by Tia Siren
I wished to take a moment to recompose myself, but the idea of fleeing this meeting was unacceptable to me. Here was a man who not only recognized that I was unlike my peers, but seemed to respect it! This was a strange development in my own perception of the human condition, as I long ago had concluded that all men, at heart, would rather see a woman dashed upon the rocks that read any kind of serious book. And yet here was the Duke, asking me if I read books, and with a hint of pride in his tone!
“I have taught myself Greek and Latin and read the few classics Father has managed to procure for me. I also read the natural arts and history. These are all unwomanly subjects and if you were to tell no me I would be absolutely ruined.”
“I will not tell on you,” the Duke said, and turned to me. He looked down form my face to my neck, and then further down, in the most dishonorable way. His eyes romped over my body, but I did not stop him. Then they returned to my face. “You are a beautiful woman, in both mind and appearance. My lady, I wish to hold your hand.”
“Here?” I said, uneasily. If somebody spied us holding hands, we would be more or less engaged, less an outrage was to be caused.
“Here,” the Duke said carelessly. “I wish to feel your hand in mine.”
He held his hand out. I looked at it for a few moments, heart thundering now in my chest. I knew it was wrong and yet I wanted very badly to have my hand in his. “I will hold your hand,” she said. “But we must be sure to retract them quickly if somebody ventures into the garden.”
He nodded and then took my hand in his, placing both hands upon my thigh. This was the zenith of improper behavior. I was aware of that then and I am aware of it now. Yet I was disinclined to take my hand away because the warmth and the closeness were intoxicating. We said nothing for a few minutes, just sat there and shared each other’s warmth, and then he turned and faced me with ice-blue eyes that seem to look into me. To say that they looked into my soul would sound melodramatic. However, that is what it felt like at the time.
He smiled, and his strongly made face opened to me. “I have sought this for a long time,” he said.
“What is that, Duke?”
“Somebody with whom I could sit and hold hands and not have it be a cataclysmic event. Somehow I knew when I saw you in London that you were not like other women. It was in the way you carried yourself. You walked through the city, not like a star-struck woman, but almost like a man.” He winced. “That sounds monstrous, doesn’t it? I do not mean to call you manly. I merely mean to say that you, as far as I can tell, have shunned much of the extraneous womanliness that encumbers so many.”
I knew I could take offense if I wished, but I also knew exactly what he meant. Almost involuntarily, I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I knew what you meant,” I said. “You do not need to worry.”
He smiled at me again. “I want to see you again, after today,” he said. “We must contrive a reason for you to stay. I have guest quarters where you and your maidservant may abide for a time, if you wish.”
This idea was glorious to me. I could stay within his proximity. I could be with him for a longer time. The obstacle was Father. He was under the impression that I could be back on the morrow. “I would have to send word to Father,” I said.
“I could do that,” the Duke said. “If I were to contrive some party or gathering. Yes, that is what I will do. I will throw a grand party five days from now. If I write to your father personally, I do not see how he can object. I am, after all, a Duke.” He said this with none of the condescension or social pretentiousness which is so common in this sphere. He merely spoke the truth. “I would send the missive by messenger,” he went on. “Your father would learn immediately, and so any social missteps would be alleviated. If he wishes for your return, of course you must go. But I do not think he will. What is your answer, Sarah? Please, say yes!”
He gazed into my eyes imploringly. I nearly reached out to touch his face, but I restrained myself. All around us life was happening, and yet I felt utterly disconnected from it all. Life was no happening out there; it was happening here.
“I will stay,” I said. I hastened to add: “But you must write to Father this instant. Make it clear that it is for the party, and stress the social benefits.”
“I shall,” the Duke said, releasing my hand. “I shall write to him this instant. Will you come with me, Sarah? I will go to my study, and there are books there that I think might interest you.”
At the mention of books I had stood as though by rote. “I will come,” I said, as naturally and unexcitedly as I was able.
The Duke nodded and began to walk. After a moment, I followed, not so close as to cause murmur, but not so distant as to be strictly proper.
*****
The main body of the guests still being occupied with the festivities, the library was a private meeting place for the Duke and me. He led me into a chamber a Greek philosopher would be happy to stand in for a time. It was not so much the architecture of the room that provoked a profound response within me, but the character of the room. Everywhere one looked, books lay upon the shelves, hundreds and hundreds of them. I have never seen so many books in my life. I felt my mind turning, as though twisting around in a foolish attempt to see all the books at once.
The Duke walked before me, and then turned and smiled. “It is acceptable?” he said.
“It is—” I could not form words that would properly explain the glory of this room. Only a low light filtered in through slatted windows at the top, dusty with the age of books. It was every romantic dream I had ever envisioned in my youth. So rarely do we humble creatures get to really live our dreams.
The Duke laughed softly and walked through the library as carelessly as if such grandeur were the norm for him; and, I reflected, it must be. After a breathless moment I followed him to a large oak desk and chair, upon which he sat and began to write a letter. He wrote it quickly, and then handed it to me to read. It was simple and plain and undeniable. He, a Duke, wished to keep the Archer daughter here for a time. It was a great honor. I knew right away that Father would agree. I handed him the letter back and he nodded and sealed it within an envelope.
“I will send it this very day,” he said. “We will not have a reply until tomorrow, but I am sure you will stay until then?”
“Yes,” I said, far too quickly. I was finding it harder and harder to hide my eagerness.
He rose from the desk and offered me his arm. Looking around to ensure that we were not being observed, I took his arm. He led me around the library, allowing me to look more closely at some of the more interesting tomes. There were the missing volumes of Homer’s Odyssey. Upon seeing my excitement at holding these volumes, he pushed them into my hands. “They are yours,” he said.
“You cannot mean it,” I whispered, staring down at the books.
“I do,” the Duke said. “It is worth it to just see a woman who gets excited about books. Most women would rather be out there, at the fayre, but I see you are made of different material. I expect that your design has been a hindrance to you for most of your life.”
“It has.”
“That is a great dishonor to Man,” the Duke said vehemently. “I would say you are the kind of woman whom a man needs to treasure, but that would unworthy; I do not think you are any kind at all. I think you are simply Sarah Archer, a beautiful anomaly.”
I had never been flattered so endlessly. The effect it had upon me was jarring. I felt my mouth falling open like a village idiot’s, and yet I was powerless to stop it. I was in awe of this man and his words. I placed the books on the shelf, lest I drop them, stood still for a few moments. Soon he put his hands on my shoulders, gripping them firmly, and turned me toward him.
“I wish to kiss you, Sarah,” he said.
Men are not as honorable as they would have us believe, and I had had this offer thrust before me many times before, with the full knowledge that it would be my downfall if the man was a rascal. For that reaso
n, and the reason that I had never felt an overwhelming inclination to succumb, I had never kissed a man before.
“You wish…”
“To kiss you,” the Duke said firmly. “Will you allow me?”
I stood on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping at me. One way there was ecstasy, the other was oblivion. What if I succumbed to this man and he was rascal? What if I was one duped woman in a line of duped women? I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of duplicity, but all attempts to read him were lost in the solid ice-blue of the deep pools of his irises.
Then I tossed intellect aside, a rare thing for me, and consulted my heart. The consultation did not last long. I wanted this, I realized.
“I must not last long,” I said hurriedly, “lest somebody come in and find us.”
“Yes, my lady,” the Duke – Francis – said.
He touched my cheek with his hand, and then leaned forward and placed his lips upon mine. I had been afraid that I would not know what to do, but it felt as natural as walking. Our lips brushed as though they were old companions, and his tongue snaked into my mouth. This was most scandalous, and yet I opened my mouth in return and allowed our tongues to dance.
We kissed for longer than was agreed upon, and would have kissed for longer had not there been the clapping of shoes behind us. We both turned swiftly just in time to see Charlotte enter.
“Miss, I feared something had happened to you!” the poor girl exclaimed.
“The Duke was just showing me his books, Charlotte,” I said. “You did not have to worry.”
“Yes, Miss,” Charlotte said. “Would you like to come outside now?”
The Duke stepped forward. “We shall all go outside and join in on the fun.”
The girl’s face lit up like a fire at that. Then she clapped out of the room. The Duke turned and stared into my eyes. “One more,” he said.
I nodded.
Our lips, our tongues, even our teeth: all of it mashed together in a dance of unearthly pleasure.
*****
It had been three nights from the date of the fayre. I lay awake around three in the morning thinking over the previous three days. Apart from a short stroll around the grounds on the second day, upon which event Charlotte was also present, the Duke and I had not spent any time together since the first day. This was mainly due to exterior events in London, which I will not bore the reader by delving into now. But late on the evening upon which I lay awake, waiting, the business in London had concluded and the Duke’s advisors had left the Castle.
And so our romance could resume.
For the sake of our closeness, the Duke had arranged for Charlotte to have her own room down the hallway. This was agreeable to me, because it made nights like tonight much easier. The Duke was to visit me tonight. We were to spend some time alone together. My nerves were aching with anticipation at this point, and I had already decided that if he didn’t arrive tonight I would return home. There is only so much a woman can take, exterior factors or not.
I watched the moon make its passage across my bedroom wall, the shadows of trees dancing in the pale blue hue. I had been reading the books the Duke had gifted me until early in the morning, but now I was eager to recommence my affections with the Duke. It is unwomanly to say so, but if he had walked in right then and kissed me without permission, I would not have objected.
I must make my state of mind clear, as a defense of sorts, because already the men among you are judging me, calling me unwomanly, perhaps even witchy. For the longest time Father had been trying to get me to marry, as was proper, and I do not blame him for it. If I could only attach myself to a prosperous family, I might elevate the Archers out of the rut they had been stuck in for generations. But my father was too soft-hearted to push with too much insistence, and I was allowed, for the most part, to form my own character.
I chose the character of a book-dweller, spending most of my early adulthood among books, neglecting my “social obligations”. And whilst Father did not hinder me, neither did he approve. So at the point of meeting the Duke, I was afloat in a sea of unrecognition. I desperately wanted somebody to recognize me for what I was, not for who I was supposed to be.
And then came the Duke. His words in the library, his beautiful words which I shall always remember, resounded in me, multiplying each day and increasing in force. The Duke, I was sure, recognized me. And there was something else. There was a bodily reaction, also; my body called out for him, and the taste of his lips on mine was still fresh.
I was his, mind and body, from the second we kissed in the library. I believed with my entire soul that I had found my equal in life. But if he left me now, to wait all night… If he did not come—
Then there came a knock at the door, a secret, soft knock.
I rose and crept to the door, being careful that my steps did not made too much noise. Upon opening it, I saw that it was the Duke, dressed only in britches and a shirt, without any of the adornments that befit his station. He smiled and nodded to his clothes.
“I do not need to dress ceremoniously for you, my love?”
“Of course not,” I said. In fact, it made me feel closer to him that he felt comfortable appearing before me in this fashion. I opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”
He came into the room; and before long we were in each other’s arms.
*****
I wish to tell this tale of a poor Archer girl and a Duke with the utmost honesty and openness. To that end I will describe the next section in a detail many of you will find scandalous. It thrills me to recount it, but it may not thrill the more prudent among you: the more “stuck in the past” among you. For the Duke and I, two unmarried persons, made love this night. We made love and I am not ashamed if the world knows it. If I am strung up for a hussy upon publication of this account I will still hold my head high with pride. Those that would string me up no nothing of real love, with their pretense and boundaries and guidelines.
The Duke and I lay upon the bed, having fallen there in mutual reverie when he entered. His lips were on mine and my hands, as though hungry themselves, roved over his body. There was an oppressive and yet not unpleasant warmth in the room. It was as though the two of us were kissing and touching within a stove. I let out moans of pleasure, throwing myself wholly into the moment, something I rarely did. My hands moved down his body, down to that part of a man’s body I had only heard whispers of, but had never seen, let alone touched.
I moved my hands down, down, down, and grabbed that part of him. It was rock-hard to the touch, and I felt my body respond immediately. So, I thought, this is what is meant by lust between a man and a woman. He let out a low growl when I touched him there: a growl filled with pleasure. I rubbed it up and down, up and down, and was glad to hear his growls intensify. My own privates were very wet and hot now.
He moved his hands down my nightclothes and then touched my private area. It was like small flames danced at the end of his fingertips. I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming the Castle down. He rubbed my private area harder and faster, and I became wetter and hotter. Neither of us was overly capable at this sort of thing – neither of us had been with a person before – but instinct led us on. I forgot the judgment that this act caused, and the moment took me up in a rush of euphoria.
Before I knew it, we were tearing at each other’s clothes, ripping them apart like animals unleashed from long captivity. Soon my nightclothes lay in a heap upon the floor, and his shirt and britches presently joined them. The light was low, but I was able to see the contours of his muscular body, the muscles straining hard. A thrill went through me and I placed my hands on his chest.
“I want to make love,” I whispered, unable to stop myself.
Tenderly, he laid me upon my back on the bed. There was some fiddling as we both adopted the right positioning, and then he thrust himself inside of me. There was aching pain at first, and then he pulled himself out and thrust in again, and again. The pain lessen
ed with each thrust, and after a few minutes it was totally gone, replaced by pleasure. I grabbed onto his muscular back as he thrust into me, holding my legs up and moving with his motions.
I had what is referred to as an “orgasm” then. It was a shocking, beautiful feeling. He thrust harder and harder, and I was so focused on his moans, and his muscles, and the deep white-hot heat between my legs, that I did not sense it approaching. Suddenly, wave after wave of pricking, hot pleasure washed over me. I was utterly in its control. It pulsated within me, permeating my whole body, burning, tingling. I let out a scream, and he let out a long moan.
Then he rolled to the side. We were done.
We lay together until the sun began to rise, my head on his chest. At intervals we slept, but then we awoke and talked in low whispers, giggling together like children. I know that men would want me to regret what the Duke and I had just done. They would call me a whore for enjoying it, but I did enjoy it, and to this day I do not regret it. All the horrible stories I had heard – stories full of feelings of remorse, dishonor, and worthlessness – were proved to be false. I only felt content.
After the sun had risen, but still an hour before the house would be awake, we made love again. This time was slower, as we became more acquainted with each other’s bodies. Afterwards, the Duke had to leave, as to not arouse suspicion amongst his staff.
He bid me to meet him in the gardens later that day, and I readily agreed.
*****
There was nothing strange about my meeting the Duke for a stroll through the gardens, so I did not need to lie to Charlotte. I did, however, tell her that I was strolling the grounds alone, leaving my exact course vague just in case she decided to come and find me. I thought that unlikely anyway, seeing as she was quite taken up with the gossiping and minor politics of the servants of the Castle.