy?’

I could scarce even hear Nancy’s muffled, pleasure soaked answer.

My fingers moved quicker and in repeated fashion across the slickened folds of my sex. Desperate now, I leaned forward to try and peer between the curtains.

‘Naughty Nancy!’ William laughed and gave the wet nurse’s buttocks a firm crack with his hand.

Through the thin gap, I struggled to maintain focus. Nancy was bent rudely over the arm of our Grecian couch. Her head was buried in the cushions, her hair dishevelled. It was however my husband that held my attention. He loomed tall behind the wet nurse. His face a mask of passion as his hand stroked his hardened staff beneath the cloth of his breeches. He gazed down at the wet nurse.

‘I’m beginning to think you’re breaking things on purpose, Nancy.’

‘No, milord! Honest I’m not,’ Nancy’s voice was breathless with excitement, and I found my own hand working again feverishly between my legs. The babe kicked restlessly in my belly as it tightened with pleasure.

I watched as my husband’s hand stroked Nancy’s buttocks. My gaze devoured William – he looked so strong, so powerful. He was plainly readying himself to master our wet nurse, and there I was, hidden and dry-mouthed with expectation as he did.

Nancy groaned with the same longing that burned in my sex.

‘Rarely do I ever see a cunt as wet as yours.’ William paused, his eyes wicked. I watched breathless, as he brought the finger to his lips. ‘And you do taste so sweet.’

Jealousy stabbed me then, and though my hand still worked at the slick, hungry mouth between my legs, I felt a slight pang of sadness.

‘But not quite as sweet as my Ceecee,’ he murmured so softly, I could barely make out the words.

Passion ignited again as my crazed mind registered his words and I slipped two fingers into my sex. My body shuddered around them.

‘You like this cock, don’t you girl?’ William’s voice came again.

I love that cock.
I realised then and thrust my fingers into myself once more.

‘Yes,’ Nancy simpered.

I was close to finding my release. I thrust my fingers again, and alternately stroked my nub.

Through the gap in the curtains I saw William’s rigid staff swell behind Nancy.

He chuckled then, and gripped his staff knocking and rubbing it crudely across Nancy’s rear.

Nancy giggled again, and I found myself willing William to mount her. I wanted to see my strong, lusty husband in full rut.

The urge to laugh rushed through me, imagining the terrible things people would think of me if ever they knew what I thought and desired.

For a moment I nearly lost my awkward seating as William struck Nancy’s rump again and ground his staff into her.

‘Oh, Nancy,’ he grunted.

‘Oh please, not there, milord,’ she cried softly.

My excitement increased, wicked though it undoubtedly was. Would my husband sodomise her? He had done so with me on several occasions and though I denied it when he had asked if I had enjoyed it, I can admit here that I liked it very well indeed.

Nancy was not so taken with the forbidden act, however. She shook her head.

‘Do you want my cock in your cunt then, Nancy?’ My husband grunted and slapped her flesh once more.

‘Oh yes!’

Then my husband thrust forward cruelly, impaling the wet nurse. She cried out, so loudly, I was near startled.

Then I watched, as my hand worked tirelessly at my sex, William thrust and rut with Nancy.

I think I began to lose my mind. As the sound of William’s flesh beat against the wet nurse, my womanhood began to clench around my penetrating fingers.

Heat coiled in my swollen abdomen. I thrust harder, matching the rhythm of my husband as he beat against Nancy.

I tore my eye from the crack in the curtains as my passion mounted. I could hear the sounds of my husband relishing the wet nurse as my body clenched around my fingers and pleasure erupted over me with such force I nearly cried out.