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The Baronet Seeks A Wife Chapter Three

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Fic Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Chapter One//Chapter Two

Chapter Summary: You marry the Baronet, with only a few small problems here and there

Word Count: 5992 (I had to research actual menus in the Victorian Era for weddings, so help yourself to some ham and veal pie as you read, because we're gonna be here a while)

Chapter Warnings: Discussions of sex and anxiety around it, general wedding anxiety. Your Dad Tempts fate. Sometimes hints at Period Accurate Gender Roles, especially when it's kind of...hot. Oh and...

Speaking of which, there is smut in this chapter. (P in V sex, loss of virginity). this is NSFW!!!! Only eighteen years plus can reblog this! It starts with Make love with your wife,” you voiced and ends with "Both of you dropped into the bed, panting hard".

A/N:*old Rose voice* it's been 84 years... Hi guys, sorry for my absence. But i am in Grad school, and while I do become busy, I get hit with writer's Block and still have it to some degree (writing the first draft of this was rough, and it took literally months! I had no idea where to go with this story!). Plus, in a life update, I found out I have Bipolar Disorder (it runs on both sides of my family) and went manic in January, and it was terrifying and traumatic, and I almost died, and I had to be hospitalized. It's been almost six months since it happened, and I have been on medication that works for me and I'm doing everything in my power to prevent another episode and be ready for one and take care of my mental health, even though the idea of going manic again terrifies me to my core (from March to April I was having anxiety attacks about it almost every day). It feels like waiting for a bomb to drop every day. So, I thought writing would help with the healing process of such a thing happening to me, a creative outlet, and getting back into hobbies and all that, instead of letting my anxiety over going manic consume me and keep me from things I enjoy or living a fulfilling life. It's been a long time coming, so I thought this would be the right one for me to use to get back into writing fics again, since it's the most requested one. I hope you enjoy it! Also, since the third season of The Gilded Age is coming out as of now, I am now realizing this sort of thing happened in America in history and that Gladys is going through the same thing as in this fic. Though...as of now, I doubt it's going to go in the direction this fic is with Gladys and The Duke. But...we'll see!

If I miss something and you see something in my work that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and warnings so affected parties are protected.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5

@muddyorbsblr (shout out to you, bestie, for your suggestions! They helped!!!) @goddessgirl43

The Baronet Seeks A Wife Taglist: @stainlessciel @mjsthrillernp @thegodofnotknowing @magicalmichelle96 @princessdragon23 @heavyymetalchick @xalphafox (if anyone wants to join a general taglist of my work or just be on this specific one, let me know!)

Wednesdays were the best day to get married, so Betsy told you.

“Indeed, miss, you are right lucky that it is on Wednesday that it’s taking place!” she would comment as she delivered a tea tray to your room. All this was said on a Wednesday, only a week until your life would change forever.

Your mother rushed into your room, right as you were putting your feet up.

“Ah! Y/N! Good, you are here! I have a selection of ribbons you must consider!” she babbled.

You didn’t imagine the day of the wedding would arrive so fast. Yet it did. The storms of the planning- it all made your head swim. You had to remind your mother that it was your wedding, not hers! She wanted details down to the last flower to be shown to you. And to give her opinion on it to boot. The number of times you said “no, mama” was countless- “No, mama, I would like the roses in this shade”-“No, mama, those gloves won’t do.”

This time, you looked at the selection and prepared with a deep sigh.

“No, mama- I would like that one,” you pointed to the ribbon with your favorite color on it.

You could see her lips twitch, ready to give a rebuttal. But you cut in.

“Look at it, it’s lovely. I think it would make me very happy,” you added.

She took a look at the ribbon again. Holding it up to the golden light of the sun pouring into your room.

“Yes…It is lovely after all,” she managed to agree.

All of this back and forth. It seemed you would be on the verge of fighting. And it got close, but mercifully, there was none.

“Now…Y/N…I think we need to talk…” she said.

The ribbons were put away, and the maid dismissed. She sat down next to you. You knew immediately where this would go.

“Mama…Lottie told me a lot,” you assured her.

“Well…I must warn you that, yes, a husband expects his wife to lie with him. And your husband will be no different. But…a good husband won’t scare his wife. He will be patient. Lead her in. Gentle as a fawn.”

“Mama, I…I have a question. And Lottie isn’t here to answer it,” you began. Your teacup was set down.

“Yes, ask away,” she replied. There was a slight heaviness in the air at the mention of your sister being gone. But it had to be ignored for the business of the marital bed.

“Will-will it hurt?”

She poured her cup of tea, but left it on its saucer.

“It does when it first happens. Sometimes there is a little blood, but easily cleaned up. And sometimes you have a little stomach ache, but it goes away.”

Blood and stomach aches. Delightful.

You let out an exhale.

“So it is painful for the woman, but pleasurable for the man,” you summarized.

Your mother’s fingers curled into her hands and then released.

“Well, to some extent. But…Thomas seems to be a gentleman of decency. I do not know what he is like in such private matters, and it is not my business,” she said, a slight, shameful look on her brow.

She reached for your hand.

“But…it is good advice for husbands not to scare their wives by being too excited too soon. I hope Thomas does that as much. It might seem…much. But he will not jump onto you the minute you are alone- he cannot, he should not!”

“I know, mama,” you cooed.

“Why, if he tries anything, oh, I’ll box his ears off if he’s lucky!” she threatened.

You let out a laugh. It was the first time you had done so in a while.

“Why, Mama!”

“Yes, I would! But…should you ever need it, we are here, Y/N. Marriage can seem daunting…but I’ve done it for years. I’ll be glad to help you. As will your father.”

Moved, you opened your arms and embraced you. She hugged you back, accepting each other’s warmth and softness. Though you held on. For just a little bit, you could be a child again. One who could run to Mama if anything bad happened. Nothing a little hug and kiss wouldn’t fix. Not even the brink of wedding and bedding a baronet.

“Oh, your tea will get cold! Don’t forget it!” she reminded you.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

On the eve of the wedding, there was a small party. You, your parents, a few businessmen of your father's, and, of course, Thomas. Ever as smart in his suit.

One businessman looked at Thomas, puffing his thick cigar. The smoke curled into the air and melted. Yet the smell remained, warm and pungent.

“So, Thomas, it is a shame the late Baronet Sharpe is not here to see this!” he said.

Thomas blinked and then bowed his head. You had frozen, your drink untouched in your hand, still as if it were an ice pond.

You recalled his words, “My father- He was…an intimidating man. He wanted me to be like him.” You knew too well that any reminder to Thomas of his past would send him into this state. And of all the times to bring it up, it was now?

You took a step forward, curling your arm into Thomas’s. He, too, had hesitated. But now that you were beside him, he began his polite, dry response.

“Yes, sir, indeed it is most unfortunate.”

“Would he have approved of the choice?” the businessman continued.

You ground your teeth beneath your mouth. And Thomas felt tense. Why, this man didn’t know or suspect a thing. And he was pressing on! Thomas turned to look at you. You looked at him. What sort of question was this? The night before the wedding, too! What did this man think- that a dead man would rise from the grave and stop it? Did he honestly expect Thomas to say “oh, no, not at all, Y/N would be most unsuitable to him” right in front of you?

You squeezed your fiancé’s arm.

“Why…why yes, yes he would,” Thomas replied.

But Thomas seemed somewhat pale. Then he exhaled and took another small sip of his champagne.

You blinked. You were not used to seeing him unsteady. Thomas was calm, cool, and a confident man who made a striking figure in a top hat. Yet now he was faltering.

You turned to him. Your voice was a whisper.

“He didn’t know. But he shouldn’t have asked that,” you said.

“I don’t mind it,” replied the Baronet.

From a distance, your father and mother were laughing at the businessman’s insipid jokes.

“Thomas, you look like your nerves are on edge.”

“You know I…I have difficulty discussing my family. But this won’t be the last of these questions. What is another one?” he asked.

“Thomas…would…would your family have approved of the match? Be honest with me,” you said.

Your stomach clenched, ready for the answer. Yet it took a point you had forgotten.

“They would have approved it based on your family’s status and money.”

You leaned forward.

“And of me? Personally?”

But Lucille disliked everyone who wasn’t me. Mother would have just wanted me out of the house. Father…Father would not say I was enough of a man for you.”

Both of you walked over to the fireplace. He patted the part of the couch next to him, and you joined him. Grateful to have a more private conversation amid the armies of relatives who would be there.

Thomas folded his hands and looked at you.

“Y/N, you deserve to know the truth. Everything faltered when my father passed, as did his assets.”

You were not naive. He agreed to this arrangement for the financial benefits. Your family needed a foothold in society. Yet there was something about Thomas saying it out loud. It stung.

Thomas noted the look on your face.

“Now, I know I am not a man who lives a life as comfortable as you, but…”

He took your hand and then placed his other one over it. It felt warm on your gloves. His hands were the softest you had felt.

“You won’t go hungry. I will do everything I can to make sure of it,” he promised.

“ What will I eat then?” you prodded. In the mood to lighten the mood and tease him.

“Hm, I am not sure…I was never a cook,” he added.

“Neither am I. We are at Mrs. Dalloway’s mercy,” you replied with an assuring smile.

After the honeymoon, you would move into Thomas’s place. There would be a few servants from your dowry. You both agreed to hire a woman named Mrs Dalloway as a cook. Her constant frown, frazzled hair, and round, red face. Her small eyes disapproved of everything they saw. But she made some fantastic raspberry scones.

“Do not upset her, Thomas. Or else you’ll get sugar in place of salt!” you added.

The grandfather clock struck the hour of nine o'clock. The appointed hour crept slowly but surely.

“How…how do you feel about tomorrow?” he asked.

You looked down at your hands. You knew the answer to every aunt, fellow debutante, and employee of Father’s was “thrilled. But the solitude allowed you to be earnest.

“I’m…I’m scared,” you confessed.

“Scared?” Thomas asked. Though there remained a small smile on his face. Not in mockery, but in kind assurance.

You nodded.

“My…my life is changing. I’m going to be a wife. And I’m going to be your wife. I’m living somewhere completely different. I…I don’t even know where to begin. It’s all happening so fast that I cannot help but feel overwhelmed.”

And I’m scared about the wedding night. You thought. The words were phantoms floating in the air. About the pain. About the awkwardness. About the blood. About not being ready, and if you…

You fought back the urge to say anything. It would be the least proper conversation to have in such a public space.

“I…I’m frightened too,” he replied.

“You are?”

Thomas’s eyes lowered.

“What are we getting ourselves into? I know you didn’t wish to be trapped with me. A man who makes somewhat of a living, a man of only so much, marrying you after…I’m a toymaker, Y/N, I’m no great lord.”

You stepped forward. This time it was your free hand that came over his.

“You are great… in your way. And Thomas, one day you’ll see it.”

Thomas smiled.

“Of course.”

It was time for the guests to leave. Including the groom. Thomas put on his top hat and his coat, though he tipped it for you. He wished his goodbyes to your parents. Then, when it came to you, he lowered himself, kissing your hand as if you were royalty.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

Your voice left you for a second.

“Goodnight, Thomas.”

He raised himself.

“The next time I see you, we’ll be at the altar. Ready or not.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The morning arrived. And you missed your sister. Charlotte. Yes…Charlotte. You always imagined Charlotte would be there at your wedding. Part of the party as a maid of honor. How she would complain of the finery, but laugh and indulge in cake. Say little things to make you chuckle to relax. Fuss over your appearance. Perhaps get into trouble. But…she wasn’t. Perhaps you would never see her again.

She should have been here today. On your wedding.

You knew the wedding served a function. It was another outing for the debutantes to go out to. Yes, some might envy your position. But they weren’t without hope. Another guest or connection would leave them to their prospective grooms. But that was their future. This was your present.

You got up early. The early morning sunshine filtered through as light as a feather. Looking about, you saw the packed things. Your heart was pounding as the maids went into your room. Some gathered your things and left. Anne was there to make sure your hair was done up. How glamorous it felt to be a bride. It was like preparing for a part in a play, complete with a set and lines to know.

Your hands shook. Your heart pounded as you sat down for a light repast. Your stomach was constantly churning, but you made yourself have some bites of fruit and toast.

Your mother went to the door and walked in. She stood in the corner smiling. Sometimes giving an odd comment to a maid. You couldn’t even speak.

They dressed you out of your nightgown and robe. Then into a fresh shift. Your wedding corset with a special lace for today. Stockings. Anne helped your pads and petticoats. She laced the front of your corset cover

Finally, out of its place in the closet came the dress. An elegant concoction of the usual fashionable style. After all, don’t little girls dream of a wedding day with such a gown? It was ivory with silk taffeta over the bust and puffed-up sleeves. But the puffs of taffeta were more oval than circular. And what was most striking was the little greenery on it for decoration. A sprig of a plant with tiny, white blooms was over your left shoulder. At the bottom of the long skirt was a pattern of small green leaves on the training skirt. Once you put it on, there was a train added at the back of you. A magnificent cape of ivory silk with green leaves around the edges.

Finally, a veil was attached to your head. It was a motley collection of fake white flowers with a ghostly train behind you. When you looked in the mirror, you wondered what you saw: a fairy? A specter? A being benign or wicked? She wasn’t human.

“Oh, how lovely!” Your parents stood up once you descended the stairs.

Taking your father’s arm, you went to the church, your heart pounding in your chest. You were shaking, and your stomach threatened to remove its contents. But you tried hard to remain composed. Your mind kept spinning, reeling after everything that happened, that was happening. You stepped into the carriage and stared out the window. You seemed half in the present moment and half in a dream.

Already, you could hear church bells.

The carriage finally arrived at the church. Its door looked like it would swallow you whole. You got up, making sure your train wasn’t in bad condition or stuck, though it did take some effort to pull it all out. The organ inside playe,d and it was like you could feel its notes in your bones. You got to your place at the end of the line and waited. The bridal party marched out one by one. Music kept swelling from the organ in waves. The,n finally, you were at last walking down the aisle.

You walked down as the church was decorated with roses. The guests stood up in their pews, and a few hatted heads bowed down a little. In reverence of the sacrificial lamb. You frantically looked about. You didn’t feel your feet touch the ground. Your heart raced like you were running.

You then looked at the figure in a black tuxedo at the altar as it got closer and clearer.

Thomas looked stunning. He already looked stunning in a tuxedo. But this one looked crisp and modern compared to his old-fashioned suits. It was tailored well to his lean, broad form. His dark curls were clean and soft. You wanted to touch them to see how soft they were. He gave you something of a smile. And your racing mind and unsure body seemed to calm down.

Once you were there at the altar, your father handed your arm to be draped over Thomas’s. You then both faced the priest. He was a docile old man with a balding head and spectacles. He spoke with a voice as gentle as a grandfather's.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony,” he began.

He recited the Book of Common Prayer about the importance of marriage’s sanctity. Though you did peek over at Thomas a few times to see him in his tuxedo again. The old priest continued.

“I require and charge you, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if anyone knows any impediment, why these two may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, do now confess it. For be well assured, that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow are not joined together by God; neither is their Matrimony lawful.”

“I have cause,” came a voice.

You turned around and saw one gentleman standing up. A fellow with grey sideburns and whiskers that stretched around his face like a belt.

“Thomas is engaged to Miss Charlotte Y/L/N. Not her sister. This is a sham! The wedding should have Charlotte at the altar.”

Thomas stepped forward, his arm remained on yours.. “Miss Charlotte has yet to be discovered. We do not know her whereabouts or what she is doing, or even if she is still alive.”

Inspired by him, you gave your response. You didn’t want this gentleman to stop the wedding. Nerves or no.

“She isn’t here, and…she did not wish the union. She left a note saying that was why she ran away. She ended things with Thomas. He became free to marry another,” you confirmed, standing firm.

A scoff came from the objector.

“Perhaps so. And what of the Sharpe family?” he added.

Thomas’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Are they truly the right family to be united with this virtuous, decent lady? Why, I don’t see any relatives under the name ‘Sharpe’ about this church?” he went on.

Your father stormed forward.

“None of them could make the wedding in time, but all wished him well! You’re overthinking, Mr.Scroop. And I don’t see why anything in Thomas’s personal history renders him unfit to wed. He is alive, he is free, and he is suitable. Now, sit and let us get on with it!”

“The Sharpe family

The ceremony went by in a blur. Thomas got out a ring- a silver band with a large ruby on it. He insisted on that being your wedding ring.

“I, Thomas, take thee, Y/F/N to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he repeated after the priest.

The ring felt snug, but it did fit well. It looked like having a large, jeweled beetle on your finger, always winking up at you. Ready to bite at a minute's notice.

Before you knew it, the priest had a final blessing. He gestured for you both to turn.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” he intoned.

The congregation burst into applause. The organ blared a triumphant procession as you took Thomas’s arm and walked down the aisle.

Here it was, a new part of your life. A new part of your identity- wife, wife. It didn’t feel real. And if you had to be honest with yourself, the unknown of the future scared you. You felt scared of so many things. Scared of failing, scared of what was new, scared of leaving the old behind, and wishing it would come back.Scared of a disaster beyond the horizon. Scared something horrible would happen- promised without a date when it would strike. You longed for your past. You wanted to be back to before so badly. Back to being carefree. Back to when things were simple. Even back to your childhood.

But you mustered your courage. There had to be a way through this, right? Even as your body and mind felt a disconnect, an uncertainty, there had to be an answer. You could feel Thomas’s arm supporting you and feel the warmth from his body. He appeared cool and composed after the objector's nonsense.

The bells sang out the nuptial joy. Well-wishers by the dozens threw “congratulations” like flower petals. You kept on until you both walked out of the church doors. The carriage arrived and halted before the church. People waved handkerchiefs. Thomas kept the door open, and you stepped into it. The rollicking taking you right back to your home.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Wedding breakfasts were an awaited noontime delight for society. The morning ceremony caused a great deal of rumbling in the stomach. You and Thomas were placed to sit at the center of the table. The guests all smiled and then helped themselves. There were various summer fruits in little bowls. Then servants arrived, white ribbons pinned onto their uniforms. Out came the dishes onto the table. Lobster Salad, Lamb ribs, mayonnaises of fish, Veal, and Ham Pie to up one end. Stuffed shoulder of lamb, Charlotte russe a la vanille, and decorated ham took up the other. Complete with three cakes sitting like porcelain figurines. Charms baked inside each.

Once the guests were distracted by the lamb ribs, you turned to Thomas.

“How…how are you?” you asked shyly.

Thomas gave you a small smile.

“As well as I can be, it’s not every day you get married!” he answered.

“No, it is not…”

Your attention turned to another guest going up and saying, “My dear Y/N! Congratulations!” And the awkwardness of a nuptial exchange dropped.

But Thomas stood up.

“May I speak, everyone?” he announced.

Heads turned to him.

“My dear friends, I thank you for coming today. And as a token of my gratitude, I have created something.”

He gestured to the corner, and a servant wheeled in a cart with a cloth over it. Thomas walked over and flung it away.

On it was a large mechanical swan. On top of the swan sat a few bottles of champagne. As Thomas turned its wheel, an arm popped open the bottle. Another arm picked up the bottle and poured it into a glass. Applause erupted from the guests. Everyone cooed to receive a glass.

Thomas remained standing, holding his glass.

“I made it for a celebration. And there is much to celebrate, so I would like to propose a toast to my wife,” he declared.

He turned to you, raising his glass.

“To Lady Sharpe.”

“To Lady Sharpe!” the others repeated as they each took a sip.

Soon, people were standing up. Some waddling from their full bellies. Leaving bit by bit into the afternoon. Thomas went away to boast of his creation to a few curious admirers. Then Mr. Scroop approached you.

“A word, please, Lady Sharpe,” he said.

You nodded and approached him. He was placing his top hat on his head.

“Hello, sir, thank you for coming to the wedding,” you began. Ignoring everything that happened during the ceremony.

“Forgive my boldness at the ceremony, but I cannot help but be concerned,” he said.

“Concerned? Do you mean my sister?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“In truth, It is not your sister that concerns me. It is your husband.”

“What do you mean?” you asked. Your wedding dress felt suddenly tight.

“It appears you are unfamiliar with the Sharpe family and their history. That is what concerns me. But the family is not what you would expect,” he warned.

Guests laughed at a quip Thomas made.

“I know that most of Thomas’s family passed away. Including his parents and sister,” you recited.

“Yes, but their circumstances when they were alive appear …interesting, shall we say. Yes, Thomas managed to do well for himself. Almost too well,” Mr. Scroop said.

“He earned it. Thomas is a hard-working, decent gentleman!” you insisted.

Mr. Scroop leaned closer.

“The Sharpe family is many things. They worked hard. But they are what you consider decent. Not even Thomas,” he warned.

“Tell me, what do you mean?” you asked. “Who did what?”

“I can only tell you this on your wedding day…I’d be careful if I was you.”

He then tipped his hat and walked away. You scurried and blocked his path.

“What do you mean, sir? Please, give me specifics!” you begged.

“I will give none today. Unless you want a broken heart,” he said.

“My heart broke when my sister left. I can handle another one!”

He walked away, leaving you there. Standing awkwardly. Sticking out in your white gown and fiddling with your hands, your ring gives you something to twist around in your nerves.

Who was this gentleman? What did he know? What did he want? Perhaps this was blackmail. You couldn’t deny that people wanted your family’s money. Or making an exaggeration? A con artist who wanted to scare you into writing a check. If he was so concerned about you and this marriage, why didn’t he contact your father or you before it went through? Why now? Maybe his words were an exaggeration of the facts. He wanted to make this a melodrama for his amusement.

You felt an arm. It was Thomas.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I…I had the strangest encounter with one of our guests,” you said.

“Oh, a guest?”

Taking in a breath, you turned to face him. Your supposed indecent husband.

“Yes, he was…he was speaking strangely, and-”

“Why, Miss Y/N! I suppose you aren’t Miss Y/N anymore, but Lady Sharpe! Oh, congratulations, dear, on this happy occasion!” cried out one other lady guest as she bustled in to shake your hand with a fervor.

Taking a moment to recognize the rosy cheeks, pink dress, and tufts of brown hair, you returned the smile.

“Why, Mrs. Browning, thank you so much for coming!” you replied, back to your old hostess self.

By the time the guests left, servants were packing up the carriage. There was going to be a honeymoon in a rented country house some miles from London. And then you would move into Thomas’s place. You changed out of your formal bridal gown into a traveling one.

Walking down in your coat and hat, you met your parents outside the door. Servants who weren't packing lined up to say their goodbyes. Finally, you reached your parents.

You glanced at your mother. The one subject you could not discuss in Father’s presence weighed between you both. Both of you knew exactly what would happen in a few hours. She looked back at you. Knowing the very thought in your head and saying nothing. You hugged her and then your father.

“Travel safe, be sure to write when you arrive there,” your mother insisted.

“I shall.”

Thomas arrived in his lighter coat and top hat. He made well wishes to his in-laws and then helped you into the carriage. He took his place across from you, and soon the carriage moved towards your wedding night.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It was raining by the time you entered the cottage. Servants bustled in to get the luggage. But as the carriage door opened, your hat could not protect you from the pelts.

“Allow me,” Thomas suggested, already outside.

He ran forward and opened his coat wide enough that you could bend beneath it like a chick beneath a hen’s wing. You both hurried forward to the door, rain and mud getting on the ends of your skirts, and opened the door.

The cottage was comfortable. A bit plain compared to the house in London, but perfect. The servants got the luggage out and then carried on their business.

“I…I’m going to change out of my wet things,” you said.

“Of course… we both should,” Thomas agreed.

You went to your shared room. There was a screen to hide behind and change clothes. You dressed down in a shift and a tea robe.

Walking out, you saw Thomas in just a white shirt and black overalls. He was just adjusting the straps. But he was beautiful. It was low-cut, showing some of his chest. His curls looked soft and freed rather than patted down with a comb. He looked natural, even raw. And he was every bit as beautiful in this as in his suit. It made your blood warm.

His eyes turned up to notice you.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I am well.”

It seemed like the tenth time you exchanged this pleasantry today. There was a pause. You were both by the fireplace. A roaring ember cracked, and the rain pelted the roof above.

Thomas’s jaw tightened. A slight blush entered his cheeks and his voice darkened.

“Do you…have you been told about…”

“Yes,” you answered.

“Yes? By whom?”

“Lottie would tell me about it. She learned everything from her friends, and she would then tell me. Then Mama gave me a few talks.”

“Well…I am glad. I…I don’t want to push you to…to anything…nothing has to happen,” he assured you.

But he looked so beautiful. He looked so soft. His body had been hidden beneath all of those layers. And you didn’t want to go to a cold bed without a touch from him. Only one touch. No one was here. No one watched. No one interrupted. And you were married.

“How about a kiss?” you requested, boldness overtaking you.

“A kiss?”

“On the lips.”

He leaned forward and kissed you. He then reached his hand and cupped your cheek, keeping you close. Warmth spread through your body, and the fire had nothing to do with it. He smelled of musk and the rain. And his lips had the light hint of champagne. Your pulse began to speed up. The warmth in your body flushed down. By the time he released his lips, disappointment settled in your chest. It felt…early. Outside, there was a bit of thunder. The rain pelted on.

“How was that?” you asked.

“How do you think it was?” Thomas replied with a smirk.

You raised a hand and put it over his heart. You could hear his heart thumping in a quick rhythm.

“Your heart is racing. Mine is the same…here…” You offered.

You took up his hand and placed it over yours. Keeping close to one another. His hand was close to your chest. Deliciously close. You realized you wanted him to touch you there. To not keep those large, beautiful hands to himself. To touch you in every forbidden area.

“Well then…could you give your husband another kiss?” he asked.

You leaned forward and kissed him on the lips again. Something inside you melted, let down. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you felt yourself sway into him. His arm went around your back, supporting you. You could have fallen into his arms, and he would have caught you.

He released the kiss.

“Y/N, I…I could let you have this room for tonight, if-”

“Thomas…” you whispered.

Inside you, you didn’t want this to stop. You liked touching him, feeling how warm and soft he felt. And your inner warmth couldn’t stop. You felt if he turned and left you, you would scream.

“Yes?” he asked.

You cupped his face and kept him close.

“Stay. Stay and make love to me. Make love with your wife,” you voiced.

In answer, he leaned forward and kissed you with passion. His hands found their way to your back. You pulled him close. Closing your eyes and feeling his soft lips, his warm breath, his body pressing against you. His erection brushing against your body.

“Go to the bed,” he requested, keeping the dark husk in his voice.

Per your marriage vows, you removed your tea robe and obeyed.

He unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide off. You stared in awe at his bare chest. You placed a hand on it, felt his heartbeat.

“Will…will it hurt?” you asked.

“It might be a little…if you need me to stop…” he offered.

“No, keep going!” you insisted.

“Then…I’ll ready my bride. You’ll be ripe as a peach and ready soon,” he whispered.

He kissed your neck, one arm around you. Then you felt it go up. You felt one of his hands go to your shift and loosen one sleeve down. to show your shoulder. He pressed a kiss into it. He then slid both sleeves off and revealed your chest to him.

He put a hand over one, his finger grazing the nipple.

“Beautiful,” he said.

He leaned down to kiss it, and you let out a sigh. He began to kiss all over your body, a trail exploring every bit of you. His hands took off your shift until you were naked beneath him. You felt blood rush at seeing him look at your naked body. He started with your breasts and traveled down to your stomach. You shook with anticipation, feeling his soft lips.

“Yes…yes, please- Thomas,” you moaned, arching your back.

He then finally removed his trousers. You looked at him again in awe. It was so large, thick, and dripping already. You swallowed, wondering how it was going to fit. But…you wanted him. You wanted it inside you so badly, you felt as if you would burst. Your desire overcame your fear of the pain.

He then kissed you again and prepared your legs. He grabbed one and kissed the inner thigh. Your voice came out of you. “Thomas…oh, Thomas…” it melted into another moan.

He positioned himself between you, the tip brushing your entrance. You looked up at him and he at you.

“Do you want this?” he asked.

“Please…please take me,” you begged breathlessly.

He then began to insert himself. And there was pain; you let out a small cry at first. Then…it was over. It felt…good. Right. You belonged there. You adjusted.

“Yes…that’s my good wife,” he rasped.

He began to move slowly. Grunting as he did. You were breathing out, clinging onto him, nails digging lightly into his skin.

“God-oh, God-have mercy-Thomas-please-I-I-yes-”

He reached a hand down and found a spot in you, he strummed it around. A fresh wave of pleasure struck you.

“Thomas!”

“There, my dear?”

“There!”

He moved your legs up to his shoulders. He thrust a deeper spot and you let out a cry. His pace increased. He panted and groaned with each one. Every sinful thrust taking you over, and his long fingers stroking that spot inside you. It was spinning up, and the pace increased, of his hips slamming into yours and the curl of his finger. It kept up, up.

“God-oh-oh God-I-I’m going to die-oh-oh God-Thomas-”

“You’re-you’re close-and you-your heat-it’s going-it’s going to make me- my dear-go-go on-just come, come-come, damn it-come-,” he whispered.

Something in you shattered, and you let out a cry from the impact of it. The pleasure exploded inside you. It came down in shivers all across your body and made your head spin. Nothing else mattered in the world. Except for what you felt. After a few more thrusts, Thomas followed suit and released as well. His cum shot inside you, hot and spurting. Once he emptied, he pulled out.

Both of you dropped into the bed, panting hard. He pulled up the blankets. He touched your face.

“Lady Sharpe…how are you?” he asked.

“Never better,” you replied with a grin, kissing his nose.

Settling into the blankets, you wrapped your arms around him. His curls loosened. And his shoulders relaxed. You held each other as the fire crackled. Both of you were giddy by the time dinner arrived in a tray. You ate dressed in nightclothes and then went to bed. You wrapped your arms around Thomas, discussing only little things here and there. What you should do or not do while out in the country. Soon, he was fast asleep.

Though in your head, after the haze of pleasure faded, Mr. Scroops words returned. You couldn’t help but wonder…who was this man you married and made love to?

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