Chapter 19 #2
The door to the dispensary banged open with such force it made Ellen and Amelia jump, sending bottles rattling. Ellen glanced up to see a boy of about fourteen standing sheepishly in the threshold. Curly black hair escaped from under a brown plaid cap.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to slam. I’ve got a message to deliver.”
Ellen wiped her dusty hands on her apron and stood. “I’ll take it.” She held out her hand.
But the boy shook his head. “Not on paper. There’s a fancy carriage sitting up on the big road with a pretty lady inside. She told me to come fetch you. Says she has something for you.”
Ellen glanced at Amelia, who shook her head in confusion. She looked back at the skinny boy. “Did you catch her name?”
His face screwed up. “Mrs.…Finley, maybe?”
Surprise shot through Ellen. “From the quilting circle?”
“I don’t know nothing about a quilt. I was just told to fetch you and I’d get a sixpence.” The boy stepped outside. “Are you coming? Because I want my blunt.”
“Very well, then.” Ellen untied her apron and got her hat and coat from the rack, then followed the boy into the cold. “Lead the way.”
It only took a few moments to reach Oxford Street. Ellen paused at the corner and looked around.
“There.” The boy pointed to a black carriage with red trimmed wheels sitting on the other side of the street. Two bay horses swished their tails, patiently waiting. Up on the box the coachman was bundled and slouched in his chair, hat covering his face.
Bemused, Ellen crossed the busy street with the boy, sidestepping horse apples and other rubbish. She reached the door of the carriage and knocked.
It immediately swung open, the velvet curtain swaying from the motion.
Mrs. Finley’s slender form emerged from the carriage, her face pinched and pale. “Here,” she said.
Ellen blinked, surprised when suddenly white paper appeared in Mrs. Finley’s hands as she leaned out of the carriage. “What is this?” Reflexively she took the paper.
“A cheque,” Mrs. Finley said. “My husband made it out to Dr. Hart this morning for me. It’s for the cost of a wheeled chair.”
Ellen peeked inside the envelope and saw the scrawl of the bank cheque, then looked up at Mrs. Finley. “What’s this?”
The banker’s wife flushed. “I was thinking about what you said. About how we should donate what’s actually needed rather than what’s in our linen closet.
And…I felt bad.” She rushed through her words.
“I did my best on the baby booties, though! Did…did the mothers like them?” The hope in her eyes pricked Ellen’s conscience.
“Yes,” Ellen told her. “The mothers loved the booties.” She wasn’t there when the booties had been handed out by Mrs. Daugherty, but she felt it was safe to assume so.
The woman’s eyes sparkled. “I added bows to the blues ones,” she admitted in a hushed tone. “For the baby girls.”
Ellen smiled and looked down at the envelope and flyer in her hand. “Thank you for the donation.” She unfolded the flyer to see a full-page advertisement for a furniture store of custom wood furniture.
“They sell wheeled chairs.” Mrs. Finley stuck her finger in the middle of the page. “If you mention me you’ll get a good price.”
Surprised delight flickered through Ellen. She looked at Mrs. Finley again, this time in appreciation. She shouldn’t have judged the woman so harshly. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “We can’t wait to use this. Would you like to come down to the dispensary next week and see the chair we purchase?”
Mrs. Finley’s eyes widened. “Oh, no!” She shook her head rapidly. “No, no, absolutely not. It’s so dangerous down there.”
Ellen pursed her lips. Baby steps, she told herself. The woman had come this far all on her own. She kept her tone gentle. “You are always welcome there, in case you change your mind.” She lifted the papers in her hand. “Thank you very much. You have no idea how much this was needed.”
Mrs. Finley smiled, charming dimples forming in her cheeks. “Oh, I had hoped so!”
Ellen bid her farewell and left her to settle up with the messenger boy. She practically skipped all the way back to the dispensary.
Mark read his letter again, for at least the fifth time today. Tension built in his chest. He glanced at the clock. Ellen should be home soon.
As if on cue, the door opened, and Ellen stepped through.
Mark tossed the letter aside. He knew she wasn’t as enthused about the Oxford idea. He’d have to find a way to convince her. Mark looked at her tired face, despite the smile she aimed at him, and thought he’d probably not start anything tonight.
“Ellen.” Mark stood and held out a hand to her. He stepped toward their side-by-side chairs near the fire. It was becoming a nightly tradition, one he loved more than anything in the world.
Ellen took his hand, but instead of sitting in her own chair, she sat in his lap instead. Her skirts draped around their legs. Well, maybe there was one thing he liked more than their side-by-side chairs.
Mark wrapped his arms around her, gently touching her stomach. “How was it today?”
She sighed and nuzzled his neck. “A little ill, not too bad. I’m starting to gag at any foods that taste too strong, though.
Cook will know I’m expecting before anyone else does, probably.
” Ellen laughed in his neck, and Mark’s cock jumped at the feeling against his skin.
No, no, he told himself. She’s tired, she’s had a long day.
She just said she felt ill earlier. Not tonight.
“We had quite the surprise today. I suppose Amelia’s and my diatribe at the women donors in Pimlico had an effect.
Mrs. Finley secretly escaped Mrs. Chisom and donated a cheque to us behind Mrs. Chisom’s back!
” Ellen laughed at her own dramatic interpretation of events.
“I suppose the entire quilting group isn’t rotten. ”
Mark had never considered the complications of charity work before.
Charity was the realm of women: men made money and women donated it.
Or sat on the boards of relief or knitted scarves and socks.
But unpacking those boxes to find mostly rubbish made him far more aware of the disparities between his family and the people Ellen worked with.
And how the well-off viewed the poor and the paupers.
Ellen slid her arms around his neck and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’m here,” Mark said. His cock swelled, despite his best efforts. He hoped she wouldn’t notice, but she was sitting atop it. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”
“You know what I mean,” Ellen breathed, and scraped her teeth along his jaw. “We have time before supper. And I’m feeling well enough now. Should we…?”
Yes, Mark’s body screamed. He took a disinterested tone. “I mean, if you want to, then I’m not opposed.”
Ellen’s fingers ran through his hair, and he let out a little groan, betraying himself.
Ellen grinned. Mark hadn't come to her bed since the day she’d announced she was increasing.
He’d slept beside her, but he’d not come to her bed.
As sweet and affectionate as ever, perhaps more so, Mark had still not touched her in any sexual way.
And Ellen didn’t like it. She wasn’t too ill to enjoy him, and she wasn’t showing yet.
Ellen just had to prove to him she wasn’t as fragile as glass.
She wanted the new normalcy they’d carved out for themselves without any reminders of her condition.
So Ellen took a breath, fortifying herself, and slid off his lap to land on the floor between his legs.
He blinked. “What are you doing?” His voice dipped low in surprise.
Oh, please let this be right, she thought. I hope I’m not making a fool of myself. Ellen reached up and fiddled with the clips of his braces, unsnapping them.
Mark’s hands rested on hers. “What are you doing?”
Ellen smiled up at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?
” She rose to her knees and unbuttoned his trousers before he could protest. Slipping a hand inside, Ellen found what she was looking for.
His penis, strong and hard, sprang out of his smallclothes.
She grasped it in one hand, the other hand digging back down into his smallclothes to find his sac.
Ellen tenderly rolled his bollocks in her palm, enjoying the weight.
Mark sighed, leaning back to give her better access. “Are you sure?” he questioned, but she saw how he gripped the arms of the chair, how his jaw was tight, and how he spread his legs to make room for her between them. He took hold of his spectacles but she stopped him.
“Leave them on. I like the idea of making love to a professor.”
His nostrils flared and his knuckles turned white.
Ellen’s other hand stroked his shaft, twisting to provide more sensation.
His groan made her blood sizzle. His glans, already full and ready, turned nearly purple with arousal.
She ran her thumb over the top and felt smug when she discovered the wetness of his desire.
Ellen glanced up to see his face slack, his eyes hooded and dark, and a flush spreading across his cheeks.
Emboldened, Ellen gripped hard and, holding her breath, closing her eyes in fear of disapproval, leaned forward and kissed his head.
Mark let out a strangled sound. “Ellen!”
Deciding that was probably encouragement, Ellen opened her eyes and kissed the head of his cock again, this time opening her lips to include a swirl of her tongue.
The wetness was salty and a little bitter, but she didn’t mind.
Ellen leaned forward to adjust her grip and cover the side of his shaft in small kisses, but Mark grabbed her shoulders and gently pried her off.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” His eyes were wide and frantic.
Ellen refused to blush. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Kissing you,” she said.
“You can’t do that. You shouldn’t do that.” A blush crept down his neck and disappeared below his collar.