Page 46 of Claiming the Tower (Council Mysteries #1)

O f course, for all Hereswith’s assurance, the next days were not quite that simple.

Bess knew perfectly well that transitions took time, and this was a delicate one.

Hereswith was still finding what she wanted.

And of course she saw echoes of her father everywhere.

Bess did too, and Hereswith must be facing magnitudes more.

Preparing for the funeral had given Bess more of a sense of both the house and the household.

The longer she was at Verdant Court, the more she’d come to understand why Hereswith loved it so much.

It was not, in the grand scheme of things, a well-designed house.

Of course, it had not been designed as one, but rather as an abbey, which explained the odd shapes and sizes of the rooms, or the fact the staff rooms were mostly on the ground floor, tucked into the rise of the hill.

The staff had been braced for the needs of a funeral for some time.

Hereswith had, apparently, discussed her father’s preferences with them months ago, in a time before Bess had met any of them.

Even, she thought, before she and Hereswith had been talking more than entirely in passing in the Field.

Now, all of those plans were put in motion.

Bess had been a help with that, especially being a public face of the family, assisting, slipping from being Master Rowan’s companion to Hereswith’s, almost seamlessly.

Bess had been the one to label the flowers and wreaths as they arrived.

She’d been the one to sort out the seating arrangements.

The funeral itself was outdoors, with burial in the family cemetery to follow.

Bess had wondered if there would be some kind of funeral pyre, or a boat sunk in the nearest lake.

But no, there were readings of verse and prose in four languages: English, of course, but also Latin, Anglo-Saxon, and French.

Hereswith and her brothers had all said a few words.

Master Rowan had outlived many of his friends from his own generation.

But there was a host of people a generation or two younger who had seen him as a mentor and then friend, from a range of fields.

Many of them had made condolence calls before the funeral itself, as well as sending any number of letters and wreaths and tokens.

The burial on the second went smoothly, no bad omens to spoil any memory of it.

Hereswith’s brothers had been cordial, and their wives and older children had all done their fair share of greeting the mourners.

Of course, there were half a dozen from the Council there, and that complicated some of the arrangements and expected etiquette.

The Council representatives had included Council Head Merriweather, but also Blanch Ventry and Asphodel Hunt from the women, and Titus Howard and Donatus White from among the men.

Bess was curious about why those, as a representative, but also intrigued by the glimpses of their interactions that she caught here and there.

The next day, Hereswith had been quiet, as Bess expected.

She’d spent most of the Friday in the library, bent over books at her own desk.

Her father’s remained untouched, and Bess certainly wouldn’t comment on that.

Not for weeks, at a minimum. Saturday, she’d gone for a long walk until sunset, and then come back and had a possibly longer bath.

Bess came up, cautiously, around seven, to see if Hereswith wanted a tray, and found her in her nightdress and gown already, her hair drying in front of the fire.

“Something to eat?” There, that was a sentence that did not presume anything about wanting to eat, or whether Bess was wanted company.

To her surprise, she found Hereswith looking up and looking at her, with some layer of intention that Bess didn’t understand yet.

“A tray would be excellent. Something light, for me, and whatever you prefer. Could you let Mary know I don’t need her for the rest of the night? Did you have plans?”

“No?” Bess swallowed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes..”

“Excellent.” Hereswith certainly sounded pleased, and it made Bess think again about Master Rowan’s comments about Hereswith smiling differently now.

By the time she came back, Hereswith was stretched out on the more comfortable sofa, one leg along the back, one knee bent up.

It was a remarkably relaxed pose, something that— with less in the way of clothing— might have hung in some art gallery, a goddess in repose.

Bess set down the tray, both so she wouldn’t spill it, and to stop herself staring.

There was a little amused sound from the sofa. “Will the food keep?”

“Yes?” Bess glanced over. It would be rude not to.

“Come sit, would you?” Hereswith gestured at the sofa.

“Well, make sure the door’s warded, and then come sit?

” It made the comment less a command— not that Bess didn’t rather like seeing Hereswith using that quiet competence.

Bess double-checked the door, then came over, before perching on the sofa, entirely aware of Hereswith’s leg behind her.

What to say was a challenge, before Bess settled on, “You wanted something?”

“I want several things, it turns out.” Hereswith offered a hand, and Bess took it.

She wasn’t made of stone, and also she might not have all of Hereswith’s gifts of reading a gesture fully and accurately, but she certainly had her own competence.

“There.” Hereswith squeezed Bess’s fingers.

“Papa said you made me smile more and better. I’d like to do more of that.

Explore more of the ways we might do that. ”

Bess opened her mouth. Not that she wanted to object, of course, but this felt a bit like stepping off a cliff and hoping they learned how to fly inside a few seconds. “What did you have in mind?”

“Since supper will keep, I would like to go to bed, and— your books have been quite informative, actually. But I’d like to start with touching, and rather less clothing in the way.

A beginning. Not an ending. There are quite a few things I’m curious about, and more I’m sure I don’t know to be interested in yet.

More than kisses. Your fingers. I keep thinking about your fingers. ”

“My fingers doing what?” Bess did, in fact, have two hands.

She twisted in her seat a little, to face Hereswith head on.

Her right hand was occupied, holding Hereswith’s left.

But that meant her left was right about the level of Hereswith’s right knee, and her gown had ridden up enough to expose a curve of calf.

Before she could think better of it, Bess let her hand drop, just resting, and she watched Hereswith shiver in reaction.

“The bed would give us more room to explore, yes.” Bess spoke again, since Hereswith did not. “How far would you like that to go tonight?”

“It is odd, isn’t it? How little we touch, skin to skin. Even women, even friends, without the armour of silk or magic or both.” Hereswith swallowed. “I envy the men, who don’t have the weight of the cloth quite the same way. The space enforced by petticoats and layer upon layer.”

“Different tailoring, ” Bess offered, but then she stood, offering her hand. “Bed, yes.” Hereswith let herself be pulled up— or helped, rather. As Hereswith turned to tug Bess toward the bedroom by one hand, Bess began to gather her thoughts about that.

A minute later, Hereswith was on the bed, having shed her dressing gown, leaving her only in a swath of white cloth and embroidery.

Bess was still dressed for the day, but her fingers were working at her buttons, then to free the corset.

Between, she kept looking up and catching glances.

“What do you like, that you’re looking at?

” Hereswith sounded nervous now, or rather she was letting the nervousness be heard.

“The thing about fashionable dress is that it tries to shape the body to a certain form. I am liking seeing what yours is like without that. The shape it has naturally.”

Hereswith glanced down at herself. “I am no great beauty. I wasn’t when I was younger.”

“Tsk.” Bess managed to get her petticoats undone, then dropped them off her hips.

“I thought, when I came in with the tray, that you were like a painting of a goddess, one of Rubens. The one of Hygeia, perhaps. I would like, when you wear colours again, to see you in that shade of red. It would suit your hair.”

“I am—” Hereswith’s voice caught. “What makes you think of that?”

“The strength of the shoulder. That is a woman who brings good to the world. But also the flow of her body. There is softness there, and curves, and she is not shy of showing them.”

“Or showing rather a lot more than her shoulder.” Hereswith managed to tease that. The painting was known for baring one breast, after all.

“Oh, I’ve had hopes of admiring your bosom for some time now.

” Bess finally got the last of the fastenings undone, the last charm, and stepped out of the innermost petticoat before bundling them up.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” She didn’t wait, she wanted Hereswith to have a moment and decide what she’d do with it.

Taking her clothing back to her own bedroom did not take long, and as she came back, she heard the sound of someone rearranging on the bed.

Hereswith had, in fact, been brave about it, having switched her nightgown for an open-fronted gown of green silk, meant to be a lighter layer.

She lay back, half-reclining with pillows behind her, and the covers pulled back to invite Bess into the bed.

Bess let her delight show, stopping to admire the effect and then taking quick steps.

“Oh, I would look at that far longer, Hereswith, except that you invite me to do far more than look.”

“I do.” Hereswith near whispered it. “What would you like me to do?”

“What pleases you. We have time, we have space.” Before Hereswith could get nervous, Bess bent to kiss her.

As she kissed, she explored what it would do to rest her fingers right at the boundary between silk and skin.

High on Hereswith’s shoulder, nowhere she had not touched before.

But this time, she could let her thumb begin to move, choosing small circular patterns.

Hereswith inhaled, at a pause in the kiss, and then she mirrored it. A little more complicated, given that Bess’s chemise was designed to slip over the head, with no fastenings at the front. Nimble fingers made do, however, and within no time at all, they were stretched out, trying each new touch.

When Hereswith was well and truly hovering between relaxation and increasing desire, Bess kept her voice soft, but asked, “May I touch you further? Here.” Her fingers brushed the top of the curve of the breast. “Or here?” The fabric was in the way, but she could gesture at the spot between Hereswith’s legs.

She herself was eager for that kind of touch, the desire to rub and arch.

“Both? In turn?” There was a catch in Hereswith’s voice. Then, unexpectedly, Bess felt a hand, fingers sliding against her breast, then catching on the cloth. “Can you take this off? I mean, will you? Right now? If that’s...”

“Oh, I want to.” It involved moving, and that was a great pity.

But Bess quickly wriggled to get the swath of cloth out from under her hip, then the whole thing over her head, tossed across onto the floor and well out of their way.

Watching Hereswith’s face, she settled back, taking Hereswith’s hand and bringing it to touch. “Touch. Please.”

The first touch brought her to shivering, a kind of neediness she hadn’t permitted herself to feel before.

This was not some quiet, hidden joy that had to be shoved into cramped times and spaces.

This wasn’t someone who had her own life and obligations that were away and different and separate.

Whatever else this was or became, Hereswith made it clear with every comment and gesture and suggestion that the care was real.

Beginning with the drinking chocolate and the conversation, back when that much was an unhoped for joy.

Hereswith was deliberate in this, as in so many other things.

Her fingers traced and explored. Bess half-hoped she might try with her mouth, too, on nipples that ached.

That was not for tonight, apparently, but quite likely some other time.

Instead, Hereswith’s hand eventually worked down her side, to her hip, and then after a quiet question, to rub just where Bess wanted it.

Bess could barely keep herself from moving, instead managing to do the same to Hereswith, to give her a sense of it.

She’d meant to keep control of herself. Long enough, at least, to explain what the choices were. Steady or smoother or harder or fingers inside. In the end, there was nothing but Bess’s desperate delight, flinging herself into the pleasure as wholeheartedly as she’d ever done anything in her life.

It was only after the pulses of pleasure eased a little that Bess could try to breathe and blink at Hereswith.

Her friend was looking at her with an expression like a contented cat that had cream, canary, and the best seat by the fire.

“Mmm.” Just the one sound, a purring satisfaction, but it made Bess laugh.

“My turn.” She took her time with it. Now she could focus for a little, to see what touches brought Hereswith to make the less controlled sounds.

That would be a delightful game for many nights to come, Bess was sure.

It was a victory, each time, to see Hereswith drop that beautiful smooth precision.

Eventually, though, she worked fingers and thumb into just the right angle, her index finger just barely inside Hereswith’s body.

She didn’t want to go further than that, not without a little more talking, but she could feel the ripples through Hereswith.

Then, they were both collapsed on the bed, side by side, hands draped against bodies, a tumble of warmth and companionship. Bess had things she would like to ask to talk about, but now was not the time.