Yours sincerely
Rosabel Marianne Neatham
Rose Cottage, Kettlesworth
Posting it was easy enough. She told Sukie to wait at the door, lined up at the rear of a short queue, and had soon handed over the princely sum of a shilling to send the letter to the Marquess of Raithby’s London address.
Her remaining mission proved more difficult. Anything she saw that she liked was beyond the price she could afford, until just before the hour ended, when she found a set of four botanical paintings, framed and hung in a square.
“How much for four frames of this size?” she asked the shop assistant. By the time she had convinced him that she wanted just the frames, and bargained for a price, she was some ten minutes late returning to the dressmaker, who didn’t turn a hair. Rosa, who had often been kept waiting much longer by customers, apologized and was told it was of no account.
What a thing it is to be the one spending money.
Soon, she was dressed in all her finery. The dressmaker had taken delivery of the matching slippers and gloves she and Bear had ordered last week, and the milliner who shared the same premises, brought through the bonnet on which she and the dressmaker had collaborated—a soft version of the rose pink, trimmed with ribbons, that picked up the colors in the gown, and with silk flowers made to mimic the embroidery.
Rosa smiled at her image. She looked almost pretty. She hoped Bear thought so.
***
Rosa glowed. It was the only word Bear could find to match the reality. From the moment Jeffreys had handed her down from the chaise and delivered her to Bear’s waiting arm, he had been awestruck. She had gained a little weight in the weeks since he first met her, and, of course, she wore a pretty new gown, but there was more to the change than additional curves and fine feathers. She looked happy. Happy and confident. The glow suited his fairy but made Bear nervous. It would be his challenge to keep her happy, and he was by no means certain he was up to the job.
The usual Sunday service first, where their banns were read for the third time, and then the wedding ceremony. Bear had Caleb as his witness, and Rosa had asked Sukie.
Neatham, neatly dressed and carefully attended by Jeffreys and Maggie, sat in the Thorne Hall box, watching the proceedings with interest. “I am glad he married her,” he said loudly, at one point. “Rosie will be pleased. She does worry about Belle.”
Bear had assumed that their small household would be the entire congregation, but many of those who’d been to Matins stayed on, and Bear and Rosa exited the church to the acclaim of dozens of well-wishers.
Bear had bespoken lunch at the inn, and, on an impulse, sent Caleb on ahead to warn the innkeeper that their numbers were augmented, before inviting anyone who wished to do so to join them.
They crowded into the inn, where the landlord put out a magnificent spread, and the village settled in to celebrate. Bear resigned himself to a couple of hours, at least, until they could get away.
They were soon separated, each surrounded by a cluster of villagers. Bear kept a weather eye on Rosa’s father, but relaxed when Jeffreys and Maggie kept Neatham company and plied him with food. Bear was also conscious, at every moment, of Rosa’s location in the room, as if a tether connected them through which flowed her delight in this celebration.
Each time he managed to work his way back to her, she greeted him happily. He didn’t think they’d seen the last of the Pelman poison, but he did not want it to spoil this day for her.
He came up as Rosa was showing her ring to some of the farm matrons. It was a pretty thing; gold in the form of flat braids, with etched roses and a setting of five tiny roses molded in gold, each with a diamond glinting at its center. “It was my aunt’s,” he told her, when he had an opportunity to speak quietly in her ear. “If you prefer something new…” He had sent for it the day he had proposed. Aunt Clara had worn it always, until the day she had given it to Bear. He remembered her words as if it were yesterday. This is for the bride you choose, Hugh. My John put it on my finger on my wedding day. May it see you and your wife as happy as we were.
Rosa’s smile deepened. “This is perfect, Hugh. I will treasure it all the more because it was your aunt’s.”
They were called from their private moment by Caleb, who wanted to propose a toast. “To Mr. and Mrs. Gavenor. May this be the first of a lifetime of celebrations.”
That toast was followed by another, and another. Bear noted that Rosa confined herself to sips, but even so, when he finally extracted them from their well-wishers and gave her his arm to escort her to the chaise, she leaned into him, her gait unsteady. “I feel a little odd, Bear,” she whispered.
He should have realized she was unused to wine. “Just lean on me,” he murmured back. “You’ll be fine.”
Climbing into the chaise was beyond her, which she found very funny. He lifted his giggling bride and set her on the seat, then rounded the carriage and climbed up beside her. Jeffreys stepped away from the horses’ heads and Bear snapped the reins. Rosa waved her bonnet so enthusiastically that she almost lost it when it flew from her hand.
Bear, catching it, told her, “I’ll just tuck this down here, Rosa, for when you need it again.”
“Thank you, Bear. I am glad I stole your roses,” she told him.
Minutes would see them home at Rose Cottage. At last. Would she consent to an early night? It was still only afternoon, but it was, after all, their wedding day.
His hopes soared when she tucked herself against him, resting her head on his arm, but sank again when he glanced down to find she had fallen asleep. They were out of the village, and no observer was in sight. He dropped a kiss on her hair. So much for his plans. When he arrived at the cottage, he would indeed carry his new bride up to bed. To sleep off the wine.
Chapter Nineteen
Some four hours later, Bear sat beside the large bed he’d ordered and watched his wife wake. He cupped a large glass of a pick-me-up made by Jeffreys, a recipe known only to that excellent individual.
Rosa groaned.
“Drink this, Rose. It will help with the headache.”
She blinked at him, her eyes slowly focusing on his face. “We got married,” she stated.
“We did.”
“I do not feel well, Hugh.”
Jeffreys’ pick-me-up did its usual sterling service, and once Rosa had a light meal inside her, she recovered her color and her spirits, though she was particularly quiet this evening. Conversation remained sporadic until he asked about the new beds the handyman had dug behind the cottage. Rosa opened up then, explaining her plans for a winter garden. “Though if this weather continues, Hugh, I do not know how well it will do.”
Bear, treading gently, waited for her to suggest they retire for the night, but took the initiative when she yawned for the third time. “You are tired, Rosa.”
“I am,” she sounded surprised. “You do not mind if I…”
Mind? Hardly! “Go on up and get ready, my dear. I will come up in a few minutes.”
She blushed. “Oh. Oh yes, of course.”
Bear sat sipping his brandy as slowly as he could, watching the hand of the clock creep slowly between the minutes.
Thank goodness she was not a virgin, because his patience had run out and his self-control had become a thread. She had shown interest and even enthusiasm when he kissed her, but had been almost maidenly in her responses. He could understand that, with the servants around and her father likely to call on her at any time. But they would not be disturbed tonight. Jeffreys performed nurse duties, with strict instructions to leave Mr. and Mrs. Gavenor alone.
Neatham—his father-in-law…a thought to stop him in his tracks—Father Neatham liked Jeffreys, recognized him as a servant from his extreme youth, and accepted his services with equanimity. Even Rosa was not concerned about her father tonight.
She was concerned, though. Edgy and skittish. The aftermath of her hangover? She said she was well, though. Perhaps she was worried abo
ut his size? If so, it was further evidence of her relative inexperience. The stories that made her out to be a light woman, to which he had been an unwilling listener and over which he’d punched more than one impudent idiot, were made from whole cloth. The only one he still credited involved old Hurley, the lecherous goat. Hurley had been a little man, by all accounts, with small feet, which was meant to signify a lack of measure in another, more intimate area.
Bear was big as men go, but women were accommodating creatures. He would reassure her and take enough time to make sure she was ready to receive him. All would be well.
At last. Fifteen minutes was enough, surely? He took the stairs two at a time to the room they would share, stripping off his coat, waistcoat, and cravat as he went.
She sat, straight-backed, with her hands folded in her lap and her legs dangling, on the edge of the bed. The night rail she wore obscured her form. It was plain white cotton with a few tucks and pleats and a little white on white embroidery. He would buy her silk and lace to adorn her beauty, teach her to lie waiting for him with the buttons half undone and the soft material draped over her curves.
“Rosa, at last,” he said, his mind already removing the night rail to reach the soft flesh beneath. He wriggled out of his shirt, then undid his trousers and let them drop to the floor.
Rosa’s eyes fixed on his male parts, proudly upstanding, and her eyes widened.
***
That thing wasn’t going to fit. Rosa had no one she could ask about her marital duties—only guesses and what she’d been unable to avoid observing when she took her goats to the farmer’s billy. She knew that men had an appendage similar to the one the billy used. Since her father’s injury, she had become used to washing the soft little thing. It was nothing like the object before her, which surely could not have grown under her horrified scrutiny.
“What…” She swallowed and tried again, “What do I need to do?”
He captured both her hands with his and lifted them one at a time to kiss them. “Relax, my wife, and just do what feels good. May I remove your night rail?”
She nodded, and in moments found herself naked, and lying across the middle of the bed, with her new husband beside her, his hands and eyes exploring parts of her no one had seen since she was old enough to bathe herself. And more! Surely, he doesn’t mean to touch me there?
“Open to me, sweet, and let me…” Whatever else he was thinking went unsaid as he bent in for one of those deep kisses that had been weakening her knees for days.
Her legs widened, almost without her volition, his hand creeping down into the cleft between. The sweet piercing sensation of his touch on her female parts caused an embarrassing gush of the same liquid that had unaccountably leaked when they kissed. Apparently, this was supposed to happen, for he lifted his mouth from hers long enough to murmur approval.
Well then. This was not so bad. This was better than not bad.
She lost herself in sensation, unable to keep from pressing against Bear’s lips and his fingers, and his hard, hard body, needing more. Bear moved his lips to her neck, then trailed kisses lower until he could suck her nipple into his mouth, and she arched toward him with a wordless cry of pleasure. He hummed in response, then surged back up to capture her lips again in a hungry kiss, only pulling away to say, “You are ready, are you not, Rosa? I am desperate to be inside you.”
Was this the more she wanted? She tensed a little, the eager sensations of seconds ago still there but masked behind apprehension. But this was what happened in a marriage bed. “Yes,” she said.
He shifted again so he hovered over her, holding his weight on one elbow while the other hand moved between them, adjusting her flesh to fit the blunt knob between them.
Then he thrust, driving all thoughts of pleasure from her mind.
Chapter Twenty
She is too small, Bear realized an instant before she screamed. He had not given her enough time, had not waited for her to adjust. Now it was too late. He was a clumsy, stupid, overgrown fool, and he had hurt his wife.
With a massive effort of will, he ignored the urgent need of his least responsible bodily part and forced himself to still. He lifted himself enough to put a hand either side of her head and look at her face. Tears spilled from her eyes and dripped toward her ears. He wiped them gently with his thumbs.
“Rosa? I’m sorry. I thought you were ready.” The last sounded like a whine or an accusation. He hastily added, “I should have taken more care, and more time.”
“I am all right, Hugh. I thought… I did not know. I have never done this before.”
Bear blinked. In all his ruminations on the probable lovers of the woman he intended to take to wife, he had never considered the possibility there were none. “You were a virgin?” he asked before his brain caught up with his mouth.
Her jaw dropped, and even in the candlelight he could see her turn whiter. “You thought I was not? You believed the stories? Hugh!” She tried to turn her head to hide the tears, running faster now, but he held her and his body pinned her, and even in the midst of this debacle, his male organ was firmly seated within her and begging him to stop talking and start ravishing.
Which made it hard to think. “No! Not all of them. Just, I thought there must be a seed…some incident long ago. I know you are a virtuous lady, Rosa, and a woman of your word, but girls can be misled by a scoundrel… I’ve always thought it unfair that Society blames them when so often it is their ignorance and the man’s lies to blame.” He bent to press a kiss to her lips, but they were as unyielding as stone.
“Rosa.” That was almost a groan.
“Is it over?” she asked. “Have you finished, Hugh? Because if you have, I would like to wash.”
Nothing could be salvaged from tonight except his dignity and hers. “Of course. One moment, please.” He withdrew from her as slowly and carefully as he could, an excruciatingly pleasurable torture over all too soon. “I will fetch water. Do you want your night rail?”
They managed a polite and distant exchange of commonplaces as she disappeared behind the screen and managed her ablutions. While she was hidden, he checked the sheet. No blood. Was she making it up, then? No. He would stake his entire fortune on her honesty. Even so, he didn’t understand. Didn’t virgins bleed?
***
I am an idiot, Rosa thought. Why had she not kept her mouth shut? Bear was too much of a gentleman to point out her shortcomings, but even the dullest and most innocent of ex-maidens could tell that she had failed him. If the formal reserve he donned as soon as got off her was not clue enough, the fact he dressed and left their bedroom, and a short while later the house, would have driven the point home. She watched him hurry through the dark garden to the path that led to Thorne Hall. He would go and wander around the ruins, forgetting his unsatisfactory wife while spinning plans for the refurbishment.
She should have bitten her tongue and kept her scream to herself. The pain—the stretching and burning—had shocked her, but as soon as he stopped moving, the sting began to fade and the fullness was almost pleasant. A little more than almost when he pulled out slowly, so her relief was mixed with regret.
Undoubtedly, he would want to do it again, and next time she would know what to expect. Unless she had given him a distaste for her. On that unpleasant thought, she cried herself to sleep.
Bear returned before dawn, opening the kitchen door with the key he had taken, and shaking his head of the clinging damp before entering the room. The rain must have started again.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Rosa asked, and he startled. “I have just boiled the kettle to make one for myself.”
“A cup of tea would be welcome.” His eyes searched her face, but he didn’t speak the question she saw. Was she all right? Was she upset? Was she hurt? He wanted to ask one of those, and she hardly knew the answer to any of them.
She swung the kettle off the fire and ladled the boiling water onto the prepared tea leaves in the pot. “Ther
e. We will let it steep for a minute. How long has it been raining?”
“Only ten or fifteen minutes. I was at the ruins. They’ve made good progress clearing the burnt wing so that it is safe, but this weather will delay our next steps.”
Rosa cut a wedge of bread, and another of cheese, then spooned some pickle onto a plate and added a pat of butter. “There,” she said, putting it in front of him. “That will keep body and soul together.”
“Thank you.”
He tucked into the impromptu meal, not meeting her eyes.
Her own questions burned. Would it be like that next time? When would they try again? Had she done something wrong, and if so, what could she do differently? She had only him to ask, and she hardly knew him, though he had seen her naked, had touched her intimately, had prompted reactions from her that made her blush to recall.
When she colored, he looked alarmed, pushed his empty cup away, and mumbled something about getting into dry clothes, before leaving the kitchen.
He remained courteous but distant all day, spending much of his time with his foreman, and then insisting that Father be brought downstairs to share their meals with them. Rosa responded in kind, hoping they could talk once their bedroom door shut out the world.
Bear spoke first, saying, “You are sore, Rosa. We will not— er,” he stopped to consider his words. “We will not exercise our marital rights tonight.”
Her relief was matched by her disappointment, and she cast about for a good reason to proceed. “How can I give you a child if we don’t…”
“We will be married all our lives. It won’t hurt to allow a few days for the soreness to heal.” His eyes softened. “I am lucky you did not bar me from our bedroom after that dismal performance last night. If you will forgive me, I promise to amend, once you are no longer wincing when you sit.”
That was all. He stripped to his shirt, but no further, climbed into his side of the bed, turned his back, and fell asleep within minutes.
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