Keeping Katerina (The Victorians)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  "You’ll never be free of me signore. I keep what’s mine."

  "Then you should have treated her better. She’s not yours anymore. Now release the damned door or I’ll close it on your hand."

  The hand disappeared and Christopher slammed the door shut and locked it.

  There was a soft sound from the bedroom and he followed it. Katerina was sitting up in the bed, tears streaming down her lovely face, her shoulders shaking. He slid into the bed beside her, taking her in his arms. She was trembling all over.

  "Did you hear that, love?"

  "Yes."

  "He’s gone. You’re safe."

  "No one has ever protected me, not since my mother died." At that admission, she sobbed deeply, struggling to hold back a veritable flood of grief.

  "Everything is different. You’re a married woman. Your safety is my responsibility. You’ve been through hell, haven’t you?"

  "Yes." She choked on the word.

  "Then let it out. Don’t hold back. You’re allowed to grieve. Your childhood was terribly dark. Your future is much brighter. But you have to grieve that past before you can move on. Let go, darling."

  He stroked her hair, and the tender touch was like a lance driving deep into a festering sore. A lifetime of misery came tumbling out of her in hysterical wracking sobs. The pain was unimaginable, tearing her apart, and she cried and cried until at last she cried herself to sleep in the safety of her husband’s arms. He lowered her to the bed, positioning her gently on her side. That wasn’t the end of it. Not even close. There was no way to cure a decade of abuse in a single good cry, but it was a start. Suddenly exhausted, Christopher lay down beside his wife and succumbed to slumber himself.

  ******

  Giovanni cursed to himself as he stormed out of the hotel. Damned man. How dare he meddle with Giovanni’s property? Did the gall of these self-important peasants know no bounds? Giovanni was descended from a long line of the highest rank in Florence, where he had been born. On his mother’s side, they could trace their heritage all the way back to the Medicis. Granted, it was not exactly a legitimate line, but real, traceable nonetheless. He was descended from royalty. On his father’s side, he was sole heir to a very wealthy shipping company from Naples. It was a less exalted connection, but the company ran itself without his interference and provided him a great deal of income. No longer welcome in Florence, he had relocated here, hoping England, with its powerful queen, would be more respectful of his elevated rank. But here, like in Italy, jumped-up farmers and working class rabble had risen above their station and were challenging the right of those ordained by heaven to rule.

  Deep in his ruminations, he failed to notice a young clerk hurrying the other direction with a sheaf of papers clutched in his arms. The two men collided, sending the sheets fluttering in all directions. Giovanni growled in annoyance at the youth’s clumsiness, and hurried on, deliberately planting his wet and muddy boot on one of the meticulously prepared documents, reducing it to trash.

  What was wrong with people? Even Carolina, his late wife, had struggled for years against his God-given authority. He’d finally had to be very hard on her, and she’d not taken care of her wounds properly and become septic. Silly cow. She never had understood what a favor he’d done her, lifting her from the dirt of her father’s olive farm and allowing her the privilege of carrying his child. Katerina had always been better, more submissive.

  His daughter had argued with him, had taken her punishments without complaint. And her playing soothed him when he was angry. It was a shock that she was gone, had dared defy him. It was that man. He must have dishonored her. What a puttana. Just like her mother. Easily seduced. Giovanni shook his head. He was very angry now. He needed another drink, and a method for venting his rage. But what to do? Ah yes, his favorite little brothel. They would have a whip, and a girl. That would definitely help. As he walked along towards the discreet townhouse, he considered what must be done. This insult could not go unpunished. His whore of a daughter and her disrespectful cotton weaver would pay for this insult.

  ***Chapter 8***

  Katerina woke suddenly as the late afternoon sun began slanting through the window across her face. She felt more relaxed than she could remember ever feeling. She was warm and comfortable… and nude; completely naked lying in bed with her astonishing husband. She took a moment to admire his handsomeness: his dark brown hair, nearly as dark as hers, his finely chiseled face, almost angelic in its symmetrical proportions, his flexible lips, which felt so wonderful pressed against hers, his beautiful silver eyes, now closed in slumber, long lashes resting on his cheeks, his jaw firm and manly. He was glorious, and he was hers, her savior, her lover, her husband. He had sacrificed himself for her. She would have to try very hard to be good to him, to make him happy. He had earned a lifetime’s worth in a single day.

  His eyes opened, showing their lovely misty color, and the corners crinkled as he smiled at her. She smiled back shyly.

  "Did you rest well sweet girl?"

  "Yes. I feel very good. You?"

  "Excellent. Are you sore?"

  "Where?"

  "Everywhere."

  "I think my back is a little better."

  "Good. Your belly?"

  "It hurts, but not as much as yesterday."

  "And here?" He cupped her. She blushed.

  "Sore. Quite sore."

  "Not surprising. You were rather hard to deflower."

  "Sorry."

  He shrugged. "It’s the way you were made, love. I just hated hurting you."

  "I didn’t mind. Honestly, I have a pretty high tolerance. It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve felt."

  "I can imagine," he replied grimly. "And now, are you hungry?"

  "Yes, I am. Famished actually."

  "Me too. I have an idea. Shall we see if my parents would be interested in having us for dinner?"

  "Will they be upset?"

  "About what?"

  "That we married without telling them."

  "I doubt it. Mother wanted us together. She understood the urgency. She’ll explain it to father. All will be well, love. You’re a Bennett now."

  "That sounds perfect."

  "Then get dressed. You look lovely, but it’s rather much for going visiting."

  She laughed. It was a charming sound. And she scrambled stiffly from the bed, lifting her chemise uncertainly.

  "This is disgusting."

  "Yes."

  "I’m sadly lacking in undergarments. In everything really."

  "What about at… your father’s house?"

  "There are some, but I don’t fancy going after them. Besides, after you dismissed him, he probably did something rash, like burn them."

  "No doubt. We’ll have to get you a few things. Just a moment, let me see if the housekeeper can find you something to borrow. Here." He retrieved a shirt from the wardrobe and tossed it to her, "cover yourself so you can meet her."

  She slid the shirt around her slender body. It was terribly short. She was quite tall for a woman, but it was enough, barely, for decency. Christopher took her hand and led her out of the bedchamber, to the front room, where he summoned his housekeeper.

  "Mrs. Bristol, this is my wife, Katerina. In the process of removing her from a… terrible situation, all her clothing was lost. I will apply myself to taking her shopping tomorrow, but in the meanwhile, do you know of anything she can borrow?"

  "Yes. My daughter was built a little like you. She left some old clothes with me. I keep them downstairs. Does that interest you?"

  "I can’t be choosy," Katerina replied. "I’ll be thankful for whatever I can get."

  "Just a moment. I’ll be right back." And she bustled back into the room with a pile of garments: a white nightgown, a clean linen chemise, and two dresses. Katerina nodded in gratitude.

  "Thank you so much."

  "You don’t need a corset, you’re so slender."

  She smiled. "I wouldn’t be able to fasten it anyway.
Just a moment."

  She hurried into the bedroom and emerged a few moments later in one of the dresses, all unfastened down the back. Mrs. Bristol circled her to help.

  "Dear Lord, child, what happened to you?" Drat. The oversized chemise had dipped too low, revealing scars. Katerina closed her eyes in shame.

  Christopher gave the housekeeper a hard look. "I told you."

  "You’re a very good man, Mr. Bennett." She said fervently.

  "He certainly is," Katerina agreed.

  "Won’t it hurt you if I fasten this?"

  "Maybe, but it needs to be done."

  She controlled her desire to wince as the dress was positioned. It did no good to make others suffer with her. And then she was ready to go, ready to see her husband’s parents, her in-laws. She already knew them, but this would be the first time as their daughter.

  There didn’t seem to be a hairbrush anywhere in the apartment, so Katerina borrowed her husband’s comb and smoothed out the tangles. She gathered up as many of the scattered hairpins as she could find and simply pulled it back away from her face, twisting it into a bun. She never could bear to cut side curls into her hair, but instead left the dark thick mass all the same length so that, pulled back, it was smooth and plain.

  She struggled into her boots. It was still painful to bend over, and Christopher offered to help, but she waved him away. The scabs felt solid today, and she didn’t want to risk the scars on her back becoming too rigid as they formed.

  At last she was ready, and he took her down a wide staircase carpeted with a red runner that left the polished wood revealed along each side. It was still rather early, though dark, a winter evening. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had defied her father to attend a poetry party with her secret suitor of only a couple of weeks. Now they were married. Her whole life had changed in the blink of an eye, so fast she still felt rather dizzy with it. Thankfully it was the kind of dizziness that was of the mind, not the body. Without a corset cutting off her breath, no longer bleeding, and knowing, objectively at least, that she was safe, her hands and feet had never been so steady.

  On the other hand, it was very cold outside. Her shawl had been forgotten in the parlor of the Wilders’ home and her warm winter coat was back in the Valentino house, abandoned for good. Refitting herself with everything was going to cost her husband a fortune.

  He handed her into a cab and they headed across town to his parents’ home. While they traveled, he asked her, "Now then, love, clearly we can’t stay in my little rooms for long. How would you like to live? Do you prefer rooms in a hotel, or a house?"

  "I scarcely know. I’ve never lived in ‘rooms’. My father rented a house when he and Mother came to England, and we’ve lived in that very house ever since. It’s the only living quarters I know."

  "Is it very large?"

  "Yes. But there are only two of us. I think I would like a house. Perhaps a row house? But not too large."

  "Why not?"

  "It’s helpful for me to know where everyone is. The more space we have, the harder it will be to keep track of all the rooms."

  "Is it so you know where NOT to be?"

  "Precisely."

  "You don’t need that anymore, you know."

  She nodded but he could see she was very uncomfortable.

  "All right, love. Tell me what you’re thinking."

  She looked out the window in silence. He ran his fingers down her cheek, capturing her attention again.

  "Tell me, love. I can see you disagree. You do need that kind of control, don’t you."

  His gentle touch and soft voice were disarming. She closed her eyes and told him the truth.

  "Yes I do. For now I do. I wish I could simply turn a gear and just like that, everything changes, but I can’t."

  "You’re right. I’m sorry I second-guessed you. I think a row house would be very nice. Perhaps with a little garden. Since we will live in London most of the year, a green space is very helpful. My parents have been in their home my whole life, and I grew up with a substantial garden. Tomorrow, I think, we can go and look for a suitable place to rent."

  "We?"

  "Naturally, love. I’ll be at work at the factory many days a week. You need to be comfortable in our home. Of course I want your opinion."

  She smiled. He slid his fingers into her hand and squeezed gently.

  "Are you real, Christopher?"

  "What on earth do you mean?"

  "You seem too good to be true."

  "I’m not. I’m just an ordinary man. Nothing at all out of the common way." She looked at him. He met her eyes. "I’m sorry to tell you this, love, but the way you grew up was nothing like normal. Your father is… evil."

  "Yes."

  "I’m not too good to be true. I have a number of bad habits."

  "What are they?" She looked into his eyes, curious to know what he saw as flaws.

  "I’m always late, for one thing. I’m famous for it. I also have a temper." A shadow crossed her features. "Don’t look at me like that; I would never hit a woman. It’s a cowardly thing to do. I’m not a bully. But if a man makes me angry, I settle it with my fists from time to time. Less now that I’m an adult, but in school I got into quite a few scuffles. I curse. And I despise tobacco. I find it so disgusting I can hardly help but object to people smoking in the same room as me, and snuff is worse."

  Katerina grinned. "What a terrible monster you are." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. The delicate touch caused a jolt of arousal.

  "I also have a strong appetite for lovemaking. I hope you’re prepared for it." His lighthearted tone gave way to intensity.

  She had noticed, but honestly, the process hadn’t been disgusting or unduly frightening. Just new and a little… surprising. Now that she knew what to expect, she was perfectly willing, though the thought did make her cheeks color a bit.

  "Yes. I think I could try it again, though perhaps tomorrow night. The ache is still quite strong."

  "No doubt. Tomorrow will be fine. I can wait that long."

  They pulled up in front of the Bennett family home, and Christopher helped his bride descend from the cab, with a request that it return in a few hours to bring them home again. Then he walked her up to the door, his arm wrapped gently around her waist and he pulled her close because it was so cold and she had nothing warm to wear.

  A knock was answered by a very elderly gentleman.

  "Good evening, Tibbins, are my parents in?"

  "Yes, sir. They’re in the music room this evening."

  "Very good. And how are your knees?"

  "Fine. Better actually thank you. Tonight it’s my arm that hurts."

  "Heavens. We can’t have that. Take care of yourself."

  "I’ll do that, sir, and thank you."

  Now that they were out of the biting wind, Christopher took Katerina’s arm properly. The house was sizable, but not impossibly so, and he led her to a room and opened the door. She was familiar with this room. Only three weeks ago she had visited for tea and played the lovely carved and painted harpsichord for Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Turner. What a pleasant outing it had been.

  "Good evening, Mother, Father," Christopher addressed his parents, "Is there any chance of a couple of weary souls finding food on such an icy night?"

  "Of course, son," Julia replied, "But… Katerina, what on earth are you doing here? This is really too great a risk my dear."

  "It’s fine, Mother," Christopher answered, "I remember you told me how great the danger was where Katerina was concerned, and I have applied myself to getting to know her as quickly as possible. We need to talk to you both, be sure we are all in agreement about how to proceed." He squeezed her fingers gently, as though sending a silent message.

  "What do you mean, son?"

  "Well, should there be a sudden crisis, and I needed to take her out of the situation on a whim, with no time spent in preparation, just whirl her off to the bishop and marry her, would anyone object?"


  "Hardly. And such a crisis is a real risk." Julia agreed grimly.

  "I know," Christopher said grimly. "Father, you understand what we’re talking about, do you not?"

  Adrian Bennett nodded, his expression serious.

  Katerina’s cheeks colored. So everyone knew? She didn’t like that. And this conversation was ridiculous.

  "Christopher, stop teasing your parents. Mr. Bennett, Mrs. Bennett, Christopher and I got married this morning."

  Both of the elder Bennetts blinked in surprise. Julia recovered first.

  "You did? Oh very good. It takes a huge weight off my mind. I was so terribly afraid for you my dear."

  "You had cause. Thank you for sending him in my direction." She smiled, shyly because Mr. Bennett was there, and his intense and faintly disapproving expression made her uncomfortable.

  Julia, exuberant as usual, scooped her new daughter-in-law into her arms and hugged her. Katerina was unable to suppress her agonized squeak entirely, though she did return the embrace.

  "What’s wrong?"

  "Well, there was a crisis, just as Christopher said. That was why we needed to act so quickly."

  "Are you injured?"

  "Yes, but I’m healing."

  Julia noted the bruise on Katerina’s cheek, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead she kissed her on the other side of her face. "Welcome to the family, love. We’re so very glad you’re here."

  It was more than she had expected, and tears stung her eyes, but she suppressed them. There would be need of more, but hopefully most of them could be shed in private. Too many people knew her sorrow already, and she did not want to be seen as broken.

  "Married, eh?" Adrian looked at his son’s wary and damaged bride. He had not been entirely in agreement with his wife’s plan to match those two together. But the obvious dark bruise on her cheek made him powerfully angry. And her stiff uncomfortable movements spoke of other, more painful injuries. He looked at his son.

  Christopher was watching his wife closely, and as soon as Julia stepped away, he swooped in, gathering up Katerina’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He was possessive of her in a way which spoke of intimacy. So there would be no chance of an annulment. He hoped Christopher was prepared for the problems sure to come from marrying such a woman.