by Michelle Cox
“What … what would you like me to come to you in?” she asked him now, trying to keep her voice steady.
She watched as he came closer and his eyes darted over the various articles. “I quite like this,” he said finally, briefly touching her old cotton nightgown.
For a moment she thought he was teasing her, but she saw by his face that he was very serious and her heart melted once again. “Oh, Clive,” she said, her voice wavering. “Are you sure?”
He smiled. “I have a weakness for old-fashioned things, being old, you see.” His eyes twinkled.
She laughed despite herself. “You’re not old!”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said, laughing himself and catching her about the waist, kissing her. It was obviously intended to be a quick kiss, but it turned into a deeper one, Henrietta suddenly feeling a jolt of electricity run through her. He continued kissing her until she relaxed and began kissing him back. Timidly she pressed her hands to his back, lowering them a bit as she pressed her body closer to his, and she felt a shudder rip through him. This was normally about the time they would force themselves to break apart, and out of habit, Henrietta stood back. They gazed at each other, not knowing what to do next. Finally she leaned forward and kissed him again as her fingers fumbled to loosen his tie, as she had done so many times over the summer. She felt his hands graze her breasts then, but he stood back, breathing heavily now, with his head turned as if fighting himself. “I told you I would go slow, and I meant it.”
“I … I want you to. I want you to show me what to do,” she whispered. “Help me to know how to please you …”
He looked back at her now as if deciding something and then slowly took her face in his hands again and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and then her lips, almost groaning as he did so. He reached for her buttons and began to undo them, gazing into her eyes all the while. She swallowed hard as the dress fell about her shoulders and hung about her waist. Timidly, she undid her brassiere as he watched and unbelted her dress so that it fell to the ground. Standing before him now in only her panties and silk stockings, she saw the male desire in his eyes and knew that he was pleased with what he saw, and a part of her was pleased, too. How many times had she seen raw desire in men’s eyes, and now, only now, did she allow herself to answer it. She pulled the pins out of her hair, and her golden-auburn locks fell about her shoulders.
“My God, Henrietta, you’re so beautiful,” he said hoarsely, as he stepped forward to rescue her from her awkwardness, kissing her passionately as he pulled her to him. She could feel his hardness against her panties, and a strange pleasure shot through her as he fondled her naked breasts with his hands. She reached for his buttons as well, remembering Lucy’s words to follow his lead, and he pulled back to help her, finally shrugging out of his shirt. Even in the darkened room lit only by candlelight, she could see the severe scarring on his shoulder, and her heart went out to him.
“Oh, Clive,” she said, reaching out to touch it lightly, “you poor thing.” She had not thought it would be so bad! He seemed to be studying her face for her reaction to his mangled shoulder, but if he was expecting shock or disgust, he found none. She ran her fingers through his hair and cupped his cheek. Instinctively, she knew now what to do and ran her fingers faintly down his back and over the scars of his shoulder. “I want to take care of you,” she whispered, and his response was to grab her almost roughly and kiss her fiercely.
“Oh, Henrietta. I need you so much,” he said thickly. “You’ve no idea how much.”
She led him to the bed, then, and as she sat to undo the stays of her stockings, slowly peeling them off, he shed himself of his trousers and the rest of his clothes and stood before her, naked now except for his gold wedding band. Henrietta found herself wanting to look at him, at all of him, but she shyly turned her head away, reminding her of her days at the dressing room parties at the Marlowe where she had surreptitiously watched lovers in the darkened corners. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest now as she reached out her hand to him as she lay back on the bed. Calmly he took it and lay down beside her.
Softly she kissed his scarred shoulder, feeling him tremble, and any feelings of fear or doubt on her part were dispelled as she saw how much this man—her husband—wanted, no, needed, her. He drew her mouth to his now, kissing her tenderly, deeply, until she began to respond, her heart racing and a warmth spreading through her. She arched her body toward him as he pulled away from her lips and began traveling downward, kissing her neck and then her chest until he reached her breasts, cupping them with his strong hands and kissing them before coming back up to her waiting lips. Tentatively she put her hands on his hard chest, not knowing what else to do, and he took one of them and moved it lower, causing him to groan with pleasure as she felt her way. His hand had moved between her legs now, and he caressed her steadily, matching his movements with soft kisses, eliciting an ever-growing passion in her until she felt on fire, a pulse welling up inside her that amazed her in its intensity and the speed with which it overcame her. She was panting now, whimpering, “Clive, please … Clive …”
He moved on top of her, then, and his weight felt strangely comforting. She felt him gently ease himself inside of her now, breathing hard, and she knew he was trying to control himself. She gasped for a moment at a small pain as he pushed deeper, but she was engulfed then in an intense pleasure, his hand still caressing her as he began to thrust. She felt an almost blinding light, an explosion of passion as her body quivered uncontrollably. The ripples of passion continued in waves over her, as Clive, thrusting harder now, fully exploded inside of her, shuddering almost violently.
It was over, but he continued kissing her passionately, covering her face and neck, until he finally pulled away and lay beside her, taking her hand in his. Her heart was still racing as she lay thinking that this had been nothing like what Ma had described, nor Julia or Lucy, either, whose description at best had been to call it “passable.” This was something so beautiful, so trusting … a breaking down of everything between them and the opening of a tiny window into each other’s souls. She had never felt closer to any human being in her life.
Two tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at the ceiling, and Clive, noticing, raised himself up on his elbow in alarm.
“Oh, my darling, did I hurt you? I tried to be so careful,” he asked, dismayed.
“You didn’t hurt me, dearest,” she said, turning her head toward him with a smile. She ran her fingers through his hair now. “It was lovely. I’m so very happy, Clive. You’ve made me so happy.”
The newlyweds spent that night, and still another, miraculously undisturbed, left to discover each other more and learning to be man and wife. Mary had stocked a small icebox with a feast that could have lasted a week, allowing them to stay cocooned in the cottage indefinitely. They only ventured out twice, once for a walk in the woods and once for a jaunt in the rowboat tied up by the boathouse, though they didn’t get very far before they laughingly turned back to their hovel, more wet than dry from splashing each other with the oars. When they reluctantly emerged two days later, having to finish packing for their long journey, Mr. and Mrs. Howard were waiting for them in the morning room, busying themselves with reading the paper, as if to perhaps seem ignorant of the two days of carnal knowledge that was obviously occurring on the other side of their property.
Henrietta, for her part, felt a glorious freedom and met their eyes with not one ounce of shame. She was a real woman now, understanding all of the subtleties that went with it and instinctively, if not consciously, knowing in her sexuality the power she had over this man at her side whom she was, in turn, eager to love, obey, and cherish in all things. Yes, she had made love to this man, and she wasn’t ashamed! It gave her great pleasure, great satisfaction to know how very much they pleased each other, fulfilled each other in a way no other person ever had or could. She knew that now and was confident, assured. Almost gaily she discussed the wedding over
tea with the Howards, greeting them like old friends. Excitedly she finished packing, with Edna’s help, of course, and let little bits of information drop about how the wedding night had gone, as Edna, very nearly engaged to Virgil now, was solicitous for advice just as she had been not so very long ago. Henrietta was glad to discreetly impart what she had learned, causing Edna to blush profusely, though she was ever so grateful for the information, carefully pondering it as she hung up Henrietta’s discarded clothes.
As she and Clive locked up the cottage, which would stand empty again for who knew how long, Henrietta sighed deeply and left it with much regret. It had been a refuge of sorts for her when she had first come to Highbury, and any feelings of fear or sadness that haunted it because of Jack had been completely exorcised for her by her weekend of love and intimacy with Clive, endearing it all the more to her.
She had never felt safer or happier than she did now, leaving for their honeymoon on the arm of her new husband, waving goodbye to the Howards and the whole staff, as Fritz drove them to the train station. But Clive, proudly taking on the role of husband and protector of his precious, young wife with the almost intense dedication of a sacred trust, was for his part taking no chances in his new duty and had made sure, among other things, to pack his revolver.
Chapter 8
Elsie sat with her leg propped up on a little stool, her ankle carefully bandaged.
Her injury at the wedding had turned out to be a rather nasty sprain, causing Lieutenant Barnes-Smith to remain attentive to her for the rest of the evening, getting her a soda water from the bar (“Nothing stronger?” he had implored her. “For the pain? No?”) and marveling at her brave countenance. Eventually he was asked to help her to the car, during which he insisted that she lean heavily on him until she was safely deposited in the Packard with Karl at the helm. Ma, more than happy to have an excuse to leave, joined her. Doris, Donny, Jimmy, and Mrs. Kuntz were rounded up and squeezed in as well, and the lieutenant was discharged with the duty of making sure Eddie and Herbert, both of whom veritably begged to be allowed to stay to the bitter end, made it home with Fritz—or, perhaps, Elsie suggested helpfully despite her pain, he might ask the Hennesseys to take them and spare the Howards their car and driver. She could not believe that Stanley was nowhere to be found! It was so unlike him to not be there by her side to be of help. He was so eager any other time. Perhaps he had gone to the aid of that poor woman he had been so concerned about? Rose was her name, wasn’t it? She hoped he was okay, as the lieutenant helped her into the car now, his hand lingering for just a moment on hers.
“You’ll look for him, won’t you, Lieutenant?” Elsie asked, drawing her hand back, her face flushed, undoubtedly from the excitement of the night and not, of course, because the lieutenant was leaning so very close to her through the open window.
“Indeed I will, Miss Von Harmon,” he said, as if taking orders. “It will be my special mission. Leave it to me; I’ll see your brothers get home safely.”
“Are you going to kiss her?” Donny asked shyly from where he sat near Elsie, a naughty smile on his face.
“Donny!” Elsie exclaimed.
“Would that I might, young man,” the lieutenant muttered, giving him a wink and then looking over at Elsie. “Good night, Miss Von Harmon,” he said more formally. “Might I call on you? To check your progress, that is?” he asked hopefully.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Elsie murmured, flustered by his comment about kissing her. Surely he was teasing? And why did he talk that way? So formal and polite? It didn’t seem to fit him at all, and yet she thought she liked it.
“Please. It would upset me greatly to not know how you’re getting along with your injury,” he urged.
“Oh. Well, it’s hardly an injury,” Elsie blushed, embarrassed by her clumsiness in the first place. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Please,” he said so earnestly that she wavered.
“Well, I suppose so,” she said hesitantly.
“Elsie!” Ma said from where she was slumped in the corner of the back seat. “Quit your talking. I want to get home!”
“Yes! You’re right, Mrs. Von Harmon,” the lieutenant said quickly. “My apologies. I shouldn’t keep you. Ready,” he said, standing up straight and nodding to Karl. “I’ll call on you, then,” he said loudly over the noise of Karl putting the car into gear and pulling away to begin the long drive home.
Elsie tried not to, but she couldn’t resist looking back out of the tiny rearview window, just once, at the lieutenant as he stood waving goodbye. Another blush crept up her face as she turned back to face Ma, glad of the cover of darkness. But it didn’t matter anyway, as Ma already had her eyes closed, and Mrs. Kuntz was in the front next to Karl with Doris on her lap. Elsie held Donnie’s hand, then, and looked out the window, trying to wonder all the way home what on earth had become of Stan and hoping that nothing terrible had happened.
It had been three days since the wedding now and still she had had no word from Stan. She would never dream of telephoning him, and though she had several times considered writing to him, she had abandoned the idea as many times again, seeing as he lived just a few streets over and it seemed silly somehow. If she were able to walk better, she might venture over to see him, but as it was, she was stuck here. She set aside her copy of Sense and Sensibility and shifted her weight in the overstuffed armchair in the front parlor, gazing out the window and hoping that Henrietta and Clive had made it safely on the train to the Queen Mary. She couldn’t imagine travelling somewhere so far as Europe, and she admired Henrietta, not for the first time by a long stretch, for her bravery and her confidence. It was drizzling outside now, autumn having finally arrived in earnest, as if the warm air and the sun had been holding on until they saw Henrietta happily married and on her way. The sun, it seemed, was allowed to drop its heavy burden now and retreat, allowing the clouds to move in and take over. Indeed, it had stormed last night, and the wind had sent most of the remaining leaves on the trees surrounding Palmer Square to their soggy graves in the street below.
Elsie was debating whether or not she wanted to put forth the effort to hobble to the kitchen for some cocoa when she was surprised to hear a knock at the front door. She heard one of the servants—it sounded like Karl’s shuffle—move to answer it, and, sure enough, she could hear Karl’s voice as he opened the door, apparently in the role of butler for the moment. Though she strained to hear, she couldn’t quite make out who the visitor was, but she hoped upon hope that it was finally Stan. Excitedly she smoothed her skirt and reminded herself that she meant to give him a good scolding!
She was rather shocked, then, when she looked up, just as Karl shuffled into the room, unceremoniously announcing, “A Lieutenant Barnes-Smith to see you, Miss,” and found that very same person following at a modest distance.
“Oh, Lieutenant!” Elsie said, flustered, sitting up a bit. “I … I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Forgive my intrusion, Miss Von Harmon, but I came to see how you were doing,” he said, gesturing toward her elevated leg. “You said I might,” he suggested uncomfortably. “Do you not remember?”
Elsie just stared at him.
“But perhaps you were not quite yourself …”
“Oh, yes,” she blushed, feeling embarrassed all over again regarding her injury. She was so clumsy! “I mean … yes, I remember, but … my … my mother is resting just now,” she apologized, trying to imitate what Mrs. Hutchings would say and feeling sure that that venerable woman would not approve of the situation that was currently unfolding in the Palmer Square front parlor.
Mrs. Hutchings was the lady’s companion that Mr. Exley Sr. had employed to educate his granddaughter in the finer points of society, mostly for the purpose of securing a respectable husband. Mrs. Hutchings had taken up residence with the Von Harmons in late September, during which time she had tried her best to instruct her charge, who had proven to be a most dedicated pupil, but the arrangement had, alas, bee
n short-lived, lasting no more than two weeks, if truth be told. Mrs. Hutchings, as she later reported to her employer, Mr. Exley Sr., had never shied away from her duty in her life, but there was a first time for everything, she had said in a clipped tone, and had declared that she could no longer remain under the roof of Mrs. Von Harmon, finding that lady much more in need of instruction in the ways of polite society than her daughter ever was. Mrs. Hutchings found the arrangement unsuitable, nay intolerable, to her finer feelings and had accordingly put in her notice, saying that Mrs. Von Harmon’s quips and quibbles and general refutation of all that she said was vexing in the extreme and completely counterproductive to the education of said Miss Von Harmon, whom, she added, she would personally be sad to be parted from as she found her company exceedingly pleasant and her nature a quite docile one. Mr. Exley fumed to have been thwarted yet again by the willful Martha, but, having been counseled by Gerard, agreed to let it pass until after Henrietta’s wedding when the topic could be addressed with more circumspection.
“Well, I promise to be on my very best behavior,” the lieutenant was saying as he smiled at her charmingly, and Elsie felt her initial reservations at being alone with him melt away. “May I sit down?” he asked, pointing to the chair opposite.
“Oh, yes! I’m sorry! Yes, please do sit down,” she blushed. “Would you … would you like some tea?” she thought to ask. “I could ring for some,” she said dubiously, having never actually done so since she had come to live in this splendid house, not wanting to bother the servants, though Mrs. Hutchings had been forever urging her to do so, instructing her to embrace her proper place in society’s hierarchy.
“None for me, thank you. But don’t let me stop you,” he added.
Why did everything he said sound so … well, so romantic and debonair? He definitely had a charming flavor of John Willoughby to him, she surmised, her mind going back to the novel wedged by her side, pushed deep into the cushions when she had nervously shifted her weight upon the lieutenant’s entering the room.