66. Helena returns

Helena returned from Guildford with the news that her father had passed away from his illness. My mother had always had a fond relationship with him - her mother had passed some years earlier, so his death made her very sad.

Helena's eldest brother inherited the estate, though she also received a small bequest - some of her mother's jewellery. The funeral was held quite quickly after the old man's death, and Helena and my sisters attended that before they returned home.

When she did arrive back at the Mayfair house, after she had removed her travelling coat Helena drew me away to my room and threw herself upon me, not for any carnal reasons but simply as an emotional refuge. Without undressing, we lay there for some time, just embracing one another (though the word 'embracing' does not accurately reflect the way my mother clung to me).

After upward of an hour Helena rose and poured herself a tot from the rum decanter, which she threw back without grimacing as she normally does. The week or so that they had been in Guildford had been trying for her, she said, not least because her brother appeared to think that she should have abandoned us here, to fly to her father's bed side and supervise his care. Notwithstanding that he had only informed Helena days after her father fell ill, she had her own house to manage, and her brother's wife could have easily managed the situation. Her brother had implied that it was Helena's role as her father's daughter, and not his wife's, even though Helena's sister-in-law was effectively mistress of the estate. Not only had my mother to witness the decline and demise of her father, but she also had to bear this constant blame sniping from her brother.

And it was sniping, because although he was the heir, and it was his house - upon their father's death, Helena outranked him considerably - her brother was not even possessed of a knighthood, which was completely trumped by Helena being the current Duchess of Norton. So, he could only say so much without transgressing the boundaries of social order.

Helena's father was an old man, and he had been ill much of the last few years, so his passing was not unexpected, at least now, she said, he was out of pain. But it had been quite emotional, for her and my sisters and she saw the return to Rogeringham House as a return to a stable atmosphere - even though we were actually in the middle of the madness which is the Season. In fact, the biggest irritation now, she said, as we undressed and climbed into bed for the afternoon, was that she was constrained to commence a second period of mourning - for her father this time, just as she was ready to give up the widow's weeds that she wore for my father. Likewise, my sisters would also have to wear mourning shades, though they would not need to wear the full black, that Helena would.

She also handed me a letter that her brother had given to her for me, which I placed upon the side table, to read after I had shown my mother how much I had missed her.

It would be a fair assumption for anyone who has read the previous passages about my week sleeping with the twins, that perhaps I would be sated in some way, less enthusiastic, with Helena lying before me on the bed.

Far from it.

My passion for this beautiful woman is no less than that first night I spent with her. Her alabaster skin, her long fine hair, her body, her breasts, all fanned the flames of the passion that burned in the very heart of my being.

I believe that Helena feels the same, because as we came together it was magnificent, a crashing cataclysm, as we sought each other. Kissing and biting, licking and sucking at each other; grasping, pulling, tugging and stroking, as we sought to both console and to comfort each other. Our union was a hunger, a desperate need that could only be satisfied in our being together.

Soon Helena had risen above me, sitting down upon my erection, as she ground her hips into mine. I grasped her waist and thrust up as she pressed down, before moving my hands so that I cupped her breasts - her lovely breasts - kneading them and caressing them, worshipping them. Helena grasped my wrists, using her hands to support herself, and guide my hands, pressing them against her.

Our climax was not long coming, so great was the desire between us. Helena spent first, shaking as the crisis struck her. "Oh God, William, I _ aaaaaiiiiaaaaaah!"

In between orgasmic outbursts, my mother urged me to cum inside her. "Spend for me, my love, fill me, with your seed. I need it, William, give it to me! Fill meeeeeeee!"

When I did spend, it erupted inside Helena, the force of it pressing my hips up as my jism flowed.

Done, we lay together again, the afternoon was warm and so we were naked upon the sheets, our perspiration and other juices drying upon our skins. Neither of us felt the need to speak.

We lay like this for an hour or so, and then, I remembered the letter Helena had given me.