Numerous couples strolled around the perimeter of the garden, the paths lit by braziers and lanterns hanging from metal crooks. At first glance, the scene was what one would expect from a society ball. But it soon became apparent that the couples were simply looking for a secluded spot to indulge their whims.
Movement near the topiary hedge to her left caught her attention. The lady’s shrill cries were no more. Her gentleman had finally caught up with her but looked far from cross. With his breeches wrapped around his ankles and his bare behind jerking back and forth, he performed his wild mating ritual. The cries were now grunts of pleasure although the man’s frustration radiated for a different reason entirely.
Physical release was all they craved. After her experience with Matthew, she could understand how one would yearn for the heavenly feeling. But when the sensation had subsided, what then? The level of satisfaction could not sustain a person for long.
Love, on the other hand, had the potential to last a lifetime.
Pushing away from the window, she climbed back into bed. After another thirty minutes spent tossing and turning, relief came when she heard a commotion in the hall. The front door opened and closed numerous times. The slurred farewells of the revellers were so loud it was as though they were standing outside her door.
Curious as to the identity of the men courting their mistresses, Priscilla prised the bedchamber door from the jamb and crept out onto the landing. Hidden in the shadows, she peered over the balustrade and watched the guests leave. Gentlemen ambled out into the night, some with more than one lady — though Priscilla used the term loosely — clutching their arms. A few couples lingered in the hall, their reluctance to abandon the party and return to a life of respectability causing distress.
Priscilla heard Matthew’s confident voice barking orders to his footmen before he appeared in the hallway, supporting the weight of a drunken scoundrel who struggled to place one foot in front of the other.
“Help Lord Frostram to his carriage, Hopkins. Inform his coachman that he’s likely to empty the contents of his stomach on the journey home.”
“Shall I send a footman with him, sir?”
“No. From now on all the staff are to remain here.”
Hopkins hurried forward, unhooked the lord’s arm from around Matthew’s neck and draped it across his own chunky shoulders. “Come with me, my lord. You’ll be home and in your bed in no time.” With no hint of his eloquent accent, Hopkins truly did sound like a man from Whitechapel.
Matthew brushed his hand through his hair and straightened the sleeves of his coat. “There are a few stragglers out in the garden, but that’s most of them rounded up.”
“As soon as I’ve settled his lordship here, I’ll arrange for a thorough search of the premises.”
“You’re certain no one went upstairs.”
Upstairs? Priscilla put her hand to her throat. Was that why Matthew insisted she lock the door?
Hopkins nodded. “John stood guard for most of the evening. A few tried to push past to use the bedchamber, but were quickly informed of the new rules.”
“Then I’d best employ another footman. We can’t expect John to hold them off on his own. There’s always one sneaky blighter intent on causing mischief. When in their cups, these lords will do anything to get their way.” Matthew sighed. “Mrs Chandler suggested I convert the summerhouse into a room I could hire for the evening. Under the circumstances the idea has merit.”
So, her husband had listened to her advice. Pride swelled in her chest.
Hopkins inclined his head, but a snigger burst from his lips. “It would solve the problem.”
“Is there something you find amusing, Hopkins?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“You’re free to speak your mind. I’d not be able to run this debacle without your help and input.”
“It’s just few wives would allow such a carry on in their home, let alone suggest ways to improve the guests’ experience. Mrs Chandler is a true original, sir.”
“Indeed.”
The drunken lord burped, heaved, and hung his head. Hopkins hoisted the man to his feet. “Well, I’d best get the lord here into the carriage before he soils the floor.”
Matthew watched Hopkins drag the inebriated sot through the open doorway. From her husband’s rigid stance and weary sighs, it was evident something troubled him. In her presence, he appeared so confident, so self-assured, as though there was not a problem in the world he couldn’t handle.
She’d assumed he enjo
yed hosting his parties. Did they not provide a constant source of amusement? Perhaps having a wife complicated matters. Separating the two different parts of his life probably proved challenging.
Well, the evening had certainly given her much to contemplate.
Priscilla was about to return to her room when a lady approached her husband from behind. The woman placed her ungloved hand on his shoulder, flexed her fingers in such a way as to suggest familiarity.