"Mr. Stanton," said Mr. Auk, "I know I have voiced my concerns over your... tenants before, but I believe that this situation is somewhat unusual of a man with your stature."
Harrold Stanton sighed and took his feet off the table. His breakfast would apparently have to wait and that was a shame. Mrs. Grebe had made that spiced porridge today, with some rather nice venison sausage on the side. There was even a cup of coffee steaming on the tray. Probably a gift from Taswell and Bangladesh.
"Are they eating through the larder?" he asked.
"No, sir, but-"
"Have they damaged the house?"
"No, sir, but-"
"Then they are fine. Hell, they probably could cause some damage to the house. Give us an excuse to remodel the west wing a little. No idea what my brother was thinking. Lauran walls with bay windows. Travesty really."
"Sir the windows were a gift from Sir Liensis. Those should stay up, in my humble opinion."
"Peter," said Harrold, "In your humble opinion, you want to throw out a pregnant woman and her husband to the bitter cold of a Dunkleshire winter on the basis that their conduct is a little odd. I know that they keep odd hours and have rearranged their quarters. I know that they perhaps wear less clothing than you and most of the other staff would consider appropriate. Oddly enough, the maids have not complained. I wonder why. But regardless of all that, those two are dear friends of mine and I will not have them winter out in their home when a baby is coming. It was a fight to get them to even consider coming in, and I refuse to fight to keep them in. Have you sent the invitations?"
"Yes sir, they were sent through the post yesterday. However, we still do not have a tree."
"Tell you what. Have Gregor go fetch one from the pine yard. I bet he's getting a little stir crazy. Have Lina tag along if she's up to it. How have her studies been going, by the way?"
"You'll have to ask Ms. Cassowary for that information. I have not seen to update myself with their educational progress."
"Well then, I guess I'll go find her. After I finish my breakfast. If there's nothing else, then you are dismissed."
"Sir."
Mr. Auk bowed and Harrold turned his attention back to his food. No longer steaming, but it was still warm. Something to cut the cold of the house, of the drifting snow outside the glass. The fire helped as well, crackling and smoldering in the proper place. The chimneys would also probably need to be cleaned before the party. But that could wait a little while longer.
The porridge was good, just the right blend of sweet and spice, something similar to what he had back on the ship. Not quite the same, it still missed that odd tang from the essence of the sea. But it worked. And he wasn't on the sea anymore, no more sudden squalls and constant rocking, no more crying gulls at all hours. He was on solid land, lounging in thick cotton pajamas, furry slippers on, slowly starting his day as he saw fit. He had land. He had a house. He had a company that more or less ran itself and gave him money because his family name was on some registry in the archives. It worked. And now he spread the comfort and luxury as much as he could. Parties, feasts, roads, schools, whatever he fancied, with a nice reserve to keep him in coffee and rum and fur lined slippers. He finished breakfast, plate clean and mug empty as he stared into the flames.
They would be coming today. The suitors, the women in fancy dress and caked on makeup, smelling of flowers and perfume, to sing sweetly into his ear. He didn't like them, not really, the porcelain doll things that had been wound up by their fathers or their uncles or their brothers or their mothers or themselves. A single nudge and they shattered into a million pieces. And he was supposed to have one live with him, share a bed with him and produce someone else with his name at the end.
Not their fault, surely, not by a long shot, but he still didn't want them in any close proximity. He simply had no interest in the masquerade. They bored him. It was as plain as that. And he had to pretend they didn't when all he wanted to do was at the bottom of a bottle and an afternoon spent staring down the barrel of a gun. A little grim phrasing always brought a quirk to his lips.
They never understood it, the porcelain dolls with snow white skin and hair combed and shiny. Some of them had never even shot a gun, never had the smell of the spark enter their nose and sharpen the senses. A person has not lived until they fired a gun. That was a simple fact. Gregor and Lina had not fired a gun, to his knowledge, but they were exceptions more than the rule. They had lived more than enough for their tastes.
He sighed and took the tray up, ready to run it off to the kitchens, and give his thanks to Mrs. Grebe and her wonderful cooking. Second best he knew, and first that was still alive. And he had to see to Lina and Gregor. Her idea to learn her letters, and she browbeat Gregor into it as well, despite his disinterest. But still, they wished it and he provided. It was the least he could do.
---
Lina stretched and rubbed her breasts, swollen and taut and springy. They were so sensitive now, even the slightest breeze sending a shiver to her core, making her wish that it were Gregor's hands and not her own that wandered over her body. But her hands did a wonderful job, folding the flesh, kneading, and pulling and massaging, helping the soreness flow out of her body into nothingness. Gentle caresses and tight squeezes, heavy pulls and light pinches, a soft self-worship of her body.
They had gotten bigger, bigger than her hands could contain, bigger than Gregor could palm, much to his delight. And she savored his delight, his silent awe at the changes in her body as the baby grew in her womb. The dark skin, her dark skin, the pale lines of scar stretching and contorting. She was always hard around her stomach, deep lines of muscle flexing and jostling with each of her movements. But this was different. The slightest twitch sent the rest of her weight following after it, like she was a tidal wave set off near the deepest parts of the ocean, slowly coming to a crash on the shore. It was fun, this fluid way of moving, every action taking an eternity to start and just as long to stop. She was the ocean now, carrying the world within her as she walked.
Her hands left and the heat from her hands slowly faded, replaced with a draft that came from the windows. Gregor insisted that it be kept open at night. Lina did not complain. It just meant that when the sky was darkest and the wind howled loudest, he would turn over and take her in his arms, ensnare and entrap and embrace against the bitter night. He said that it wasn't that bad, that he knew what true cold was and how that this winter was nothing in comparison. He just wanted an excuse to hold her in the night. He didn't need one, even on the hottest day in the middle of the summer, but she let him have it. It felt good, those random gusts of biting wind, cutting her to the bone. But after a moment, the novelty faded, and she decided it was best to get up from the self-love she so deeply felt to close the window and actually start her day.
Gregor always got up earlier than she did, somehow finding the act of sleeping in restless. Insanity, pure and simple, but it might have also been some sort of ploy to keep from the cleaning duties. That was fine. He always did a less than adequate job at straightening the furniture of their makeshift den, squaring away the pile of cushions and blankets and soft things scavenged from other areas of the expansive house. Or maybe he just didn't want to see Ms. Cassowary. She would be going off a little later to go over the written word, and for some odd reason, Gregor simply preferred not to be in the same room as the teacher.
She waddled across the cold floor, rocking side to side with her heavy belly, a hand resting on her back to help the task at hand. The window shut with a hard click and the wind stopped. A fire, the room needed a fire to be complete, but she wouldn't be staying here much longer.
The hallway greeted her with nothing but silence and she realized her mistake. She was naked. Normally that wasn't a big problem. The trees and the grass did not particularly care that she was naked. But the people here did, the people turned red as her hair and looked away, but not really. The men kept looking, glancing back at her, her chest and her stomach and her back as she walked. She liked it. She liked the eyes wandering her up and down and the fact that wanted to touch her. They never did, the men in the black clothes and white gloves. But they looked and when she was close, they made excuses to run away and never talk about the incident to her. Today though, she needed to be clothed.
A gown of soft white, no shoes, never shoes, covering all the parts that were deemed immodest, a thin veil draping over her stomach, almost blinding against her darkened skin. They would still look. They would always look at her with their ashamed longing, no matter what she wore, but nothing would ever come of it. Denied pleasure and interaction for frivolous reasons that could be soothed away with a conversation. She would not lie with them. She had Gregor and that was all she needed. None of the men here with the black clothes and the white gloves where as tall as he was, nor as broad in the shoulder. Even she was taller than most of them anyway. She didn't want to lean down to kiss someone.
Ms. Cassowary was waiting for her in the study, shelves lined with books reaching up to the ceiling, unsteady and threatening to topple at the slightest suggestion. An old woman, pale as a ghost and almost as transparent, skin wrinkled and sagging over what was most probably just a set of bones underneath. A hooked nose, thin and tapered poked under a small set of spectacles. She sat before a wide bay window, heavy snowfall drifting by the window, heavy and slow. She turned and closed the book as Lina walked in. A fire crackled against the wall.
"Hello Lina," she said with a voice of cracked crystal.
