Bright Acre Hall by Morgan Ashewhite & Morgan Ashewhite

Author:Morgan Ashewhite & Morgan Ashewhite [Ashewhite, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2017-05-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

A cloudy London late-afternoon provided a calming, muzzy aura in the living room, which suited Eudora’s drowsy mood. She mildly resented the expected visitor whose imminent arrival had forced her out of bed and into a formfitting dress. Eleanor’s message announcing Charlotte’s visit to London included a plea to make time to meet with the young woman. As much as she wished for solitude, Eudora could never refuse her mother-in-law; Eleanor’s kindness in welcoming the odd, young woman who married her son earned her carte-blanche in Eudora’s books.

The clock on the mantle chimed four as the maid ushered Charlotte in. The young woman almost tripped over a rug on her way to join Eudora on the settee. The almost accident bought Eudora’s notice to Charlotte’s impressive chest, snug under the close fitting fabric of her blouse. Eudora’s quick assessment estimated her own bosom bested her guest, but only by a fraction. A delicate flush highlighted her sculpted cheekbones, as Charlotte smiled in mild embarrassment, her white teeth flashing between rose-colored lips.

“Auntie Eudora, thank you so much for meeting me!” Honest enthusiasm and gratitude flashed in the large, brown eyes.

“Auntie? Well I suppose I should start getting familiar with such forms of address as I age into decrepitude!”

“Oh, no! You are so beautiful!”

“Me? No dear, I am quite plain. It is you who are beautiful; the perfectly pointed nose between those lovely eyes, the heart-shaped curve of your face, the way your hair just curls at the base of your long, pale, neck, every painter you meet must want you to sit for them!”

“The only painter I have met wanted me to sit on him, not for him!” the young woman replied with a giggle.

“Artists are men of passion, I suppose.”

“Indeed. But I think I am finished with men for a bit,” Charlotte commented with a pout.

“Finished you say? So you have started?” Eudora asked, her curiosity getting the better of her manners.

“Oh yes, several, including my former Latin tutor, a few gallants I met at various balls, and the artist Papa hired to paint his portrait. But effort required setting up such assignations; the lies and the sneaking around, and sometimes for not much reward.” The young woman stuck out her lower lip in frustration and puffed out a gust of air that adorably shook her curls. “I have decided my next lover will be a woman. It is so much easier to organize such liaisons; no one cares if two women are alone together. But I have no experiences with even so much as kissing a woman, and so I am quite nervous.” She shot a conspiratorial look at Eudora, “Have you ever kissed a woman, Auntie Eudora?”

“Why yes, I have, many times. And I thoroughly enjoyed every kiss!”

“Oh! Could you tell me what it is like? How is it different from kissing a man?”

Eudora thought for a moment, “The softness of another woman’s lips, it is as if I am kissing my own reflection.” She frowned at her inability to adequately describe the sensations, “I have difficulty finding the right words.

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