by Golden Angel
“What’s wrong, love?” he asked. He’d enjoyed the past three days of slow travel, with plenty of time for meals and to stretch their legs. She seemed to have enjoyed herself as well. The countryside made for lovely viewing when it wasn’t flying by. The time alone in the carriage had given them the opportunity to make plans for the future. Christina was perfectly happy to spend the majority of their time in the capital while Benedict tended to Isaac’s affairs there, and they’d visit the countryside occasionally as well. She’d also been thrilled at his suggestion that they spend their honeymoon at the end of the Season traveling, including a visit to her family. They’d made love every night and, despite not having his usual array of implements to torment her with, they hadn’t felt the lack.
However, now she was obviously agitated and growing unhappy.
She sighed heavily. “I am not looking forward to facing the ton, to be perfectly frank. Not knowing how they will react to our marriage… I just… I do not like unknowns.”
Quite understandable, especially considering how her first marriage ended and what must have been a constant fear over gossip discovering the circumstances, but in this case she was causing herself unnecessary distress. Chuckling, Benedict brought her hand up to his lips, giving her fingers a reassuring kiss.
“If it will set your mind at ease, I can tell you exactly what will happen upon our return.”
Looking a bit piqued at his cavalier reaction, Christina raised one eyebrow at him. “You can?”
“Oh yes.” He lowered their hands, keeping his fingers entwined with hers. “As soon as we arrive home, either Lady Daphne, my siblings, or both will descend upon your house. Whoever arrives first will be filled with news, gossip, and will be eager to tell us exactly how we’ll be received in Society. Isaac will have already posted the announcement in the paper. He, Lydia, and Lady Daphne will already have led the charge in establishing us creditably. Isaac will chuckle and sigh over my jealous, romantic nature which impelled me to sweep you off and marry you as soon as possible, shaking his head over my lack of patience for a special license.
“He and Lydia will have already informed my friends what tale to spread, which they will delight in doing. Granted, not everyone is currently in the capital, but I can guarantee the Spencers are doing the rounds, along with the Hoods. Lady Daphne will be making her own visits to the gossips, gushing over the incredible romance of it all and how she played a role in ensuring our wedded happiness.”
“What about your sister?” Christina asked, that little wrinkle in her brow still refusing to smooth out.
Benedict laughed. “I pity anyone who even hints at displeasure about our marriage in front of Arabella. Set Arabella up against the stuffiest, most righteous, most powerful old dragon in Society, and I would still place my bet on Arabella… in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Isaac sent my sister to prime Lady Jersey and Lady Cowper before they heard the news officially. They disapprove of her in a general way, but they also dote on her horribly, they can’t seem to help themselves.”
******
“Goodness…” Christina blinked in surprise. Those two ladies were among the most stern of those who guarded the doors at Almacks. They were two of the foremost hostesses among the ton and led many others in both attitude and action, and everyone was compelled to follow. Christina had made their acquaintance, and then done what everyone else did - her best to stay out of their way.
The picture Benedict was painting was very different from the one she’d been conjuring in her own mind. His family had been warm enough to her during their brief meetings, so she hadn’t worried about their reaction as much, but she’d started to become anxious wondering about how the ton at large would respond.
Elopements were considered a bit scandalous, and certainly widows didn’t usually elope. They shouldn’t need to.
Following her sudden departure from the ball where she’d been talking to the most scandalous man in Society, only to return to London nearly a week later married to another man, a man who had already caused a stir in his pursuit of her… well she just couldn’t fathom what people might be saying, what gossip might be stirring. She’d spent so much time afraid Society might discover the truth about her first marriage, waiting for the derision and disdain when they did… it was like a track she couldn’t move her mind away from. Except now she knew they would be talking; there was no way to hide her and Benedict’s elopement. It would be the on dit of the week, unless something truly shocking had happened while they were away.
She’d been alone for so long, with only Daphne as her main ally, too afraid to allow any others close for fear they’d turn on her if the truth were ever known, she hadn’t even thought how Benedict’s friends and family might rally. How they might pave the way for her as Benedict’s wife.
Still chuckling, Benedict pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him, his eyes alight.
“Benedict!” She slapped her palm against his shoulder. It was broad daylight and the curtains were open on either side of them! They were only a few hours from London and the closer they drew towards the city, the more they encountered other travelers.
“Not to worry, love, I won’t strip you down right here, much as I might like to, but I will give you something to think about other than your worries.”
By the time they finally reached their destination, Christina was practically melting with need. Fortunately, Benedict was the same. He insisted on carrying her over the threshold of her - their - home, and he carried her directly up the stairs to her bedroom from there, much to the horror of her straight-laced butler, Mr. Jones.
There, Benedict stripped her down and set her on her hands and knees on the bed, mounting her from behind all the while his hand beat down a rapid tattoo on her bottom, turning the creamy cheeks pink while she cried out from the combined effects of pain and pleasure. They spent the next two hours lounging in her sheets, shutting out the world as they caressed, cuddled, and loved on each other, and Christina reveled in it.
Benedict had been entirely correct in his suppositions about how they’d be received however; after two hours had passed Mr. Jones had knocked on the bedroom door and, in a rather strained sounding voice, inquired if they were at home.
The Duke and Duchess of Manchester had come to call, accompanied by the Lady Arabella, Mr. and Mrs. Hood, and their arrival had been immediately followed by the Earl and Countess of Marley.
“My apologies, my lord and lady,” Jones said through the door. “But they are becoming rather insistent.”
“Put them in the drawing room please, Jones, and we’ll be there momentarily,” Christina called out, trying to stifle her giggles.
As she had always kept her more scandalous activities away from her own household, she could only imagine how her staff was reacting. While they knew she’d married Lord Benedict Winchester, it would take some time to adjust to serving newlyweds rather than a somewhat reclusive widow.
“Yes, my lady, thank you,” said Jones, sounding relieved. Christina covered her mouth with her hand. She’d never heard her butler use quite that tone of voice before.
Of course, he’d never been faced with possibly needing to turn away a duke before either.
Beside her, Benedict groaned, trying to pull her back down to him and the soft, warm sheets. “Must we?”
“We must,” she said, leaning over to give him a kiss, as reluctant as he was to leave the little haven of love they’d created for themselves in the bedroom. However, unlike him, she was also rather anxious to make a good impression on his family and she wasn’t entirely certain how circumspect Daphne would remain if she were kept waiting. “Poor Jones might faint if I told him to turn away a Duke. So truthfully, it is your own fault for belonging to such a lofty family.”
With a groan, Benedict pushed himself into a sitting position. “Well, for Jones’ sake then.”
Laughing again, Christina rose to dress. She found herself smiling when she entered her closet and found i
t full to bursting - a state it had never quite achieved before - with Benedict’s wardrobe added to her own. There was something quite satisfying about seeing their clothing arrayed together in one place.
******
Everything happened just as Benedict had said it would, at least in regards to his family and Society’s reactions. What he hadn’t counted on was Christina.
The first night in London as man and wife went swimmingly. His household was already well on its way to integrating into hers, although some of his had returned to Isaac’s house as they would have been extraneous in Christina’s. His wife had practically glowed as her new family welcomed her, Lady Daphne and her husband looking on approvingly. Marley, Isaac, and Felix had all immediately gotten on well, to the delight of their wives and Benedict.
Arabella had been in alt to welcome her newest sister to the family, and Lydia looked much relieved - probably hoping to have a second steadying influence on the young woman.
Christina’s staff had rallied and prepared a splendid dinner on short notice, after which Benedict had been happy to see the backs of everyone so he could take his wife back to their room and ravish her all over again. The next morning they’d spent their time going through the sea of cards and invitations which had been left at the house, Christina’s eyes going wide at the personal notes written on the majority, extending the host’s hopes of an acceptance. There might be some gossip, but scandalous or to be avoided they obviously were not.
When Christina decided to be at-home that afternoon it was a mob scene - one which Benedict was tempted to flee, but which he endured so as not to leave Christina to the vultures. After all, they’d all come hoping to see the couple together, not the wife on her own, and it was no hardship to dance attendance on Christina.
It was also when he detected the first sign of trouble.
His wife was possessive.
Extremely possessive.
Which was not a problem in and of itself. Benedict considered himself a rather possessive man after all, although many of his own anxieties had been soothed by legally binding Christina to him. However, it was becoming obvious Christina’s insecurities had not benefited from the same effect - if anything she’d been more possessive and on edge than ever, verging on almost manic as she began to look with suspicion and ire at any lady conversing with him.
Understanding why, Benedict did his best to dampen her jealousy by being on his best behavior and not engaging in conversation with any one lady for more than a few minutes before ensuring Christina was also included. Slowly, his love began to relax as Benedict remained by her side, openly admiring of her, and only civil to the visiting ladies.
That night, he took his time with her, pleasuring her into a blissful heap of limbs before finally reaching his own culmination.
His wife’s trust and security would take time, he reminded himself as he stroked her hair, her head nestled on his shoulder. Staring up into the darkness, he counseled himself to patience. After all, he had married her so she would be forced to give him the opportunity to show her she could trust him, not because he thought it would solve every one of her doubts immediately.
And he’d always been better at patience than either of his siblings.
The very next night, Christina seemed determined to test his patience.
The rout at Lady Waverly’s was well attended, and it seemed many ladies of the ton were curious over his and Christina’s marriage. Not just the ladies, but the gentlemen as well. At one point, Benedict was sure he even saw Hartford in the crush, speaking with someone who looked very much like Walter Hood, but they were too far away to be sure of either man’s identity.
“Lady Shaftesbury is looking rather lovely this evening,” Christina murmured, low enough only Benedict could hear her. She was looking across the room at the lady in question, who had very pretty auburn hair not too dissimilar to Christina’s, but didn’t have the abundant curves Benedict preferred. Of course, his preference hadn’t kept him from indulging with Lady Shaftesbury for about a month a few years ago; the lady in question had been quite insistent and, at the time, he’d been both unattached and happy to find an amorous companion. It hadn’t taken him long to discover that, while she was adventurous in the bedroom, the lady was a bit of a shrew and they parted ways.
Christina had been keeping up a running commentary on the amount of beautiful ladies present this evening, and an uncomfortable number of them had - at one time or another - graced Benedict’s bed. He wasn’t entirely sure she knew whom his past lovers had been, but she certainly seemed to have a fairly good general idea.
“Yes,” he replied, his voice bland. “If only she weren’t so bitter and peevish; she quite ruins her looks with her demeanor.”
Startled, probably because this was the first time he’d said something so rude about one of the ladies she’d commented on, Christina looked up at him with wide eyes. Benedict raised his eyebrow at her. Yes, he knew what she was doing by constantly asking him about the other ladies.
Blushing, Christina looked away, obviously trying not to squirm with both anxiety and embarrassment.
Bending down, Benedict whispered in her ear. “It doesn’t matter how many lovely ladies you bring my attention to, love, not one of them will compare with you. Ever.”
It was true. She was looking particularly splendid tonight in a shade of purple that was almost scandalously close to being royal, her creamy breasts pressing against a delightfully low neckline which had Benedict’s own possessive nature rumbling, and amethysts in silver practically dripping into her décolletage. Just looking at her amounted to foreplay as his cock swelled against his breeches.
She looked up at him again, her expression tinged with remorse. “I’m sorry, Benedict. I know I’m being a trial. I just can’t seem to help myself.”
“I’d rather you spoke your worries aloud than keep them bottled up, love,” he said, reaching over to place his hand atop hers on his arm, where it had been resting the whole evening unless they were on the dance floor. They’d only danced a few; Benedict with Arabella, Gabrielle, Lady Spencer, and Miss Wilson, and Christina with Isaac, Felix, Thomas, and Spencer. He was quite sure anyone else would tax Christina’s nerves too much.
Her low, unhappy laugh made his heart clench a little, his arousal subsiding at the sound. “If I did not bottle them up, I’m afraid I would never stop speaking. My imagination quite gets the better of me at times.”
“Then we will just have to ensure reality keeps your imagination at bay,” he said, giving her fingers a squeeze.
For just a moment, he felt her lean into him, as if using him to prop her up, taking her strength from his. Unfortunately, they still had several hours to go before they could leave the ball and return home, where he could show her exactly the attention he wanted to.
******
It was an unfortunate truth that a woman’s bladder could only hold so much liquid. Even less liquid while she was wearing a corset, Christina had found, hurrying towards the ladies’ retiring room. She had tried, she truly had, but after several glasses of champagne to calm her nerves, a dedicated effort not to think about how full her bladder felt, and realizing there was at least another hour before they could gracefully depart Lady Waverly’s ball, she had finally admitted defeat.
Of course there was no real reason for her to feel so anxious over leaving Benedict in the ballroom. He wouldn’t be entirely alone. She was sure he would still be there, standing right where she’d left him, when she returned. After all, he was surrounded by his family and friends and - when he wasn’t reassuring her irrational jealousies - watching over Arabella.
While the young woman could be quite outspoken in private with the family, she was very well behaved once the company was less select, so Christina didn’t entirely understand the worry. Benedict had told her about some of the contretemps his sister had gotten into during her first Season, but obviously she had matured since then. The way Isaac and Benedict hovered over he
r, glaring at any gentlemen with the tiniest spot on his reputation, one would think she was only inches away from total ruin.
Then again, she did also find their protectiveness rather endearing. She couldn’t help but think about how Benedict might behave if they had a daughter.
Which just brought up another one of her fears.
Christina wanted children. She’d wanted them with George. Somehow, she wanted them even more with Benedict. But she was afraid to broach the topic. Obviously he’d realized she’d been married and never produced a child, but she still couldn’t help worrying her inability to do so with him might ultimately result in disappointment on his part.
Of course, rationally, logically, Christina knew there was no reason to fret over Benedict’s faithfulness. He’d hardly stray so early in their marriage with his family, especially his younger sister, watching them. There was no reason to worry about her child-bearing abilities - as she had no control over it – either. But she didn’t feel particularly rational or logical. No matter how she tried to remain cold emotionally, to reassure herself with facts and sensibility, her mind wouldn’t listen and neither would her heart.
Every time Benedict’s gaze passed around the ballroom, her chest clenched, wondering if he was admiring a particular woman, a woman he might later find himself interested in. If he spoke to a woman, some part of her mind insisted the woman was flirting with him, trying to take him away from her. Even when he was solicitous of Christina, obviously sensing her jealousy, some part of her felt it must all be for show.
She was constantly waiting for the penny to drop, for the curtain to fall, for the illusion of love and security to vanish into ether.
Which wasn’t at all fair to Benedict, and it was a terrible way to live, but she didn’t know how to stop herself.
And, despite Benedict’s reassurances, she absolutely could not tell him every manic thought which darted through her head. There were so many and they were so nonsensical, she wouldn’t blame him for throwing her in Bedlam if she admitted everything her overactive mind conjured up.