Liberty for Paul

by Rose Gordon

  Paul’s eyes flew to where she was lying on the mattress, rubbing her hand in a circle next to her. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Squeezing them tighter, he tried to picture Lucy. But no such luck. His brain could not summon her sweet face.

  His eyes were still shut when he heard Ginger get off the mattress and start to walk toward him. Her hands grabbed onto the front of his shirt. “Yer a shy one, huh?” she mused with a husky laugh.

  He opened his eyes, but could do nothing more than stare at her rouged face and nasty teeth.

  “Let’s try sumthin’ else,” Ginger said, trailing her hand down his front.

  He jumped back instinctively when she grabbed for the buttons of his pants.

  “Yer gonna have to git it out, ye know,” she said, her voice becoming slightly impatient. “It don’t matter if yer small, I’ll teach ye how to please a woman. But I gots to know wot yer working with.”

  Paul stared at her unblinkingly. She thought he was hesitating because he was small? She could think that if she liked, he decided. He had no desire to prove her wrong at this point. He may not have had much personal experience in the way of seducing women, but he’d accidentally walked in on more romantic trysts than he cared to count, and he knew without a doubt “small” was not an accurate adjective to describe him.

  Ginger laughed again. “Hmm, pr’aps tis will help wit yer problem,” she said, slipping the straps of her chemise off her shoulders and letting the dirty, ragged garment drop to the floor.

  Just like spotting an overturned carriage, Paul couldn’t stop himself from looking at her body. A quick, yet thorough, sweep of her body told Paul everything he needed to know: he could not sleep with this woman. Her pale skin was covered with bruises and scars. She was so thin he could see the outline of almost every bone she possessed. Her small, misshapen breasts were covered in harsh looking red marks, and he wasn’t positive, but it appeared one was slightly larger than the other.

  He watched in silence as she walked backwards to the mattress and reclined on it, rubbing her hands up and down her body seductively as she went. Slowly, she opened her legs invitingly to his gaze. Naturally, being sixteen and curious, he didn’t even try to stop his gaze from dropping to what she’d just freely exposed to him. Just as quickly as he looked, he fled the room.

  Breathlessly, he ran from the room and dashed out of the brothel, yelling to the Madam that his brother would take care of his bill.

  When a furious Sam confronted him later about why he’d ditched the wench, Paul claimed it was because he had an attack of morals and couldn’t go through with it. Since their father had been a minister, and it was well-known that Paul would be one, too, Sam didn’t push it. Paul was eternally thankful that he hadn’t because he would have hated to admit he’d gotten a view of what the pox looked like, and the sight made his stomach revolt.

  After that night, he’d never seen another naked lady until Liberty. Instead, he’d settled for the occasional peek at the books of naughty drawings some of his friends snuck from their father’s library. Then at eighteen, he’d put all that behind him and gladly accepted he’d just have to wait until marriage where there would be a mutual attraction and both parties would care a great deal for each other.

  But presently at four and twenty, he found himself only hours away from making vows that would make him the equivalent of a monk. He would never use force to get Liberty into bed, and judging by the way she detested him, it would take nothing less than force—most likely the physical kind—to get her into his bed. Now that he thought about it, it was better he didn’t sleep with Ginger, or any woman for that matter, because at least now he wouldn’t know what he was missing out on.

  Shaking his head to rid himself of the images of Ginger, Paul stood up and went to the window of his rented room. John had tried to convince him to stay at his house overnight. But Paul refused and assured him nearly hundred times not to worry, he’d arrive at ten o’clock and marry Liberty.

  Paul quickly shaved the scruff off his face and threw on his clothes. He hadn’t come to London yesterday with the intention of getting married today, so he’d need to run by a tailor shop and pray they had something nice already made that he could buy. He doubted anyone would care or notice, but he thought it would be an outright disrespect to show up in his wrinkled clothes from yesterday.

  Two hours and three tailor shops later, Paul finally had a new suit of clothes and was traveling to the Banks’ residence when he called for the coachman to stop. He knew time was running short, but he needed to get one last thing before he went to the Watson Townhouse. A quick glance down both sides Bond Street and he saw what he’d been looking for. Telling his coachman to wait there, he ran across the street and returned quickly with a small bundle. With a quick word, he was on his way to his wedding.

  “It’s about time,” a frazzled John Banks said as soon as Paul opened the carriage door.

  “Sorry, sir. It took a bit longer than I expected this morning,” Paul said, not sure why he was bothering to apologize, he wasn’t actually late.

  John made a dismissive hand gesture in the air. “It’s of no import now. You’re here. I’ll go tell Liberty to dry her eyes and get downstairs.”

  That sounds like a positive start to our marriage, Paul thought, climbing the front steps to the townhouse. She was already in tears and they hadn’t even said I do yet.

  In more than five years of being a vicar, Paul had officiated many weddings. Most at churches, some in gardens, some in fields, a few in drawing rooms, but this was the first wedding he’d ever attended that took place in the entry hall. He understood why: there was no decent looking room in the Watson Townhouse. They were all hideously decorated and stuffed game was mounted on every wall or resting on any flat surface that has bigger than two square feet.

  There were no chairs brought in and with it being only a small family affair nobody complained. Everyone was assembled and waiting when John cleared his throat from the top of the stairs, catching the attention of the group.

  All eyes fell on Liberty as John escorted her down the stairs and brought her to stand beside Paul.

  Her pale pink dress brushed his legs as she took her spot next to him. She cast him an apologetic glance as she righted her gown. One of the corners of his mouth tipped up and he took her hand, giving it a squeeze to assure her everything would be all right. He wasn’t sure when he’d come to that conclusion, but somewhere in the last thirty seconds, he had.

  The ceremony lasted a whole three minutes and it was now time to kiss his bride. Paul leaned forward to kiss her and when he caught sight of Liberty’s panic-stricken eyes, he realized this must be her first kiss and she looked terrified that it was to be made public. Quickly, he changed his course of action and settled for brushing a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Thank goodness,” Brooke said with a sigh after the kiss. “I was afraid Andrew and I were going to have to demonstrate,” she teased, making the little group laugh and breaking the proverbial ice.

  As was custom, a breakfast followed the ceremony. Thankfully, it was over quickly enough, followed by Liberty saying a tearful farewell to her family.

  Paul tried to act patient while he waited by the carriage for her to finish hugging everyone for the third time. When she was done, he helped her inside and climbed in before anymore words could be exchanged. With a sharp rap on the roof, they were on their way.

  ***

  The carriage ride very uneventful. Nobody said a word for the first hour. With the exception of an occasional sniffle, utter silence filled the carriage. During the second hour, Liberty got a grip on her emotions and settled for just staring out the window. Now she knew why Madison did it so often, it was actually rather entertaining.

  She didn’t know how long she stared out the window before the carriage came to an abrupt stop and her husband asked if she was hungry or needed to get out and stretch. She declined both offers and waited for him to do whatever he was doing inside th
e inn.

  She fidgeted when he got back into the carriage and he brushed her knee with his leg. “Sorry,” he murmured, taking a seat.

  “It’s all right,” she mumbled. After the things Mama and Brooke told her last night, she’d gladly settle for his leg brushing hers. Suddenly she felt overwarm. “I fear I may be in need of some air after all. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Grimes said, opening the door to the carriage for her.

  After he helped her down, she walked around the courtyard, taking deep breaths. What if he expected her to do that when they reached his home? Last night she’d been trying to convince Brooke that she didn’t need to hear the details because she would not be engaging in marital activities with Mr. Grimes, then all of the sudden, Mama barged in the room. Mama and Brooke had a stare down before Mama finally relented and said Brooke could stay, but only if she added something productive to the conversation, strongly stressing the word productive.

  Mama put her arm around Liberty and sat by her on the bed. “Tomorrow night…uh…Paul is going to…um…come to your bed and…” she trailed off and fanned her red face.

  “Oh, please,” Brooke muttered, sitting down on the other side of Liberty. “Liberty, you remember that thing you saw dangling between Mr. Grimes’ legs?”

  “Brooklyn,” Mama snapped.

  Brooke waved her off. “When he sees you naked, that thing will get hard—”

  “Brooklyn, I demand you stop right this instant,” Mama all but shouted.

  Brooke’s eyes left Liberty’s face and snapped to Mama’s. “Well, is it true?”

  “Yes,” Mama admitted sheepishly.

  “What’s he going to do with it?” Liberty shrieked in terror. Was he going to touch her with it? She needed to know, desperately.

  Neither Brooke nor Mama answered, they both looked to the other one, each expecting the other to answer her.

  “He’s going to touch me with it, isn’t he?” she exclaimed, seeing the answer on their faces.

  “Perhaps you were right,” Brooke said, looking at Mama. “I believe this is a conversation better had between a mother and daughter,” she added, getting off the bed.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Mama said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to the bed. “You wanted to be a part of this conversation; you’re going to see it through.”

  “I only wanted to be a part of it because I wasn’t properly informed. I wanted to spare her the uncertainty I faced,” Brooke said evenly, looking from Mama to Liberty then back to Mama.

  “Well, excuse me,” Mama said a bit irritably. “Like everyone else, I was under the assumption you no longer required the information on your wedding day.”

  Brooke mumbled something Liberty couldn’t make out. Not that she even cared about their conversation; she was too busy thinking about what was going to happen to her.

  “Yes, he’s going to touch you with it,” Brooke said uncomfortably. “At first it will hurt, but then it won’t…” she trailed off and her face went as red as Mama’s.

  “Then what?” Liberty demanded.

  “She already told you, then it won’t,” Mama said somewhat sharply, not meeting Liberty’s eyes.

  Liberty looked back and forth between the scarlet faces of her sister and mother. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” she finally declared.

  “Yes, it will,” Mama told her softly. “Liberty, you may not want to, but Mr. Grimes might, and if he does, as his wife, it’s your duty to be willing.”

  Liberty swallowed but nodded her understanding. Earlier she’d made up her mind to do whatever necessary to be a good wife, and if that meant letting him touch her that way, she’d allow it.

  Biting her lip and swiping at the tears on her cheeks, she looked around the outside of the inn. Mr. Grimes was probably waiting on her, she’d better hurry up and get back so they could be on their way.

  “Better now?” Mr. Grimes inquired from beside the carriage.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied, accepting his help getting into the carriage.

  “I have something for you,” he said after he’d sat back down. “I apologize I didn’t give it to you earlier, I nearly forgot about it until just a moment ago.”

  What could he have for her? All her things were in trunks on the top of the carriage. Had something fallen off?

  “Here,” he said, handing her a small wrapped bundle that she immediately recognized as a book from Bronson’s Books, a little bookshop on Bond Street.

  “Thank you,” she said, running her fingers along the twine that was holding the paper on.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Open it,” he said with a lopsided smile.

  “I have nothing for you,” she whispered, horrified.

  Mr. Grimes reached his hand over and patted the back of hers. “That’s all right. You didn’t need to get me anything,” he said evenly. When she glanced at him like she wasn’t convinced, he added, “It’s nothing that great. Just something to occupy you with until we can fetch your library.”

  Liberty fought to keep the smile from her lips. All the books she had could easily fill half a library. Papa had promised he’d bring them to her in the next few weeks. He must have mentioned it to Mr. Grimes last night at dinner. “Thank you,” she repeated, pulling one of the ends of the twine, causing the bow to release and the twine to loosen. Tossing the string on the floor, she made quick work of the paper and flipped the book over to read the title.

  “The man at the bookshop said this was the newest book he had, so I’m certain you haven’t read it,” Mr. Grimes told her.

  Liberty nodded. The book was titled Loving Her Gentleman, obviously it was a romance novel. “The man was correct, I haven’t read this one,” she murmured. Truth be known, she’d never even read a novel before. She’d bought a couple the first time she’d been in Bath, but had been unable to stay interested past the first fifty pages. Perhaps this time it would be different. “Why did you buy me a book?” she blurted out.

  Mr. Grimes shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps because I thought you might be bored waiting for your books. Unless you have plans to join the local sewing circle and start baking goods for the needy, that is.”

  Again she almost smiled, but didn’t. She could tell he was trying very diligently to be nice. “Well, whatever your reasons, thank you very much. Though I must say, I’m rather surprised to see you bought me a romance novel,” she said curiously.

  “What did you expect me to do? Give you a copy of the Bible and tell you to read Ruth, Esther and snippets of Song of Solomon?” he responded laughingly.

  Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Actually, that is exactly what I expected of you.”

  He grinned at her. “We still have a while before we arrive. If you’d like, you can begin to read now,” he suggested.

  Liberty nodded and began to read her book. The old Liberty would have tried to annoy him by reading it out loud, but she’d turned over a new leaf and didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot, so to speak.

  In no time at all they pulled up to a little brown bricked two story cottage she would now call home. The cottage belonged to the church and as part of his salary, the current vicar was allowed to live in the little cottage.

  There were only a handful of rooms inside and it took only a few minutes for Liberty to realize that this cottage was built with the intent that the husband and wife were expected to share a room.

  Standing in the doorway of the only room she’d seen with a bed, Liberty could feel her body start to tremble as her eyes stared at the bed.

  Fighting the urge to run, she took a step inside when she suddenly felt a staying hand on her upper arm. “There’s another room upstairs,” Mr. Grimes said softly in her ear.

  “I didn’t see that one,” she whispered, feeling her body relax.

  “You may sleep in whichever you prefer.”

  Liberty nervously licked her lips. “Where do you want me to sleep
?”

  “I don’t care,” he said hastily. “I’ve just been using this one since it was more convenient. But if you want it, I’ll move my things upstairs.”

  Liberty was confused. Did that mean he wasn’t planning to share her bed, or that he would just visit her there, then leave to go sleep in his own? She had to know. Stiffening her spine and willing herself not to blush, she asked, “Are you planning to leave?”

  “Leave?” he echoed, piercing her with his gaze.

  “Yes, leave after you touch me with your…your….love musket,” Liberty said, blushing. He probably had no idea what she was talking about. Even Andrew had admitted to never having heard that stupid term. But she had no idea what it was called. Nobody had felt fit to tell her and now she was making a fool out of herself.

  “Excuse me? My what?” Mr. Grimes asked, his lips twitching.

  Liberty flushed. Obviously he hadn’t heard the term, either. Where on earth had Madison picked that up anyway? “You know, that thing,” she said, vaguely pointing in the direction of his waist.

  “Is that what your mother called it?” Mr. Grimes asked, trying not to laugh.

  “No,” Liberty snapped. “She did not. She didn’t call it anything. I have no idea what it’s called, that’s just what I heard Madison call it.”

  Paul howled with laughter. “Madison said that?”

  “Yes,” Liberty answered testily. “Are you planning to visit my bed tonight or not?” she demanded angrily, bringing his laughter to an abrupt end.

  He stopped laughing and blinked at her. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head.

  “In that case, I’ll take the room upstairs,” Liberty said stiffly, running up the stairs.

  Chapter 8

  Liberty didn’t know why she was irritated that he didn’t want to share her bed, she just was. Not that she was looking forward to it or anything, she’d actually been dreading it. At the same time though, she couldn’t help but feel unwanted by his easy rejection.

  The whole conversation had been humiliating enough already and when he’d said “no” so casually, emphasized by shaking his head wildly, that was enough to send her into complete mortification.