“Do you deserve anything?” he asked with a strange half smile on his handsome lips, one eyebrow raised.
“Maybe,” she giggled, twirling her hips so that the gleaming skirt slunk around his legs for a moment, and then cascaded back around hers.
He slid his hand into his inside pocket and slipped out a package. She took it and stood away laughing, opening it. I wanted her to get on and rip it open, but she wavered and hesitated, opening and then closing, running her forefinger over and under the brown paper packaging in a ludicrous way.
Eventually she pulled out a pair of stockings, holding them up in the dim light. Two sheens of slender brown gauze moving gently in the still air, transparent in the dappled light of the dusty window.
With careful deliberation, she took one shoe off, standing as she was in the middle of the small stable and, casting one of the stockings at him, she slipped the other onto her foot and up over her ankle. I felt instantly uncomfortable, as did Mr. Slater, who turned away, busying himself with folding the stocking he held in his hand.
“What do you think of that?” She prompted him to look as she drew the top over her knee and rucked up her dress to pull it up.
He glanced down, and I saw his eyes engage with her long, smooth thigh, now half-covered with the stocking, beige brown below and pearly white skin above.
“They’ll do well enough,” he said, looking away. But his eyes strayed back to her as she kicked off her other shoe.
“Give me the other one,” she breathed, and he handed her the other stocking.
She unfurled it, letting it cascade down in front of her, and then she raised her foot and slipped it over, shimmying the beige haze up her other leg. Again she rucked up her dress, this time to show a white lace garter, to which she carefully attached the top of the stocking. You could even see a glimpse of her undergarments as she brazenly displayed herself in front of him.
“I don’t think you should be doing that,” he said. He hadn’t turned away this time. He was just standing there watching, immersed.
“I wanted to let you see what they look like. A kind of thank-you gift.” She stood up straight but held the skirt of her dress up so that he could view his gift in full glory. See what I mean about her poise, as if she’s played every step before? Then she slipped her shoes back on and raised her skirt a touch higher, placing one foot in front of the other like some kind of actress or showgirl.
“I told you. You’d better leave me be,” he answered, his voice slipping out of his usual witty, upper-class front, his hand pushing back through his hair. Then he recollected himself and added with a half smile, “Or I might not be a perfect gentleman.”
She smirked, a look of determination in her eyes. This was the problem with Venetia—she could never see herself beaten. She wanted Slater, regardless of the price. She took a step toward him and took his hand. I couldn’t see what happened next as she now had her back to me, but I think she must have put his hand on her thigh.
“Venetia,” he whispered. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” she replied, velvet self-assurance in her voice. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you do.”
He lowered his face and kissed her extremely forcefully indeed, his other hand coming around the back of her pale shoulders, pulling her in toward him. They stood locked, writhing like that against each other for a few minutes, and then, I have no idea how, they eased themselves onto the hay without stopping kissing. I couldn’t see them as the hole in the door was too narrow, but I knew what they were doing. Like animals in a stable.
Flinging myself out of the yard, I decided to go back home and do some thinking about what I just saw, which is where you find me now. None of my questions seem to be answered, but I now know some things for sure.
Things I know for sure
Venetia has almost certainly done this before
She might have done it more than once before, too (although didn’t have a baby)
She might have done it with Henry, which is why he follows her around
Angela Quail has clearly done it, Vicar’s daughter or not
Now that I come to think of it, there is a lot more of it going on than I thought
I’m still not going to do it until I’m married
Venetia is more serious about Mr. Slater than I thought (or Daddy thought, for that matter)
Daddy will be furious if he ever finds out
This piece of information might come in very useful
With that, I have decided to close the matter, although the image of her standing there is etched onto my mind. How come she’s got it into her mind she can do these things, when we’ve been told that we can’t?