Edmund and Lucy in the rain

Edmund stood in the doorway of Henshawe, Hawke, and Prune, Solicitors. He watched the drizzly gloom of a London afternoon with some equanimity, even contentment after discharging his prick twice in twenty minutes with two women. He took slow puffs on a Havana cigar as he looked over at his companion in the doorway.

Lucy, Lady Downs stood at the other side of the doorway. Though she looked out upon the dim afternoon, showing Edmund her profile -- was that not, then, the Netherwood nose on her face? The chin? -- but darting little glances at him. Lucy, who was now revealed as senior to him, mistress of the house he thought was his. Lucy, eldest daughter of his father Jeremy.

Lucy with his spunk dripping from her cunt.

Edmund extinguished the cigar, tapping off the cooling ash and snapping it into a case.

Lucy turned her head and smiled at Edmund. A shiver went across his shoulders. Lucy, whom he'd thought of as a convenient vessel for his lusts. Lucy, who now that she was her own woman, had invited him to be her lover.

And he had accepted. He could not refuse her.

His trousers tightened in front. He'd take her again in a second if he could, despite his double discharge, first into Lucy, then, at Lucy's insistence, into Clarissa. The world felt unsteady around him. She was cleverer, stronger, wiser than he had known, and now that he knew her truly, he could not but love her. What would she ask of him, Lucy, his lover, his love? Would he be strong enough? He thought of Annie. Would Lucy need him to acknowledge their daughter? He took a deep breath. His head felt heavy. He might need to acknowledge Annie for his own sake, and hers. He blotted at the corners of his eyes with a monogrammed pocket-handkerchief. What would Sabrina think? What would Clarissa say?

"You'll have Lady Catherine's room?" Edmund said.

"I will," Lucy said. "I won't need a maid yet. I'll choose someone suitable when I'm ready."

Eerily silent save for a whisper of pneumatic tread upon the wet road, their chauffeured electromotive arrived. Edmund spoke to the driver as Lucy re-entered the solicitors' office to tell Annie and Clarissa it was time to go.

"The Orient line is the most sumptuous, of course," Clarissa told Annie. "Vienna to Constantinople to Persia among the clouds."

Edmund, Clarissa, Lucy and Annie climbed into the cushioned passenger compartment. Their driver clanged the bell, engaged the electromotive drive and lights, and wheeled off into the damp gloom of late afternoon.