Roger Wolfe surprises Rosie, walking in the woods. But she’s happily married to George, the gamekeeper, and flees his flirtation.
Roger isn’t too disappointed. He’s on his way to a tryst with Granny, who brings them all together for an evening of parsnip wine and debauchery.
Enjoy this tale of lust and licentiousness…
And now for a preview of “The Gamekeeper’s Wife”…
Once upon a time in England in the 1700s…
Roger Wolfe whistled as he strolled through the woods.
His new client was proving to be a generous host, as well as allowing him a free hand in his design of a wonderful new garden. The cook at the Hall fed him well. His new wool suit had arrived from his tailor yesterday.
And he was on his way to Granny’s. Although a little older than he, what she lacked in youth she well and truly made up for in her extensive knowledge of bed sport.
All was well in his world.
A flash of scarlet caught his eye.
~
Rosie stopped and listened to the small, insignificant sounds of the woods.
Something—or someone—was watching her.
She had traveled this path to the Hall many times in the past year, and knew it well. Usually the whisper of wind in the trees, the birdsong, and the rustle of small animals in the undergrowth were comforting, familiar noises.
This time was different.
She shook her head, and her mass of red hair rippled down her back.
Nothing could harm her here, her husband saw to that.
At the thought of George, she smiled.
She was his second wife. The typhus had taken Mary, his first, a few years before. He was a widower with his own cottage on the edge of the wood and work as gamekeeper for the squire, when her mother suggested he might make a good match for her. She was reluctant to consider him at first. After all, he was so much older than she was. But if Rosie married a farmer, like her mother had, she would be working in the fields from dusk to dawn come harvest time as well as looking after their home and children.
George had popped the question one Sunday after church in the spring. They were wed last summer, a little over a year ago now.
Right from the start, Rosie adored her stern, shy husband. Almost old enough to be her father, he found more joy in the birds and animals of the woods and fields than he did from people. But when it came to the marital bed, he played her body as though she was a fiddle, and he the gypsy.
She had never known such happiness could exist in this world. Every morning she woke to the hardness of George’s prick pressing into her buttocks or belly. Their greatest joy was in making the beast with two backs, and they did so as often as they could…
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