Page 4 of A Very Surrey SFS Christmas

“I know. They are lovely.”

“Here you are, Miss Tilton,” said Mr. Johnston, as he returned with the red and white ribbon. “I’ll just wrap it for you. Unless you require something else?”

“No,” she said bravely. “That is all. Please add it to Lady Portia’s account.”

“Excellent,” he replied, as he nimbly wrapped the ribbon in brown paper and secured it with string. “Until the ball, then!”

Once outside, Amelia and Beatrice linked arms and turned to walk back toward the hospital. Snow kept threatening to fall, and Amelia shivered, glad of her cloak and fur-lined muff. Although she loved snow, especially at Christmastide, it would be a terrible shame if it interfered with the ball in any way. Everyone they’d spoken to awaited the occasion with great anticipation.

“Good day, pretty ladies…” a voice slurred.

She and Beatrice both froze as a man came to a stumbling halt in front of them. From his askew cravat, reddened cheeks and rather stale fragrance, he had been indulging heavily in the mulled wine.

“Sir,” said Beatrice frostily.

“Want to dance around my Maypole? It’s a fine one.”

“Alas, it isn’t May but December.”

He blinked and swayed on his feet, looking like a startled owl. “Didn’t think of that. Probably why no one has said yes.”

Amelia nodded solemnly. “I’m sure that’s the reason. Good day, sir.”

They hurried on, each looking at the other with glinting eyes, but somehow managed to contain their laughter until they were safely ensconced back in the carriage.

“Oh dear,” Amelia choked out, giggling uncontrollably.

Beatrice’s shoulders were shaking. “His Maypole. Good heavens. I’m sure he’d like to think of it so…then again, perhaps we were hasty in our refusal. In the spirit of Christmastide, we could have given it a pity dance. Then it might have frozen and snapped off, and no longer would he ask such an impertinent question.”

“Indeed.”

“I am relieved the gentleman was a placid drunk. If he proved otherwise, I would have been forced to demonstrate my skill with a dagger. Those lessons from Captain Denham do make me feel safer, even if the wretch refuses to teach me to box.”

“He won’t even teach Lady Portia to do that, and he loves her madly,” Amelia pointed out.

“Mmmmm. Speaking of loving someone madly…have I told you today that I do?”

“Several times. And I adore to hear it. You could also, however, show me,” she replied hopefully, all her thwarted desire from earlier returning with a vengeance.

“I could, couldn’t I?” Beatrice purred, licking her lips. “Perhaps, Miss Tilton, you might display your wares.”

A heady rush of anticipation filled her, and she shuddered. No matter how many times they kissed and touched and fucked, she always wanted more. Accessories such as soft leather dildos had added spice to their nights, but there was something about a moving, swaying carriage that heated her lust to boiling point.

“Well, Miss Irving,” she said, slowly raising her blue gown. “I have kidskin half-boots to sell…no? Perhaps some silk stockings?”

“Higher,” growled Beatrice, her eyes glittering. “Show me that pretty pussy.”

Leaning back against the leather squab, Amelia braced her feet on the floor, tilted her hips, and lifted her gown to her waist. The cool air made her shiver, yet at the same time, pure fire scorched through her body at the appreciative lust on her darling Bea’s face.

“Merry nearly-Christmas, my love.”

* * *

For one endless moment, Beatrice denied herself the feast her mouth watered for, and instead drank in the delight of Amelia happy, aroused, and at peace with her curvy body. She looked like an angel—albeit a very naughty angel—with her gown raised, pink cheeks, impish smile, and all the love in the world shining in her brown eyes.

It was both humbling and powerful, making her feel as though she were ten feet tall. Yet each day as they learned new things about the other, navigating life as a couple in the face of societal and church distaste and disapproval, their love grew even stronger. Of course it wasn’t easy. Amelia’s father and her own parents might never accept their partnership, there would always be soirees they weren’t invited to, and those who would ignore them or worse in the street.

But the joy they’d found together, the friendships formed with the other Society members, even Mittens the diabolical cat, dulled such pain. And certainly life was far too short to waste time seeking approval from those who would forever deny it.