In the Suds

By Tracy Edingfield

An ensemble piece that follows a scheming hussy, a philandering husband, an opera singer, an Irish conman, an overzealous country girl, a derelict brother, and an Agent of the Crown.

This comedy of errors takes place in Dover’s Ship Inn where they happen to congregate and covet one another’s belongings. Their valises take a dizzying tour of Ship Inn while their owners jockey with each other to receive their deserved due.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Edingfield
• Release date: Mar 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781952285042

Tracy Edingfield

Tracy Edingfield lives near Wichita, Kansas, with her husband and two sons. She graduated from the University of Kansas School of Law and enjoyed practicing law before embarking upon her second career as an author. She has published the Alex Turner trilogy under the pseudonym Tracy Dunn. You may contact Tracy on any of these social media platforms: Twitter: @TEdingfield Instagram: @tracyedingfield Facebook: Tracy Edingfield, Writer Reddit: @TEdingfieldWriter

Book preview

In the Suds

By

Tracy Edingfield

IN THE SUDS

Copyright ©2021 by Tracy Edingfield

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-952285-04-2

Printed in the United States of America

License Notes: This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s wild imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. In fact, it wouldn’t be a stretch to admit that any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely accidental. My genius is not as great as that, Dear Reader.

Acknowledgments

My greatest appreciation falls to my beloved and beleaguered husband, Adam, who ensures that our own love story will be retold with affection, laughter, and several corrections. You are the light of my world, and I adore you, even when you’re mistaken.

Dedications

For all those who risked glory only to fall in the suds, I dedicate this ensemble story. For the ones who are a trifle overzealous or doubting their worth, this book is for you. For my sons, Derek and Dylan, you two have given me laughter and so much joy, I can never repay either one of you. I love you, Derek. You amaze me with your inner strength, and I’m proud of you. Dylan, I love you. What a gloriously funny and sweet person you are. Between my husband and sons, I am blessed with an abundance of heroes.

Credits

The book cover designer is CybergaelCreations, available at [e-mail]

This book has been edited by Marlo Garnsworthy of www.IcebirdStudio.com.

IN THE SUDS

By Tracy Edingfield

Chapter 1 – John Munette

July 1805

Munette & Rector’s Bank

Dover, England

I take it you’re vexed this lovely morning, Emily, and it will not do. Tell me how to ensure your happiness.

Despite his exquisite manners, John Munette resented Lady Lyon’s intrusion at his bank. Bad enough that she and her lover plagued him at home, but to interrupt him at his business? It was ill-bred, but he could hardly expect a woman whose lascivious antics set the Continent on its ear to recognize boundaries.

Thank God his dear wife Anne had a more elegant mind. His Anne was sweet.

John regretted his offer to host Commodore Patterson and the merry widow. The scandalous pair had once formed a ménage à trois with the baronet Sir Lyon. The threesome rudely excluded the commodore’s wife, a respectable woman and solid British citizen.

Their poor manners didn’t end there, however. John’s butler had informed him this morning that the guests were making serious inroads into his wine cellar, and he must attend to the vintner. His household would have fared better had it been invaded by a swarm of locusts.

Between their inordinate eating and drinking, Emily’s avaricious nature, and the commodore’s annoying bragging, John concluded they were the most tedious twosome this side of the English Channel.

He quelled a sigh, ruing that the luster of their company had dimmed so early in their visit. Glancing out the window of his office, John was heartened that the morning remained overcast. Gray clouds, pregnant with rain, had descended upon Dover, which suited his mood. He was not quite melancholic, merely filled with stultifying ennui.

Belatedly, he called himself to the lady’s conversation.

—spied that Italian songbird—that little trollop—at the Ship Inn. Lady Lyon pounded so forcefully on John’s desktop her bosom quivered.

Sufficiently cynical to think this wasn’t a lucky happenstance, John felt it would be rude to ignore the lady’s charms, so the banker admired the view.

Seeing where his gazed was riveted, Emily drew a lazy finger, back and forth, along her neckline.

The décolletage met his gleaming approval.

I haven’t the pleasure of knowing to whom you refer, my dear Emily.

Dolly Correglia. She spat out the name of one of the commodore’s many lovers.

Vastly amused that Lady Lyon resented her married lover’s other paramours, he teased, You can’t be jealous, surely?

Hardly. She tossed her head. But the guttersnipe wears a diamond pendant intended for me.

John chuckled, quite certain the commodore knew exactly to whom he had gifted the necklace.

Wheedle another necklace from the commodore.

Emily’s eyes glittered as she softly spoke. "I want that necklace, John."

Then purchase it from the songstress. Shrugging, he glanced at the paperwork on his desktop, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.

Her voice throbbed with emotion. I won’t pay for what’s rightfully mine.

Then steal it, the banker sighed, shuffling his papers.

Emily purred, Will you do it for me, dear John?

Although he loved his wife, John strayed from his marriage vows on occasion. As a dutiful husband, he tried to keep his wanderings to a minimum, but as a virile man, he had racked up a number of affairs over the years.

Despite knowing Lady Lyon’s mercenary nature, John could see no reason not to dally with her for the next fortnight. In many aspects, it was laughably convenient having her reside in his home. Besides, if he had to host the boorish commodore, he might as well get something worthwhile in return.

With a lazy smile, he pushed his chair back from his desk and waited for her to say something.

It’d be a lovely memento of our time together.

A husky undertone sounded in her voice as she flashed him a provocative look beneath her lashes.

It was part of the chase—that coy look of hers. Instantly, his ennui vanished as his hunter instincts revived. He teased, pressing her, as they both knew where this little talk would lead.

Why should I wish to commemorate your visit, my dear? If you think listening to naval tales entertains me, you’re quite mistaken.

Perhaps you will wish to memorialize our close association?

She intrigued him. He stood then leaned against the edge of his desk.

How close?

She rose and came to stand before him, her bosom brushing his coat’s lapels.

He studied her face. She was still lovely, but her beauty had faded these past few years.

Pulling his head toward hers, Emily kissed him. She twined her tongue around his, sensuously inserting it into his mouth. It was… a revelation.

Reaching for her, he cupped her breast, testing its weight. She moaned, so he pinched the peak until it hardened.

We could be so close, John, you and I.

As if musing aloud, he asked, Why should I steal for you?

Flashing him a saucy look, she moved away and stood with her back to the window. As her gaze locked with his, she plucked her breast from the bodice and played with it.

Emily’s audacity excited him, burning away the last remnants of boredom.

When he reached for her, she drew back, shaking her head and clucking her tongue.

He laughed, fully aroused. The hunt was on, and soon he would capture this seductress for his own.

If you succeed in getting back my necklace, I’d be ever so grateful. Would you like to know, John, what my gratitude tastes like?

A knock interrupted these musings, forcing him to sit down while Emily tucked the delicious orb back into place.

Enter, he said.

The door opened with a squeak.

See to oiling those hinges, Rogers, John told his assistant.

Yes, sir. His man handed John a sheaf of papers for signing. Pardon me.

Her eyes gleamed. Do you desire me… to leave, John? Emily’s hesitation was key, and that husky undertone remained, hinting her arousal was barely checked.

No, no. This won’t take but a moment.

Rogers tsked, a mild scold John could easily ignore. He could count on Rogers to keep his secrets and to not tattle to Anne for what he was about to do.

Despite John’s original belief that his boredom could not be relieved, his cock had grown unbelievably hard. Shuffling the papers into a neat pile, he then returned them to Rogers.

He glanced at Emily’s knowing smile. Her eyelids trembled with arousal.

See that we’re not disturbed, Rogers, he drawled, waving off his disapproving assistant. Rogers shut the office door with a loud, protesting squeak.

With the tête-à-tête secured, John un-moored the golden velvet draperies, letting the crimson, tasseled tieback fall to the floor. Darkness engulfed the room.

Emily made a throaty laugh, hitching up her skirts. Shall we be naughty?

Not interested in her conversation, he shucked his pants with fluid haste.

Her eyes widened as she stared at his manhood. Good Lord, you’re huge!

Used to such fulsome praise, he bent over the desk and presented his bottom. Spank me, Emily. I’ve been naughty.

She giggled, spanking him soundly before dropping to her knees and taking his length inside her mouth.

John gripped her hair and thrust his hips, violently.

Miracle of miracles, she caught onto his rhythm, suckling him deeper, longer, harder than he’d been accustomed to. When he came, his whole body shuddered under the force of his passion. Emily did not shirk, a fact that heightened the pleasure of the experience for him.

When he had re-buttoned his pants, she spoke briskly as she smoothed out her skirts. Now that that’s settled, I’ll expect to have the pendant within the week.

John lifted her leg then draped it over the arm of the chair. He ran his hand up and down her smooth thigh, skimming the top of her stocking. Her face flushed as passion rekindled. Drawing lazy circles into her crotch, he was pleased when she shifted her weight, widening her stance. He didn’t hesitate. He plunged two fingers into her dampness, pumping in a vigorous fashion as she clung to his shoulders.

She began to keen, a soft cry, which he’d ordinarily enjoy as evidence of his sexual prowess, but in his office? During the workday? It wouldn’t do. Quickly, he smothered her sounds by placing his mouth over hers. Not an unkind man, he continued his work until she stiffened in his arms. His hands gentled, coaxing the last wave of lust from her. Only after the final tremor faded did he remove his hand.

I’ll get you that necklace, Emily.

She moaned, blinking herself back from a hazy existence.

See that you do. I look forward to… celebrating the recovery of my jewels. Again, her dark eyes glinted with a look calculated to inflame.

Even though he was aware Emily flirted outrageously, he silently admitted he anticipated that celebratory moment, too. If the cost of this afternoon’s dalliance would be whatever price Dolly Correglia set on the necklace, he’d pay. Emily had kept his boredom at bay for the past hour and offered a tantalizing prospect for future tuppings. For these services, he wouldn’t begrudge her a necklace.

John? From the door, Emily spoke over her shoulder, Just to be clear—Anne is not to know of our ‘mutual gratitude’?

John blinked then chastised, Don’t be a goose, Emily.

That avaricious glitter returned to her dark eyes. Placing her hand on the base of her throat, she asked, wide-eyed, Was I being a peagoose?

Yes, my dear, you were. If you want that necklace, you’d best mind your manners. His head jerked toward the chair. For which I will thank you.

She chuckled, swaying her hips as she crossed the room toward him. She ran her hands across his shoulders and down his sleeves, then circled his waistband. You are right, dear John. It’s not the quality of our gratitude—that was superb, by the way, she practically purred as those hands sneaked down to caress his male organ. Blame my overriding flaw: a single-minded focus on acquiring my goal. I do want my necklace back.

I’ll leave straightaway to meet the Italian songbird. With any luck, you’ll have the necklace this evening.

Delightful. She gave him a good long squeeze before leaving.

Heat spread through his lower abdomen, but he checked the impulse to tup her. His instincts told him Emily enjoyed the power struggles that attended love games as much as he did. As a siren lured men to their doom, so did Emily entice, but John wouldn’t lose his head during their dalliance.

John stared with a furrowed brow at the closed door. His lovers had always understood the rules of the sophisticate’s game; discretion was paramount. Emily knew that, too, although she chose to live outrageously with her married lover. Apparently, Emily would abide by those rules only when it suited her, which added the element of danger to this affair.

If nothing else, the remainder of her visit wouldn’t be as dull as the beginning.

Well, Munette, you placed your cock in her hands. Literally. Best to get on with it.

Chuckling to himself, he unlocked a desk drawer and retrieved a handful of bank notes. Slinking out the back door, John left his bank and strolled to the Ship Inn. He quickened his pace and turned up his collar as gray clouds burst, raining upon the city of Dover and her errant children.

Chapter 2 – Eliza Bannister

Howard’s going to kill us. Eliza Bannister’s prediction was stated matter-of-factly. This wasn’t the first time her brother had jeopardized Ned and her lives. It happened with such frequency, Eliza believed it to be a hobby of Howard’s. It would be a great pity, though, if she missed London’s little season now that her mother had finally agreed to allow her grandmother to sponsor her.

Another jounce flung her against the side of the carriage, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to her grandmother for having the good sense to order extra padding in the squabs. She clutched the leather strap. With the torrential downpour, her brother’s horrendous driving was made even more harrowing.

Don’t be unkind. Howard’s top-o-the-trees, a real out and bounder. Ned Challenge, son of a country doctor, assured her in modern day slang even as his bony posterior bounced off the black leather squabs. His vivid hair, nearly the color of rust, looked like an open flame in the dark interior of the coach.

He may be all those things, Ned, but that doesn’t mean he won’t ditch Grandmama’s carriage. It’s raining cats and dogs today.

Ned’s outflung hand kept the crate of plants from tumbling off the seat. Don’t worry so much, Lizzie.

Eliza, she snapped, correcting Ned for the umpteenth time. He was a slowtop, but she held him in great affection. Even though they weren’t related, Eliza’s nature was such that she could cast her sisterly mantle over Ned’s scrawny shoulders and treat him as she did Howard, her own sibling.

What? Oh, yes. Eliza. Furrows grooved into Ned’s tall forehead, manifesting the effort he exerted to remember his old friend’s new moniker.

His strain kicked loose some of Eliza’s stubborn insistence. With more patience than she’d previously shown, Eliza explained, It’s just that I’ve come to despise the childish name Lizzie. I’m no longer a schoolgirl, Ned.

No, no, he said, while the fret marks remained on his otherwise placid forehead.

Re-tying her bonnet, Eliza reminded her friend, I’m nearly one-and-twenty, Ned. I left the schoolroom three years ago.

Again, the redheaded gentleman lunged for the tobacco seedlings, which had slid closer to the edge. After he secured the crate, he continued their conversation as if there’d been no interruption. He repeated the salient points she’d made.

Not a schoolgirl. Nearly one-and-twenty.

Eliza gave him a tender look, which rapidly transmuted to one of horror as the traveling coach slid in the mud.

Heavens! Slow down, you dolt! she hollered to her brother.

Howard answered with unrestrained affection. Stow it, Lizzie!

Shaking her head, she watched Ned cup the young tobacco plants and croon over them. "Alles wird gut werden, meine Lieblings," he said.

She rolled her eyes. It does no good talking to plants, Ned. They’re not sentient beings. And why you think an American plant would respond to German is beyond me.

Not taking his gaze off the Virginia Bright Leaf, he murmured, It does no harm, I suppose. Howard and I are experimenting with different languages to see if our darlings have a preference.

Finding it impossible to argue with that foggy notion, Eliza kept mum.

You worry too much, Lizzie.

Eliza, she muttered.

I fancy all your worrying— His sentence ended in a yelp.

The coach veered, causing Eliza to slide down the bench and smash into the side of the carriage.

We’ve left the roadway!

Her heart sunk into her stomach, and she gasped, watching