ARABELLA

ARABELLA by Anonymous Page A

Book: ARABELLA by Anonymous Read Free Book Online
Authors: Anonymous
Ads: Link
final kisses, and all was concluded. I, entering not upon the main scene until caution apprised me of the right moment, found Elaine huddled in a corner, fully dressed.
    “Oh, I cannot face Papa!” she entreated as quietly as possible.
    “What nonsense, he has seen nothing, we were in the other room,” I said.
    Her relief was evident, asking me again and again if it were true. Most tactfully he was nowhere to be seen. With furtive mien and not a little blushing she made her way out with me into the hall where my uncle was bidding adieu to our hostess. Impeccable and unsullied as she again looked, we might well have been leaving the most sedate of gatherings.
    “You will come again? I trust you will for it has been most pleasant,” she murmured as though to all three of us at once. Seeing that neither Elaine nor her Papa appeared ready to answer, I gave a polite nod of my head. Despite my relative youth and the positive whirlwind I had been through, I found to my pleasure that I was perfectly in control of myself—admiring also as I did the exquisitely civilised manner of our hostess.
    “I doubt it not,” I replied and shook her hand. From the expression in her eyes I gathered that her interest in me had increased threefold. A few more polite murmurs and we went out upon the dark drive to the carriage where my uncle had to shake the coachman to awaken him, poor fellow. Then within did we settle ourselves. In a way, all had been briefer than I thought it might. Had it not been for the presence of Elaine, we might have greeted the dawn there.
    Moving into a corner seat, Elaine sat constrained, peering out upon the dark. My uncle perched opposite, coughed several times, but said nothing. Utterly dark as it was in the lanes through which we drove that we could barely see one another. The silence irritated me, however. Elaine had clearly got what she wished, as I had, but evidently regretted it in the aftermath. I twirled my fingers in my gloves and gazed at her huddled form.
    Matters could not be left like this.

CHAPTER five
    I have long learned that what seems bizarre, reckless or strange to the world about us appears full otherwise to those who are involved in such events. Too often have I heard both men and women utter in tones of apparent shock, “Oh, I would never do that!”—only to find that they are perfectly ready to do so when an opportunity arises and the loose cloak of social conventions is cast aside.
    Curious indeed was the situation in which I, my uncle and Elaine now found ourselves upon our return, for as often as my cousin asked me what her Papa had seen, I gave her increasingly little comfort. I meant not to be harsh with her, yet it was she who had inspired the occasion and she indeed who had put forth much philosophy on such matters to me. It may be well imagined that such encounters as we had together with her father on the following day were in part constrained and in part expectant, for each of us seemed to wish to speak, yet all held our tongues.
    A touch of fate occurred but two afternoons later which was to prod our destinies, for I at least was surprised by the arrival of the selfsame lady who had assisted my uncle in fucking me. Her true name was Pearl and the nature of her visit showed me much of how things were veiled, for my aunt was well acquainted with her, as was Elaine.
    Naturally I showed all modesty in greeting her and, while my aunt was otherwise occupied—for Pearl, it seemed, was too old a friend to require formalities—the three of us repaired in feminine fashion to Elaine's room. Quite astonishingly Elaine had been unconscious of Pearl's presence at the orgy, but this was to be accounted for by the dizzy eagerness with which she had succumbed to several amourous assaults.
    Whether Pearl—or Lady Mathers, as she was properly called—was aware of this really mattered not, for she was plainly intent on broaching the subject, first complimenting me upon my “performances,”

Similar Books

Second Shot

Zoe Sharp

Breathe

Sloan Parker

The Lost Boy

Dave Pelzer