A Woman of Passion

by Virginia Henley

She came back to the bed and once more enfolded him against her breast. Suddenly, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He began to sob out his heart, and Bess held him tightly, giving him her strength, her comfort, and her love.

  When Robert slept, Bess went downstairs. It was midafternoon and her family was still there. Marcella had helped to wash and lay out Arthur Barlow, and Ralph and James had gone to the barn to milk the Barlow cows. Jane slipped her hand into Bess's and squeezed. Meanwhile, Reverend Rufus was making arrangements with the widow for Arthur Barlow's burial.

  They stopped talking as Mistress Barlow stared at Bess with hard eyes. “ 'Tis indecent—you couldn't wait to get him into bed!”

  Bess was shocked at her implication. She looked directly into her mother-in-law's eyes. “Robert is ill. I shall do my best to nurse him back to health. I would like your cooperation.”

  Marcella, who had been holding her tongue for hours, declared, “Bess is right. You will be burying your son alongside his father unless you open your eyes.” She turned to Bess's mother. “I'll go back and see that the girls get their supper.”

  “I'll come with you,” Bess said. “I must get my things.”

  “We'll all go; I think Mistress Barlow needs a little peace and quiet,” Elizabeth Hardwick said firmly.

  When they arrived home Bess immediately went upstairs to pack. Rogue Cavendish's letter still lay on the bedside table. Bess snatched it up and tore it in half, then thought better of destroying it completely and placed it at the bottom of her trunk.

  She folded her clothes, then, as an afterthought, picked up her long-forgotten doll Esmeralda, who had been passed on to her younger sisters. She realized the doll was a representation of herself. She had named her Lady Ponsonby, hoping someday to become a titled lady in her own right. How naive she had been. Bess put the doll into the trunk, closed the lid, and stared down at it. Everything she owned in the world was in that chest.

  Her mother slipped into the room. “Bess, how can I ever, ever thank you? You are so kind and unselfish, I can't believe it.”

  I'm not! I'm the most selfish female in the world. Thank God you cannot hear my thoughts. “Don't ever lose that paper Mistress Barlow signed. She can never press charges against Ralph so long as you have it safe in your possession!”

  Marcella entered the bedroom as her mother left. “Bess, what can I say, child? You won't get much comfort out of this marriage, except knowing you've given Elizabeth and Ralph peace of mind.”

  “It is Robert who needs comfort.”

  “And you will give it to him, in full measure.” Marcella drew her close and kissed her brow. “My dearest Bess, sometimes our destinies are played out in strange ways. … All things come at their appointed time. You are so young, you have your whole life before you. Perhaps if you give now, someday you will attain your heart's desire.”

  Bess Barlow now had a mission. She set about restoring her young husband's health and making his life more pleasant. She demanded an extra room next to their bed-chamber and turned it into a comfortable sitting room. She spent most of her time with Robert, except for attending her sister Jane's wedding and a weekly visit with her family. She prepared his meals, rubbed his chest, dosed him with herbal possets, and amused him to keep his spirits from flagging.

  Bess became everything to Robert: mother, nurse, friend, companion, everything except wife. He never attempted to consummate their marriage, and Bess told herself that it was because Robert was younger than she and his body was not yet physically mature. Although Rob was tall, he was extremely thin and underdeveloped in muscle and other male attributes.

  Bess realized that she would never have known this if she had not seen that bold devil, George Talbot, stark naked by the River Thames last summer. She could not help but make a comparison between the two young men. Never would she have believed that two males of approximately the same age could be so physically disparate, if she had not seen them with her own eyes!

  Talbot's arms and shoulders were sleekly muscled, as were his slim hips. Dark hair covered his chest. She remembered that his legs—and thighs too—had bulged with muscles. But it was what had risen up from between those thighs that left an indelible impression on her innocence. It had been her first encounter with a naked, aroused male.

  Remembering the way the devil had enjoyed shocking her, Bess shuddered. How very thankful she was that her fair young husband represented no threat whatsoever to her. Robert worshiped Bess in every way; he was simply not robust enough to consummate the marriage, and in a way Bess felt relieved that it was so.

  It was no secret that Robert adored his beautiful wife, and as a result his mother became excessively jealous. She spoke spitefully to Bess but was careful not to antagonize her daughter-in-law too far. There was something intimidating about the redheaded young woman who was responsible for safeguarding the Barlow estate.

  When the Court of Wards had stepped in, they hadn't been able to touch Bess's marriage portion, which consisted of one third of the estate, and the remaining two thirds in question became secure when Godfrey Boswell, Jane's new husband, bought Robert Barlow's wardship.

  Robert's health remained poor all winter, but when spring arrived it began to improve. By May he was able to accompany his wife on short rides, and they attended the wedding of Bess's younger sister, Alice, to Francis Leche of Chatsworth, who was the nephew of her stepfather, Ralph. They rested their horses on the summit of the hill before descending to Chatsworth. “Rob, that is the most beautiful piece of land I've ever seen in my life,” Bess declared, filling her lungs with spring air as if it were the elixir of life.

  Chatsworth was green and lush, and the River Derwent circled to the west like a glittering, silver ribbon, while Sherwood Forest lay close on the east. “I often came up here when I was a little girl and pretended that someday I would build a fairy-tale castle down there.”

  “Poor Bess. You had dreams of being a princess, but instead of Prince Charming, you got me.”

  She glanced up at him, thinking that his face and thick fair hair were worthy of a prince. If only he were stronger, she thought poignantly. “Save your pity. I have no doubt you will be the handsomest young man at the wedding,” she assured him. If only he were older, much, much older, she wished with a resigned sigh.

  That night, when they returned home from the wedding, the romance of the occasion stayed with them. When she joined Rob in bed, Bess was not surprised to feel his arms slip about her. He loved to hold her and look at her and stroke her hair. She knew it gave him untold pleasure, and it was no unpleasant thing for Bess to be so sweetly cherished by her young husband.

  “Alice was a beautiful bride and Chatsworth such a perfect setting for a wedding.” Bess sighed.

  “She's not nearly as beautiful as you, my darling. You make my heart sing, Bess; can you hear it?” Rob was so much taller than Bess that her cheek rested against his heart.

  Her arms went about him, and she lamented his thinness. “You must try to eat more, Rob. Are you never hungry?”

  “I'm hungry for you. Bess, you are still a bride, still a virgin. I want to make you my wife tonight. May I kiss you, sweetheart? I won't kiss you on the mouth, Bess, I don't want you to catch my sickness. I love you too much to ever harm you.”

  Bess kissed him, very close to his mouth. She bloomed with health and was not afraid of contact with her young husband. He was both stronger and older than when they had wed, and she wondered what it would be like to lose her virginity. A tremulous smile touched the corner of her mouth as she recalled how passionately she had protected that virginity from a determined Rogue Cavendish.

  Encouraged, Robert covered her face with kisses. He adored his beautiful wife with all his heart and soul and was suddenly filled with an overwhelming physical desire to love her with his body as well. For the very first time he stroked her breasts and pressed his lips worshipfully to her firm flesh. More excited than he had ever been in his life, he felt his arousal start. As it brushed
against her soft thigh, Rob moaned from the wave of pure pleasure that washed over his entire body.

  Dear God, at long last he was a man, and he was about to achieve his heart's desire of making a woman of the beautiful girl who was his wife. With trembling hands he lifted off her short bed shift and devoured her luscious young body with his eyes. “You are so lovely, you take my breath away—literally.”

  Rob was panting heavily, and Bess knew a moment of alarm. Perhaps he wasn't strong enough to make love to her. She wondered wildly what she could do to help him. Would it be easier if she made love to him? She cursed her inexperience, wishing she had knowledge of the mysteries of sex. Then with the innate wisdom of women that had come down through the ages from Eve, she knew she could not wound his masculine pride by assuming the dominant role of aggressor. She would have to lie passive and compliant and let him do the taking. A man must slay the dragon outside his own cave, or he was not a man.

  He pulled her against him, and she experienced the strange yet pleasant sensation of warm, naked flesh pressing against the length of her body. When she felt his manhood stirring against her, Bess opened her thighs in sweet invitation and was completely surprised by Rob's reaction. He violently rubbed himself against her mons, then cried out as he was overtaken by a spasm that made his entire body go rigid. With great gasps of what sounded like tormented pleasure, he spent himself, then collapsed, sprawling half upon the bed, half upon Bess.

  “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry … I couldn't stop myself.”

  “Rob, it's all right. It didn't hurt at all,” she assured him, but her words caused him to groan as if still in torment. Bess felt a wet stickiness on her thigh and wondered if this was the virgin blood people always whispered about. Yet how could there be blood without pain? This mating business was all very strange, she thought. Rumor had it that men were driven to it, thinking of little else. She decided that the sex act must have a greater impact on men than it did on women. Bess brushed the damp fair hair from Rob's brow and laid a tender hand upon his cheek.

  “I love you, Bess; you are too kind and generous. I can't put into words the glory and the ecstasy you made me feel. Next time, sweetheart, I promise to do better.” He fell asleep within minutes, totally exhausted from his first sexual experience.

  Bess lay in his arms for a long time, listening to Robert's contented breathing. Her maturing body vaguely yearned for something more. She didn't understand exactly what it was she wanted, but the sex act had somehow disappointed her. After years of whispers, innuendos, winks, and bawdy jests, Bess had expected something earth-shattering and cataclysmic. Not the mild little encounter she had shared with her husband.

  An hour later a hungry, demanding mouth took total possession of her. Even in her sleep she wondered how on earth her husband had grown so muscular and strong. She pressed against the hard, powerful body of the man who held her immobile, and reveled in the desire that was building steadily in her woman's core. Her arousal became so intense, she wanted to scream. His mouth was hard and she loved it, his arms were like steel bands, holding her imprisoned against him, and she loved it.

  “When I'm done with you, you'll never be the same again,” a deep voice promised, and Bess longed with all her heart that it would be so! His mouth and his powerful hands aroused her to madness. When the dark figure rose above her, poised to pierce her with his fearsome weapon, she was actually writhing in need, begging him to take her. Her blood was on fire, her breasts tingling with anticipation, her belly taut with lust, her woman's center aching to be filled with her lover's manroot. His passion fueled her passion until it consumed them and a cry was torn from her throat. Yes! Yes! This is what making love was all about! Taking all; yielding all; enjoying the exquisite pleasure to its last drop.

  Suddenly, Bess awoke, the dream still starkly vivid in every erotic detail. He was there in the bed with her. She could see him and feel him and taste him. The memory of Rogue Cavendish had overtaken her so completely it felt as if he had stolen into her bed during the night. She blushed scarlet as she recalled the wildfire his touch had aroused in her. Damn you, Cavendish, damn you to hellfire!

  As the summer months progressed, Robert often attempted to make love to her but always with the same unsatisfactory result. Bess dreamed more and more frequently of Rogue Cavendish. Shame and anger always followed when she awoke, and she added this to the score she would one day settle with the hated seducer.

  The first winds of autumn brought a racking cough to Robert. No matter how much Bess coddled him, his condition did not improve. By October, in fact, he was worse. Rob's energy was at low ebb, and Bess knew how ill he felt sometimes. He never complained; he suffered in silence and always had a smile for her.

  Robert was content to sit with a book, his other passion besides his beautiful wife. While he read the classics and poetry, Bess stayed beside him, usually embroidering. One evening in early November, as they sat before the fire, he said, “We've been married almost a year, and I want you to know it's been the happiest year of my life.”

  “Rob, what a lovely thing to say, thank you. This tapestry I'm working on will mark our anniversary.” She held it up to show him the fairy-tale castle.

  “Is that me on the white horse?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, you are the prince and I am the princess. I just have to embroider our entwined initials above the date and it will be finished.”

  “You are so clever, sweetheart.”

  “Rubbish, you are the clever one. You read philosophy and poetry, and you even taught yourself French and Italian.”

  Suddenly, Robert was gripped by a coughing spasm that wouldn't stop. Bess's eyes widened in alarm as he began to cough up blood. When it was over she bathed him and got him into bed, then she sat beside him and talked softly in an effort to calm him and calm herself.

  “I'm going to start making Christmas presents. I thought I'd embroider a pair of cushions for your mother. I've been making sketches of Barlow Hall.”

  Robert watched her with haunted eyes. “We won't have another year together, Bess.”

  “Don't talk like that, please, Rob.”

  But as December dawned, Bess acknowledged to herself that this time Robert's condition was serious. When she next visited her family and they invited her and Robert for the Christmas festivities, she told them she was extremely worried about her young husband's health and that perhaps they should stay quietly at home.

  Christmas week was a busy, festive time in the country, with much visiting and socializing. When snow began to fall the day before Christmas Eve, the children were overjoyed. Robert's younger brothers and sisters dragged out the cutter from the barn and went off on a sleigh ride. With Robert's arms encircling Bess, they watched from their upstairs windows, vicariously enjoying the fun the young Barlows were having.

  On Christmas Eve it was traditional for everyone in the nearby villages to congregate at the church for a communal supper, then at midnight the Reverend Rufus held a joyous carol service. In the early evening Mistress Barlow bid Robert and Bess a happy Christmas, then climbed into the cutter with her other children and headed to the Edensor church.

  After they left, Bess found the big house unusually quiet. She gazed through the window at the thickening snowflakes and pushed away a sense of loneliness.

  “You are pensive tonight, Bess,” Robert said quietly.

  “No, no, of course I'm not,” Bess vigorously denied, poking at the fire until it blazed cheerfully.

  “I'm sorry you have to miss all the fun, sweetheart.”

  “Nonsense! We'll make our own fun. We can exchange our Christmas presents, and I have some malmsey I've been keeping for a special occasion.”

  They retrieved the gifts they had hidden for each other, then Bess poured them wine. Robert opened his first. It was a book cover she had embroidered in brilliant Spanish silks with his name on it. In the bottom corner their initials were entwined.

  “It is beautiful, like you, Bess. Eve
rything you do is beautiful.”

  She gave him a radiant smile and opened the gift he handed her. It was a silver letter opener wrought with a stag's head. “Oh, wherever did you get it, Rob?”

  “It was my grandfather's. He left it to me.”

  “But you must treasure it. Why are you giving it to me?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Soon I won't need it; I want you to have it.”

  “Don't talk like that, Rob. You're always worse in the wintertime. When spring comes we'll ride out again—”

  His long fingers brushed her lips to silence her. “Bess, I need to speak of these things. You always stop me, thinking you are being kind, but, sweetheart, let me talk. I hold it inside and I have to let it out.”

  She sat still and waited apprehensively. Robert indicated the tapestry of the fairy-tale castle hanging on the wall.

  “I'll never ride over the hill with you again to look at Chatsworth, but, Bess, you must go. Never let your dreams die.”

  Bess swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tonight he didn't sound like a boy, he sounded old and wise beyond his years.

  “You made my life so very happy, Bess; please have no remorse that I will die. My only regret is that I couldn't give you a child. You will make a wonderful mother, Bess.”

  Her throat ached so much she couldn't speak, but she shook her head in denial.

  “ Yes! You will go on without me! You have such a passion for life, you must marry again and have the children we didn't. Promise me!”

  “Rob—” It came out on a sob.

  “You have to live for both of us. It's all right, Bess. I feel quite euphoric most of the time. I don't suffer over-much.”

  Bess didn't know what euphoric meant—she didn't read as much as Robert—but she put her arms about him and held him tightly. “Let me help you to bed,” she insisted, doubly determined to nurse him back to better health.

  Robert reached into the drawer of the bedside table. “I have made a will, Bess. No, listen to me, this is very important. Poor Godfrey Boswell, your sister Jane's husband who bought my wardship, will lose all his investment of one hundred marks when I die, because my younger brother, George, is next in line.” Robert paused, gasping to catch his breath, and Bess tenderly stroked his back.