Consummation of the Vows

The heavy mahogany double doors of the master suite at Blackwood Hall clicked shut, locking out the world and sealing them inside their private sanctuary. It was one o’clock in the morning. Outside, the snow fell in lazy, silent spirals over Hampstead Heath, muting the dark trees beneath a blanket of pure white. Inside, the grand bedchamber was bathed in the warm, dancing amber luminescence of three dozen beeswax candles…