BHM Waistcoats and Wainscotting ~BHM, Historical Romance

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Xyantha Reborn

- Actually Very Tame!
***
Joined
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Chapter 24

Geoffrey put down the bottle and stepped forward, feeling like he wanted to shatter everything, trample over the shards of whatever passion was left in his breast until it was extinguished. “There is no need to restrain yourself – please, by all means, go back upstairs. Raoul can regale you about how wonderful your cooking is.”

Other woman might have cried out at his tone and manner, becoming angry themselves or expelling tears at the treatment. Once more Margaret proved herself indifferent to social norms. The dark head tilted, and her eyes fastened on his. “I am here because it is where you are,” she informed him in that dry, formal tone of hers.

The fat man presented his broad back to her as he turned back to the food before him. Several long moments passed as he methodically devoured the remaining three pieces of chicken. His left elbow was planted on the table, supporting his fleshy face in his hand. The other methodically moved, trying to fill that aching hole in the pit of his stomach.

He jerked in surprise at feeling her delicate form press into him. Those arms slipped around him, her breasts pressing into his shoulder, and her face softly nestled against his from behind. “Go away,” he snapped. “You want to be watching Raoul – so off with you!”

Instead of going, she nuzzled his cheek. “You are rather irritable tonight,” she observed placidly. “I do not want to be watching Raoul.”

“Oh? You seemed bloody interested in watching him all night!” Geoffrey growled, struggling not to let her touch and soft tone soothe him. Despite himself, his eyes half lidded as he speared into the pale flesh of the nearest potato. Given the scowl on his face, he was likely imagining it to someone’s face.

“Why are you being so cruel?” Margaret asked softly, pulling her face away to gaze at him with an expression of confusion. “I do not want to watch Raoul.”

He was being cruel because he wanted her to love him, not another, blast it!

She snuggled back into him. Her left cheek pressed into his right cheek as she too gazed down at the plate before him. After several moments of watching him devour everything before him, she shivered. A deep hum of pleasure escaped her, and she sighed. “Watching you eat fills me with pleasure,” she admitted abruptly.

Geoffrey suddenly became conscious of something his body had noticed immediately. He was not sure how she had managed to undo the buttons on his waistcoat, as her arms were not long enough to circle his massive girth, but the fabric now hung loose. Her cool hands had slipped between it and his shirt, caressing the flesh there softly. His body was already responding, and he found himself stiffening further as he became conscious of her breasts pressed into him. Instead of acknowledging her attempts to placate him, he scowled harder. “Oh, aye, and watching Raoul eat clearly fills you with pleasure too,” he sneered, pulling the carrots closer.

Margaret was silent for a full minute. When she finally spoke, it was slowly, deliberately. “Only when I imagine that it is you.”

He paused and turned his face towards her fractionally.

She kissed the side of his mouth, her lips whisper soft.

Still he resisted. “And why would you need to ‘imagine’ when I am sitting right there?”

Unwinding her hold on him, she stepped to his side and peered at him. “Imagining you happy is something that has given me pleasure for half a decade,” she returned unflappably. “And I am only good at one thing in my entire life. Cooking. Raoul appreciates my only skill.”

Well, he had been rather morose lately, he admitted as he shovelled the food back. His normal smile had slipped – and it appeared the only one who had noticed was the one that most thought as being the most unobservant. “It is not your only skill,” the fat man retorted instead of pursuing that thought. Turning on the high stool so quickly it creaked in alarm, his hands shot out to grasp her slim waist. “Why did you do it, Margaret?”

“Do what?” she sounded dazed as he dragged her closer. Her hands fell to rest on his broad middle to support herself, and she willingly wedged herself between his thighs.

“Interfere. Throw your dowry away.”

“Oh.” Considering the way her eyes were fasted on his gut, she was uncomfortable. Her gaze always fell when uncomfortable. “It was not throwing it away. I was never going to use it.”

“Never going to use it?” Geoffrey yelped as her hands slipped from the top of the curve, his flesh supporting her drifting hands. That swollen curve of flesh was hardly subtle. He struggled to hold himself still, to prevent himself from knocking her hands away. Margaret would not understand that it was unseemly to touch him there, and now was not the time to enlighten her.

“Correct. I was never going to marry.” Her cool tone was belied by a rising colour in her thin cheeks. “And…it pleased me to do that for you.”

“But why?” he demanded, blushing himself as he hands snugged between his heavy belly and his thighs. When he glanced down he blanched at how her entirely hands were covered.

“Why what?”

He couldn’t well think with her hands so close to… “Why did it please you?” he demanded hoarsely. “I do not understand your actions all those years ago. Why would you give so selflessly to a man who could offer you nothing? Why did you stay silent all these years? Why did you say nothing about it when I was at liberty and we met those weeks ago?”

Her eyes flicked side to side several times as she struggled to cope with the number of questions set before her. “It pleased me because I liked you very much, and the idea of you in pain hurt me. My actions were to prevent distress that would pain you. I do not think it was selfless when the money meant nothing to me; I was never to marry, so my dowry signified little.” Her responses continued, as if listing off the items for a recipe. “I stayed silent because it was my presence which had caused the issue in the first place. As I no longer had the means to rectify another situation, distance seemed appropriate. I said nothing when we met because Clarice required my promise that I would never speak of it.”

Geoffrey gazed after her, stunned, as she stepped away.

Quickly clearing the dishes, she brought out a cake and began slicing into the pale flesh of the interior carefully. When she felt his stare she raised her eyes. “I just need to bring this up – I will be back directly.”

Geoffrey stared after her, trying to formulate his thoughts into a question that she would understand and be able to answer. While he waited her pulled the remaining cake closer and methodically began to demolish it, enjoying how it dissolved over his tongue. Raoul was right – something about the way Margaret cooked truly elevated the art to a whole new level. It was as if she injected her passion for it directly into each article.

When Margaret returned, she looked quite harassed – distracting Geoffrey from his self-loathing that he had eaten four pieces of cake, and that only crumbs remained. “Is all well? You look flustered.”

Margaret actually stomped her foot in vexation. “Raoul was being irritating,” she responded curtly.

Geoffrey’s brain ceased functioning as the woman sashayed across the kitchen, planted herself between his thighs once more, and licked the corner of his mouth.

“You had some frosting just there,” she explained. “I wanted a taste, and it appears there is none left for me,” she added, casting a glance at the crumbs.

Swallowing, he ran a shaking hand across his mouth, trying to hold his lust down at the thought of that warm tongue busy elsewhere. “Margaret…”

“Kitty said that I am to tell you that I love you,” she interrupted. “I told her that you already knew, but she said that it was very important that I tell you again, and directly.” She smiled up at his stunned face. “So – I love you.”

“Do you now?” Geoffrey managed after a swallow. “And how long has this been true?”

She tilted her head, reflecting. “Since you held me when I was crying at your party. No one had held me like that before. Except Martha,” she added with a frown. “But it did not make me feel the same way as when you did it.”

“Are you sure?” he found himself needling, unable to let it drop. “Are you sure that Raoul never held you that way? I heard that you knew each other for a long time.”

Margaret actually snorted, shaking her head. “I am sure. Raoul has always been a child to me.”

Let it go, Geoffrey! “Yet you stared at him all dinner.”

“Yes – as I said, watching you eat gives me pleasure. I was imagining you eating like that – being happy like that.”

Watching him eat gave her pleasure? There had been a very subtle emphasis on the word pleasure that gave it a double entendre…

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his. “I like when we do that,” she whispered with a smile.

Slipping his hands around her cheeks, he met her eyes firmly. “You are sure you do not love him?” snapped hoarsely.

“Who is ‘him’?” Margaret murmured, blinking.

For a moment, Geoffrey understood Clarice’s occasional urge to throttle her sister. “Raoul,” he ground out.

“I do not love Raoul,” she stated with utter conviction, yet without the slightest trace of drama. “I have loved you and only you since the day I met you. I have never loved another before.”

Relief made his knees weak, realization washing away the remaining vestiges of anger and jealousy. How stupid was he? This woman was not his late wife. Here he was questioning her motives - when had given him everything – quietly, efficiently, selflessly, because she had loved him. Had watched him be with another for years, never interfering. And now that she was finally with him – he was suspecting her of…what? Indiscretion with a man who was clearly and utterly committed to his wife?

He crushed her to him. What the hell was wrong with him? Cooking was her passion – it was meant to be enjoyed. “You like watching people eat, eh?” He barely registered her nod, recalling those first visits to her grand kitchen, and her avid contentment and unwavering attention as he made a fool of himself. “Well no wonder Raoul catches your attention. He certainly does adore his food. I like your cooking as well, you know. Love it, really…but you know why I cannot eat as Raoul does, correct?”

She shook her head from where it was pillowed on his breast. Her arms had slipped into the hollows above his love handles, but below the roll of fat across his shoulder blades.

“I’m already too far gone to call myself anything but fat – but I know you would not want me to become even more round and flabby. I will endeavour to keep my appetite in check. I can and will enjoy all the food you prepare – but in moderation.”

The look she gave him was more like he had walked into her kitchen with muddy boots than an acknowledgement of a compromise. “Food is not meant to be enjoyed in moderation.”

His lips parted to correct her, but he swallowed back the urge, knowing it would lead them off-track. “Look at what happened tonight – I ate dinner, and then stuffed myself.” He gently prodded his taut upper belly, cringing ruefully.

Despite her cheeks burning red, she had on much the same expression that James had worn just this day. Are you dense? It seemed to say.

“All I can do is try to moderate my intake. Eat less and walk more. I will never be svelte but I can at least try to trim down a touch.” Her dissatisfied expression only deepened. “What other option do I have?” he demanded in frustration.

“The other option is just to be happy! To stop – this.” She waved her hands at him.

“I do not think you fully comprehend what I – ”

For the first time in his presence, her temper flared to life. “I understand! I may have…difficulties, but I am not an idiot!”

He tugged her head closer, kissing her despite the mulish cast to her features. “You are not, and I have never thought that. Ever.” She instantly relaxed into him, her fingers brushing his exposed sides. When the hell had his shirt come undone? “What I meant is that you…you…”

Her cool fingers meandered across a bulging love handle, traversing hills and valleys of flesh lazily.

“I’ll be damned,” he breathed the unspoken words on his lips dying as overdue realization stuck, heavy with its overdue payload.
 

Anjula

the bitchy one
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💞💞💞😍😍😍😍😍😍 Yassss! Go Margaret!
 

Xyantha Reborn

- Actually Very Tame!
***
Joined
Jul 23, 2014
Messages
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Fin

As one entered the front door, the open hall gave a silent salute of greeting. The rooms to the left and right also stood in a silent vigil. If one looked very closely at the staircase, they would see the dust of time, swirled lightly along the bottom of each bannister rail. The long hallways above were conspicuously empty. Nary a carpet or painting hung on the wall. Even compared to the Nottingham residence, it appeared barren of the artifacts of common living.

Below stairs, the kitchen too stood empty. The fire having gone out, a few cold ashes swept across the floor with a current of wind that snuck through a slightly ajar door. The door swung open on a stronger breeze, blinding the eyes and forcing the ears to compensate.

A laugh trailed lightly on the breeze, followed by a deeper chuckle. On the grassy field beyond the door, two forms lay against the green, green grass.

The obese, middle aged man, leaned over to kiss the other. His shock of blonde white hair flopped into his eyes, which crinkled merrily at his partner. “It still feels like a dream,” he whispered as he trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheek.

“I feel better here,” the woman responded with wistful happiness, turning to curl into his body. “Being with you, here, makes me feel normal.”

“Only normal?” he cried with mock anguish. Gently pulling her up to her feet, he kissed her deeply. For a man with so little previous practice, the recipient of his attention seemed to enjoy his slanted lips, returning his kiss and curling her arms around his neck. “Raoul and Kitty have their boy, and Clarice and Harry are building up their own little empire. And regardless of the reasonableness of it, Clarice seems inordinately pleased that her sister was married to Westmore.” He had his doubts about that, but Clarice’s cruel expectation of her siblings just deserts only made the subject more unpalatable. “But - we are finally alone. Margaret, I am so damn happy. I feel like now, finally, our story can really start.

Margaret blinked, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”

Geoffrey did not respond immediately. As was usual with Margaret, his jacket had come off at some point, and his waistcoat buttons had been teased open by slim, dexterous fingers. He shrugged the fabric off of his shoulders. “I just feel like our lives have been pulled hither and thither. That finally, we can just enjoy each other.”

His wife indeed seemed to be fully enjoying him, her gaze raking over his form. The spectacles that the oculist had prescribed had greatly assisted her vision…when she wore them. She often claimed that the sights around her were ‘too’ vivid, almost giving her a panic attack. The sight of a tree being whipped by winds could send her into a strange stare, overstimulated and unable to cope. Currently, she appeared to becoming overstimulated in another sense. Her slim back arched, unconsciously thrusting her pert chest forward. A gleam of approval shone from her eyes, making the object of her scrutiny chuckle and ruffle his hair self-consciously.

“And enjoy you I plan to,” he added more boldly, despite a rosy tinge heating his round cheeks. His eyes twinkled at her as he untucked his shirt and kicked off his boots.

“Oh. Oh,” Margaret purred, her hips rolling in unconscious invitation as he carefully freed her from her dress and divested her of her little shoes. He also removed her spectacles and laid them on her dress.

A deep chuckle escaped him as he kicked off his boots, highly conscious of his wife’s eyes caressing his body as he undressed. “I think this may surprise you,” he grinned. Scooping up her light form in his arms, he trundled around the low hedge.

The pond that abutted the road curved around the side of the house, shielded from view by a grove of trees on one side, and the house on the other. Between the road itself and this sheltered alcove was an old stone wall and a hedge on the higher ground above it. The surface shone brightly as the sky rained down its sunny glory.

Margaret felt him shiver, and immediately perked her head up from its usual resting place on his chest. “Why are we going into the water?” she demanded, hearing the sound of the water lap at his legs below her.

“Because, Margaret, you are going to learn how to swim today.”

“Why?” she asked again, giving a shiver herself as the cool water lapped at her dangling feet.

Instead of answering immediately, Geoffrey crouched, allowing the water to pour over them both.

The woman in his arms gave a shriek of protest, desperately trying to crawl up him to avoid the cold. When that failed, for the man was fully submerged except his head, she sprang away. Well, struggled upright under the weight of her underthings. When she glared, she looked remarkably like her sibling. “Geoffrey! I do not like – ” her words died in her throat as he stood.

Her own personal Adonis. If she had thought that seeing him naked was the epitome of sensuality, she had been sadly mistaken. His shirt was plastered to every portion of his torso, clearly outlining the wide curve of his shoulders and his soft arms. It also clung to the sagging curve of his chest, and clutched his wide belly. When he flipped his wet hair out of his eyes, his entire torso gave a tantalizing ripple, drawing his prey a teetering step forward, hands twitching to touch him.

Margaret licked her lips, eyes lighting up at this new angle to be explored. When she tried to take another step, however, her drawers tripped her. When she shot upright, spluttering, Geoffrey was already there, cupping her against him. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the cool water, and she pressed deeper into him. Yielding flesh supported her, as did his arms.

The sky was so blue. She blinked, realizing for the first time how wide open the heavens were compared to the clutter of life below. She was just a little raft, floating on the water.

How different was this life, than the one she had been living a year ago? She craved to make up for the years of lack of physical contact, laying her cheek against the warm, soft swell of middle that supported her. The mere idea of panicking, which any other circumstance would have immediately brought on, was negated by the feel of her husband’s skilled hold.

“You are well?” Geoffrey queried softly above her after some time.

“Mmm,” she assented. Her eyes, which she had closed for the better part of a minute, suddenly sprang open. That warmth and support had disappeared, and that odd feeling of floating – she flailed, but found herself instantly supported. “Oh!”

Her husband smirked down at her. “Do you think I would let you drown?”

“No,” she replied after a long moment of thought, as is seriously considering the question. “Why must I learn to swim?” she demanded abruptly.

Pale hair spiked as he freed one hand to run it across his scalp. “Margaret, I cannot have you live so near water and not know how to swim. If anything happened to you...” his voice died as he swallowed his words, realizing almost too late how upset they would make her.

“But most people do not know how to swim,” she observed, index finger swirling absently around his wide nipple until it contracted.

He shivered and held her closer. His expression was grave as he stared down at her. “Margaret, this is important to me. Please?” When she assented, his shoulders relaxed and he released his pent up breath in a long exhale. “Thank you. Besides, I want to…create new memories of this little pond.”

“New memories?” she queried, bringing her dark eyes up to meet his.

A dark flush spread across his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Did Kitty tell you that I taught her to swim in this very pond?”

She shook her head, a line between her brows appearing.

“Yes, well. I’d much prefer to look out at this pond and think of teaching you,” he finished diplomatically.

“Oh.” She seemed to consider this point, frown deepening. “I also would like you to think of me, not Katherine, when you look at this pond,” she muttered at last, folding her arms across her bosom.

Her husband seemed to be fighting a grin. “Margaret! Are you jealous?”

“I do not know,” she replied dismissively, flicking her fingers. “But I do not like the thought of you thinking of Katherine when looking outside every day. It displeases me. I would much prefer you to think of me.”

Dry, understated Margaret. She was jealous! Part of Geoffrey knew he should not gloat so, but it was so refreshing to be the object of jealousy. “Indeed. I do not want to displease you; so shall we get to it…?” he grinned, leaning over and raising her up for a kiss that curled her toes and made her nod lazily.

*~*~*

“I’m famished,” Geoffrey complained from his stool. “Oh, yes, wonderful!” he exclaimed as several rolls were placed before him. Flipping open his book, he reclined in his corner of the kitchen and munched on his snack. As his eyes flicked intently over the passages, his plate steadily refilled as if by magic. Engrossed, the fat man scarcely noticed until he looked over at the three rolls and realized that there were still three – despite having consumed multiple. “Margaret.”

His wife glanced at him, unabashed, from where she was carving the duck. “Yes, Geoffrey?”

“How many rolls did you put here?”

“I do not know, I did not count.”

His lips twitched and his nostrils flared as he fought back his amusement. Suspicious at her wording, and knowing her predilection to answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer, he levelled his index finger at her. “Did you purposefully not count so that you could truthfully answer that you did not know?”

She appeared to be hiding her own grin, now. “Yes.”

He sighed, appreciatively running his hands over his round belly. The top portion of which was firm with food. That firmness rapidly faded into pure, soft lard as it passed his navel. He had been forced to let out his clothing, and he very much doubted that it could be done again. “Naughty thing,” he sighed again, fingering the offending roll of fat thoughtfully. It was not as if her ardour had cooled. If anything it had blazed hotter. And enjoying her food was easy to do. Raoul had not exaggerated her abilities. It was just…

“What is wrong?” the slim woman called softly, putting her ladle down and hastening towards him.

“Nothing,” Geoffrey murmured, blinking her into focus as she settled between his knees. “I was just thinking. I’m getting rather large, is all.”

“You have always been large,” Margaret informed him, making them both smile.

“Yes, but…”

“But?” She asked over her shoulder as she went back to preparing their meal.

“Is…is acceptable?” he gestured to himself anxiously.

His wife turned back, pausing from her walk back to preparing dinner. Her eyes fastened on his fleshy, anxious face. His round cheeks were padded in a muff of fat which drooped down under his first chin. When he grinned, his first chin sunk into his second, and when he spoke that second chin wobbled fractionally, both underlining his words and distracting her from his point.

Under his clothing his broad chest was adorned by two breasts much larger than her own. They rolled seamlessly under his soft arms into a roll of luxurious softness on his back. His nipples downward facing, as if astounded by the size of his middle.

That middle cupped his breasts and both supported their weight and shoved them to the side. Especially now, when full, the upper part of his stomach would dome up between them like a mound of swelling dough. That upper stomach curved down in a languid curve to his belly button, which dark and mysterious interior winked at her when unclothed. His lower belly was where she had seen his current increase in weight go. When she hooked her thumb into his navel and tried to grasp the whole expanse she no longer could – although trying and failing proved just as enjoyable as succeeding. His gut was not all out in front, however, and despite how much of it sagged forth onto his thick thighs, a goodly portion swathed his sides. That fat bulged from his deeply buried hip bones, widening dangerously and sagging over itself when unclothed, only to terminate at his spine.

His soft arms and thighs were not forgotten in this perusal – the sight of those thick tree trunks made her quiver, and she could not stop touching his wide arms at every opportunity. But it was the sight of him slowly stroking that burgeoning belly from top to bottom, of absently sliding his hands under the hanging curve, which was making her unable to respond. Was it acceptable? His waistcoat buttons strained to contain the swelling flesh beneath, nearly singing in their agony to bridge the fabric. Even with their heroic effort, little diamonds of white had appeared, his shirt peeking through each overtaxed buttons.

“Yes. Very acceptable,” she emphasized, eyes locked onto her swollen prey with a lusty glint in her eye. Remembering Kitty’s admonishment to express herself in more grandiose and expressive wording, she licked her lips. “Very handsome. Very…very pleasing.”

He looked gratified, settling back with a sigh. “I am glad.” He chuckled as his wife sashayed closer with an overloaded tray. Sunday was his favourite day; having dismissed the staff, he and Margaret took full advantage of their weekly liberty to romp uncontrolled through the grounds, and to be as informal as she wanted. “You are going to feed me until I burst free from this,” he added ruefully, plucking at the taut fabric across his middle. “I’d stop you - but I forgot how damned hungry swimming makes me…” He accepted a succulent bite, body relaxing in instant response.

For several minutes there was relative silence. He blushed when she lifted his belly, settled on his lap fully, and rested the flesh on top of her, but readily accepted bite after bite. For every one bite she took, she fed him several, dark eyes intent on his happy face.

Geoffrey was distracted by her ass shifting so close to his manhood, already anticipating a delightful evening in bed together. His timid, serious wife knew what she wanted in bed, and he never had to worry he was not pleasing her, for she would take her own pleasure. The sight of her tiny body being smothered under him was oddly satisfying. When he had turned her over to enter from behind, he had been forced to heft his huge gut and place it on her upper ass and back in order to gain entry. Her moan had made him pulse so hard he feared he would come directly. At least she was not disgusted –

A sound made his blue eyes fly open in consternation.

Before the sound of the fabric tearing had quite died away, several tings rang out. His lower buttons, having received additional strain as his belly slumped forward into the freed space from the rip, threw down the towel and separated violently. He stared down in horror at the sight, mouth falling open, his greedy lips shining with grease. This had never, ever happened, and Geoffrey jerked his shocked face towards his wife, stuttering out an apology. Instead of an apology, however, what came out was a rather weak excuse, “I just…become so hungry…when…when I swim…”

The one last button was relieved of duty as she gave a hard tug, causing the entire swollen mass to bob sluggishly against her. “Yes. You do. I believe we should swim often,” Margaret purred as her hot little mouth descended on his.

“You are sure this is what you desire?” Geoffrey murmured when she had pulled back. “You are sure you want a retired life, in an old country home, with a fat old man like me?”

“We are the same age.” She rolled her eyes. “And yes. I want to live in a home. With you. That is precisely what I want. Except…”

He cringed, expression still mortified.

“I rather imagined there being less fabric between us. Will you…?” she asked, gesturing to her back.

He undid the buttons with trembling fingers. “I waited a long time to have you, even though I did not know what I was waiting for,” he whispered into the silence.

“Was it worth the wait?” Margaret asked, her face turning to him in profile as she unpinned her hair, letting the dark tresses cascade free.

“Oh yes,” he murmured fervently. “But Margaret – here? In the kitchen?”

She swept her hands across the stuffed expanse of his middle. “I cannot wait that long,” she murmured throatily, quickly divesting herself of the remaining articles. Besides which, she thought as she eyed his tick-ready-to-pop state, it was unlikely that he could manage much motion. Instead, she leaned over the other table, glancing over her shoulder. “Perhaps…?”

He was already struggling to rise, nodding vigorously as he shed his ruined waistcoat. He began to hiccup as he removed his shirt, making him groan and wince after each one. The spasm made his belly twitch slightly, and he put both hands on it to stop the motion.

Margaret cast up her eyes and blessed Kitty and the advice contained in her correspondence. She murmured in pleasure as his hot skin made contact with hers, and she placed her palms against the wainscoting for balance.

“I do not want to crush you.” He sounded rueful, courteously sliding his waistcoat under her to pillow her head.

Her slim lips twitched. “I do.” And - were those not the words that all romance stories end with? Or, perhaps, as Geoffrey said - perhaps those were the words that every romance story should begin with.
 

Anjula

the bitchy one
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Ahhhhh �� Everything good has an end but I wish this story would never. I'm gonna miss Geoffrey, he's my BAE
 

Xyantha Reborn

- Actually Very Tame!
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Me too! I could write a lot more...I rewrote these ending chapters half a dozen times. When I wrote these Geoffrey just smiled, shook his head gently, and told me that their story was done. Then very gentleman-like showed me the door :p

I could write chapters and chapters more about these six, but in the end their core stories have been told, and they have moved on to live their separate, yet connected lives. I would just be writing for the sake of writing, and I have other characters clamouring to have their turn.

I hope everyone enjoyed this book, and the trilogy overall. This was a huge investment of time and energy, so the comments people gave me really helped push me through. I really appreciate the support and feedback - I love you guys!
 

Chubhandles

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This was such a good story! Margaret and Geoffrey were so cute! I just loved the way you brought all three stories together; it worked out so nicely! :)
 

ashblonde

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Well, you already know I just loved it, but totally worth saying it again, I LOVED IT. All three couples had their own yin-yang nuances going on that was so well done.

"were those not the words that all romance stories end with?" so. perfect.

If you don't mind me picking, my favorite couple was Clarice and Harry (or their super couple name, Clarry? Harrice?) which I find interesting since I'm obviously more aesthetically aligned to Raoul/Geoffrey, and their wives' inclinations. But something about Clarice's smart, feminine-crafty, get business done thing, and Harry's 'affable yet ultra manly when he needs to be' personality just totally did it for me in the chemistry department.

Can't wait for those next characters to climb out of your brain and off of your typing fingers! :smitten:
 

Xyantha Reborn

- Actually Very Tame!
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I like Clarry!
Does that mean there is a Kaoul/Ritty? And a Moffrey/Gargret?

I think Raoul and Kitty are still my favourite - but then I still feel guilty about leaving parts of their story untold...but Clarice was a pushy boss woman (oh yeah, she took right the hell over and Harry just let her until she played right into his hands, pretended like he hadn't been in a panic the whole time!) and Geoffrey was so damn patient and irrisistably sweet that I had to finish theirs too...
 

Fat Molly

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Oh my god

Binge read this tonight and dammit i have work tomorrow and nothing/no one convenient to help meet my own Needs after reading this very hot story

I am very frustrated and its all your fault in thebest of ways

I want to fuck G so much. So effong hot. Your descriptikns are vivid andnever redundant, and so evocative! Your writing skillis exemplary

Many congrats on what a wonderful story and i will be back to re read for years to come. Trust me
 

wolfedrev

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rural GA
(I've been lurking for over a decade and finally joined today.) I am a book nerd, and Cravats and Coat Tails, Reticules and Retinues, and Waistcoats and Wainscoting have been my go-to depression cure since you posted the first installment of Cravats and Coat Tails.

The rich depth of the characters, the perfevtly conveyed setting, and the ebbs and flows of the plot always captivate and excite me. Transporting me out of the stress of daily life, whether that was the drudgery and tedium of gas station clerking or the stress and fear of the nursing licensure exam, your work has never failed to fully capture my imagination. I can say without exaggeration that you are one of my favorite authors.

Thank you for being you!
 

FFAscinated

Member
Joined
Nov 19, 2021
Messages
6
Location
USA
Unlurking to say how very much I enjoy your stories. This trilogy is simply amazing.
For some reason, I hear the Doobie Brothers' song "What a fool believes" as Geoffrey's theme. Perhaps it's because "he rises to her apology" is such an old-fashioned turn of phrase. Anyway, I changed the lyrics a bit:
As he rises to his apology
Anybody else would surely know
she's wanting him so ...
But a fool believes he sees...
 

FFAscinated

Member
Joined
Nov 19, 2021
Messages
6
Location
USA
That's the snippet of the song I kept hearing, and I thought of Geoff & Margaret. On listening to it again (and again), the rest of the song fits Geoffrey's nostalgia yearning for Kitty "He came from somewhere back in her long ago..."
 

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