The Wicked Confessions Of Lady Cecelia Stanton (novella)

by Viveka Portman

  ‘With your permission, may I?’ he asked.

  I had thoughts of how improper it was to partake in the conjugal act with the sun bright in the sky. It was unseemly, wicked even, yet the look in my husband’s eyes told me it was also very much wanted.

  I nodded and he bent forwards to kiss me.

  I knew kissing as something generally reserved for cheeks, and formal occasions, but William’s kiss was neither.

  His lips met mine. They were warm, and he smelled like the tea he’d clearly just consumed. He pressed in and urged my mouth open. I heard my own gasp of surprise and a reciprocal chuckle echo within William’s chest. The sensation was exquisite. The deep coiling presence that Bess’s fingers had managed to elicit between my legs with her fingers was miraculously reignited by my husband’s mouth upon mine.

  He pulled away, and smiled at me – a devilish smile that tugged at the corners of his moistened mouth.

  ‘I sense my wife likes to be kissed.’

  ‘She does,’ I agreed, and this time I dared to bring a hand up and stroke his sun-bronzed cheek with my hand. I loved the touch of his roughened cheek, such a contrast to the softness of Bess. Where she was day, he was night.

  He sighed, and closed his eyes, clearly relishing my touch.

  I let my hand fall to the bed, and his eyes opened. I believe it was all the invitation my husband required. Without further preamble, he moved atop me, pushing aside the blankets with careless enthusiasm.

  I was held immobile then, by his weight and a sudden paroxysm of fear.

  William’s eyes caught mine. ‘This act will not cause you much discomfort, I pray,’ he said. ‘You have been broken in, and your maidenhead can tear but once.’

  I hoped his words were true, and that the terrible consuming pain of our initial conjugal act would not be repeated. Yet my nether region was still raw and tender. Why, not yet a day had passed since he had first come upon me.

  My husband is, and has since remained, a man of substantial appetite.

  William’s hand came between us and for a long moment, it wrestled with the ties and buttons of his breeches. There was little else I could do but aid him and part my legs for ease of access to my sex.

  His hand then found my quim, wet with dew. He dipped a gentle finger there and brought it back to his mouth, tasting me.

  The gesture made that peculiar longing heat thickened there betwixt my thighs. His eyes met mine – they were knowing.

  ‘You’re ready for me?’ he asked.

  I could do naught but nod, as the thick, hot head of his staff nudged at my swollen gates. I remembered Bess’s wicked ministrations and that heat flared once more in my womb. I was surprised to find myself anticipating, with eagerness rather than fear, my husband’s attentions.

  William must have seen something in my eyes, as he gave a smug smile before lunging forth and impaling me on his staff. The gesture fair knocked the wind from my chest. It hurt, I cannot deny it. My womanhood had not recovered, and although his movements were slick and more considerate on this occasion, my body was unable to welcome them. Each forward lunge grated the tender flesh surrounding my sex, and I found myself enduring with difficulty the act I had hoped to receive pleasure from.

  William must have noticed, and for a brief moment I could see disappointment glisten in his eyes, before his face knotted in concentration and his lip gripped between his teeth as he worked furiously above me. He wanted to please me, I knew that implicitly, yet I could find no pleasure in his thrusting. I tried to relax and welcome his enthusiastic invasion but I confess here and now, I found myself wishing his staff was Bess’s fingers, and his groans of pleasure, my own.

  Our marital relations continued as such on a nightly basis. Afterwards, William would often leave my rooms to retire to the library, or his own rooms. When he did, almost always, Bess would return to me.

  I would speak at length with her about my husband’s activities and we would laugh about his robust attentions. Then Bess with her wicked hands and devilish lips strove to educate me to take pleasure from them. I feel I must state here that after those first few tender days, my womanhood became used to the girth of his staff and the enthusiastic manner with which he wielded it. I believe I took well to my conjugal duties to him, and eventually found a great deal of pleasure in them. Though, it is to my shame I admit that initially his cock was unable to satisfy and bring me to completion in the manner Bess’s skilful fingers did. And so her tutelage in the erotic arts continued. After William left my rooms sated, I would will Bess’s arrival, to await my own education and receive some satisfaction.

  I grew to love William in my own way during this time. He is a man with a rich sense of humour, though it often tends towards the vulgar. He is attentive, kind and generous to a fault. Quick to laugh, he was always ready and willing to cheer me when I found myself overwhelmed by my new, and at times, daunting status of lady of the house.

  When the weather was clement and the wind gentle, we would ride together – he on his black gelding and I on my chestnut palfrey. The grounds about Stanton are beautiful and as a riding companion, my husband excels.

  However, the pleasant equilibrium in which we found ourselves in those days was shortly and abruptly ended. It was a little over one month later, that I found myself with child for the first time.

  Of those early months, I recall little. What memories I have are of being terribly ill – a circumstance that has been repeated with every subsequent child. William called the physician early in my confinement so great was his concern. The physician, a stout and frankly odious man, stated that for the duration of my confinement, I was to remain mostly abed, with strict instructions to take only light exercise, such as brief walks about the grounds. Under no circumstances was I to ride upon a horse, or to have any conjugal relations with my husband.

  Imagine my amorous husbands despair if you will. Rarely a day had gone by in which I would not find him in my bed. To suddenly find himself denied his conjugal rights left William in a terrible state. His misery seemed to worsen daily.

  The jovial and amusing husband I’d come to care for became withdrawn and excessively surly.

  ‘William,’ I said one of the few evenings I felt well enough to attend dinner.

  Those sparkling eyes met mine, but the light and laughter I was so accustomed to was missing.

  ‘Ceecee, how did you fare this day?’ he asked, and took a deep draught of whisky. I felt his hungry eyes crawl over my increasingly swollen breasts and rounded belly. He sniffed, and rubbed his nose a gesture I recognised as discomfiture. It was at that moment I noticed the swelling in his breeches, but did not comment.

  ‘Better today than the last,’ I replied and took a step towards him.

  I had also noted that he had been drinking a lot. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair unkempt. He finished his drink and his valet, Tranby, poured another immediately.

  ‘Would you be so kind as to leave us?’ I asked Tranby.

  William’s loyal valet looked up and gave a curt nod.

  As Tranby closed the door behind him, I moved closer to my husband, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat at my approach.

  ‘What is it Ceecee? Can you not see I am in my cups this evening? Lord above knows I haven’t been in yours for a long time.’

  I looked away. At times his frankness still embarrassed me.

  ‘I am sorry, William,’ I began. ‘I feel better this eve, mayhap we could…’

  William looked up at me, a look of pure longing painted his features. ‘Ceecee,’ he whispered, ‘would that I could.’

  ‘You deny me?’

  He groaned audibly and his hand fell to his lap where he stroked the hardened length of his staff through the cloth of his breeches.

  His face hardened. ‘Devil take you, Ceecee. You heard the physician. He has forbidden it. I shall not be guilty of killing our unborn child by spilling my seed where it is unwanted.’

  I shook my head. ‘You m
istake me. It is not unwanted.’

  What I said was the truth. On those few days I felt well, my body verily craved my husband’s touch.

  ‘Unnecessary then,’ he bit out. ‘My seed has taken in you, and I must not befoul your luscious womb with any more until it has been purged of our child. You heard the physician, he said as much.’

  It was true – the odious physician had claimed that intercourse whilst with child was fatal for the growing infant. The husband’s seed could cause malformations, and the vigorous motions might stimulate miscarriage or injure the unborn babe. I personally had my doubts. Bess had often told me of a dairymaid who’d been rolling in the hay with a farmhand until the very day she birthed her child.

  I told William as such.

  The look he gave me was incredulous. ‘Are you likening yourself to a slatternly dairymaid, Ceecee?’ He laughed weakly then. ‘You are a lady of breeding, and if the physician has said I must not fuck you, then I will not fuck you.’

  ‘Oh, William. Your language!’ I chided and gave him a smile.

  ‘The devil take my language,’ he muttered and gulped down more whisky.

  ‘What will you do?’ I gestured weakly to the apparent bulge in his breeches. He scowled and pulled his coattail over himself.

  ‘I shall manage,’ he growled.

  And he did.

  Chapter 4

  I first learned of William’s infidelities when my body was so swollen with child that I could scarce move. My time was drawing near. William’s mood had become fouler and though I suspect he tried to shield me from the worst of his outbursts, living with him and his resentment was as much a burden on my heart as the babe was on my body.

  It was due to this that he decided to depart Stanton Hall and visit London. He claimed his reasons were those of commerce, but it did not take me long to discover what kind of commerce he had been participating in.

  It was Lady Ellsworth who brought it to my attention. I rarely took visitors in my confinement, but Lady Ellsworth was not one to be trifled with, and had always been a staunch supporter of my marriage to Stanton.

  ‘Ceecee, you are as big as a carriage,’ she said by way of greeting.

  I did not respond ‘And you too,’ as my heart desired, but merely inclined my head and greeted her graciously in return.

  ‘I fear this is not a pleasant social call,’ she said, sitting in flurry of lace and perfume. ‘I have had word from my niece in London.’

  ‘Indeed? My husband is there on business.’

  It was then Lady Ellsworth gave a decidedly ungracious snort. ‘Business? Is that what they call it?’

  I hesitated then. I had been sleeping poorly as of late, particularly since my husband’s absence. ‘What do you mean to say, Lady Ellsworth? Please, be plain with me.’

  Lady Ellsworth fixed me with a particularly hard stare. ‘Your husband has been creating scandal in London. He has been seen entering houses of ill-repute taking his ease with loose women, spending time with libertines, and gambling to excess. I have reliable word that his father is sending him home, as soon as his debts have been settled.’

  My gregarious, unpredictable William. He had been whoring. Fucking.

  I was wounded by this, though I tried ardently not to show it. I had grown to love my husband, his smile and bawdy laughter. I could no more comprehend this betrayal than I could the workings of the masculine mind. But I did try to justify his infidelities.

  He was a man with needs, and I supposed I ought be glad he was not fornicating with the maids, as some men were wont to do, and sully our home with his indiscretions.

  I felt something harden in my chest and the babe in my womb gave a particularly violent kick. ‘You said debts?’ I tried to steer the away from whores and libertines, to something slightly more palatable.

  The Stantons are a family of considerable means. William’s own wealth had been tripled through my dowry and yearly allowance.

  ‘Stanton and I have no debts,’ I whispered.

  Lady Ellsworth sucked in her cheeks and the powder cracked slightly.

  ‘He has been gambling,’ Lady Ellsworth sniffed. ‘Drinking and debauching. One who indulges in such behaviour is likely to incur debts, child.’

  My head swam. I had expected the drinking. I could perhaps understand the gambling, William was easily enthused, but the debauching? I felt a little something of my heart wither at that moment. Yet soon guilt usurped all feeling. I had only myself to blame. William’s needs were voracious – I knew this. I was unable to fulfil them, burdened as I was with our growing child. Where else would a red-blooded man seek relief but with a whore when his wife was so confined?

  But the sense of betrayal merely intensified and tears burned in my eyes. I had been humiliated. If he was so unable to control himself, why hadn’t he kept his indiscretions a little more private? How society must mock me. Not even one year of marriage and already the young Lord Stanton was back to his shameless ways.

  I wanted Bess. I wanted to feel her comforting arms around me and lay my head on her soft breast. I wanted to feel her hands touching me, soothing me, calming me, like she always did.

  I could feel Lady Ellsworth’s shrewd eyes upon me and another thought struck me. Was I just as wicked as my straying husband? After all, my most intimate needs had continued to be met by Bess through her expert tutelage in the arts of pleasure, albeit in private and with utmost discretion.

  I took a deep breath to calm the rampant beating in my chest.

  ‘My husband has found my confinement trying,’ I said by way of explanation.

  Lady Ellsworth gave a terribly unladylike snort. ‘All confinements are trying,’ she began. ‘It does not mean a man needs to wet his wick in anything that will stand still, nor gamble away his wife’s money!’

  The baby gave an almighty kick and I heard myself gasp as my hands flew to my swollen abdomen.

  ‘Oh, my dear. I am sorry to have brought such dismal news.’ Her sagging cheeks coloured. ‘Perhaps you should have better been left in ignorance?’

  Pain rippled through me. ‘No,’ I whispered, ‘it is for the best.’ My belly felt like stone beneath my gown and I gave a small cry. I staggered to my feet, and I rang the handbell. ‘Lady Ellsworth, you must forgive me. I am suddenly feeling unwell. Bess!’ I cried out, and there was a flurry of activity around me. I turned my watering eyes to Lady Ellsworth.

  ‘Dear Lady Stanton! Indeed, I shall leave you to your servants care.’ Lady Ellsworth stood abruptly, her eyes widening with increased alarm. To this day I have never seen an elderly lady move as spritely as she did at that moment. I did my best to curtsey before a crippling pain wrenched though my entire abdomen.

  Within a moment, I felt Bess’s tender hands on my brow and found myself scooped into the strong arms of Sinclair, our footman.

  I shall not dwell on the hours that followed. They were unpleasant to say the very least. My thoughts were wretched, and my body more so. If I had thought my husband’s staff had caused my sex damage upon our wedding night, it was nothing compared to the birth of our first-born son.

  Alexander William Stanton was born in the early hours of a chilly autumn night. He arrived awash with my blood, heralded by screams of agony. Bess, naturally, was there to comfort me, along with the odious physician who more than proved his worth during the long and difficult birthing.

  It must also be said that my physical recovery from the birth was swift, aided I believe by sharing my son with a good wet nurse and taking as much rest as was possible.

  During my recovery it was Bess whom I saw most. William, for reasons unknown, did not return to Stanton immediately.

  Some seven weeks later, I sat in the sitting room beside the fire. I had nursed Alexander myself and handed him to the wet nurse for the evening duties. I was reading poetry, something I did not usually do. Poetry oft reminds me of foolery, you see. Yet maudlin thoughts were running riot and I was in need of distraction. These thoughts, it is no surpris
e, had been exacerbated by William’s prolonged absence. I had few brief letters from him, though I often penned lengthy ones to him, speaking of our son and my need to see my husband once more.

  I have never been one prone to bouts of depression or malaise, but now I truly felt wretched. Bess had tended me carefully during my recovery, but she seemed distant and overly cautious of my feelings. Something she’d never been before. She had ceased tutoring me in the womanly arts of pleasure in deference to my healing. This, combined with the thought that William may never return, was deeply unsatisfying.

  I placed down my book and looked towards Bess. She was sitting by the fire, sewing. Usually I found her quiet presence most companionable, but this night it merely increased my depression. ‘Bess, do you believe I am recovered from Alexander’s birth?’ I asked eventually, sipping my cooling tea.

  She looked up at me, her solemn brown eyes glistening in the firelight. ‘The sutures are well healed,’ she replied, and like a woman possessed I watched her round, pink lips curve as she spoke. ‘You are able to walk, and, if I am not mistaken, you took your palfrey out for a ride earlier this week did you not?’

  I returned her gaze and held it, ‘You know well I did. You dressed me in my riding habit.’

  Those eyes grew more solemn still.

  ‘If you are able to ride upon a horse, my dearest lady, you are certainly healed enough.’

  I licked my lips, and looked towards the yellow flames of the hearth. ‘Healed enough to return to those matters in which you wished to further my education?’ I asked, now unable to hold her gaze.

  I heard her move then, the gentle swish of her skirts and the sound of her sewing being placed down – though I dared not look. Still keeping my gaze locked on the fire, I bit my lower lip in consternation as I heard the door click closed behind me.

  She had left me, just as William had.

  Those thoughts began to crash in my head loudly. Had I said something wrong? Had that part of our friendship dissolved like my marriage on Alexander’s birth? Was I destined to live a lonely and loveless life as a mother and naught else?