Annex

Remember tonight... for it is the beginning of always.

DANTE

What does it say about the interested reader – and it is to be assumed that you are an interested reader if you have come so far – that they thirst so much for salacious details as to even read the Annex, which (like the foreword) hardly anyone ever opens voluntarily?

Oh well, let this question be pondered by other authors while we continue, as promised, with the juicy bits. To recapture as quickly as possible: The story left off the hero carrying the heroine upstairs on the evening of their wedding. Which is an inherently interesting situation, but not exactly full of suspense – does anybody really presume they retired to their bedroom, had a cup of tea and went to sleep?

Of course they didn't. To the nuptial bower he led her blushing like the morn; both putting on their bravest faces, yet failing to quite disguise how much they fretted about what was to come. The groom had only a very vague idea what might be expected of him and dreaded to disappoint; the bride on the other hand had been given conflicting intelligence by Sarah and Mrs. Peacock acting in her mother's stead. One after the other they had felt obliged to sit her down the previous night and give her some pointers, with Sarah taking the lead and informing her about the so-called conjugal duties, making the whole thing sound rather appalling and putting particular emphasis on the pain of 'defloration', as Elizabeth's novels would phrase it.

Mrs Peacock had found her in wide-eyed horror half an hour later and scoffed at the young maid's tales. "Don't you listen to her, Miss Swann," the elderly lady had insisted, "what does she know! She's got all that from her own mother and she only told her that so she wouldn't step out with the Fairchilds' young gardener."

Mrs. Peacock had proceeded to assuage her worries, averred that the pain was only brief and not that bad to begin with, that she herself had always been very happy with the late Mr. Peacock ('bless him!') and that, if nothing else, Miss Swann could always rely on her excellent husband to never harm her, couldn't she?

Whatever their fears of the wedding night, they soon faced more immediate problems. The staircase wasn't designed for carrying up a person crosswise and the groom's gallant attempts not to bump the bride's head on the wall got his sword stuck in the banister instead and the hem of her skirts got snagged more than once, too. Also she lost a shoe. Then there was the difficulty of opening the bedroom door without using his hands, and getting the both of them (and most of all, ten very stiff petticoats) through that door without injuring either her or himself. As unromantic as this may sound, it at least got the bashful bridal couple sidetracked; they were both still laughing when he put her back down on her feet.

"Well, at least I didn't drop you," he commented drily while taking off the darned sword.

"Not for a minute did I ever think you would!"

"What a beginning!"

"Why, it is a perfect metaphor for matrimony, don't you think? Together we struggled through adversity and neither crashed nor tumbled."

He gave her a very loving look for that remark. "How true!"

"Now for your promise..."

"Which promise would that be, Mrs. Norrington?"

"You promised me the wig would go."

"Oh! Yes, of course! How could I forget?"

He lifted his arms to take his hat off, but she was quicker, halting his hands and pushing them down. She let her own hands glide up his chest, caress his chin and cheek, and very carefully removed his hat first, his wig next, ran her fingers through his hair with relish, all the while gazing up at him with shining eyes. Her forefinger traced his face as her hands glided down to his neck and played with his cravat, waiting for his say-so with bated breath.

He gave it just as wordlessly; his throat would have been too dry to speak anyhow. She commenced unbinding his cravat, and once she had accomplished that, she went on to unbutton his waistcoat just as nimbly.

"There you go," she said shyly. "That's better, isn't it?"

He could only nod, he was too excited for anything else. She stepped back with a little helpless smile, and he instinctively followed, snatching her hands and putting them back on the lapels of his coat.

"I believe you weren't too happy with the uniform either," he murmured hoarsely.

An impish grin flew over her face. "Oh, it is terribly elegant," she replied while slowly pushing his coat over his shoulders. "But as I recall I was very taken to see you without it..."

The terribly elegant blue coat fell to the floor and was never again thought of, a fate shared by its brother, the brocade waistcoat. Her eyes never left his when she ran her hands over the front of his shirt after all, ostentatiously smoothing the creases but in fact thrilled beyond words to feel his firm chest and stomach underneath. For four days and nights had she bathed and stroked his torso (it should perhaps be pointed out at this juncture that it had fallen on Scott, the butler, to wash – other – parts during that time, with the lady of the house modestly leaving the room for a minute or two) and while it had amazed her even then, no actually lewd thought had ever crossed her mind. The situation was quite reversed now, because as decently dressed as he still was in his shirtsleeves, her pulse palpably quickened with the sensation of feeling his hot body underneath.

It was all he could do not to shake under her touch, and as gentle as she had been, he began to loosen the veil fastened in her artful hairdo and unravel the curls piled up on her head with countless bodkins. How silky her hair was! He thought he had never touched anything so soft.

She closed her eyes and leaned into his roaming fingers running through her hair. "Oh James..." she purred, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Are you as happy as I am?"

"I wouldn't have believed it possible to feel such an amount of happiness and not come apart at the seams, my darling..."

A sweet smile spread on her features. "Talking of seams – I think this dress cannot be saved. Perhaps..."

"Would you like me to..."

"You will have to."

He didn't grasp her meaning at once, thinking she meant it was his husbandly prerogative to undress her or something along the lines, only to find that she was being absolutely literal. Some parts of the dress had been sewn around his bride. Whoever would do such a thing? In the end, he had to tear open some seams only to free her of the first layer of silk, and he reckoned there were about ten or twenty more to come.

Tongue in cheek, he remarked, "Protecting a lady's virtue is all very well, but seriously – in her wedding night?!"

She chortled. "The rest won't be as difficult."

Little did she know. She was possibly used to all this, her bodice in particular, which had some semblance to a piece of armour and was just as steadfast. She laughed some more when hearing him profess his opinion on that subject, and putting his hands in the small of her back, she turned around.

"Aha," he exclaimed. "Laces. I think I can just about handle laces."

Oh well, these weren't ordinary laces; they gave as good as they got, but after some minutes of frustratingly thwarted efforts, he had got her out of the darned thing at last.

He discarded it carelessly, swung his arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder. She grabbed his hands and squeezed them, leaning into the embrace and bending her head over as far as she could to give him more room to kiss her neck.

If he had been astounded by the softness of her hair, the softness of her skin literally stunned him. Sweet scents of lilies of the valley and honey and cinnamon and roses engulfed him, incensing his mind, and with one swift move he whirled her around to face him again so he could kiss her lips.

Elizabeth wasn't any less excited than her husband, so much so that she even forgot that not twenty minutes ago she had still been ready to sink into the ground with shame. Impatiently she nestled with his shirt, unbuttoning it as far as she could, pulling it out of his breeches, and since she couldn't both continue to kiss him and get finally rid of the shirt, she grabbed its front with both her hands and pulled with all her might.

It gave way with the characteristic sound of tearing linen and some frantic movements later she had pulled it off him completely. She let her hands glide over his chest which, even if she had no real comparison, in her mind could only be equalled by Greek gods in its noble proportions, to explore his bare skin. Oh how soft it was, and how electrifying to feel his muscle tone under her probing fingers! She only broke away from their kiss in order to continue her reconnaissance mission with her lips.

She hadn't come far before giving a little shriek though. Shocked, she stared at the fresh pink scars that hadn't been there when she had last seen him in such a state of undress, one running down his sternum, the other along his left shoulder to his collarbone.

He quickly scooped her chin and made her look up at him. "Shhh, my love, you shouldn't have seen that, I'm sorry!"

"Is that..."

He nodded, deeply concerned, and she wondered how she could make him understand that she wasn't repulsed by the scars, not at all, merely apprehensive not to upset the wounds.

"Does it still hurt?"

"It never did hurt much. A clean cut with a sharp blade usually doesn't."

She tentatively ran her finger along his breast, then brushed another trail of little kisses there, before placing a particularly gentle kiss on the top of the scar itself.

"It doesn't hurt when I touch it?" she whispered.

"No. Quite the opposite..."

"That's good..." And with all the tenderness she had for him, she kissed the scar for real, only stopping when hearing him quietly moan.

"So it does hurt!"

"No, my love, it's just – just – wonderful..."

She smiled against his skin and went on, covering every inch of his chest with her lips while he ran his fingers through her hair. She came across his nipples and his sighs deepened, encouraging her even more. Gazing up to his face, she saw that he had shut his eyes and wore an other-wordly smile. It was enough to strengthen her courage, so she took his hands and cautiously steered him over to the large four-poster-bed where she made him lie down so she could kneel over him and continue as before without being restricted by his height. In turns she kissed his lips, his throat, his chest and his stomach, egged on by his increasingly louder sighs and moans.

"Oh Elizabeth," he gasped bewilderedly, "my dearest darling Elizabeth..."

And she was still wearing a disproportionate number of heavily starched petticoats, which would have to be taken off one by one before he could even think of getting down to her underwear.

For a start, he seized her close to kiss her, then rolled around until she was lying on her back. With her delighted permission he began to unwrap her out of her many, many underskirts; she helped him as good as she could, laughing with pleasure whenever he had vanquished another and rewarding him with deep, long kisses. And then he was down to her slip and stockings, and suddenly as diffident as a fifteen-year-old. Outside of paintings he had never seen a naked woman, and he wasn't at all sure how well his composure would hold up being confronted with the most beautiful, the most real woman there ever had been and ever could be, his newlywed wife.

She noticed his discomfiture and while she wasn't any less timid than he, she was too much in love with him to idly stand by when he was clearly in need of wifely support.

She ushered him to kneel before her, then pulled up the hem of her slip until it revealed her knees. She reached out for his hands and put them on the hem of her left stocking, and placing her hands on top of his, she gently made him pull it off, inch by inch. The poor man looked stupefied, his eyes glazed over, and when the stocking was gone, he lifted her bare calf to his face and kissed her knee.

She quivered, all the more when he covered the rest of her calf and foot in kisses. He needed no more help with the second. This time, he kissed her as he went along pushing the fabric down, and now it was she who made small mewling noises of pleasure, which got louder and louder when he kissed his way back up, not stopping at her knee however, but pushing the hem of her slip little by little until half of his head was hidden by it, his lips trailing along the inside of her thighs... Elizabeth was sure she should melt away, feeling his forehead pushing against parts of her anatomy that she had no name for, followed by his nose; she spread her legs as far as she could and then she finally felt his lips on her – lips, for want of a better word – and she cried out for the first – but definitely not last – time.

Oh, how he kissed her! He kissed her there like he kissed her mouth, only even more keenly if that was even possible, not only with his lips but also making use of his tongue. He sucked on her; she could feel his tongue dipping into her, circling her, exploring and imploring her, and she arched her back to be as close to him as she possibly could, panting his name with every move her made.

He didn't stop. Feeling the love of his life writhing under his lips and hands, her body arching against him and gyrating to the rhythm of his kisses, hearing her crying out his name with lust – it was the most indescribable experience he'd ever had.

Eventually she turned very tense locking his head between her thighs, and uttered a throaty, drawn-out, almost but not quite plaintive scream – then she suddenly slackened and panting hard, frantically fumbled to uncover his head and pull him up towards her and clasp him in her arms like a drowning person and even though she could scarcely catch her breath she kissed him with a passion that made him swoon.

"Oh James, oh James, oh James, ohhhh James," she gasped, winding her legs around him to pull him even closer, "Oh Lord, what did you do, oh James, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you –"

And the famous Commodore James Norrington, who could pride himself to leave – nearly – every battle as the refulgent victor, felt a kind of proud sweet triumph as he had never known before.

Slowly, Elizabeth recovered her breath and looked into his eyes so full of love and wonder, swore how much she loved him, clang to him, kissed him, and his longing for her overwhelmed him completely.

He returned her voracious kisses just as eagerly and let his fingers roam her body, finding the hem of her slip having glided up to her navel, and with some deft moves, he managed to pull it even further up. She raised her arms to help him pull it over her head, and then he saw her fully for the first time and the vision left him staggered.

She was just so beautiful – so desirable – so perfect – at this high moment, ability failed his capacity to describe; there were no words to do her justice. He marvelled at her burgeoning breasts in mute entrancement before daring to hesitantly reach out and touch her.

She was bewildered by his bewilderment. He always looked at her in admiration, but never so wide-eyed, never so stupefied, opening and closing his mouth helplessly as his forefinger lightly traced her collarbones, her bosom and finally ran over her nipple, making them both gasp. Taking heart, his caresses grew more determined; he placed both his hands on her budding breasts and cupped them – gently – firmer – gently again – removing them to once more stare in wonderment.

He bent forth to rest his face on her chest, drinking in her scent greedily, kissing her, rubbing his nose, his entire face against her; he played with her, encircled her sweet pink nipples with his lips and pushed them with his tongue, and once again, she welcomed each move with a sigh, a moan, a gasp, snatching him by his ears and pushing him where he pleased her most.

His arousal, all the time boiling, had grown even more imperative and scarcely aware what he was doing he grinded himself against her thigh for relief. She must have noticed his erection – of course she must, the bulge in his breeches was as plain as the nose in his face (far plainer, in fact) – and with a curious look and a puckish smile, she reached down and began stroking his hip, and plucking up courage, his crotch. He sharply drew in his breath when she first touched him there and threw back his head, crying when her hand glided inside. She had not expected either such reaction or such peculiar hardness, which touched by her fair tendance gladlier grew. Frustratingly, the small codpiece of his trousers left her little room to manoeuvre, so she made him lie on his back and crouched over him, whispering, "Please James, I'll need a little help with this... How does it open?"

Much easier than any piece of her apparel, thank God, and not a minute later she threw his breeches and stockings away and marvelled speechlessly at the sight. It was so incongruous with the rest of his pale, lean body, so unaccountably fleshy, so seemingly ready-made to be touched and played with, and that was what she did with the wide-eyed fascination of a child receiving a new, unheard-of toy that moreover answered to her blithe ministrations, throbbing of its own accord and straining against her probing fingers. But even more enchanting were her husband's responses. Oh, to see this unflappable man who was always so much in control of himself, who wouldn't bat an eyelid under the fiercest attack, losing his last scraps of composure – his body arched and taut like a bow-string, rambling whimpers falling from his lips – like a man teetering on the brink of insanity.

Which was in fact a rather apt description of his slipping frame of mind; he wouldn't have believed it possible for any human being to feel such boundless pleasure, so intense it bordered on torment and set each nerve ablaze. Her grip on him, now gentle and soft, now firm and demanding, made him feel like being sucked into the vortex of a maelstrom; his left hand clawed at the headrest as if to stay afloat, the other clasped her shoulder desperately, and following a happy notion she took the latter to place it on her bosom, making both of them gasp and driving him out of his mind. The simultaneous sensation of her fingers gliding over his yearning member and her hard nipple pushing against the palm of his hand was too much for even his constraint (and being him, the Commodore was one of the world's leading authorities on the subject of restraint and repression; he could have written books about it).

Elizabeth was delighted with her own doing, stormily kissing him, giggling, and painting his semen across his stomach with her fingers. She settled in his arms at last, half on top of him and arranging their heads so that they could gaze at each other, utterly enthralled until they both succumbed to a light slumber.

Which didn't last for long, of course. When he awoke, he felt her breath tickling his chest, her delectable body pressing against him and gently repositioning so he could press her closer to him, he found that she was awake, too, beaming at him with luminous eyes. He made her crawl further up until she was on top of him, her legs straddling his, her budding breasts pushing against his chest, her hot lap rubbing against his, and his excitement returned with a vengeance.

When she lowered her head to kiss him, he found her strategy much changed. As a matter fact, she simply followed his example, inspired by the way he had kissed her chest and – other parts. She gnawed on his lips, her tongue darting in and out teasing him and when he tried to retaliate, she withdrew just out of his reach, all the while wriggling around and about him and caressing every piece of his skin she could reach.

"You are driving me crazy," he cawed, trying to get hold of her.

"Good," she replied huskily, brushing some lingering kisses on his temple before nibbling her way down from his earlobe along the side of his throat.

He let her have her evil ways with him until he could take it no more and rolled her around so he could do the same with her. Starting with her fingertips, he trailed rows and rows of butterfly-light kisses up her hand, her arm, her shoulder, took his time to feast on her lips and throat, then wandered down to dedicate himself to her bosom with all due consideration, made a short stop for her navel before navigating further south and finding her ready to receive his caresses with even greater enthusiasm.

He was elated by her hums of pleasure, the gasps of excitement, the way her eyes rolled back in her head when he hit the right spot. Some hours earlier, he had sworn to honour her with his body and give her all he was – now he finally grasped the true meaning of that pledge. Parting her tufts of hair with his fingers, he ran his tongue up and down, he probed her folds, her flesh was pulsating hotly against his lips; he found the little nub that had given her so much joy before and dabbed at it with his tongue while his fingers explored the territory further.

"You are – this is – James!" she rasped, "this – this – this –"

This indeed. Gently sucking on the little bud, he had let his fingertip glide ever so slightly inside her and pulled it out again in ever more quick succession. He was thoroughly puzzled how the anatomy of the act as such was supposed to work, because there was barely room enough for his forefinger, not to mention – anything – else, but he could worry about that later, because for now he had to devote himself to his wife and her very obvious exigency, and that was what he did.

Ready to die of the utter sweetness of this feeling, she thrashed around in helpless ecstasy and had mewled herself hoarse before he was done with her and when she wrapped herself around him at last, languid, breathless, unable to help herself in her desperate need for him, she took great care to position him where she wanted him most.

Remembering her unanticipated smallness, he had a lot of scruples in that regard though and hesitated to advance. She on the other hand seemed perfectly oblivious of the anatomical impossibility; she had swung her legs around his like a vice and pressed her lap against his arousal, wriggling and writhing and enticing him to proceed. The tiny part of his mind still capable of rational thought gave him pause and urged him to whisper, "Elizabeth, please – I don't want to hurt you."

She recalled Sarah's urgent admonitions and Mrs. Peacock's wise assertions, and weighing up the delicious delectation she had felt so far, discarded the former's warnings altogether, gave her husband a yearning kiss and an encouraging smile and declared with conviction, "It is going to be fine, my love."

"But –"

But she was quite certain, too, and also in a state of such excitement that stopping now would surely have been much harder to bear than any jolt of pain could be. Her eyes fixed on his she let her hand glide between them, grabbing his hard member and leading him where his finger had given her such delight. She pushed her hips against him and he entered her for maybe an inch, maybe less – yes, this was definitely bigger than expected – but it also felt incredibly good, it felt as if it belonged, and she gave a thrilled chuckle. His sensitive tip enclosed at this tightest of junctures he was befuddled beyond recall, but there was no mistaking her eagerness so he finally dared the decisive push.

She gave a little yelp; his eyes flew open in alarm, he saw her look as if she was hurt and tried to pull away at once but she surrounded him from all sides and didn't allow him to withdraw.

"Elizabeth," he panted, "I am sorry, I –"

"Never mind," she replied and kissed him deeply. It had hurt, yes, but not nearly as much as she had feared, and the pain quickly subsided.

"But –"

She sealed his mouth with another deep, longing kiss, her arms and legs maintaining their adamant grip on him and not permitting him to escape.

He held very still, on the one hand quite demented by the heavenly sensation of feeling her wrapped so tightly around him in every meaning of the word, but on the other hand deeply troubled to injure her. Then he felt her relax a little, and saw her smile at him, and once more, she began to slowly roll and undulate her hips, pulling him with her whether he wanted or not and using her legs to softly push him upwards.

It wasn't just a chivalrous phrase – her wish was his command and so he very carefully resumed moving inside her, seeing her eyes widen still if that was possible and sucking in great heaps of breath. Her lips formed a perfect O and that was the sound she made, too, digging her fingers into him and pushing her hips against his in a slowly ascending rhythm that drove him out of his senses.

Like two wrestlers locked and wedged in each other and alternately crying out each other's or the Lord's name, they struggled back and forth, up and down, in and out, rolling around and around without ever breaking contact, until once more she was on top of him and raising her upper body pushed onto him with all her might.

She threw back her head in a silent scream, pushed her hips up a little and slammed down once more. He hardly knew what to do, he was out of himself experiencing this absolutely incredible sensation spreading from his loins through every fibre of his body and clouding his vision; her face was contorted with pleasure and lust and pushing himself up on one arm, his lips found her pert pink nipple which was so hard it could have cut glass. The moment he made contact another scream escaped her lips, her pushes became yet more frenzied and so were his sucks.

And if he had thought to be in heaven before, he had just no words for the Elysium he found himself in as they were imparadised in one another's arms when she tightened around him even more, pulling him inside her, milking him, all the while clasping her arms around his head and wailing his name and he couldn't hold himself back any longer either. His free arm locked around her, his lips glued to her, he pushed his hips up as hard and his member into her as deeply as he could, harder yet and deeper still, teetering on the brink of losing his consciousness.

"Elizabeth," he mouthed against her chest when feeling both their bodies slackening at last. He had no breath, no voice for more, but he had to say it all the same. "Elizabeth – thank you – thank you – my love – my Elizabeth –"

She wasn't a bit more eloquent, stammering his name and covering the top of his head with kisses until he slouched back on the cushions and pulled her with him. His lips found hers for another kiss, supposed to convey all their gratefulness, their love and adoration, and most of all, sheer and utter incredulity that anything like that was even possible and not only possible, but that they had accomplished it without either of them knowing what they were actually doing.

"I know I say it all the time and you never once believe me and call me a nonsensical girl, but you are the best, James," she murmured, spent.

Weakly he replied, "Only because you are."

"A nonsensical girl?"

"The best girl – the only girl – my girl..."

They fell asleep for real in the end, exhausted and jubilant, with every thinkable part of their bodies entwined around each other. As neither of them had thought of pulling the curtains the previous night, the sun woke them up in the morning in more or less exactly the same position. Wishing her a good morning by means of a dozen kisses and making up with a dozen more for her protests when he finally disentangled himself, he got up eventually and wrapped a sheet around himself – "like a toga," she commented with a tinkling giggle.

Prudently – or not – he had ordered that no servant was to make any appearance in the house before the afternoon, but knowing what was her due, he quickly went downstairs to procure as much of a breakfast as he could gather in his haste to get back to her. Unaccustomed as he was to such task, and completely unfamiliar with the new house and kitchens, this proved much harder than he had reckoned when thinking that presenting her with a grand breakfast would be just the thing. In the end he rushed back with a tray laden with not much else but a jug of water, some cups of coffee and a handful of biscuits, finding her waiting with wide eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Norrington," he greeted her once more. Only then she seemed to realise that she was very much undressed, primly snatched another sheet to cover herself up and – unbelievably! After all that had happened last night – blushed very prettily.

"Are you hungry, my darling?" he asked and put the tray down beside her before settling on her other side and kissing her forehead.

"Ravenous!"

"In that case allow me to beg your forgiveness right now for the sparseness of this meal. I couldn't even find the tea, let alone anything more nourishing."

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask for your excuse on that head?" she replied, snatching a biscuit and nibbling on it.

"Should you? Why?"

"Well, technically I am the mistress of the house, right? Isn't the mistress of the house responsible for that sort of thing?"

"Is she? I mean – are you? I have no idea."

"Me neither. Oh dear, that's a good start. Not married for one day and already I let my poor husband starve!"

"I assure you I am far from starving, Mrs. Norrington, and as for the first fifteen hours of being married to you – they couldn't have started any more wonderfully, at least from where I'm sitting."

She grinned widely and leaned against him. "Oh, yes! Aren't you glad I made you marry me sooner?" she purred and sipped the – very bad, but at least strong – coffee.

He burst out laughing. "Is that what you did? And here I was thinking we could have been married since last July."

She flushed and nearly choked on the coffee. "James!"

"My darling?"

"Don't tease me so!"

"I thought you liked being teased," he blandished and tickled her cheek. "As a matter of fact, I got the distinct impression you did."

She smiled despite herself. "But not about that!"

"So let me tease you about something else then. Let's see..." He traced her jaw with his fingers, her throat, her shoulder until he reached the blanket covering her up. "Is there any particular reason you have wrapped yourself up like a Christmas present?"

"I – but isn't that how it's supposed – I mean..."

He looked at her lovingly. "I'd hoped it might perhaps be for me to unravel...?

She gave a content chuckle. "That would be very ..."

"Impertinent of me?"

"It'd be very welcome. I just... I didn't want you to think me – you know..."

"Beautiful? Desirable beyond measure?"

"Licentious was rather the term I had in mind."

"How could you be licentious? You are my wife, I am your husband, we're entitled by both law of God and the land to do as we please."

She smiled. "If that is so, why are you wrapped up like the Caesar himself?"

He grinned back. "That is a good question, to which I will answer that I am just waiting for you to have your breakfast so you can undress me. I find I particularly enjoy you undressing me."

"Oh yes?"

"Hmmm, yes!"

"Why didn't I think of that! Because I like that very much too."

"Undressing me?"

She laughed. "Yes, that, and being in turn undressed by you."

"How excellent that you should think so, because it is a thing I relish just as much. How happy we should think alike on the subject!"

"Very happy indeed! And speaking of happiness..." She put down her cup and snuggled up to him. "I want you to know how very, very happy I am and – I hardly know how to say it, but... Oh James, last night – it was – you were – I should never have dreamt that I could ever feel so – so – to feel so utterly – 'happy' doesn't even cut it – I mean really!"

"Dear me, I know what you mean! Nobody ever tells you these things, do they?"

She sniggered. "I think they actually do."

"Yes, but only in such a perfunctory manner. 'Get married, honest wedlock is a glorious thing', like, 'Oh, you should see Kew Gardens, they're wonderful' or 'You ought to try this pastry, it's divine'."

She laughed. "At least I think I now understand such lines as 'I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap and be buried in thy eyes'."

"Exactly! Until last night I thought this referred to a dying soldier bedding his head on his wife's skirts – and I wondered what the soldier's wife was doing on the battlefield in the first place."

She laughed even harder and put his hands on the seam of the sheet to pull it away, which he did gladly. Last night he had only seen her in the light of the candles illuminating their bedroom, so perhaps his fresh amazement when seeing her now in the rays of the morning sun may be more understandable. Her skin was just so radiantly rosy, her flesh so firm, her whole body a perfect study; he was overwhelmed by the notion that this glorious woman was truly his.

Gently he reached out for her to make her settle in his arms, an invitation she cheerfully followed by clambering to sit on his lap, her nose touching his before closing in for a very tender kiss.

He had swung his arms around her, drunk by her still lingering scent of flowers and spices, now mixed with the distinct flavours of intercourse, and physical excitement joined the emotional. Now it was his turn to be deeply embarrassed – how impudent to harass her so soon after she had made him so happy, and in broad daylight, too! – but she didn't seem to take offence. In fact, she gave a lustful groan and pressed her lap closer against his and her gentle kisses became more demanding. Neither of them remembered the tray, which shattered on the floor not two minutes later, and when it did, they both just faltered for a second to laugh before continuing.

And that is how it went, and why Lieutenant Groves had to stand in for the Commodore for a whole week, during which the newlyweds barricaded themselves in their bedroom to conquer entirely unheard-of new worlds.

To the nuptial bower I led her blushing like the morn... – Milton

At this high moment, ability failed my capacity to describe – Dante

And touch'd by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. – Milton

Imparadis'd in one another's arms. – Milton

honest wedlock is a glorious thing. – Pope