The Tribulations of Tobias Page 2

  Having established him safely in his first parish, his mother was now trying to saddle him with a suitable wife. And suitable, to his mama’s mind, was nothing to do with physical attraction or even a meeting of minds. The young lady she would choose for her indecisive third son must be a dismaying combination of ambition and financial wherewithal.

  Mrs. Whitmore had given him a bare six months to settle himself in his new duties and since then, she’d been using hitherto unsuspected local connections to magically dredge up suitable candidates for the position. Tobias thought glumly, that if it was not for her devout Christian beliefs it might be guessed his mama dabbled in witchcraft.

  He had hoped that his comparative poverty and personal diffidence would excuse him from too much attention but he reckoned without the ancient Whitmore name, and its attraction to those with relative wealth but no great forebears. There was also the vital factor of his mama’s iron will.

  Within weeks, word had got around and families who didn’t regularly attend St. Margaret’s suddenly appeared with their grown-up daughters in tow. Tobias again thought fondly back to the previous year and the presence at Sunday services of the delicious Jane and Sally who teasingly showed off their bounties in church with a naughty smirk.

  With another heavy out-breath, he reckoned the appearance of eagerly hopeful mothers and primped up, overdressed young ladies did not hold the same degree of happy anticipation.

  Apparently, the choices had been narrowed down to the daughters of a Mr. Lowe, a local banker. Patience, Hope and Chastity were reputedly accomplished and good Christian girls who were dwindling into spinsterhood. Privately, Tobias wasn’t surprised about that.

  They were amiable enough young women, he supposed gloomily. Though he did not doubt that the beneath each simpering exterior was an implacable determination to rule the domestic roost.

  The three were somewhat interchangeable, with no chins and not much bosom to speak of between them either. Tobias again thought wistfully of the vast array of bare breasts available to his touch in Lesser Witteringly. But such wishful thinking did not help his dilemma.

  He sighed once more and tried to think of another weak excuse to pen to his mother.

  * * * *

  A few days later, he found himself in the Lowe’s well-appointed drawing-room, a fake smile pasted on his face and a delicate china teacup balanced precariously in his hand. He had done his best to convey he was present only for a casual social and pastoral visit, which had been totally ignored. So, he was being politely grilled by Mrs. Lowe about his prospects while his three prospective brides hovered about, dressed in frilled muslin and pretending not to listen with eager interest.

  “And might you take on another parish in the near future?” Mrs. Lowe asked, calculatingly reckoning his potential earning power and clerical ambition in one fell swoop.

  He took a sip of scalding tea in lieu of a reply, wondering how he far he could indicate a lack of aspiration without it getting back to his mother.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Lowe continued without missing a beat, “a young man like you could only benefit from a helpmeet to aid you with your responsibilities.”

  Tobias choked.

  His eyes streamed as he held on to the cup, wobbling dangerously on his knee. He wondered desperately if the breakage of valuable porcelain or the ruination of an expensive carpet might help him escape his fate. To his horror, all three of his assistant hostesses started to cross the room and come to his aid in a fit of girlish exclamations and flounces. The tableau froze at a welcome interruption.

  Knock, knock.

  “Excuse me, madam,” the maid said politely, stepping just inside the room and ignoring the bevy of fussing young ladies. “But an urgent note has come from the vicarage for Mr. Whitmore.”

  Thank you, God, Tobias uttered to himself, casting his eyes gratefully to heaven, or rather, the finely decorated plaster ceiling, as the missive was passed over. A parishioner in chronic poor health was requesting his immediate presence. Feeling slightly guilty about being glad of Mr. Smith’s incapacitation, Tobias rose to make his excuses. The maid neatly relieved him of the troublesome teacup.

  “Oh, but you can’t go yet,” Mrs. Lowe exclaimed, in a definite reprimand rather than mannerly regret.

  “You haven’t heard my new pianoforte sonata,” Patience complained.

  “Or seen my floral watercolor sketches,” Hope whimpered.

  “Or admired my stitching,” Chastity pouted.

  Tobias edged out of the room, trying not to make any assurances about returning for such dubious treats. Once safely in the hallway, the maid helped him on with his coat and gave him a conspiratorial wink as the volume of the high-pitched voices in the drawing-room rose plaintively.

  * * * *

  He ought to have known he wouldn’t get away so easily.

  A letter from his mama arrived as if by a supernatural agency (or the fastest post-horses), saying that she was to be staying with her second cousin who was espoused to a Canon and lived relatively nearby in Titterington, the next town along. Tobias did not think for one minute that this visit had been quickly arranged for any other reason than to scold him into a hasty marriage with the approbation of the Anglican Communion, or a distant relative’s husband, anyway.

  Tobias had to admire his mother’s cunning. He could wriggle out of a visit home, with a long cross-country journey there and back taking far more time than he could genuinely afford, but could make no plausible reason against a half-day release from his duties for afternoon tea with a senior cleric. He felt another sigh coming on.

  As he dutifully alighted the public coach, he could at least be glad that, as it wasn’t Market Day, he wouldn’t be squashed in the interior with far too many passengers for safety, including several chickens. Among the travelers, there were a few people of his acquaintance and a youngish lady sitting opposite him, who he had helped into the vehicle, who he knew only by sight.

  He couldn’t quite catch the name she gave, just the “Mrs.” of her title but he noticed that her ring finger was bare. Also, not that he was observant of ladies clothing, but his recent experiences of being introduced to the most respectably-clad young females, made him wonder if her hat could be considered just a touch too daring.

  Tobias engrossed himself in a published book of sermons, taking notes of topics for the following Sundays to while away the journey and the feeling of incipient doom. As they trundled from village to village, the coach gradually emptied, with the odd cheerful, “Good day, Vicar,” prompting each departure.

  There were just the two of them in the carriage on the final stretch of the journey. Due to the dry spell of weather, the roads were dusty and so the windows were pulled up tightly. As the journey went on, the atmosphere had become stuffy. Now there was room on the seat beside her, the lady removed her extravagant hat with relief and unhooked the clasp of her heavy cloak, revealing a low-cut dress.

  Tobias found himself increasingly distracted from his studies, not that the lady was doing anything to draw attention to herself, but rather the consequence the rocking of the coach was having on her décolletage.

  She was not a particularly full-busted female, and perhaps that was part of the issue, he mused, together with stays that were not tightly laced at the top. So, with every bounce on a particularly bad stretch of road, her bosom jumped up and out and a little more of that deliciously plump, pale flesh was revealed. Tobias tried hard not to stare, but with each bump, he couldn’t help but glance up, just to check.

  Following a particularly juddering jolt, he automatically peeped and thought he saw the shadow of a pale brown areola just peeping over the top of her gown. He licked his lips, swallowed, and quickly looked down at his sermons. It was getting awfully hot in the coach and he wished he had brought a larger ecclesiastical volume to cover his lap.

  Some yards further, there was another violent jerk. A quick peek noted that there was not just a shadow but a beautiful arc of the most
delectable pale fawn now on show. At second glance, he saw how much of the circle was revealed and how very big it was. This made him think about nipples and he would have crossed his legs, had there been room between the seats.

  The conveyance shifted again and Tobias looked by instinct and almost moaned. A full half-circle of areola was now on display, plus a definite hint of a deep brown nipple. His eyes flicked up and saw the lady inspecting him. She was not embarrassed, but just had a knowing smile on her face.

  She leaned over him, so that her nipple almost, but not quite, fell out of her bodice. “I don’t think the Good Book quite covers this, Vicar,” she said, lifting the volume and exposing the pronounced rise in his breeches. She put her hand on him and gently squeezed and they gazed at each other, unmoving. Another jounce knocked her fully into Tobias. That decided the pair of them.

  Tobias held her firmly around the waist as she freed him from his fastenings. Then, she lifted her gown impatiently, knees either side of his thighs, as Tobias caressed the ribbons of her garters and the bare skin above. Another dip in the road had her hovering over him exactly in the right position for coition and a lurch almost immediately after, had him in heaven.

  After that, they created their series of hectic shudderings. The jolts and creakings of the old car added to the thrilling sensation of a frantic coupling. Never would Tobias have guessed that the terrible state of the highways could have such an enervating effect on intimate congress.

  She was grinding on him in earnest now, as he clutched her fabric-covered buttocks, so the movement of the coach would not pitch them apart. Tobias thrust steadily as her moans grew louder and hoped that the jolting vehicle would not hasten his climax before the lady had reached her peak. Luckily, a particularly nasty rut in the thoroughfare had them tumbling over the edge together. He felt stars exploding in his head as though it had been struck hard against the carriage roof.

  As the lady was still astride him, Tobias sought out with his lips what had started this little adventure. He kissed down the naked slope of a soft bosom and traced his tongue around that gloriously exposed arc. As his mouth roved around one breast, so his hand reached for the other, gently easing it out of the confines of her bodice. He caressed, sucked, and admired those magnificent pouting brown nipples topping such sumptuous areolae.

  With hand and mouth, he teased, fondled, and licked and accordingly, the lady began to ride his hard-hardness again until she squeezed him hard with a gratifying yelp of pleasure. In the height of her shudders, he gently nipped on her teat to draw out an extra squeak of bliss. After all, he had not spent a whole summer of tutelage from the ladies of Lesser Witteringly for nothing.

  The coach began to slow and they heard the driver calling to the horses as he tightened the reins. The lady kissed Tobias gladly and they whispered a few words to each other. Then, she gracefully dismounted in that fluid movement that Tobias always admired. As she stood, her skirts swept down immediately covering any trace of wantonness as Tobias, still sitting, struggled awkwardly with his buttons.

  They parted as congenial strangers, Tobias aiding her down the carriage steps as he had helped her ascend, as any gentleman would. There was nothing in their behavior that was out of the ordinary.

  As he strolled along to his destination, his mood felt brighter and more assured. The jumble of thoughts in his head seemed to coalesce into actual coherent arguments. Somehow, he had to convey to his mother that he found the Lowes, well, lowering. Tobias reasoned that his mama might be a little over-bearing but she loved him, as she did all her offspring, and wanted his happiness, even if they had contrasting ideas as to how that might be achieved.

  He just had to find the right words to achieve a compromise about any future marriage. He hastily amended the phrase, someone I can bear to spend more than five minutes in a room with, to, a foundation of mutual regard and respect.

  Anyway, those few vital words exchanged in the coach had furnished him with his fellow passenger’s name and her direction, a few discreet streets away from his relatives. And more importantly, a promise that she would be privately available to him for the remainder of the afternoon.

  Chapter 3

  The Reverend Tobias Whitmore was surprised. As he sat in the gently jolting coach, he realized that he was genuinely looking forward to a springtime social afternoon in the gardens of his mother’s cousin’s husband, a Canon of the Church of England. This was an unexpected emotion, since mortal terror might have been more appropriate, due to the presence of his beady-eyed mama who wanted him to marry profitably and several young ingénues eager for a ring on their finger.

  It had been a bleak winter for Tobias, in his role of Vicar of St. Margaret’s in the town of Stratton-over-Wye. He had been kept busy with the more difficult areas of his ministry. There had been more than his fair share of sitting beside sickbeds and sadly, presiding over the funerals of those too weak to cope with the blast of freezing weather, added to severe doses of seasonal ailments.

  He did not feel sorry for himself, after all, he wasn’t the one who was ill, or dying or bereaved. He just felt affected by the sadness of others and frankly, a bit lost. Although, he mused, his parishioners seemed to find some comfort from the ministrations of their young vicar. At least the words and rituals of prayer and services covered Tobias’ private feelings of underwhelming ineptness, which was probably the main thing, he reassured himself.

  Winter seemed to be losing its grip on the countryside at last and today was bright and mild and sunny and he had escaped from his parish with a marvelous excuse that no one could question. A bit of gaiety in the graciously manicured pastoral setting of his relatives’ residence in the town of Titterington and some light conversation and feminine company would do him the world of good, he thought. He felt so brightened by the prospect that he even cheerfully acknowledged that the start of spring heralded the opening of the husband-hunting season.

  He’d been lucky to escape marriage to one of the Lowe sisters last year, who were very attractive, at least as far as his mama was concerned, in terms of financial prospects. From his point of view, they lacked personal charms, to say the very least. It had taken a great deal of carefully calculated persuasion to get his mama to let go of the notion, at least temporarily, so terrier-like had she been in that pursuit. Tobias still thought about it with a mixture of fear and relief.

  All three young ladies were still unmarried at present, but no longer haunted the services at St. Margaret’s while twittering at Tobias competitively at every given opportunity. He hoped and privately prayed that they had moved on to more receptive targets.

  Then there had been the unexpected but very welcome dalliance with Meg, his not-so-saintly Margaret. That little adventure had started in a coach much like this and on the same route, in a similar but far more carnally exciting journey.

  She was the mistress of a couple of wealthy older gentlemen, one actually in Stratton, the other in a nearby town, a few miles away on the other side of his mother’s cousin’s household. So, it made sense for them to house her conveniently in between them both in Titterington. Her temporary perch had been a neat little cottage a few streets away from his cousins’ grand house, which was delightfully convenient, and not only for the gentlemen funding her favors.

  Meg had regarded those arrangements as strictly business, but as she told Tobias with a meaningful grin, she kept him on purely for pleasure. That is, until the threat of winter weather meant she might be stranded in the countryside with impassable roads and little in the way of amusements. Understandably enough, she had decamped to Bath for the colder months with a wealthy another admirer, where she could have more frivolous distraction and fashionable entertainment.

  Tobias beamed dreamily in recollection of Meg’s lavishly bestowed bounties, which certainly made the journey go faster. No doubt his fellow passengers thought by his beatific expression, that he was deep in spiritual communion with his Maker and left him alone and respectfully undisturbed
until the conveyance jolted to a stop.

  As soon as he approached the Canon’s splendid home, he spotted his mama, hovering outside the building to intercept her son. He mused that from a safe distance, she looked like any other petite, plump, pretty lady of middle years. It was only on getting closer, that it became clear she could slay any of her male relatives with a basilisk-like glare at twenty paces.

  Tobias greeted her with a dutiful peck on the cheek and was resigned that, within seconds, she gave him a rundown on suitable young persons who were going to be present, while dubiously eyeing up his appearance and brushing down his best coat with her hand, making him feel like he was ten years old again. He successfully stifled a sigh.

  Luckily, once they had entered the grounds and been welcomed by his mother’s cousin, that lady had immediately taken his mama to one side for advice on an urgent domestic matter. This happy coincidence meant that Tobias was free to join the company without close and critical supervision. He reached a cluster of people on the lawn and happily set about mingling.

  As he made his way from group to group, he acknowledged some old acquaintances and welcomed some new. He took pleasure in chatting idly, enjoyed the refreshments and some very good cake and the unaccustomed feeling of spring sunshine on his face.

  Eventually, the clouds hovered over the sun, blotting out its warmth, inevitably coinciding with the appearance of his mama at his side. “Come and meet Lucy Holbourne,” she said without further ado, seizing him by the arm.

  “But Mama,” he protested in vain, “I’ve known Lucy for years. And anyway, isn’t she engaged?”

  “Not anymore,” his mama replied firmly, trailing him in her wake like a small but determined tug boat. “The fiancé died in the Americas or something like that, so she is available again.”