Rogeringham

She turned to me, placing her hand upon my chest and leaning in to kiss me. "Kissing is delightful!" she said, as our lips parted with a quiet sound. "Isn't it, William?" I nodded with a broad smile.

By now Caroline was exploring the contours of my body. I pulled my shirt over my head and Caroline gasped at the several scars that now marked my skin, especially the one on my side.

"Oh!" She gasped, her fingers gently tracing their shapes. "I hate the French!"

I laughed at this, "Why?"

"Because they tried to take you from us." And she leaned in and kissed me fiercely. "My beloved, handsome brother. They are villains of the lowest order."

"And yet!" I told her, laughing. "I am still here!" I wrapped her in my arms and held her tightly to me. "And you are here and the French soldiers - who were only doing as they were told to do by Bonaparte - are many leagues away over the sea. Forget about them. Tonight, it is just us two."

Undoing her hair, I let it fall loose. Then I slipped her chemise down, exposing her breasts, which were everything I had thought they would be - firm, high upon her chest, a pleasant handful with long nipples. I have heard some writers who describe breasts by comparing them to oranges or grapefruit; or worse, in terms of the various gauges of cannonball. Breasts are beautiful, they are probably the first things that we as humans fall in love with. They are a sensual delight for both the bearer and her lover, they are neither fruit nor projectiles. In all of their delightful shapes and sizes, breasts are wonderful.

I would spend some time upon these delights but I needed to see Caroline completely naked. I continued removing her chemise until I knelt before her, at eye level with her lightly furred mons, easily one of the prettiest I have ever seen.

I reached up and taking Caroline by the hips drew her towards me until I could kiss her cunny lips.

"Aahh!" The gasp of pleasure as I kissed Caroline's quim was drawn out and full of joy. "Oh William!"

Caroline placed her hands on my shoulders and eagerly pushed her hips forwards. She had, I believe on Helena's advice, placed a dab of eau de cologne on the swell of her mound at the base of her belly, and it was a sweet floral scent, but not as sweet or as pleasant as the aroma of her quim as I licked her lower lips from bottom to top. The shudder that ran through her, starting at her hips and running upwards was a delight. I felt her weight come on my shoulders as she supported herself.

Holding my sister's wrists in my hands, to steady her, I stood up, and helped her step out of the chemise on the floor, and then gently pressed her backwards to the bed.

Caroline was a pliable, trusting doll, as I laid her down, her hips on the edge of the bed and began to devastate her pussy with my tongue.

I have mentioned before that I actually delight in cunnilingus, especially when the recipient is as responsive as Caroline is. Some women just lie there and allow you to proceed. Some are active and some are eager participants, pulling your head hither and yon, or trapping it between their thighs. Caroline was one of these last types, but without any selfish energy.

She moaned, she twisted, she thrashed, her spend came down, flushing my face with her juices several times, each accompanied by small orgasms of a short, sharp - almost momentary in nature, but no less powerful for that.

Eventually, I felt her hand press my head back, as she murmured "No more, brother! No more, please! I need to catch my breath!"

I helped her to move onto the bed proper and lay down beside her. A lock of hair had fallen down over one eye as she regarded me. "Oh, God, William! That was so good, it was almost painful."

I smiled, tucked the errant lock out of the way and kissed her.

"I have never felt anything like that!" She murmured.

"That is just the start, my sweet!" I said as I reached for her breast and cupped it. I pressed my mouth against Caroline's and sought to open her lips. As in our coach the day previously, she eagerly engaged my tongue with hers. Soon her arms were round my neck and we rolled across the bed, energetically kissing each other. Caroline, it turned out, is excellent at kissing.

But as much fun as that was, we needed to concentrate on what we were there for.

I rolled my sister onto her back and lowered my head to her breast in advance of moving down her body. Flicking her nipple with my thumb I began by kissing it tenderly, then sucking the teat into my mouth before tugging it gently with my teeth.

"OH!" She almost shrieked at the sensation. I took my place between her pale thighs. Caroline has never been a passionate horse rider like her sisters, preferring her books to a ride through the park, so I anticipated her needing a moment as I entered her.

Sure enough, her eyes went wide, as I reached her hymen, then she bit her lower lip as I pushed. Reaching round my neck, I felt her tense. She looked pained for a moment and then I was through. I had placed a cloth beneath us - it was already drenched in her spendings - and that showed a slight sign, and as the song goes "so, so the deed is done!"

I paused a moment, looking at her. Caroline looked back at me, her eyes shining, and with a broad smile, she said, "I don't know what I was worried about!"

I slid further in and commenced to fuck her. I began with slow, easy strokes as she became accustomed to it, but as she had taken to kissing and cunnilingus, so she took to fucking. As I had anticipated, my sister was an adroit sensualist. We had started in the position of the missionaries, as it is sometimes called, but soon Caroline was shifting her hips, or moving her legs to explore and expand the sensations. She kissed me often and eagerly, hugging me tightly or gripping me with her hands, digging her finger-nails into my back, urging me on to greater efforts.

At one point I paused and looked at her, "Who are you and what have you done with my bookish sister?"

Caroline giggled. "I had not realised that it could feel this way. It is wonderful."

I kissed her again. "Always remember this feeling."

Caroline's smile slid away. "It's not like this every time?"

I shook my head. "Sadly, no. Not everyone enjoys or tries as hard to enjoy this. Which is why I say remember this feeling and always seek it out."

Caroline looked thoughtful (very much a normal sort of expression for her) and serious. "Then you and I must practice quite hard while we may, so that I will have the knowledge to always achieve this wondrous state."

I regarded her for a moment, it was a splendid argument and to be honest, I could think of no way to counter it. Not that I wanted to, unlike Helena - who was sensuous and loving, or Charlotte who enjoyed the sensations and having them done to her, Caroline seemed to enjoy sex with a joyous abandon. She was keen to explore, to enjoy and understand what was being done to her and what she herself could do, but that analytical approach did not prevent her from enjoying it as well.

"I believe you were in the process of taking my virginity." She reminded me.

"That is long gone, my love," I informed her, "We were fucking, I believe."

"Well then," she said, "I believe we should get on with that."

I have never been to bed with any woman who made me laugh as much as that night with Caroline.

We did finish our fuck, two or three times in fact, each one different - energetically, with intensity and the final time was a languid fuck with me entering her from the side with her leg upon my shoulder and me with my finger in the tight pucker of her arse. That took my sister by surprise at first but she soon realised that it too contributed to her sensational pleasure.

At last Caroline was sprawled on the bed, her head back, and her arms thrown across the sheets, as I steadily spent a huge load, the second one that night, inside her. Caroline had cum again, less vigorously than she had before but the spend that rippled through her was a powerful one and it would be a moment before she recovered herself.

I got up and went to hand my sister a cloth with which she could clean herself. Not that she was particularly interested in it, at first. She lay limp on my bed, as if struck down by a swoon.

"My sweet," I said softly, as I gently wiped the remains of my spend from off her pretty quim.

"Heavens, William!" she groaned, "I feel like I was ridden over by Mr Hopley and his whole team of bays."

"I am sorry, my love."

Caroline waved her hand, to dismiss my concerns, "Do not apologise, this is a most glorious feeling."

She propped herself up on the bed, resting on her elbows, and watched me as I went to take my usual tot of rum. With her hair down, and her breasts sitting beautifully on her chest with their two dark nipples, my sister looked like she had undergone a metamorphosis. In a few minutes, an hour or so, the girl had become a woman. I do not believe it was anything I did, or rather, it was, but that was only incidental to the change that had taken place. I believe that what we had just done had somehow unlocked the person that was inside Caroline - the woman I had had glimpses of in the last few days, and now she lay upon my bed, watching me, take a drink.

"Why do you drink that, William? It smells vile!"

"It is strong," I conceded, "But it helps me sleep."

"I was hoping that I would do that," Caroline said softly as I slid back into bed beside her.

"Sometimes, I need a little more assistance." I said as my naked sister drew herself closer to me.

"Do you dream?" She asked, "Is that why you need 'assistance'?"

"You are altogether too perceptive," I told her as we composed ourselves.

"You recall that first night I came home?" I said, and felt her nod beside me. "I said that I wished you never would see a battle ...?" She nodded again.

"That is what you see?"

"Not every night," I said, "And it seems like the farther away from the fights I get, the fears diminish. But some nights they come back. On those nights the rum helps."

Caroline reached out and enfolded me in her arms. She did not say anything, she just held me, and that warmth, at that moment was all I needed.

18. Morning comes

The next morning Caroline had gone when I woke, so I bathed and Barclay shaved me.

"Did you sleep well, Your Grace?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you, Joshua," I told him.

I have never been exactly sure what Barclay knows about my nightmares or, when I think about it, how he knows, but it is a peculiar comfort that he does know. They say that something shared is something halved. I don't know if that applies to nightmares, but knowing that somehow Barclay is aware, eases it somehow.

There is a great emphasis in our society on 'manly values', 'taking it on the chin', 'playing up and playing the game', 'big boys don't cry'. Even my mother's enjoinder when I was a child to always be the one on whom my sisters could rely, their 'shield and defender', was part of it. This philosophy was hammered into me all through my youth, at home and at school. And in many ways, these values are useful, particularly in war, it allows one to function in difficult circumstances. Keeping one's head, in times of turmoil. Incidentally, it also taught me how to be self-reliant, taught me that effectively there was only one person I could depend on and that was myself.

Latterly I now include Barclay in that trust, but there is only so much that he can do and when it comes down to the edge of it, one only has one's self to rely on.

So, with that background, I would have found it difficult to share these nightmares with anyone else, the dragoon, the visions that had me waking up sweating, looking at my shirt for the bloody rent torn by the French sabre. But conversely, growing up with my sisters, and sharing their lives, going to the brotherhood of a regiment, fighting alongside other men and living with them in the field, I have come to realise that no man lives his life alone. Some things may be shared with others. It is surprising how deep a secret may be shared in the small hours of the night on a wet sentry round.

In all our time together, Barclay has never judged me. Oh, for sure there have been the occasional raised eyebrows, a theatrical roll of the eyes or the occasional 'sharply drawn breath', but he and I look after each other. So, his understanding of the 'ghosts' that haunt me is a comfort, a shoulder that he allows me to lean on.

I am sure that he has his dark dreams as well, and if there ever comes a time when he needs my shoulder, for whatever reason he shall not find me lacking.

"One's family can be a great comfort, Your Grace," He said as he wiped the last traces of soap off my face, "Especially when we are troubled." He held the mirror up so I could inspect his work. "If I may - as well, Your Grace, you are blessed to have a family so loving as yours."

Looking past the mirror at his face, once again I could see no judgement, no reproof. His comment was a simple observation, along with a gentle suggestion. I nodded slowly, perhaps I should tell Helena. At least Caroline now had an inkling.

The morning being fine, I went to the stables, inviting Charlotte to come with me.

Mr Peyton, the head stableman, was walking my chestnut mare - her given name was Mary, which was entirely inadequate for her, I had taken to calling her Naiad because of her beauty - around the yard. She stepped lightly, delicately but gracefully, as if she was allowing the earth to bear her weight, like one of the mythical naiad water spirits. I was very happy with the progress that she had made, but was not going to spoil it by rushing to ride her, which might undo all the good that Mr Peyton and the grooms had done.

Once we had done that, and Charlotte had given her an apple as a reward for her progress, we went for a stroll along the Yew Walk, that runs towards the village from the hall. My sister was telling me that she and our mother had talked about what happened at the inn, and that after some tenseness, Helena was comfortable with the situation. Charlotte told me that the conversation had been frank, mainly on her part, but with some revelations offered by our mother. Charlotte would not tell me what those revelations were, no matter how much I tried to wheedle them out of her.

The preparations for the ball were progressing. Charlotte was acting as my liaison with the twins - who offered nothing by way of information about the decorations, simply saying that they were progressing satisfactorily.

Still, I learned much about what was being planned for the ball. For her part, Charlotte and Hermione had asked me some days ago if there was anybody that I wished for them to extend invitations to. I gave them some names, including Lady Elizabeth and Arabella Dorrington, from whom I had heard not a word, for some months and supposed her wed already. Caroline had finalised her menu opting to arrange the food in a buffet style, while the twins had prepared most of the decorations, all that was left was to put them into place.

We must have walked half-way to the village, without noticing that the sky was changing, talking as we were. Suddenly, it came on to rain. The spreading yew trees above us, did provide some shelter, but the journey back to the hall was a peculiar walk-dash-walk as we moved from tree to tree, until at last we could hurry the last few yards to the hall and the warmth and the dry.

Once, back at the hall, I spent the afternoon in a most pleasurable way. Helena and I sat in the drawing room - she with her needlework, and I with my book. We said very little between us, enjoying being in close proximity with each other but also enjoying the silence, the slow ticking of the long-case clock, the spit and crackle of the fire. It was an idyll of domesticity. Peace before the approaching storm of the ball - the house would be in uproar for days before and after.

My mother and I took a light supper privately, and then I took her to bed.

We made slow leisurely love for several hours, no frantic bouncing fucks, just sensual, sensuous fondling, with bouts of intertwined love-making, exploring each other's bodies and what we enjoyed. This was interspersed with dozing, or drowsily talking. It felt so very comfortable that Helena only left my room when Barclay brought my washing water.

He held my mother's gown for her, helping her to dress. It was a simple thing and completely normal for Barclay to do so. Yet in that moment it felt like the world changed. Up until now, Helena had always sought to avoid the issue of our being together when it came to the servants. Barclay assisting her effectively recognised that she had spent the night in my bed, and at the same time it suggested that it did not matter, to him at least. It also suggested that she was at ease with his presence.

19. Mrs Dodgson comes to Rogeringham Hall

"Mrs Dodgson, Your Grace." Mr Dives announced the steward's wife.

The woman looked terrified as he showed her into my study. She had a small bundle that she clutched to her breast and her three children huddled close to her skirt as she entered. Her large eyes looked around, taking in the wooden shelves and all the books, the paintings and the deep pile rugs, before she came to a stop in front of my desk and she and her three girls all bobbed curtseys.

"Mr Dives? Will you take Mrs Dodgson's children to the kitchen and see if cook has something warm for them?"

With a nod from their mother, they allowed themselves to be shepherded away.

I drew up a chair for her and suggested that she sit down.

"What can I do for you today, Mrs Dodgson?" I asked as I sat down opposite her.

A whole gamut of emotions ran across her face, a handsome face that in the morning light through my window, I could see was marked by fading shadows. There was fear there, and a wide-eyed uncertainty, but there was also determination. Mrs Dodgson had obviously screwed her resolve up into a tight ball, clenched her fists and she had marched into my study for something. I was interested to find out what had brought her here.

"May I offer you a drink?" I asked gently, she was nervous, and started as I got up to go to the decanter.

"Thank you, Your Grace." She took the offered glass.

I watched her take a sip and waited. The rich Amontillado sherry seemed to trigger something. Her faced changed and where there had been conflict, she now showed calm resolve. Mrs Dodgson placed the cloth wrapped bundle upon my desk.

"You asked what you could do for me, Your Grace, I think it is more what I can do for you."

I was intrigued as she pushed whatever it was towards me.

"Alfred Dodgson is a good man deep inside," she told me. "But he is a man of great passions and sometimes they consume him. They are demons that overtake him, Your Grace."

"I can see that, Mrs Dodgson," I touched my own face with my finger.

"Oh those!" She dismissed them, "I'm clumsy, I bump into things." That she was excusing his behaviour made me very angry.

"I think you are too brave," I suggested. I wanted to probe more about his behaviours, but I hid my feelings by reaching for the bundle.

"I know he has done things which are wrong, sir, but I offer these, to perhaps ..." She paused, searching for the words. "Bring relief to his situation?"

With the cloth wrapping undone, I could see that the bundle contained two small ledgers. On opening them, they appeared to be duplicate books, one with the numbers that he had quoted to me and one with an entirely different set of figures.

"These are his accounting books?"

"I believe so, sir, yes. He keeps them meticulously." She said, pointing at the first book, "That one is the one that he showed Your Grace and the rest of the world, and that one is his own private record."