My Parents Are Home. How Can I Masterbate?

FIRST CHAPTER: "The secret of Eleanor"

"Promise me you will not ever talk to anyone, Clotilde!"
"I promise, my lady."
Eleonor de la Fontaine, wife of Count de Bricherat, closed his eyes, exhaling its last breath.

had long suffered from a rare heart dysfunction, which, according to Dr. head screw, would have been fatal if he had decided to give birth to a child.

And life, this sweet girl with the features and soft voice, had really lost.
Mierot Clotilde, her maid of honor and loyal confidant, came to his bedside, and stroking her brown curls, he pushed aside a lock to kiss her forehead.
"I swear." He whispered, his voice breaking with tears.

Eleonor That was not exactly an easy life, he had lived for several years in an old country house,

with grandparents, although they had great material wealth, were able to pull it up without much difficulties, partly because Eleona, since very small, had always known how to make do with what was given without too many quirks.

It was not uncommon to see her play on the grass happy and carefree,

while the grandmother was preparing lunch in the wood stove built by his grandfather Stewart, a talented carpenter, he had furnished with his own hands the whole house of gold, carving impeccably drew the wood from dead branches of trees.

Growing up, the little Elly - so called by his beloved grandparents - had become very good in the kitchen, but his favorite pastime was to follow his grandfather, in the nearby forest to cut wood that is then served to heat the small home environment.

Penny Stewart's respect he had earned at one of the noble families of the Vendée, he had guaranteed, in adulthood, a fortune different from that of many other young women who, torn from their family home at an early age ;, were taken as slaves in the noble families to escape the blood and poverty during the period of the Revolution.

Since his arrival in the home of the Duke that she was a guardian, his strong temper and strong intelligence, hidden behind doe-eyes set in an almost angelic face, she had been assured a more high in the family of the Duke de Pierre Bricherat: hired as a teacher of small Lisette,

was immediately struck at the heart of the duke's son, Francois, to the point that the wedding had been celebrated a few months later.

From the way they looked in the Church,

,
from their closeness,

from their eyes while waiting to be finally declared husband and wife,

anyone who was present at their marriage, he would have understood that it was a stroke of lightning, where a kiss exchanged before God,

sealed indissoluble union and real.

Despite its humble origins, Eleanor was able to gain the trust of her husband's family, to everyone's surprise for his culture and the particular predisposition to learning the etiquette and all that a noble who comply should have known to live well in a social context like that of Bricherat.

A cry attracted the attention of Clotilde, distracting memories: a princely cradle, the only heir of the family de Bricherat broke the gloomy spell of death with its hints of life.
the trusted maid of honor would be entitled to Eleanor, now in fact, more of a daunting task: first, the most imminent, Francois had to communicate to the death of his beloved.

the years prior to the marriage of Eleanor and Francois had been characterized by a series of civil wars of the Vendée and other departments, which rose up against the revolutionary government: many families, noble and peasant, had been decimated if not entirely destroyed, and it was fortunate for the House of Bricherat be able to survive the great genocide.

Now had to start over, and especially after the death of small Lisette, who had been sudden, painful for the Duke de Bricherat Pierre, Francois always felt more strongly the desire to express his gratitude to his father for diplomacy demonstrated in war, giving the family the security of a continuation in time: a male child.

This was the only reason for which Eleanor had insisted on keeping the secret of his illness, if only he had revealed to her husband, he would certainly have given up his dream, and she will would have felt the weight for life.
That was his last gift of love for a family who had loved and accepted since he had passed the great door of the house with his humble clothing from Campagnolo.

A true gift of love, in short, that had cost him dear, and whose price tag was not yet clear even to Clotilde.