Alcott Hall: Epilogue

The carriage rattled to a stop and Madeline jolted awake. She was curled under Warren’s arm, her face pressed against the warm wool of his great coat. Charles sat across from them, his nose buried in a book. He’s been reading for the whole six-hour journey from Finchley to London. Madeline tried to read as well, but she was too distracted.

This was her first time back in London since her daring escape two months ago. Now she was returning married, her husband and their secret husband in tow. The news broke just after Christmas, splashed across every society paper. Madeline knew because her mother meticulously cut out and sent each one.

Not only did the papers fail to get his title right, most of them also misprinted his name. She saw a Charlie Bray, a Chauncey Bray, even a Charoo Braley. One magazine included a rather unflattering sketch of Charles that had Warren snorting with laughter for two days. That they kept, framing it and placing it on a shelf in the study.

Life at the parsonage was good. Better than good. The village adjusted seamlessly to Charles in his new role. He worked well with James, and Warren worked well with Burke. The duke had promoted him after the tragic fire that claimed his cottage. They barely made it two weeks without him before that little act of duplicity had become necessary. Madeline lit the torch herself with no regrets.

“And you’re quite sure you want us both there tomorrow night?” muttered Warren.

She sighed. He’d been trying to get out of dinner with her parents since they first received her mother’s letter a week ago.

“They just want to be seen as being in with the Corbin’s again,” said Charles, closing his book with a soft snap.

Madeline was sure he was right. Aside from her mother’s news clippings, she’d heard not a word from her parents about her marriage, the dowry, or her new fortune.

And yet, the moment it made the papers that Lady Madeline Corbin, daughter of the Duke of Norland, was to be christened, and that Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bray and Mr. John Warren were named godparents, her mother couldn’t write fast enough, inviting them all to dinner.

Apparently, the whole ton was trying to get invited to the christening. Even now, Rosalie and her gentlemen rode with the children and their nannies in another pair of carriages. They would stay at Corbin House. Meanwhile, Madeline was going home…her new home.

Leary House.

The carriage was moving again, the wheels creaking as they rolled over the cobblestones. That sound was imprinted in her memory. How often had she traversed these Mayfair streets? How many hours spent being shipped from this party to that, readying herself for yet another night of slow torture? How many times had she all but run, fleeing a glittering party, desperate to escape?

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the velvet seat.

“Alright there, lovely?” Warren brushed his gloved finger against her cheek.

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed. “Please, let’s not stay an hour longer than we need to.”

He huffed. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

“Of course,” Charles replied. “As soon as the christening is over, we will go home.”

She let out a breath, opening her eyes. Glancing from Charles to Warren, she leaned forward, reaching for their hands. She gave each a quick kiss across the knuckles, not caring that they wore gloves. “You are my home,” she replied. “Wherever we three are together, that is home for me.”

“Well…shit,” Warren muttered, his neck craning as he gazed up at the high ceiling, turning in a small circle. “This is Leary House then?”

Madeline, smiled, watching both men take in the drawing room. It was nothing near so grand as the opulence of Alcott Hall, but it was still imposing. Leary House was all ornately polished dark wood and black marble fireplaces. The paintings leaned towards landscapes over portraits, which Madeline had always appreciated. There was nothing more discomfiting than sitting in a room and feeling a dozen pairs of dead eyes watching you eat your breakfast and tie your laces.

“Just wait until you see the library,” she said at Charles, who was busy inspecting a colorful set of butterflies on mounted display. They sat in glass cases on a table stretched along the back of the sofa.

“Of course, the staff will have to be rebuilt, my lady,” said Mrs. Henkins, the wizened old housekeeper who was currently pouring them all tea. “Lady Maude made do with little more than a cook, a housekeeper, two maids, and a footman. Now that you and Mr. Bray will be in residence, you’ll need additional staff.”

Madeline turned quickly away from the window, tossing an anxious look at Charles before saying, “I’m afraid we will not be in residence long, Mrs. Henkins. Mr. Bray and I mean to make our primary home the parsonage in Finchley. I do not imagine we will be here more than a few times a year.”

“Oh…well, that is…I guess I just assumed that you would take up residence here,” the housekeeper replied.

Madeline couldn’t miss the almost hopeful tone of her voice. She could only imagine how much more interesting life was for a house staff when the family was actually in residence to wait on. She gave Charles a pleading look.

With a sigh, he stepped forward, accepting his cup of tea. “Our plans are not yet firmly settled, Mrs. Henkins.”

“Are they not?” Warren muttered, glancing over his shoulder from his spot by the bookshelf.

Charles shot him a warning look, turning back to the housekeeper. “It may be that work will call us to London far more than anticipated. We may not grow the staff any larger, but we shall expect the house to be in readiness all the same.”

“Of course, sir,” Mrs. Henkins replied. “Just as soon as you are done with your tea, I can take you all on a tour of the house. And I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Warren. We’ve put him in the bachelor’s suite, my lady,” she said at Madeline. “I hope that is acceptable.”

Madeline stiffened, her cup of tea halfway to her lips. “Yes,” she murmured, taking a sip. “Yes, I’m sure that will be perfectly acceptable. Thank you, Mrs. Henkins.”

It was not acceptable. It was unthinkable. Warren was their husband, and he slept in their bed.

At the parsonage it was easy, for none of the staff actually lived in the house. Even dear Molly lived with her ailing mother a five-minute walk down the lane. Warren kept the appearance of a separate room, but as soon as the last servant left for the night, they were blissfully alone.

And Charles had quickly set a rule for the staff saying no one was to come above stairs before eight in the morning. Even this was unnecessary, as Warren was an early riser and was typically out the door before seven. They made a habit of dismissing the staff as soon as dinner was served, meaning they lived half of their lives enjoying only each other’s company. It was bliss.

Madeline had no idea how to manage a similar situation with live-in staff. There must be a way, for Rosalie managed it with three men and a staff ten times that of Leary House. She glanced over at Charles, but he just shook his head. They obviously couldn’t discuss it now. One more reason for them to quit London as soon as possible.

“You’re worrying,” Charles muttered. “I can feel your mind humming from here.”

Madeline glanced up, meeting his eyes in the reflection of the mirror on her dressing table. It was late, the only light in the room coming from the crackling fire. She sat perched on a little pouf, dragging a boar’s hair brush through her long curls.

“I’ve reread the same page twice now,” he added. He was sprawled out on the bed wearing nothing but his shirt, the buttons undone at cuffs and collar. A book sat open on his lap, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. “Can you tell me what’s bothering you? Is it just the dinner with your parents?”

She glanced around the room. It was a cozy space, the dark wood-paneled walls accented with handsome pops of green in the curtains and chairs and cheery yellow in the cushions. “I…I don’t know what I expected in coming here,” she admitted. “I fought for it. I wanted it so badly.”

His mouth quirked into a smile. “Yes, I know…seeing as it was I with whom you fought.”

“We never really fought,” she replied, setting the brush aside and turning on her pouf to face him. “But I wanted this place to be mine. I imagined a whole life here. Reading by the hour in the library, walking my gardens, taking tea in my solarium. I have a solarium now, Charles.”

He set his book aside. “I know. I saw it this afternoon on our exceptionally long house tour.” He narrowed his eyes, slipping his glasses off his nose. “Is that what bothers you? That you have a solarium?”

She sighed, getting up from the dressing table. Slipping the robe from her shoulders, she crawled in her side of the bed, feeling that first perfect chill as she slid her bare legs between the sheets. She settled back against the pillows, stretching a hand out towards him. He took it, turning it over and tracing mindless patterns up and down the soft skin of her forearm. She relaxed into his touch.

“Talk to me, my darling,” he murmured.

“I think I was so determined to escape one cage, that I had no idea I was dreaming of another,” she replied.

His hand stilled on her arm. “Go on…”

She let out another heavy sigh. “I was dreaming of this place like it was to be my sanctuary. But, in reality, it is just one more cage. It is just another house I could lock myself away within. Four walls would be replaced with four more…does that make any sense?”

He nodded. “It does. And now?”

“Now…” She glanced about the room. Her room. In her fine London townhouse. “Now I fear that dream is utterly spoiled for me. I cannot be free here, Charles, not with a staff watching our every move. Not with the whole of London pressing outside our door. We will go to a dinner tomorrow and they will all be polite. They will simper and smirk and all the while they will mock us when our backs turn. They hate us, for they know we don’t belong—”

Charles scooted closer, tipping her face up to meet his. “Do not think on it, my darling. Do not pay them any mind. I don’t care what they say about me. Let them mock me. Let them jeer. Let them say I am beneath you.”

She shook her head, placing her hand around his wrist. “We are beneath them,” she corrected. “I was always a pariah, Charles. Now I am utterly insignificant…and I am happy this way,” she added, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “It took coming here and being inside this house to know with a surety marrow deep that I cannot live this life anymore. I cannot live in this house, making calls and going to dinners. I am a vicar’s wife,” she said with a smile. “I belong with you and John in the country. I want a quiet life amongst our own set of people. To own the truth, if I never step foot in London again, it will be too soon.”

He sighed, leaning back. “So, what would you like to do? We could keep this house and let it out. We could use the income to fund a passion project, perhaps build a girl’s school in the village…or we could sell it.”

She stiffened. “But Leary House is part of the Leary fortune.”

“Yes, but it is only part,” he added. “And if it pains you so, perhaps you would be better off with it gone. Remove all temptation, as they say.”

Before she could reply, the door rattled open and Warren entered, a snubbed little candle on a stand in his hand. His hair was down and wild about his shoulders. He wore a dark dressing robe open over his black evening pants and white dress shirt. It was all part of the new wardrobe she’d insisted he get for town.

“Did anyone see you?” Charles called, sitting up. “We don’t know this staff. We can’t trust their discretion.”

Warren glared at him. “Are you kicking me out?”

“No,” Charles said on a breath. “We just…must be careful here.”

Muttering something under his breath, Warren locked the door.

Madeline watched him slap the candle down and begin stripping out of his clothes. “Is your room comfortable?”

“No.” He tossed the dressing robe aside. Then he jerked his shirt off over his head, his thick muscles flexing in the firelight.

Madeline sat forward with interest, not missing the way Charles did the same. Warren was so beautiful.

He turned to face them, his scar crinkling over his eye as he glared at them. “A man just tried to wash me.”

Madeline blinked while Charles spluttered. “What?” she cried.

“I was sat in the tub taking a bath, and a man came in and tried to wash me! I nearly knocked him flat out.”

Charles choked laughter into his hand as Madeline tried to school her features. “Was it the footman? Perhaps he was just trying to help—”

“He offered to wash my hair! Christ!” His hands shook as he dropped them to his sides. He stood at the end of the bed, chest heaving as his gaze focused on a spot between Madeline and Charles.

She inched forward. “John—”

“I cannot stay here,” he blurted. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I cannot be housed miles away from you on a separate floor, waiting for some ponce in a wig to try and rub my hair with oil!”

“John,” Charles echoed in warning.

“This house it too big, the rooms are too drafty, and why the hell is everything green?” he barked. “Pick another color!”

Madeline crawled to the end of the bed, holding out her arms to him.

He stiffened, not yet ready to be touched. “And I cannot have my husband’s first comment on seeing me again that I should go away.”

Charles groaned. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I’m sorry,” she added. “I didn’t think it would be quite like this. I’m miserable too.”

Warren shook his head. “This is your world, Madeline. It is not mine. I said I would try. I will keep trying, but—”

“It is not mine either,” she replied. “Not anymore. I said in the carriage, my home is you. My home is wherever you are. Both of you. And if both of you cannot safely be here, then this is not my home. Please, John—”

He hesitated for a moment before stepping into her arms, his body stiff.

“We will stay for the christening because we made a promise to the Corbin’s. But the moment it is over, we will go.” She pulled back slightly, brushing her fingers through his long hair. “And Charles had an idea that we could let this house. We could use the money however we wished. We could build a school or buy some land of our own.”

He shook his head. “This house is your dream.”

“Was my dream,” she corrected. “You are my dream now, John. You and Charles.”

He sighed, relaxing slightly in her arms.

She inched closer, peppering his jaw with gentle kisses. “Let me show you what you mean to me,” she whispered against his skin. Taking his hand with both of hers, she laid his palm flat against her chest, sliding it down between her breasts, down her stomach, resting between her legs. He cupped her with a soft groan, his eyes hooding with want. “Come find your home in me,” she murmured. “In us. As long as we have each other, we will never want for anything else.”

With one hand cupped between her legs, he grabbed her hair with the other, fisting his fingers in her curls. He jerked her head back. She hissed at the pain, loving the feel of it echoing in her core, a sharp unraveling as she readied herself for what was coming.

She loved when he was rough, when he spanked and teased. She loved crawling for him, sucking him with Charles, both of them on their knees. This man owned her, body and soul. And he gave as good as he got, worshipping her and Charles into the early hours of the morning. She loved watching his tenderness, the way he met their needs without asking. He was rough, but attentive, angry but loving.

“John, please,” she murmured, knowing how much he loved hearing them both beg. “We need you. This house is not our home. You are. Be with us.”

Charles had slipped off the side of the bed and came around, pressing in at Warren’s side. “I’m sorry, Johnnie. Let’s all forget this horrible place exists. There is only us now. Come to bed, my darlings.” He kissed them both, taking them each by the hand and giving them a pull.

Warren growled, jerking his hand loose as he dropped it to the waist of his pants. “I’m too on edge to be gentle tonight.”

“Good,” Charles replied.

But Madeline had an idea. “Lie on the bed, John.”

Both men blinked at her. “What?” he replied, brows lowered over those dark eyes.

She lifted her chin to hold his gaze. “I said, lie on the bed. You are not in control in this house. This house is mine. I make the rules tonight, and I say you will lie on the bed and let us worship you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, belying the smile he tried to hide. “And what do you expect me to do?”

She glanced at Charles, heart racing. “I rather think I’d like to watch Charles ride your cock while I sit on your face. If Charles is very good, I’ll suck him while he rides you. Would you like that?” she said at Charles.

The poor man could barely contain his groan. He turned to Warren. “Get on the fucking bed, John.”

Madeline smiled, watching Warren drop his pants to the floor and crawl on the bed. His powerful body danced with golden light as he turned, stretching out on his back, his cock hardening before their eyes.

She slipped off her chemise as, next to her, Charles tugged off his shirt. That’s all it took to have the three of them naked. She and Charles crawled up either side of the bed alongside Warren. They both dropped to their elbows at his hips, smiling at each other before they took him to mouth, licking and teasing him to full hardness.

He grabbed their hair, holding their heads as they worked him. Madeline sucked on his tip, hollowing her cheeks, as Charles licked his shaft, one hand smoothing over his thigh.

Warren groaned, tugging on their hair. “Fuck—enough—”

Madeline smiled, popping off his tip. “Have you had enough, dearest?”

He scowled at her. “We’re just getting started. Charles, get on my cock while I make our wife scream.”

Her core ached as she watched Charles slip off the bed. He was back in moments handing Warren the little vial of oil.

“Come here, lovely,” Warren directed, offering it to her.

She looked down at it. “What—”

“You’re going to prep Charles for me.”

She gasped, glancing sharply over at Charles. “Would—do you want that?”

He nodded, leaning over Warren to kiss her. “Yes,” he said against her lips. “My darling, yes. Anything. Everything. Do anything to me. I’m yours.”

Her heart raced as she glanced between them. “Tell me what to do.”

“Come over here,” said Warren, patting the side of the bed next to him. “Charles, get your mouth back on my cock.”

Charles groaned, flipping up to his hands and knees as he obliged.

Madeline crawled on the bed next to him, looking hesitantly at Warren. This devilish man just couldn’t resist taking charge, but Madeline found she didn’t mind in the least.

“Put some of the oil on your fingers and work them in, adding one at a time. You want to stretch him out, love. Add more oil to make it easier for him to take my cock.”

She nodded, focusing on the task at hand. She sat up on her knees, pouring some of the oil onto her right hand, bracing Charles by the hip with her left.

He groaned at her touch. “Oh please,” he murmured, his breath fanning the tip of Warren’s cock.

She took a breath, trailing her oiled finger down his arse. He groaned again. Pressing into her touch.

Behind her, Warren watched, his hand stroking the back of her thigh. “Do it.”

Not waiting another second, she worked her first finger in, loving the tightness as Charles pressed back against her.

“That’s it,” Warren muttered, his other hand clutching Charles’s curls, controlling the speed of his mouth on his cock. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. And he’s being so good for you. Do you like feeling our wife in your arse, Charles?’ When he didn’t reply, Warren tugged him off by the hair. “Speak.”

Charles groaned. “Yes—god—I need more. Please, Madeline.”

She pressed a second finger in, and he shuddered.

“Stretch him out,” Warren directed. “Move your fingers apart.”

She did as he said, working in a third finger that had Charles moving his hips against her hand. She smoothed her other hand across his lower back, increasing the speed of her thrusts.

Smack.

She gasped, her whole body shuddering as she recovered from the sting of Warren’s slap to her bottom. She looked over her shoulder at him, cheeks burning with warmth as her core clenched tight with need. “John—”

“Spread your legs, lovely.”

As she did, his hand was already moving between her legs, curling up to sink two fingers inside her heat. She shivered with satisfaction, sinking down to ride his hand as she worked Charles open.

They were all groaning, chasing their pleasure. But she wanted more. She pulled her fingers free of Charles, clamping her legs tight around Warren’s hand, stilling his movement. “Charles, take our husband. Own him. We don’t stop until he begs.”

Charles smiled, kissing her, as behind them Warren laughed. “I don’t beg, lovely.”

She smiled back, not saying the words in her heart. Tonight, you will.

She watched as Charles straddled him, oiling his cock and tossing the vial aside. Warren gripped him behind the knees as Charles used one hand to hold his cock steady, sinking down on it with a shuddering breath. They teased each other, Warren shifting his hips as Charles squeezed him.

“So fucking perfect,” Warren muttered. “Look at you speared on my cock. Who owns you?”

Charles groaned, sinking down to take Warren to the hilt. “Ah—you do—”

“Ride me, Charles. Ruin yourself on me.”

Charles was already moving, his lean muscles tight as he tipped his head back, eyes closed.

Madeline inched forward, lowering her face until she could claim his cock with her mouth.

Charles cried out, his hand fisting her hair as he worked himself on Warren and Madeline on his cock. She thrilled at the feel of him in her mouth, knowing what pleasure she gave him.

“Look at you both,” said Warren, watching them together, his hand smoothing up Madeline’s leg. “You’re mine. Every inch of this skin. Every beat of your hearts.”

Heart racing, she scooted away from Warren’s touch, leaving him with nothing to do but watch. He growled, grabbing for her hip. She swatted his hand away.

“I think she wants you to work for it,” Charles panted, his thrusts slowing as he chased his release.

Before she could reply, she was gasping, her mouth popping off Charles as Warren curled forward, grabbing her by the hips. He clamped on tight, dragging her backwards, flipping her over until she straddled his chest facing Charles. “Sit on my face, lovely.”

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder at him. “What do you say?”

He groaned, both hands going to her breasts to tweak her nipples. She shivered, moving her hips on reflex against his chest, but then she stilled.

Charles watched them with a smile, his hand snaking around to cup Warren’s balls. He gave a little squeeze. “What do you say, John? Ask our wife nicely.”

“You’re both in so much trouble,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to her hips, one moving between her legs to flick her bud.

She whimpered, desperate for more, but she remained still on principle. Charles stopped too, panting for breath, his brow slicked in sweat.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Warren ordered, pressing his hips up against Charles.

But Charles was on her side tonight. “One little word, John, and we will worship you over and over. The sun will rise, and still we will shower you with our love. We’ll give you everything, if you but only ask.”

Warren groaned. “I’m gonna spank both your arses raw.”

Madeline grinned, wiggling her hips against his chest. “Promises.”

Charles laughed, sliding himself off Warren’s length, waiting.

“Ah—fuck—fine,” Warren barked. “Please. God help me, I’m saying please. Madeline, get your cunt on my face and make me drown. I want you choking on our husband’s cock when he shatters. And Charles, don’t you dare stop until I’ve filled your arse with come.”

Madeline smiled, leaning forward to meet Charles in a kiss. He was grinning too, his hips already moving again. Taking a deep breath, she inched back, her body coiling tight at the first swipe of Warren’s tongue between her legs.

As she took boundless pleasure with her husbands, one word echoed in her mind and in her heart. Free. Madeline Bray was free.