James took her hands and turned her to face him. “I’m glad you like the room, Lucy, but do feel free to make any alterations you deem suitable. It’s your bedchamber, after all. You should arrange it however you see fit. That goes for the rest of the house, as well. You’re mistress here. Although, if you mean to paint the parlor scarlet-and-gilt and bring in Egyptian furnishings, do consult me first. I’m not sure I want to greet callers on a sofa in the form of a sphinx.”
Lucy laughed helplessly at the image of her dignified, fashionable husband against such a garish background. “I would never inflict anything of the sort upon you, I assure you.”
“I didn’t think you would, but I want you to understand that you do have the power to make changes.”
“I know,” she said, though the knowledge was theoretical and intellectual only; it was difficult to believe in her heart that if she were to order rose-colored hangings for this room or suggest that the dining room be redone in shades of green that her orders would be carried out. “I won’t make any alterations at first, though,” she said after a moment’s thought. “It seems only right to grow accustomed to things as they already are before concluding they should be changed. And I hardly know what’s fashionable or even suitable for such a place as this,” she admitted. “This is…more than I ever expected.”
He drew her into an embrace, and she found herself with her head nestled comfortably against his neck. “I know. And I know I can’t fully enter into your feelings, because this is precisely what I was brought up to expect.” He leaned back a little and looked her in the eye. “But, please do tell me if you encounter any difficulties or aren’t sure how best to proceed. I want to do whatever I can to smooth your path for you.”
“Thank you.” Much to Lucy’s surprise, her eyes smarted a little. Nothing he had said should have made her weep, but she supposed the challenges of the day, of her new life, had finally overwhelmed her.
“What’s this?” James rested his hand against her cheek, catching her first tear on his fingertips. “We can’t have this. If you show up at the dinner table with red eyes, my family will think I’ve been an ogre to you.”
Then he kissed her.
The fire was there again, hot and all-consuming. Part of Lucy wanted to revel in it, but she didn’t understand it and couldn’t control it. So it terrified her, all the more so now that she was his wife, alone with him in her bedchamber, and in a very real sense his possession. If she was mistress of anything, it was because he was her master.
Before she quite knew how he’d managed it he had her backed up against the bed. She could barely stay on her feet with the way his lean, firm body was pushing her against the mattress, and there was…something pressing into her abdomen, something that hadn’t been there just moments ago when he had hugged her in consolation.
Instinct told her to yield, to lie back on the mattress and see what would happen next, but Lucy was too afraid, and she wasn’t in the habit of living by her instincts, so she squirmed in his arms.
He drew away and stared at her, breathing hard, a hot, dark look in his eyes Lucy had never seen before, not even the other times he’d kissed her. She dug her fists into the silken coverlet and tried to catch her own breath.
He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked more like the rational being she was accustomed to. “Did I—I frightened you, didn’t I?”
“A little,” she said shakily.
He glanced down at his breeches, and one corner of his mouth lifted. She followed his gaze. There was indeed a bulge of some sort there.
He stepped away. “I’m sorry—too precipitate by half,” he said, hastily and not very coherently. “The last thing I want is for you to be terrified of me.”
“I’m not terrified.”
“Your knuckles are turning white.”
She released her grip on the coverlet, flexed her fingers to restore the circulation and did her best to smooth the blue silk.
“Lucy, I promise I’ll be gentle and show you every consideration and do all I can to please you. Please don’t be afraid.”
“I’ll try,” she said. She wanted to admit her ignorance, that she didn’t know just what all his proposed gentle consideration, not to mention all the frantic roughness that had just passed, was directed toward.
But before she could form the words, he was speaking again, too rapidly for interruption. “But that should wait till tonight in any case—wouldn’t do to be in such a hurry with my family in the house. Come, let me show you your dressing room.”
He led her to the next room and, still speaking rapidly, pointed out all its conveniences. She murmured her approval when she could get a word in edgewise, and when she dared to glance at the lower half of his body again, the front of his breeches had resumed its normal proportions.
At first, dinner was a painfully silent and awkward meal. Cook had outdone herself in preparing a fine dinner to welcome her new mistress, but James hardly tasted the roasted turkey and asparagus, and Lucy picked at her meal, surreptitiously pushing her food back and forth with her fork. Anna looked thoughtful and occasionally blushed for no visible reason, and even Uncle Robert and Aunt Lilias seemed under a constraint.
Marrying Lucy immediately had seemed like the best solution at the time, but now James was no longer sure he’d chosen wisely. Perhaps it would’ve been better after all to wait a fortnight or so—after Anna had married her lieutenant, and after Uncle Robert and Aunt Lilias had departed for Scotland. For it was too damnably awkward to sit at the dinner table with his family and new bride when all he could think of was the wedding night to come. Naturally Lucy must be in the same state, and James reckoned that much of his relations’ embarrassment must stem from their efforts not to think of it.
When the first course was almost at its end, Lucy took a sip of wine, cleared her throat and smiled at Uncle Robert. “I’m very much looking forward to visiting your home in Scotland, sir,” she said. “Perhaps you could tell me about the castle and your lands.”
“I’d be delighted,” Uncle Robert said, and launched into a description of the castle and its setting on the banks of a deep, cold loch.
Aunt Lilias and Anna added embellishments, and James smiled down the table at Lucy. Her eyes sparkled with happy pride, and he wondered if he hadn’t married a gifted hostess after all. The rest of the dinner passed smoothly, Gordon family history being an inexhaustible topic. James, for a change, was the quiet one of the group.
He still couldn’t stop thinking of his wedding night, and more with worry than anticipation. How could he have been such a fool that afternoon? He knew she was a virgin, and that she was most likely a little anxious about the marriage bed. He had meant, and still fully intended, to be as slow and gentle as he knew how when the time came. Yet the instant he’d got her in his arms and felt her response to his kiss, he’d forgotten his best intentions and been ready to toss her onto the bed for a quick tumble.
He’d been a perfect idiot, and now Lucy was afraid of him. He couldn’t stop picturing her wild eyes and her white-knuckled grip on that coverlet. Now he must find a way to overcome her terror before he could even begin to show her all the pleasures they could share together, and he hoped he’d be equal to the task.
Because they were not alone, they were obligated to follow the normal post-dinner rituals. When they had finished a light final course of sweets and nuts, Lucy, Anna and Aunt Lilias retired to the drawing room, leaving James and his uncle to their usual amiable political argument over port.
When James cut short the discussion rather more quickly than normal, Uncle Robert smiled. “I don’t blame you for preferring your bride’s company. She’s a bonny lass, and I like her very well.”
The “very well” sounded more like “verra weel,” and James suppressed a grin. His uncle always sounded more Scottish when he was moved.
“I’m glad,” he said simply as they got up from the table to rejoin the ladies.
�
�Your aunt is already starting to warm to her, too, you realize.” Uncle Robert gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I believe she’s beginning to accept that she cannot dictate to her children in matters of the heart.”
James chuckled. “Then by the time Neil is ready to marry in another decade or so, his path should be easy.”
Music wafted from the drawing room, pianoforte and a rich alto and a clear soprano raised in song—Lucy and Anna in duet on “The Birks of Aberfeldy.” James and his uncle waited in the doorway until they had finished, then applauded.
Aunt Lilias, who had been listening attentively from a sofa near the pianoforte, yawned theatrically. “It’s been a very long day,” she commented, “and tomorrow will be at least as much so, with Lord Almont’s wedding to attend.”
Anna and Uncle Robert followed her lead, becoming suddenly consumed by exhaustion, and they left the parlor. When the door closed behind them, James saw that Lucy was blushing crimson, but also that her eyes were dancing.
“At least I needn’t fear that any of my relations will exhibit themselves on the stage,” he said dryly, “for there’s not a troupe in London or all the provinces that would hire such an unskilled set of actors.”
Lucy giggled. “They were a trifle…obvious, weren’t they?”
He crossed to where she sat at the pianoforte and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Would you play the song you sang that night at Almont?” he asked. “I’d like to hear it again.”
She glanced up at him and smiled, a darting, nervous expression. “Of course.”
She visibly calmed as she played the opening chords, and James found that the soaring, haunting melody soothed him, as well.
“You sing beautifully,” he said after she finished.
“It’s a beautiful song.”
“What does it mean? Is it a lullaby, a love song, something else?”
She ran her fingers over the keys in a light caress. “It’s a lullaby my father used to sing. He had a wonderful voice. But I don’t know what the words mean, or even if I’ve remembered them correctly. It’s been so long.”
“If you’d like, I’m sure we can find someone to translate it,” he said. “We’re not so very far from Wales, after all.”
“I’d like that very much.”
A little silence fell over them, and James decided that further delay would only increase their awkwardness. “If you’d like to go upstairs,” he said diffidently, “I’ll wait until you’ve had time to prepare for bed before I come to you.” He hoped he had said the right thing.
Her eyebrows flew up and she swallowed hard, but she nodded. “Very well.” And with that she got to her feet and left the room.
After a few minutes, James went to his own room, hurriedly undressed, pulled a nightshirt over his head and tied on a dark blue silk banyan he was rather vain of. He looked toward the door that led through their dressing rooms into Lucy’s bedchamber—and waited. He wanted to allow enough time to be sure Lucy’s maid had left her—they’d had enough awkward audiences for one evening—but not to give her so much time alone that her terrors would only build.
When he was sure enough time had passed, he made his way through the twinned dressing rooms and paused just outside Lucy’s closed door. He’d never felt such a combination of eagerness and dread before, and he swore his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest.
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Her voice was high and nervous.
James opened the door and paused in the doorway, just drinking in the sight of his wife. Lucy did not await him in bed as he had expected. Instead she sat at her little table, clad in a plain white lawn nightdress with an equally simple wrapper tied over it. Her hair hung down her back in a single long braid, and her skin glowed tawny cream in the flickering candlelight. She was breathtakingly lovely, but she met his eyes with an air of taut, desperate resolve. He stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him.
“There’s something I must tell you,” she said in the same shaky voice.
“What is it?” He braced for a confession. Was she not a virgin? Had she had a lover or, God forbid, been raped? Or—he grasped for something less earth-shattering—perhaps she simply had her menses and wished for him to delay a few nights for them to pass, but feared that such a request would anger him.
“I—” she paused, took a deep breath, then rushed in headlong, “—I’m afraid I’ve no very clear idea of just what it is you’re about to do.”
He hadn’t expected that. “No very clear idea,” he echoed.
She got to her feet and stood at the window, her back to him. “I know there must be some kind of…physical process involved. Children must be begotten somehow. But I—I don’t know what that process entails.”
“No one told you.” He knew her family had neglected her, but this was pernicious. To send a young woman to her wedding night with no notion what to expect! No wonder Lucy was terrified.
“No one.” She half turned, eying him nervously. “I suppose my aunt should have done so?”
He nodded. “Normally a young woman’s mother, or if she hasn’t a mother, some other older, married friend, perhaps an aunt or a sister, instructs her.”
“Well.” One side of Lucy’s mouth quirked up. “My aunt has barely spoken to me since the ball.”
“Bloody hell!” James exclaimed. He could’ve strangled Lady Arrington.
Lucy drew back, wide-eyed, and James took a step toward her, holding out a conciliatory hand. “I’m not angry at you, Lucy, not in the slightest. Your aunt however…I can hardly credit any woman showing such cruelty to a young person under her care.”
“I’m sure she didn’t intend to be cruel,” Lucy said diffidently. “She’s always been rather scatterbrained, and with Portia’s wedding and me in disgrace…”
“Regardless of her intentions, it was negligent in the extreme for her to send you to your wedding night unprepared.”
Lucy shrugged, then looked up at him with a questioning frown. “So…what does happen now?”
James had been trying to decide that very thing from the moment Lucy had confessed her ignorance. He briefly considered leaving her untouched for the night and enlisting his aunt to explain in the morning. Surely Lucy deserved the traditional matronly advice and wisdom other young women received. On the other hand, she and Aunt Lilias hardly knew each other, so it would be an awkward conversation for them both. He doubted Lucy would want her ignorance and her own aunt’s neglect known any more widely than was necessary. No, the duty of explanation fell to him.
He smiled ruefully. “I’m debating the relative merits of showing you versus telling you.”
“I think I’d prefer the latter.”
“That’s understandable,” he said. “Come, it’s not a conversation to be had while standing.” He crossed to the bed, sat down and beckoned to her, patting a spot beside him.
Her eyes widened in faint alarm, but she joined him, perching on the edge of the bed and tucking her wrapper firmly around her.
“I’d like to explain the process,” he said, “except that I find myself at a loss for words.”
A smile flickered at Lucy’s lips, and her demurely downcast eyes danced. “I’ve never known that to be the case before.”
He inclined his head to her. “Touché. But in this case it’s a simple matter of vocabulary. Most of the words I know to describe the…the activities of the marriage bed…are either too coarse to use within the hearing of a well-bred woman or else sound like they belong in a manual on the breeding of livestock.”
“I suppose it would be more or less the same as a warm-blooded animal,” Lucy said thoughtfully.
James bit back a bark of laughter. “It is—more or less. Do you—you do know how animals mate?”
She shrugged. “I suppose that’s what they’re about when the stallion or the bull mounts—” Abruptly she crimsoned and gaped at him. “Good God! Do you—that is,
does the man mount the woman?”
He felt himself blushing too. This was the most awkward conversation he had endured in almost a quarter century of life. If only he could simply show her, and dispense with the laughable inadequacy of words, but Lucy’s was a temperament that demanded knowledge. Whatever she did, whatever choices she made, she did with her eyes open. In fairness, James admired her for that.
“No,” he said. “At least, not generally in the same position beasts favor. Not being quadrupeds, we have greater flexibility in these matters, but usually a man and woman face each other when they couple.”
She nodded, then shot him a shrewd look. “You have ample experience of this.”
“I do,” he said gravely. “It isn’t truly just, but unmarried men have greater freedom in these matters than women do. Does it trouble you?” He didn’t bother explaining that some men considered themselves equally free after marriage, because he had no intentions of betraying Lucy. He had vowed to keep only to her as long as they both lived, and he considered it the height of bad form to break one’s word.
She pondered for a moment, then laughed helplessly. “No. Because it strikes me as a good thing that one of us knows what he’s doing.”
He joined in her laughter and decided they had talked long enough. He leaned across the short space between them and kissed her. “Come, Lucy. Let me show you what happens next.”
He tried to draw her into his arms, but she set her palms against his shoulders and pushed him away. “I need to know more than that,” she said indignantly.
Resigned, he did his best to explain.
Chapter Fifteen
Lucy listened in amazed silence as James, outwardly calm but with a faint air of agitation utterly unlike him, explained that he meant to put a part of his body into her body, a process that would allow their essences to mingle in such a fashion that it might produce a child, though there was no saying whether conception would happen right away, after many months of such couplings or, if they were unlucky, not at all. It was a highly pleasurable activity, he assured her, one well worth engaging in even aside from any desire to procreate. However, he’d been given to understand that a woman’s first time could be painful, probably resulting in a small loss of blood.
A Marriage of Inconvenience Page 20