When Caroline is forced to marry, she finds that life with a husband isn't all she expected.

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Authors Note :

I wrote the first third of this story in December 2006 for HG's BSS (Bad Sex Scene) Challenge. It's a sequel to Another Fine Meryton Assembly. If you haven't read that one, you might want to do that first.

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For Want of a Horse

Caroline sighed as she stood at her bedroom window, looking out over the barren winter landscape. Although they had not yet had any snow, there had been a hard frost that morning and the temperature had remained bitterly cold all day, giving the gardens an almost ethereal silver glow in the moonlight.

And now she was the lady of all she surveyed, well ... almost. Her new father-in-law was getting on in years and appeared so feeble he surely could not be much longer in this world. Once he was gone, her husband would inherit the Manor entirely and she would be Mistress of the House. It was a fine estate—if not exactly what she had been hoping for—and at least she could hold her head high. Her husband was a gentleman.

Gentleman! Perhaps too much of one, if there was such a thing. Three days ago the church at Meryton had been gaily decorated for their nuptials, and the neighbourhood had turned out in their finery to toast the happy couple at the hastily arranged wedding breakfast.

During that same afternoon, Caroline had overheard Mrs Bennet and her sister, gossiping about her new husband. From the way they had described him as well endowed, and the enthusiastic giggles following that remark, she did not think they meant his income.

But that was three days ago, and he had still not come to her.

Caroline might have been a maid in the physical sense, but she was not entirely innocent. Her sister had been married for two years, and Louisa had shared enough of her experiences as to cause very mixed feelings.

Louisa had advised her to follow her husband's lead in matters of the bedroom, but a small part of Caroline just wanted to get the pain and discomfort over with, so she could get on with the lying still and keeping quiet part.

But how could she consummate her marriage if her husband never spent the night in the same room?

Well, Caroline had waited long enough. If he was not going to come to her, then she would go to him.

Pulling on her dressing robe over her finest nightgown, she left the confines of her room and walked down the dark, silent corridor until she reached her husband's door. Knocking, she waited for a reply, but no sound came from within. Not content with returning to her bed alone for a fourth night, she reached out for the handle and pushed the door open.

Looking around the room her disappointment rose as she saw it was empty. Where was her husband? A glance at the clock showed that it was very late. Surely he could not be out for much longer? At once she decided, she would wait for him in his chamber and hope he was not too displeased with her.

After snuggling down under the covers, Caroline soon drifted off to sleep, leaving her candle to burn to the socket. A sound in the room woke her, and she panicked before remembering where she was. She felt the bed covers drawn back and her husband began to crawl into bed, until he touched her warm arm and recoiled. "What? Who is that?"

"It ... it is I. Your w…wife."

"Miss Bing— Ah, Madam?" His hand groped towards her in the darkness, as though checking whether she was really there.

"I am here, Husband. I have been waiting for you since our wedding night. You did not come, so I set out to find you. I am sorry I fell asleep while waiting for you. I hope you are not angered by my presence?"

Robert Pickard cleared his throat nervously. Caroline imagined his head bobbing up and down even though she could not actually see it.

"I ... ah ... no. I mean, ah..."

"You do intend to consummate our marriage, I presume?"

"Er ... I suppose. I had not thought about it."

"Had not thought about it?" Caroline's voice rose a little higher. "But why did you marry me if not to ... you know."

"I thought I married you because your brother demanded it of my honour after the accident we had at the assembly."

She felt her face glow at the memory of her torn dress, and Mr. Pickard falling face first into her ... well, she was grateful it was too dark for him to see her blushes. "If that is the case, then your honour also demands that you make me your wife in more than just name."

"We must?"

"You do not wish to?" Caroline almost screeched her dismay.

Nodd sank down on the edge of the bed. "I apologise. I am not good with people. I will do whatever you advise."

Caroline smiled in the darkness. If she could manipulate him so easily, then her marriage might not be as bad as she thought. "Well, in that case come lie with me, Husband. You must take me as your wife, or the servants will begin to talk." Already, this morning, the maid had given her a funny look as she had dressed her hair. Caroline would not have them laughing at her behind her back. She would lose her maidenhead, regardless of the pain involved.

Nodd swung his legs into bed and lay flat on his back with his arms by his side. After a few moments of silence, he said, "Well, this is nice. What do we do now?" 

"What do you mean? Do you not know?"

"No. Do you?"

"Mr. Pickard. Do you know the meaning of the word virgin?"

"Someone who does not know how to ride a horse?"

Caroline sighed. "Close ... but no. It means someone who has not slept with a man." She thought for a second, before adding, "Or a woman."

"Ah, that would be me then."

"So, you do not actually know what to do?"

Her husband admitted he did not. "Should I go and ask my father?"

"No!" Caroline shouted, more loudly than she had intended. Calming herself, she continued in a quieter voice, "I do not think that would be a good idea." At that moment, she had a flash of inspiration. "What about a horse?"

"That is against God's will, Madam," Robert replied frostily.

"No, I meant how do horses mate? Can you not take guidance from their actions? Your horses must have mated on many occasions."

"I had not thought of that."

"Good. So, what do horses do to … to procreate?"

"Well, to begin with, they do not, of course, wear any apparel."

"So you are suggesting that I take off my nightgown?"

"Yes, and I should remove my shirt and breeches."

There was much fumbling about in the darkness as husband and wife took off their own clothes until they were reduced to nothing more than God gave them. Caroline felt strangely wanton wearing no clothes, even though she was under the bed covers. "What next, sir?"

"Ah ... well, if the mare is in season, she urinates near the stallion."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We can probably ignore that particular behaviour, if you would prefer," Nodd offered.

"I think that would be wise," Caroline said, in a relieved tone. "And then?"

"Then the mare lifts her tail high so the stallion has access to the part he will penetrate." He paused for a moment. "You will need to turn over."

"Turn over?" Louisa had always spoken of lying on her back. She had never mentioned anything about turning over.

"Yes, you must turn over and raise your body up ... here, like this."

Caroline felt his strong hands on her as he rolled her towards him, onto her stomach. The coarse hair of his chest brushed against her shoulder and the surprisingly smooth skin of his body slid against hers, and his arm ... no, wait, that was not his arm. It must have been ... oh!

Nodd worked diligently until he had positioned Caroline as he wanted, on her hands and knees, with her posterior elevated. The movement had dislodged the bedcovers, leaving her feeling exposed in the cold night air.

She also felt more than a little foolish. "And now?"

"Now I just need to ... er ... bring myself into position behind you ... like so."

Caroline felt his powerful thighs between the backs of her legs, his chest against her back, and something large and smooth rubbing against her bottom. A warm feeling had begun to stir in her stomach, and she wondered whether her experience tonight might be different from that experienced by her sister.

"And now?" she asked again breathlessly. "What happens next?"

"What sort of person do you take me for, Madam?" her husband complained in an injured tone. "Do you expect me to watch horses copulate? No, I always close my eyes."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Caroline forced the corners of her mouth upwards as she welcomed her guest into the parlour at Hillfield.

Since storming out of her husband’s bedroom, mortified with embarrassment, she had come to realise the necessity of soliciting the advice of an experienced married woman. The Meryton library had held no volumes of use—even in the animal husbandry section. The small selection of books at Netherfield was no help at all, and she would die before broaching the topic with Charles. Jane Bennet and her sisters were, as yet, too innocent and Louisa’s past advice had failed her miserably.

In her desperation, she had turned to the only woman she imagined would be willing, nay eager, to discuss the matter.

“Thank you for coming so promptly.” Caroline poured the tea, handing a cup to her guest.

Mrs Bennet helped herself to a fancy cake. “Now my Jane is betrothed to Mr. Bingley, I consider you quite part of the family, Mrs Pickard. Besides, I was most intrigued by your note.”

Caroline’s words stuck in her throat. It took a moment before she could force them between her lips. “I find myself in need of guidance.”

“My guidance?”

“Yes, on a most delicate subject.”

Eyes fairly bulging, the matron sipped her tea before placing her cup gently on its saucer. “Of course, my dear. You may ask me anything. We are, after all, both married women.”

“And you will keep our discussion between us, and not mention it in passing to our neighbours?”

Mrs Bennet gave her what she probably meant as a reassuring smile. “The idea never crossed my mind.”

Caroline buried her disbelief beneath the butterflies in her stomach. She nibbled at a cake, the crumbs turning dry on her tongue. Now it had come to the point, she hardly knew how to frame her request. “I … er … I …”

Leaning forward, the Bennet matriarch patted her hand. “Do not worry, my dear. I believe I can guess what you wish to talk about.”

Mrs Bennet’s blue eyes sparkled with curiosity, but also understanding. This was no feigned sympathy; Caroline would have recognised had it been so. But how could Mrs Bennet tell from outward appearances that she still retained her innocence? Was there some sign, some outward physical indication of her condition? She felt a blush rising on her cheek, but ignored it. “I did not realise such a thing would be so obvious.”

The older woman chuckled. “Oh, it has always been obvious, my dear. Something like that would never stay a secret for long in this neighbourhood.”

Horrified, Caroline’s heart fluttered with panic. Did everyone in the parish know she remained a virgin? She cursed her servants. Caroline hated the idea that they were watching for those tell-tale signs, and worse, that they kept the neighbourhood abreast of developments. How could she bear the embarrassment? She would never be able to hold her head up in society again.

Ignorant of Caroline’s inner torment, Mrs Bennet gave her an encouraging grin. “When Nodd married, we imagined you might have a few problems adjusting. I can recommend a few things if you are finding the … er, pain too great.”

Caroline had guessed from her sister’s ambiguous comments that she would experience some discomfort on the first occasion, but that point might never come if she could not encourage her husband to do his duty. Drawing in a deep breath, she steeled herself. “It is true I have not yet been … ah, intimate with my husband.”

The older woman’s face dropped. “What, not at all?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I can understand your reluctance. Any woman of sense would be wary.”

“The issue is not my reluctance, Mrs Bennet, but his.” Caroline knew if she balked now, she might never resolve her problem. “I am more than willing to do my duty as a wife, but my husband is … ignorant of his part in the act.”

Mrs Bennet frowned. “Ignorant? But his horses…?”

“Seem to manage matters very well without any interference on Mr. Pickard’s part.” Caroline found herself almost jealous of the vile creatures.

“Then he has not attempted to …? You have not yet tried to accommodate …? The older woman seemed at a loss. “Nodd doesn’t know what to do?” Caroline shook her head. “How awful for you.”

Something in Mrs Bennet’s tone made her suspicious. “So earlier, when you said you knew about my problem, this was not what you referred to?”

“How could I? I had no idea.”

“What did you think I meant?”

This time, Mrs Bennet’s face flushed pink. “I hardly dare say.”

“Please. It cannot be any worse than what I have already revealed. What is common knowledge, if not my virginal state?”

Mrs Bennet drew out a lace handkerchief, wafting it in front of her face. “I meant we are all aware of your husband’s … physical condition.”

“He has a condition? You mean apart from his complete ignorance of how men and women procreate?”

“I’m afraid so. I refer, of course, to his size.”

Despite Robert Pickard being a good head shorter than Mr. Darcy, Caroline did not believe she referred to her husband’s lack of height.

Mrs Bennet sketched a vague shape in the air with her hands. “The size of his … his …” She shook her head, seemingly dissatisfied with her repertoire of words suitable for the drawing room. “The part of his body he will use to claim your innocence. His third leg,” she mouthed.

“He is too small to father a child?” As the question left her lips, Caroline knew what the answer would be. That night, in her husband’s bed, when he had indelicately positioned her on her hands and knees, something had brushed against her bottom. Something large and firm, but as soft as satin.

“Oh no, my dear. In fact, his problem is quite the opposite.”

Although she would never have chosen Robert Pickard for a husband, since her marriage Caroline had learned to make the best of what she had. Not only was she the wife of a gentleman, but she had also cherished hopes of one day becoming a mother. Now it appeared even that dream would be denied her. Caroline felt the tears welling in her eyes.

“Now, my dear. There’s no need to take on so.” Mrs Bennet removed from her own chair, offering her handkerchief. “It might seem as though God has served you a bad turn, but these things can be put right. If women are able to expel a fully formed infant, then it must be possible for your body to somehow adjust to your husband’s deformity, for I do not believe it is quite as wide as a baby’s head. What comes down must first go up, eh?”

Caroline did not know what to make of Mrs Bennet’s pronouncement. “Perhaps if you were to explain to me how man and wife would normally become intimate, perhaps we can then deal with the … er, other problem.”

Mrs Bennet looked over her shoulder, making sure they were alone. Even though the room was empty, and the door firmly closed, the older woman still leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Men and women are made to fit together, like a … a key in a lock.”

“You mean he has to turn—?”

“Oh no, dear. Perhaps the key is a poor example. Oh, I know. Have you ever watched the kitchen maids churning butter?”

Unsure what Mrs Bennet had in mind, Caroline admitted she had spent time in her grandmother’s kitchen as a young girl.

“And they agitate the cream with a big stave, plunging it down and withdrawing it until the butter forms. Well, that is a little like the act of love. A gentleman’s … body is the stave and yours is the churn.” She sat back, seemingly pleased with herself for providing such useful instruction.

Unfortunately, it left Caroline more confused than ever. “So procreation is like making butter? How does this butter become a child?”

“No, girl, you don’t make a baby from butter. The churning was merely an example of the method.” Mrs Bennet waved her hand as she tried to think of a more appropriate analogy. “It is somewhat akin to milking a cow.”

“I should use my hand? But I thought …?”

“Oh no, you will never begat a child using your hand. His seed is quite wasted that way. Why did I not think of that before! It is like drilling a hole in hard clay to sow seeds. He will have to push it in and pull it out quite a few times before his seed is planted in your body.”

Well, at least that explained what Louisa meant about lying still and letting him get on with it. “How do I know when this seed is sown?”

“Ah, that is the easy part. He will cry out, as though in pain, and then collapse on top of you. Now I know that sounds frightening, but he does not stay there long. Very soon he will withdraw, turn over and fall asleep. You may have to do this quite often to make a child, but once you are pregnant you do not need to suffer his attentions.”

The word suffer reminded Caroline of her other problem. “And how do you suggest I accommodate my husband’s … er, drill?”

Mrs Bennet blushed red—a worrying sign, Caroline thought—and pulled a second handkerchief from behind her fichu, waving it furiously in front of her face. “Well …”
 
Three quarters of an hour later, when Caroline had escorted Mrs Bennet to her carriage, she went off to the kitchen, to speak to the cook about the winter stores.

She doubted she would ever be able look at the humble carrot in quite the same way again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Caroline soaked in her bath, planning the seduction of her own husband, an innocent in the act of love.

That appellation no longer applied to her, at least. Two days earlier Mrs Bennet had been most generous, even eager with her advice, and by the end of it Caroline realised she would have to take matters into her own hands—quite literally—if she wished to bear a child.

Caroline had found a number of good sized, if irregularly shaped carrots in the kitchen store and her only concern had been whether the largest were big enough to serve their purpose. The exercises Mrs Bennet had recommended mortified her at first, making her ache in places she had never dreamed of, but diligent practice had paid off and she had lost her maidenhead to a horrendously large orange root vegetable.

Once dried and dressed in her thickest lawn nightgown, she walked to her husband’s chamber and knocked on the door. Receiving no answer she looked inside the room, finding it empty as she expected. She had known perfectly well where he would be.

As Caroline entered the stable, her nose wrinkled at the overwhelming smell of horses. She closed the main doors to keep out the chill of the night. A warm glow came from the end stall and she walked through the deserted building towards the circle of light, hoping to find her husband alone. When she caught a glimpse of Robert her heart jumped into her throat, cutting off her breath.

His bare chest gleamed in the lamp light as he brushed the horse’s coat. Despite being neither as tall nor as noble as Mr. Darcy, his body seemed entirely in proportion. As he moved around the animal Caroline’s gaze fell to the front of his dusty breeches, the disturbance in the otherwise smooth front reminding her that not every part of him was of like size.

“Mr. Pickard?”

Her voice seemed to startle him as he jumped to face her. “M…madam?”

“I am your wife, sir. You may call me Caroline.” She dropped her shawl and moved closer, recalling her intentions for this evening. “I thought you might be thirsty. I have bought you something to drink.” She opened the bottle of burgundy from her basket and filled two glasses, hoping Mrs Bennet’s advice about alcohol and inhibitions was correct. Putting one glass into her husband’s hand she emptied the second down her throat.

As he mumbled his thanks, Caroline closed the distance between them. “This is a very fine horse,” she said, not troubling to hide her admiration. Regardless of her husband’s ignorance of human matters, she could not deny his superior knowledge of horseflesh.

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Please allow me to introduce you. This is Lady Margaret.”

Caroline curtsied to the animal. “My lady, I hope you will not object if I converse with my husband on a domestic matter?” Seeming to understand her words, the horse shook her head and stamped a hoof.

Gratified she had gained Lady Margaret’s blessing, she faced Nodd. “Will you return to the house with me? I have something of a personal nature to share with you.” In order that her husband would not mistake her meaning, Caroline stretched out her hand to touch the bulge in the front of his breeches.

Robert Pickard yelped and tried to step back but Lady Margaret remained unmoved; fifteen hands of bone and solid muscle barring his way. “But I have not completed my tasks.”

His reticence didn’t surprise her. In fact Mrs Bennet had warned Caroline that she might have to give him a helping hand, so to speak. Her fingers searched out the shape of his appendage beneath the nankeen. His third leg, as she’d called it, grew under her examinations until it took on a more definite shape.

“Mrs Pickard, I must p…protest! What are you doing?”

She unfastened one of the buttons that closed the fall of his breeches, allowing him space to expand. When she released the other side, the flap dropped, exposing Robert’s manhood in all his glory. Caroline wondered how she had never noticed her husband’s impressive physique before but then, without Mrs Bennet’s advice, she would have remained woefully ignorant of a gentleman’s finest point.

She took the limb in both hands, exploring the masculine mystery usually kept hidden from innocent females. No wonder men spent half their time standing up.

Robert gasped at her touch, his chest rising and falling as though he had just run all the way from Meryton marketplace. He threw his arms up to cover his face. “No … no, my eyes!”

Caroline drew her hands back, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

His voice shook. “You…you must not touch it. Nurse said I would go blind.”

She sighed, the cause of his ignorance now clear. Damned servants, always meddling in things that didn’t concern them. She pulled his arms back down to his sides. “My nurse said if I told lies my nose would grow but that did not happen. I can assure you, any threat of blindness you might have been under has long passed. Besides, did the Reverend Thompson not tell us that matrimony was ordained for the procreation of children? Now you are a married man you should put this organ to the use the Lord created it for.”

Remembering Mrs Bennet’s instructions, Caroline resumed her attentions, stroking from the base right up to the end. She ran a finger around the ridge surrounding the head, all the while wondering why God would form a man’s body into such an odd shape. Curiosity had always been one of her worst failings.

Her husband made what sounded like a strangled choke. “Madam! I am really—”

Caroline silenced him with a raised eyebrow and a meaningful squeeze. “My name is Caroline.”

He lifted his gaze to a spot somewhere above her head, too embarrassed to look her directly in the eye. “C…Caroline …?” he pleaded.

Taking a firm grip she moved both her hands up and down his extraordinary limb, applying as much pressure as she dared. Mrs Bennet had likened the procedure to milking a cow, albeit without gravity to assist the task. Although Caroline had no personal experience as a dairy maid, her mentor had done an excellent job of describing the correct method of execution.

He began to whimper, then pant. Those quick breaths became a series of moans and a few moments later, Robert gasped and staggered against the side of Lady Margaret as he experienced an enthusiastic eruption. The horse moved slightly, pushing him back towards Caroline who examined the strange sticky fluid that now covered her fingers. Children grew from this? Another thing Mrs. Bennet had warned her about. It had to be deposited inside the body, just as a seed will only take root in soil.

Annoying and uncultured the woman may be, but her neighbour had become a most valuable tutor.

Robert remained where she had left him, frozen in place. He seemed exhausted, which Caroline found odd considering he’d been standing still the whole time. She wiped her hands on a cloth and flexed the aching muscles of her arms, unused to such intense physical labour.

Caroline grabbed the dangling fall of Nodd’s breeches in one hand and a lamp in the other before pulling him from Lady Margaret’s stall into the empty one next door. Although eager to follow the next part of Mrs Bennet’s instructions, she doubted she could do so with an audience—even an equine one.

She pulled his breeches to his knees and propelled him backwards onto the pile of clean straw in the corner then collected the basket she’d left by the door and sank down next to him. Mrs Bennet had told her the male appendage should shrink to a more reasonable size after her first activity but its length and girth had not diminished to Caroline’s inexperienced eyes. However, having become intimately acquainted with it, she found much to admire in her husband’s extra limb. There was something rather stately about the shape; its subtle curve reminding her of the legs on Mr. Chippendale’s excellent dining chairs.

She picked out a large jar from the depths of the basket and removed the wax paper cover then dipped her fingers inside, rubbing the thick yellow substance between finger and thumb.

Robert looked askance at the jar. “What is that?”

“Goose grease.” She smeared the unguent liberally along his length.

“W…what are you doing with it?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

He pulled a face. “Basting …?”

“No, lubricating.”

“May I ask why?”

Caroline paused, her fingers curling half way around the base. “Why? Because a month ago I was quite content keeping house for my brother and looking for a suitable husband. One disastrous evening later and I find myself married to a gentleman who has more interest in his horses than in his new wife. Since our marriage I have rarely complained about my lot, but if you think I will remain content without at least attempting to beget a child of my own you are very much mistaken.”

She slid her hand upwards as she spoke, punctuating her sentence with a twist of her wrist, leaving him gasping again like a fish on the riverbank. Dipping her fingers into the pot she repeated the process. “As you appear to be substantially larger than a carrot this substance will ease its passage within …” Caroline recognised the blank expression on her husband’s face. “Never mind. Just lie still.”

With the jar back in the basket and the excess grease wiped from her hands, Caroline lifted her night dress and positioned her feet on either side of her husband. She sank down onto his thighs, the lower part of his body covered by the linen. No, this would not do. She could not see a thing. Caroline raised the hem, tucking it down her décolletage, but the heavy material would not stay where she put it. She sighed as she stood and pulled the material over her head. A strangled yelp came from the straw below and she looked down to see her husband covering his eyes again. Ignoring him, Caroline lowered herself back onto to the straw, one knee on either side of his hips. The snake-like appendage twitched between her legs and she took it in hand, raising the limb until it pointed to the heavens.

She gradually sank herself down upon it, her body consuming the instrument like one of the sword swallowers she had seen at a street carnival in Town. Even with the goose grease aiding its passage it took a few minutes for her body to stretch and adjust. If she had not prepared herself in advance Caroline doubted it would have fit, despite Mrs Bennet’s assertion that the male and female of the species were designed particularly to join in this fashion.

When she could accept no more, Caroline glanced at her husband who now lay wide-eyed, his mouth forming a silent ‘o’. “This is where it is supposed to go.” She leaned forward, placing both hands upon his bare chest, finding the full feeling of him inside her rather pleasant. “In a moment I am going to move. We must replicate what happened earlier if you wish for a son who might follow in your footsteps.”

She saw his gaze fall to her chest and his hand reached out to touch her breast. “A son … yes,” he replied, his voice faint.

Taking a deep breath, Caroline lifted herself up half way before sinking back down again, smiling as Nodd sighed. This certainly was more convenient than vegetables. She rose again, almost reaching the top before descending. Her mentor had explained how the movement would have to be rapid in order to produce the desired effect so she experimented, moving up and down in quick succession.

“Ahhh,” Robert breathed, his eyes now closed as his hands gripped her thighs.

Heartened by his reaction Caroline continued, her legs flexing as she impaled herself over and over. Despite the lubricant properties of the goose grease, the friction seemed to be creating a rather unusual—but not unwelcome—sensation within.

More moans came from the straw and Robert raised his hips, thrusting upwards to meet her, which Caroline took as a good sign. His body bucked once, twice, thrice, then he cried out, his eyes squeezing tight as he squirmed beneath her.

Exhausted by her exertions, Caroline eased herself upwards one last time, the muscles in her legs protesting at their mistreatment. She collapsed onto the hay by his side, not even caring about the stalks poking in her back or the fact that she was as naked as the day she was born.

Contrary to Mrs Bennet’s information, Robert did not roll over and fall asleep. In fact, he seemed more alert than she had ever seen him before. “Husbands are supposed to do that?”

“Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “It is your duty.”

“Am I going to be a father now?”

Caroline winced at his hopeful tone. “Probably not. We may have to do the same thing a number of times before I find myself with child.” She wondered whether she’d have the energy.

The straw rustled as Robert moved. He now lay facing her, his breeches still around his knees, his seed drill reaching hopefully towards her leg, seemingly none the worse for its mistreatment. “So we can do it again?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

The look he gave her was not dissimilar to a puppy begging for food. “Now?”

Caroline made a mental note to include more goose on the menu and order more jars as she wondered about the voracious beast she'd created out of her once docile husband. She sighed. “Yes, dear.”

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