Colin's Conundrum: A Steamy 19th Century Romance (The Victorians Book 3)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  “How can I restore it for him?” Daisy asked.

  Mrs. Turner shook her head sadly. “You cannot. He must decide to embrace it for himself. He must decide to retrain his thinking to include happiness. Until he does, there's nothing you can do, and he may not. He expects you to grow tired of rough living and run, doesn't he?”

  “He seems to,” Daisy admitted. “He says things almost weekly that show he thinks of me as some kind of fragile flower, perhaps a member of the nobility. Ma'am, I'm an innkeeper's daughter. Neither hard work nor mess worries me. He seems to have forgotten that. He's also forgotten that, in the last couple of months, we've really turned the estate around.”

  “Please tell me you're not living in the old manor house,” Mrs. Turner interjected.

  Daisy laughed. “Not really. We tore down all the 'manor' parts of the manor house and distributed the materials to the tenants. Not only were they able to repair their homes, but several are planning to expand. We found servants' quarters, and the kitchen was still in decent condition, so now we have a small, safe, comfortable home. It's more than enough for our needs.”

  “Well, that's good to hear. What have you been up to since your arrival, Daisy? I regret we didn't get a chance to get to know one another the day we met, though I wasn't surprised Colin wanted to hurry back home.”

  “Me? Oh, I've been tidying up our home and taming the manor garden. It's been plenty to keep me busy, though I'm not quite sure what to do now. That's why I'm hoping to get your help. A good next project would be to address our marriage, but it seems Colin still has reservations. I was hoping you could give me some insights. I'm not going anywhere, but this isn't the way I want to live, with a husband who will make bland conversation at the breakfast and dinner table, but sleeps in another room and…”

  “And never stops by yours for the evening?” Mrs. Turner guessed.

  Daisy's face heated, but she nodded. “Is that wrong of me? I'm sorry. I know this is a very indiscreet question, but I have no one else to ask. I hope, as a midwife, you know things about the body that the average person doesn't.”

  “I'd like to think I do,” Mrs. Turner said blandly, not seeming upset by the turn in the conversation. She sipped her tea, her face a study in neutrality that set Daisy's mind more at ease.

  Though quite certain her cheeks were red enough to warrant a call to the fire brigade, she plunged forward. “I mean, as a midwife, you must deal frequently with the intimate questions of total strangers, given how babies are made and delivered. Mrs. Bennett may be a family friend, but not all your clients are, right?”

  “Correct, Daisy,” Beth said patiently. She crumbled another chunk off her cake.

  “Right, then. Colin and I, we… we consummated our marriage in London before returning to the Gelroy estate, and it was nothing like I expected. My sisters always told me how vile and painful and revolting marital intimacy is, but…”

  “But you didn't think so?”

  Daisy shook her head. “It was… nice. Barely any discomfort, but… but there was something else. Something powerful. I had hoped to experience it again. The way my sisters talk of their husbands and their demands… Well, I was expecting Colin to approach me often, but he won't go near me. We haven't shared so much as a kiss since that night, and when I touch his hand, he often pulls away. Is there something wrong with me? My sisters would be overjoyed if their husbands left them alone, and all I can do is long for mine.” She didn't think it was possible for her face to grow any hotter without bursting into flame.

  “Daisy, Daisy, no. There's nothing wrong with you at all, I promise.” Mrs. Turner set aside her teacup and joined Daisy on the sofa, patting her hand. “Human desire is a complex thing. It incorporates the mind as much as the body, but both male and female bodies are designed to enjoy sexual contact. You have parts that exist solely for sexual pleasure, as well as other parts that serve multiple functions, one of which is sexual.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, dear. I cannot speak to your sisters' experiences, as they're not here. It may be that, if they have small children, they don't want to be touched more, since little ones give their mothers neither space nor peace. It happens to most young mothers at one time or another. Just imagine chasing after multiple small, busy people with no sense of safety all day long and being smeared with… whatever slimy substance they've just touched… or produced.”

  Daisy shuddered, remembering just how sticky small children could get.

  “It may also be that there's some lack of closeness in their marriages that interrupts the flow of affection. Or, they may simply be repeating what they think they're supposed to say in order to keep their baby sister out of 'mischief,' and they don't actually believe it. Last, they may fear they're doing something wrong if they don't say what they're expected to, even if they don't mean any of it. Regardless of the reason, what they're saying is erroneous. There's nothing wrong with sharing pleasurable moments with your husband.”

  Daisy gulped. My husband is her son. This isn't the best person to have this conversation with, but what choice do I have? “It's good to know, but we don't. I… How can I encourage him to… to reclaim that? How do I let him know I'm… available? He seems to think he's protecting me, but…”

  “But he's disappointing you instead?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “It is a thorny dilemma. I think a passionate marriage might be good for Colin. Such a powerful, physical connection is hard to deny. That's probably why he's fighting so hard against it.”

  “What should I do?” Daisy set aside her empty teacup and half-eaten cake and laced her fingers together, twisting them in discomfort.

  “Be direct,” Mrs. Turner advised. “Tell him that you'd like to move your marriage back into the bedroom and that when he's ready, you'll be waiting. Sadly, you cannot simply order him to stop being a ninny. He isn't, though it might seem like that. What he's been through… it would put anyone off from enjoying everyday life. But if you are persistent, kind, and keep letting him know that your bed is available to him, his resistance may eventually crack. I think, if it does, a lot more closeness will follow. Only time will tell.”

  “He won't think badly of me if I boldly invite him to my bed?”

  “I'm sure he won't,” Mrs. Turner assured her. “I didn't raise my son to have strange and illogical attitudes about female sexuality or what it means about the woman in question. He knows better.”

  Daisy took a deep breath and released it without speaking. Can I be that bold? I don't know. Especially not if he's going to reject me. He still seems so angry.

  “In the meanwhile,” Mrs. Turner continued, not seeming to notice Daisy wandering off into contemplation, “I can give you a recipe for a tea that helps dampen conception. It's not a failsafe, but it will help. You can increase its effectiveness if you keep track of your menstrual cycle. Do it for at least three months and if it's regular, you can avoid pressing your suit on your more fertile days. After that, the tea should suffice. Colin would stoically accept a pregnancy, I'm sure, but I doubt he's ready to find joy in it. Do you know about plants, or do I need to sketch what they look like?”

  Daisy shook off her meandering thoughts. “Um, I'm not bad with plants, but no expert. Sketches would be appreciated. As for, um… As for keeping track of my cycle, I always do that. My mother was… she started life in the Venus trade and taught my sisters how to track their cycles. My sisters taught me. They said it was important for everyone to know the particulars of their bodies. They also told me that being able to delay conception and try to space children a bit more widely is a great blessing.”

  Mrs. Turner stuck her lips out in pleased surprise and nodded. “I agree with both of those ideas, though they're rare. I imagine both of them are uncomfortable with their sexuality, at least in part, because they're uncomfortable with your mother's occupation, and whether any sign of enjoyment might not mean… more than that they are normal women. It doesn't mean that yo
u know. Women selling their bodies for money and women making love for pleasure are worlds apart.”

  “That makes sense,” Daisy said. “For some reason, it never bothered me, you know, about Mother. She grew up in that environment. It was all she knew. I don't remember her being a shy or timid woman, though she died when I was small, so my memories are few. I remember her being like a ball of light, all intensity. Impossible to ignore. She told me never to let anyone dim my brightness.” Realizing she was chattering, Daisy stammered to a halt.

  Mrs. Turner smiled. “That's good advice.” She took a bite, finally, of her cake.

  “Mrs. Turner?” A serving woman knocked and stuck her head in the door.

  Mrs. Turner turned her head to regard the new arrival and raised her eyebrows in silent communication as she chewed.

  “Your son is here.”

  She swallowed and sipped her tea. “Won't you show him in?”

  Daisy's face flamed to its hottest temperature yet as the man she'd just been so intimately discussing strode into the room. His face glowed with compelling energy she'd never seen in him before.

  “Good afternoon, Mother. Daisy.”

  “Hello, son. How was your day? I must say, you look happy.”

  “Oh, yes! Miss Smith,” he called.

  The servant stepped back into the room.

  “Can you bring me a cup, please?” As Miss Smith scuttled away, Colin claimed a slice of cake and devoured it in unusually large chomps.

  Wiping crumbs from his jacket, he perched in an armchair across from the women.

  “Did you get your fabric scraps from the Bennetts?” he asked Daisy after he swallowed his treat.

  “Yes, without any trouble,” she replied. “Mr. Bennett mentioned that they have so many scraps, and they have to have them carted away and burned. It seems like quite a waste.”

  “I'm sure,” Colin said. “It's unavoidable in their industry.”

  An embryo of thought flared to life in Daisy's mind, and she set it in a fertile corner to mature. “And you, love? Was your quest successful?”

  “It was,” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging the corner of his mouth. It took decades off his appearance. “We found markets for all the birds. The sellers were quite pleased and complimentary of their condition. They have asked to see the lambs at the end of summer, and most especially the geese for Christmas. We did better than we expected, Daisy. We now have enough for feed and supplies for the rest of summer, with some left over for next year's taxes. If we have another good turnout next year… and a few people breed their mares with Pesadilla—which they will because he's incredible—we will have plenty to pay the debts as well. In short, we're in good shape.”

  “That's wonderful!” she breathed. “I'm so happy for you. Look what you did! You're brilliant.”

  Colin's suntanned face darkened a shade. “I just did what needed to be done,” he mumbled.

  “No, love. You innovated a solution to what seemed like an unsolvable problem. You implemented it and you succeeded. Don't deny your success.”

  The corner of Colin's mouth twitched again. “I did, didn't I?”

  Daisy nodded, wishing she could embrace him. “You did.”

  “You should be proud of yourself, son. I imagine you're proud of your tenants for all their hard work, aren't you?” Mrs. Turner pointed out.

  “Of course. They've worked harder than anyone should have to. They've endured more than any man should have to.”

  “So have you,” his mother told him bluntly. “You've endured more and worked harder than even they have, so allow a moment of pride and success for yourself.”

  “I think we should have a party,” Daisy blurted.

  Colin blinked at her.

  “You all have worked too hard and endured too much. We should buy some beer and cook some meat and celebrate. It's almost the summer solstice. It's a lovely time of year to have a party.”

  “I would hate to waste money that way,” Colin began.

  “It's not ever a waste to celebrate success against great odds,” his mother pointed out. “Your men and their families need to know that you, the lord, want them to be happy. Don't they deserve that? Relax together, son. You, your wife, your tenants and their families. It's not wrong to celebrate. It's human, and it's never a waste to live in balance.”

  “I see your point, both of you,” Colin said slowly. “Let me think about this.”

  Mrs. Turner whispered to Daisy, “He thinks slowly. It's important to remember that.”

  “I've noticed,” Daisy whispered back.

  “Say, now. Are the two of you telling secrets about me?”

  “Oh, no, never,” Daisy protested.

  At the same moment, Mrs. Turner, a smirk on her face, said. “We might be, but you'll have to wait to find out.”

  Colin regarded the two of them with amused suspicion stamped all over his face. “I think I'm alarmed.”

  “You should be,” his mother told him.

  Though she hadn't eaten or drunk anything in several minutes, Daisy choked.

  * * *

  “What's that you're mixing, ma'am?” Katie Bullock asked, creeping into the former manor yard—now a tidy and well-kept garden—behind the Gelroy family home.

  Daisy looked up from the mushy mess of fabric scraps and water she was grinding under a heavy stone pestle.

  “I'm making wallpaper, Katie,” Daisy said. “Want to help?”

  “What do you do?” The adolescent crept forward. A waft of warm summer wind puffed past then, dragging a strand of light brown hair out of the girl's untidy bun. She tucked it back.

  “I grind these fabric scraps with water to start with to make a mash. I chose red, brown and white fabric because I want a light maroon base color.”

  “Interesting.” Katie crept forward again. “How did you learn to do that?”

  “I read it in a magazine,” Daisy explained. “I tried it out in my bedroom back at my father's inn, and it was so nice to be able to choose exactly what I wanted. That first one wasn't the best, but it was good enough I kept trying, and now I'm rather good at it, not to be immodest. I'm not an artist, but as long as the design is simple, I can make something pretty.”

  “It doesn't look pretty now,” Katie commented.

  Daisy paused in her grinding to gather up more small squares of scraps from the bucket of water in which they were soaking.

  Katie reached out to touch the mash. “It feels like potatoes.”

  “A bit, or maybe like applesauce.”

  “You've made applesauce?” Katie asked.

  “Yes, and potatoes too. Remember, I wasn't born a lady. I became one more or less by accident. Life's a funny thing, Katie. Good and bad are in everyone's future, but we can never predict when or how they will come.”

  “That's for sure. I never thought I would see a day when Mother and Father weren't frustrated and upset. We had food but never quite enough of anything else. Especially pretty things.”

  Her comment caught in Daisy's throat. “I… ugh.” She coughed. “I'm sorry you had to live that way. Is it better now?”

  “Oh, yes. I know Lord Gelroy did his best. My Da says he's so much better than his father was, but he wasn't able to do everything. No one expected it of him. He's only one man. I don't blame him, but I was almighty tired of wearing worn-out clothing and being able to peer through the cracks in our walls. We never could keep up with patching them.” She blurted out the whole comment fast, as though it had escaped unbidden and she feared punishment for it.

  “I can imagine,” Daisy said dryly.

  “The bricks from the manor have made such a world of difference,” Katie added. “The whole house feels solid now, and so much bigger and more comfortable. I can't wait for it to be done!” Then, she blushed, seeming to realize she was babbling.

  Rather than pursue, Daisy changed the subject. “Here. Would you like to try the grinding? It's hard work, but when we're done, it will be worth it.”
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br />   “Surely!” Katie grabbed the pestle and began vigorously grinding the new batch of fabric to mush. The dye seeped from the bits and stained her fingers reddish-brown. “What do you do once it's all ground up?”

  “See that vat over there?” Daisy asked, indicating a wine barrel that had been sawed down into a shallow dish. “There's a large frame in it, with a filter inside. We will drop the mash into the frame, add water and spread it thinly over the filter. Then, it dries in the sun and when it's dry, it's a lovely, thick paper we can paint on. We'll glue it up to the walls, and hey, presto! It's wallpaper.”

  “I like to paint,” Katie volunteered. “Draw too.”

  “Do you?” Daisy asked, enjoying her conversation with the young lady. “That's a lovely talent to have. I always wished I could draw, but sadly, anything more complicated than a line or a circle—if I have something to trace—comes out looking like a toddler drew it.”

  Katie giggled. “Is this ground up enough, my lady?”

  The title grated on Daisy's senses, but she knew she had to accept it. “I think it is. Let's bring it over to the frame.”

  They grabbed big, mushy handfuls of fabric and carried it over.

  Katie giggled again. “My sister would love this.”

  “Go get her,” Daisy said. “The more the merrier. It's a lot of work, but I enjoy it more with company. Plus, it's not a bad thing to learn a new skill.”

  “Let me go see who I can find,” Katie said. “I'll be right back, my lady. Thank you!”

  A new skill. The words bounced around in Daisy's mind. A new skill. A new… job? A new career? A new business? A thought dawned, mingled with one she'd thought up in London, and blossomed into a flowering idea. “Oh, Lord. This opportunity can't be ignored. We have all the parts readily at hand. Now, all we need is to bring it to life.”

  * * *

  “How was your day, love?” Daisy asked, approaching Colin where he sat at the table and handing him a plate heaped high with roasted chicken with potatoes and summer peas. A buttery, herbaceous aroma wafted up.