The Rake's Progress - Chapter 9

The world of Regency romance welcomes you to  continue the story of a Regency Rake called the Rake’s Progress, by Miss Louisa Ayling.

The season in 1810 pulls both Matthias and Horatia in different directions. Chapter 9 sees one of them traveling into Europe. 

Does this change everything for them both? 

Expectations and dreams are put aside and the reality of life takes priority, will this take them both into a disastrous future?

Is this the end of their regular Waltz for Matthias and Horatia?

Is life pushing them further apart? 

Let us discover the next steps in their separate lives.

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The world of Regency Romance welcomes you to continue the story of a Regency rake called the Rake's Progress, by Miss Louisa Ailing. The season in 1810 pulls both Matthias and Horatia in different directions. Chapter 9 sees one of them traveling into Europe. Does this change everything for them both? Expectations and dreams are put aside, and the reality of life takes priority. Will this take them both into a disastrous future? Is this the end of their regular waltz for Matthias and Horatia? Is life pushing them further apart? Let us discover the next steps in their separate lives. Late June 2010. The ball at Manston House, Mayfair. The music of the French waltz drifted on the air from the open windows of the Manston's ballroom, one of the last balls of the season. It was a success, a crush, and unbearably hot too. In fact, stifling, so the fresh air on the terrace was needed, then appreciated and such a relief. Horatia left through the French doors, then took in several deep gulps of air as she staggered across the terrace. She felt strangled by her infernal corset that had been tied so tightly, on her mother's insistence, she had instructed her daughter's maid, Peggy, to pull it in as tight as possible, then tighter still. Apparently it was the latest fashion. But you were not allowed to breathe to reap the rewards of the suffering. She thought angrily, she thought she would die from the constriction, wishing she could just rip the damned thing off. She could not even reach the laces to release herself from her suffering. She placed her hands on the stone balustrades at the edge of the terrace and bent over to draw in air. She was really struggling to breathe. The manicured gardens lie before her with the broken oyster shell paths criss-crossing through topiary bushes and rose bushes of red and white, but they were of no interest, a blurred vision in the dim lights. She heard distant footsteps freezing her in place where she was, she could not move or do anything in a hurry. Just try to breathe. She continually repeated to herself, as her ears buzzed loudly. She felt a dizziness overcoming her, her knees started to buckle. How embarrassing. Miss Stanwyek, are you alright? A deep masculine voice asked close by. She shook her head in the negative, but the shadowed light of the terrace meant that the gentleman would not have seen her response. You are not well, he stated. Horatia tried to stand, then swayed, he placed a hand at her elbow to steady her and made her perch on the balustrade. I, I can. Can. Cannot breathe. Breathe, Horatia breathlessly explained. New core. Core. Corset. Muth, mother insisted. Too tie, tight. She looked up and it was Matthias standing there, of all the people to see her in this condition. How humiliating. He pulled her up and turned her around, returning her to her original position of leaning on the balustrade so that he could reach her back. He started to undo the buttons. She started to turn in alarm. What, what, are, you, you, do, do, doing, my lord? Some someone might see. See us. She exclaimed. Loosening your corset, of course. I need to undo your gown to reach the laces, I insist for your health's sake. His voice was deep and gravelly. Keep still. He swiftly undid the buttons and was untying the laces that clasped the corset in place. You, you, you. Seem, ver. Very proficient. At this, my lord. She said, still a little breathless. One needs this skill in an emergency. I've untied the bow, so I'm just going to loosen your corset until you can breathe, then retie it, and fasten the buttons. He explained in a low deep voice that tickled the fine hairs at her neck, that sent a sensual shiver down from her nape, then spreading out all over her skin. He did not speak again until he had fastened the last button, but she could hear his erratic breathing. There you are, now breathe. He paused, so she turned to face him, but he did not step away at first, then shook his head as if trying to get his faculties back into working order. He cleared his throat to speak. You have not heeded my words, Miss Stanweek. He stated, she looked at him blankly, trying to read his expression. He smiked. I told you that you must never let anyone else decide what you wear. He looked directly into her green eyes. Now return to the bullroom when you feel you can. Once you are fully recovered, I will request a waltz with you, but only if you are feeling well enough and are still available. She watched him a little wearily, then decided she needed to leave. Thank you, my lord. She answered quietly, she turned slowly, then staggered towards and then threw the open French doors back into the ballroom. Her face was glowing with embarrassment and still feeling a little unsteady. Matthias waited until she entered the ballroom, leaving him standing still in an effort to try to recover his equilibrium. The effects from the tormenting experience of touching her had taken its toll. The thought of undoing her gown and corset, knowing her silky soft, creamy skin lay beneath had made his hands itch to touch her, his lips to caress her, mixed together with her natural perfume entwined with a sweet gardenia had encompassed him. The whole experience had his body in a tingling, possessive reaction, from his unsteady fingers down to his curling toes that had gripped the ground for support, it was a lust for her that he could not control. Heat had plunged liquefied into his loins, tightening his groin, buttocks and his upper thighs, so he dared not walk back into the bullroom in his aroused state, especially not in these fashionably tight satin knee breeches. Luckily her innocence had not noticed his body's reaction to her. He just hoped the air would cool him down enough and quickly, as he knew he could not loosen his cravat, remove jacket and unbutton his waistcoat, which he instinctively wanted to do. However, he felt he would not wish to miss the opportunity to waltz with his P hen, as he was unsure when he would next have again the chance to attend a ball to see her, due to his commitments to the crown. He was unsure how long it would be when he would be on British soil again, let alone attend a ball in the season. September 1810. On a mission, journeying to Portsmouth again, but this time it had been slow and long. The roads were quagmires from the heavy autumnal rains, the carriage's wheels throwing up dark muddy soil up and over the vehicle and the groom who sat on his perch at the rear. This was so very different from the previous two occasions on this road. The rain had been torrential for the last two days, causing his carriage to take diversionary action to avoid the worst of it, where rivers had burst their banks and fords unnavigable, but it still took more than a day longer to reach the port. His ship was due to sail that evening at high tide down to Lisbon. He had to be on it, and so it was a relief when his carriage finally started to make its descent down Portstown Hill in the mid-afternoon, to reach the bridge that led onto Portsey Island towards his destination of the Gunwharf Key in Portsmouth Harbour. The ship's masts came into view through the grey drizzle, as he now drove through the street along the hard, and entered the Victory Naval Dockyard Gates, traversing down to the customs house on the quayside. He alighted from his carriage with his portable writing desk in hand, his footman retrieved and passed him his travelling valise from the rear boot. Matthias gave his usual instructions to Hargreaves, his coachman, to retire to the local hostelry to await his return, handing him a pouch of coins to pay for any expenses that he and the groom incurred. They were now both used to Matthias travelling out of England down to the peninsula, as he had performed this duty several times. Walking into Customs' house, Matthias very quickly located Captain Horace Foxgrove, who was the captain of the transport ship, Narus, he was to take passage upon on his journey to Lisbon. They greeted each other, the good captain having transported him to Portugal on a previous occasion, in fact, on his first mission, so they were already acquainted. Good afternoon, Captain. Matthias strode up to the gentleman standing stiffly erect, dressed in his official uniform, then placed his valise down to take his hand in greeting. How good to see you have arrived well in time for you to embark and settle in your cabin, before we set sail, my lord. Foxgrove, I told you to call me, Temple. Yes, but only once we are aboard, my lord. Matthias nodded in agreement as he realized there were several high-ranking naval officers within earshot. Come on then, let's get you embarked. This way, my lord. Matthias stooped to pick up his valise, but the captain took hold of it first. Easier for me on the gangway, you'll need one hand to steady yourself as the ship yields to the ebb and flow. Matthias did not argue, it seemed to take him a couple of days to find his sea legs on his first two voyages, it had improved on his second one. Now this was the third one, so hopefully he would improve even more, but the first few steps on board always took a while for him to feel steady on his feet, and safely walking up the gangway was important. Once aboard, Captain Foxgrove took him to his quarters below deck, next to the captain's room, the exact same place as the first time. Thank you, Horace. This is a comfortable cabin. Well, dinner is at 6 this evening, as we will set sail just before 10 o'clock with a high tide. If you require anything such as water to bathe, speak to Cummings, the youngest midshipman, or if it's something to eat you require, then go to Jenna, in the galley or send Cummings, he'll fetch you something. There are a couple of inns close by, but try the Keppel's head on the hard if you decide to disembark. You may use the desk I've allocated for you in my rooms, Temple. I'll see you at six at the captain's table. Very good, thank you, Horace. The captain swiftly turned on his heel and made his way back up on deck, leaving Matthias to establish himself for the voyage. He quickly unpacked his belongings, placing them in a logical order so that he could locate everything easily, then locked his cabin door before he went up on deck. He checked his fob watch, noting it was only three o'clock. Looking around the ship and the quay, he decided on a short walk around the quay and the hard before returning for a coffee and a biscuit, then have a thorough wash and dress ready for dinner. Three other officers shared the table with Captain Foxgrove, as Matthias entered, they all stood and the captain introduced them to each other. Lieutenant Morton was the only one he had met before, so meeting Master Crane and Mr. Hyssop, who was the surgeon, was an unexpected pleasure. The conversation was flowing, and so was the ale and wine. The table was displayed with food of good quality throughout, and definitely plentiful, with midshipman Derwent serving this evening. Having travelled with Foxgrove on the Narus before, Matthias knew that tomorrow's meals would not be this resplendent, and once in Lisbon, meals would be sparse and often scarce. So, like the other gentlemen, he made the most of the offerings that evening. Once the meal was finished, the officers made their way to their respective positions on board to ready the ship to ensure its readiness to cast off at the designated time of just before 10 pm, at the commencement of the middle watch. Matthias went to his cabin and wrote a message to be sent to his friend and colleague Sir Harvey Trench, just so someone knew when and where he was going to, and how long he should be away. It felt good to have informed someone just in case he was away longer than originally stated, or was never to return. He knew he could rely on his friend to assist him at home in his absence. He wished he could send one to Miss Stanweek, but he knew the restrictions of polite society and did not wish to offer her something that was not within his power at this time of his life. Once decided upon, and his missive dispatched, he sat ready for an hour before going up on deck to watch their departure from Portsmouth Harbour, away from England and away from the lovely Miss Stanweek. At least she could fill his dreams. There was sudden activity on deck of the Narus as everyone seemed to spring into action with their orders being shouted out. The sails were unfurled, standing out bright white against the black of the sky, and they started to stir in the breeze as the ship cast off from the quay. The Narus swayed and bobbed as she got underway. She was expertly maneuvered out of her moorings at the quayside to attain the main harbour, making her way out towards the harbor mouth to enter the Solent. This was the same journey that Nelson had travelled five years earlier. Matthias pondered and wondered what the great hero had felt, then never to return. The Narus soon slipped out into the busy sea lanes between Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight, towards the English Channel, on the first part of its journey down to the Atlantic, the Bay of Biscay, and then onto Lisbon. The seas around this area were still not safe, although the major sea battle seemed to have been suppressed by the British Royal Navy, but there was never any certainty of safe passage.