James, I thought again, with another rush of excitement to my bosom. For now, after our night together and his note this morning, I finally felt able to call him that.
“I did, Emily,” I said, returning her smile, my head once more flashing with excitement and happiness. “I did. And thank you so much. This looks just lovely.”
“I shall let you take your breakfast in peace,” Emily said gently, once more leaving me alone with my thoughts. For it felt I had so much to ponder, so much to ruminate upon; my whole world felt as if it were expanding, almost beyond recognition!
I supposed I had always known, deep down, that I was not brought up quite as others. But until last night, I had no idea of the extent to which the rhythms of day to day life were truly shielded from me. I thought back to James’s face when he asked me about touching myself there and what ‘pleasures’ I had felt.
You see, dear reader, whenever I disobeyed my aunt, she had a particular punishment that she liked to enforce upon me. I was taken to an obscure corner of the attic, and placed under lock and key inside a tiny room no bigger than a cupboard. And depending on the nature of my transgression, I would spend hours or more at a time, locked away in that tiny room.
The room itself – known to me as the punishment room – was bare excepting a chamber pot and a hard wooden bench. The room was dark, and often stiflingly hot, and so to ease my discomfort I would sometimes take off my pinafore and bloomers and lay them down upon the bench to try to fashion a more comfortable seat for myself. You see, there was no entertainment of any sort in that room; I had no way of occupying myself except my own thoughts and, as I grew older, the increasingly strange sensation of my blossoming naked body.
And so it was in that tiny room, lying upon that hard wooden bench, that I first discovered the ‘pleasures’ that dwelt in that most tender part of me: the hot wet flower that bloomed between my legs.
As my fingers strayed into my delicate area, the moist folds of my flesh, so tender to my touch, most pleasurable of all that hard and swollen button that responded so powerfully to my stroking, sending delicious shockwaves all through my trembling body. I had thought it so shameful to touch myself there, and I could not comprehend of another person behaving in such away as I had, there in the dark privacy of the punishment room.
I was careful always to make sure my clothes were back upon me by the time I heard the creaking steps of my aunt heading up the stairs to the attic to release me from my prison. So ashamed was I of my actions that whenever Aunt Agnes opened the door to my confinement chamber, releasing me to the light, I always hung my head in contrition, and as such my aunt was always pleased that I had learnt my lesson.
But now, reclining lazily in this beautifully soft bed, at some scandalously late hour of the morning, nursing a delicious cup of hot chocolate, brought to me by my very own lady’s maid, I could not be farther away from that bare attic cell.
And I laughed to myself, realising that not just Emily but perhaps all women enjoyed similar private pleasures after all – for they were pleasures, weren’t they? This thought pleased me, and I felt as if after all those years shut away in the school room, perhaps my real education was at last under way.
But then my thoughts turned back to James’s letter, and a different sensation flashed through me – an intermingling of nervousness and excitement.
For was it not true that I was to be called on by real ladies today, just like I had always imagined in the attic playroom, where I would often fantasise such encounters – playing with my dolls house? But who were these women, I wondered. And would they accept me as one of their own?
After my bath, I called Emily to help me dress. I knew that as the lady of the house, I was not supposed to be asking advice from my maids. After all, it was I that should have been telling her what to do and how to behave. But in reality, I had simply no idea just what the right thing to wear would be for such an occasion, despite the abundance of clothes in my brand new wardrobe.
“Oh, Emily,” I sighed. “You must think me such a country bumpkin, but Sandwell Hall, the place where I grew up, the only place I’ve ever lived before now, was so isolated that we hardly ever had company. So do please help me choose something to wear for an afternoon at home, for I am all in a muddle, you see.”
“Well, madam,” she said while rifling through my wardrobe. “You are so lucky. Your kind husband has ensured you have an outfit for every occasion. I should hardly know how to choose from so many lovely things. However, I do think that this would do very well.”
At this, she pulled out a pale yellow dress with beautiful three-quarter-length bell-shaped sleeves and a flattering neckline, just off the shoulder.
“Oh yes, Lady Amelia,” Emily confirmed. “This would be just the thing.”
Emily helped me into the dress and after admiring myself in the mirror, I had to admit that she had chosen just the right outfit, for I indeed looked like a real lady.
“That yellow is so becoming with your pale complexion!” she exclaimed. “I will leave you to rest now until your guests arrive.”
“Before you go, Emily,” I enquired nervously, “who are my guests? Who will be calling on me?”
“Oh,” she said, “the finest ladies in the county, you can be sure. There will be Lady Constance, she has a beautiful singing voice, you must ask her to sing for you! Then Constance’s sister, Miss Jane. Now Jane never sings, but she is a great wit. So amusing! And then of course, Lady Violet. She will certainly visit. Lady Violet is a great beauty. Oh yes, Lord Hartford is a favourite of all the ladies in the county. They will certainly be very excited to meet his new bride!”
“Thank you, Emily,” I said, as she curtseyed gently and then left me alone once more in my bedchamber.
But for some reason I did not feel particularly grateful to hear of all these beautiful, accomplished women. What would they make of me? A poor little country mouse, who couldn’t even choose the right dress to wear in her own home? Was I really the kind of woman they would want as a bride for their ‘favourite’ Lord?
But I was not to be left ruminating on my failings for too long, as just a moment later Emily rang the bell to let me know that my guests had in fact arrived.
And so, somewhat hesitantly, I descended the staircase ...
“Surely not, Lady Amelia?” Lady Violet exclaimed. “You mean to tell us that you have never attended a ball?”
I was not sure from her tone if she was simply amazed or also perhaps mocking me, and I feigned a smile at this tall, striking woman with her striking blonde hair, almost white in colour and tumbling over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes gleaming at me across the little table, around which the four of us sat.
And although it were my living room in which we were partaking of our morning tea, the way in which Lady Violet held court, it seemed more as if this were her home than mine; and at the thought of this, I wondered to myself if perhaps Lady Violet were in fact rather familiar with Hartford Hall, for she seemed especially relaxed, reclining on her chair, her eyes flashing with glee at the thought that I had never attended a ball.
I felt myself blushing, my face flushing with heat, and I stammered, unsure how to reply.
The other two ladies – Miss Jane and Lady Constance – were also looking at me, but perhaps with a little more kindness in their eyes.
I wondered what to say, to give some indication that perhaps I was not quite so sheltered as they believed me to be, and so I decided to embellish the truth somewhat. “Well, of course,” I ventured timidly, “Aunt and I would always toast the new year together. And we would even have a glass of punch with all the servants ...”
As I spoke, I could see Lady Constance smiling benevolently, and although she was being kind towards me, it was clear that she also felt sorry for me. Miss Jane meanwhile tittered quietly to herself. But at my reply, Lady Violet did not restrain herself in the slightest, and in fact burst out laughing, then quickly stopped herself with her hand.
/> “Oh forgive me,” she said, “but how quaint! I thought our little social circle here to be ever so dull, but that really is too much!”
At this, Lady Constance shot a serious glance at her friend, blushing a little on my behalf, and then added, “Yes it is quiet here compared to the city of course, but we do amuse ourselves. In fact, there is to be a party next week – you must come!”
“Oh yes, do come!” Miss Jane added, clasping her hands together.
“Yes you must come,” Lady Constance repeated, “you must,” and I felt a rush of kindness towards her then.
“Oh thank you,” I replied, “that would be wonderful.”
I ventured a glance back towards Lady Violet, whose thin lips were now pursed and her brow furrowed.
“Obviously the invites went out a long time ago,” she said quietly, addressing the other two women rather than myself, “and it is rather exclusive ...”
And at this, I noticed Lady Constance give Violet a strange look, as if to communicate something private between then.
And then Lady Violet added, “But of course in the circumstances, I am sure we can get you in.”
“Thank you,” I said again. “That would be ever so kind of you.”
Lady Violet gave a thin-lipped little smile and nodded. “But Lady Constance,” she said, turning once more to her friend, “you have not told me what you shall be wearing to the party yet. Is it a great secret?”
And as the conversation turned to matters of style, I found myself falling mute. For I had absolutely nothing to say, no way to contribute. As much as I admired the beautiful dresses now hanging in my wardrobe, I knew nothing of styles or terminology. It seemed that my wife studies had let me down in this respect, for I had no idea how to converse with these women. But it did not matter, as they did not ask my opinion anyway. As the women talked, the thoughts of my beautiful trousseau heartened me slightly, for even if I did not know how to express myself, I knew that I would have something elegant to wear to the ball, and I began to forward to it somewhat, even though I felt rather scared of Lady Violet.
But thinking about the clothes in my wardrobe, drew my mind to the flimsy negligees in my chest, and that in turn led me to once more remember the night I had just spent with James.
I worried that my blush might give me away – for it seemed improper to think such naughty things in front of such tasteful, handsome, and well-bred women of society, and so I pushed the thoughts quickly from my mind.
That evening, James and I had our first dinner together as man and wife. We sat in the large dining room, as I guessed that we would together every night from this day onwards.
I smiled to myself, for again felt similar to when I had played dolls as a child, only this dinner between husband and wife was real, not make believe. And at the same time, I felt something else too – an urgency I can only describe as ‘primal’, even animalistic, as I ventured to look at him, as once more remembering our night together, the feel of his touch upon my body, and I marvelled all over again at the thought that this man was really mine, and there would be many more nights like that to come, perhaps even tonight ...
I wondered if James too was thinking similar thoughts, but if he was, his face did not betray them. How could he just sit there, so composed? I wondered.
“How was your day?” he asked me just then, briefly and simply.
But in my nervousness, my answer was anything but. Instead I found myself prattling on and on about my visitors, adding that, “Constance said there was to be a ball next week and I was even to be invited! Oh, I would love to attend a ball! Shall we go?”
At this, he sighed, his handsome face growing dark, his brow knitting. And I knew I must have made some mistake – must have uttered the wrong thing, just as I so often did in the company of Aunt Agnes.
“Oh, the constant round of balls and parties around here is tedious,” he sighed. “Always the same people, dancing to the same music, gossiping over the same scandals. I must confess I find the whole affair rather tiring.”
I felt a deep disappointment at his reply, one which I obviously could not conceal, because he looked at me, sighed again, then said, “but of course, if you wish to go, then I suppose we shall have to go.”
After this brief, single exchange we ate the rest of the dinner in a strange, heady silence. And as I ate, I thought to myself: Oh dear, I have upset him, haven’t I, and I do not even know how to say sorry. For I only said I would like to go to a ball. What a foolish, silly little thing I am! I have obviously been bad somehow, and displeased him, which probably means he won’t come to me tonight.
And true to my suspicions, when he finished his meal, he stood without a word, then left me all alone in the huge dining room.
I have to confess, I felt rather shocked, dear reader, as I finished my meal in silence. For even Aunt Agnes, for all her coldness, always made sure that I wasn’t left at the dining table alone.
I finished my meal, then I left the dining room, walking along the huge dark corridor lit by chandeliers, past the many grand portraits of the Hartford family tracing back hundreds of years, then up the imposing staircase, carpeted in plush red velvet, all alone, and up to my room, where I sat upon the bed, still wondering what I had done wrong. And before I even knew what I was doing, I had begun to cry, my whole body shaking with the surprising force of my sobbing.
Just then my sobs were interrupted by a soft knock on the door to the bedroom. I thought for a moment that it might be James, but instead it was kind dear Emily who entered and came rushing to my side.
“Whatever is the matter?” she asked, taking a seat beside me on the bed and putting her arm around my shoulders.
“I just want to go to the ball!” I cried, the hot tears still streaking down my cheeks.
“But you shall, Lady Amelia!” she replied in confusion. “For I know that Lord Hartford has just this very moment requested that the state carriage to be redecorated in time for you to attend the ball!”
I looked at her in confusion then.
“But he seemed so cross,” I said quietly. “I don’t understand.”
“I know he may seem gruff,” she replied, “but he is a good man, trust me. Anyway, listen, I am sure you’re just over tired. You have had a very busy first day as Lady Hartford. Why don’t you get some sleep now?”
So Emily helped me out of my dress and into a nightie, then brushed my hair, and I had to admit that giving myself up her like that, just as if I were a child once more and she my nurse, relaxed me and comforted me somewhat. And before I knew it, I could feel the sleep rushing over me – it was true, I was exhausted – and I had hardly even nestled myself beneath the covers of my bed before I fell fast asleep.
At first I did not know what was happening to me, for I awoke not to morning sunlight but instead to the darkness of my bedchamber, and to the feel of hot rough hands upon my body, and then lips pressing urgently against my own.
As I roused from my slumber, I felt my body too begin to respond to the touch of this shadowy figure, who seemed so intent upon ravaging me; and with delight I realised that my new husband had decided to visit me for a second night time encounter after all.
I pushed my lips back happily against his, and moaned softly as I felt his hand pushing its way into my bloomers, his fingers cupping the hot and swelling place that seemed now to be crying out to him.
“You came to me,” I whispered with delight, between the veritable urgency of our kisses.
“Of course I did,” came his reply, the heat of his breath dancing across my skin as he began to uncover my breast, scooping it free from the front of my petticoat, and then, a moment later, I felt the delicious heat of his mouth enclosing my nipple, eliciting another soft sigh from my lips.
“I didn’t think you would come,” I whispered, my voice trembling as his tongue flickered against that tingling pink bud of flesh that grew from the centre of my breast.
“Why ever not?” he replied, taking his
mouth from my skin just long enough to ask his question, before moving his kisses across to my other breast, lavishing just as much attention on that one, too, working me into a shivering state of divine pleasure beneath him.
“Because I displeased you,” I explained between soft moans, my breast swelling with love for him, my body crying out, but my mind still somewhat focussed on the ways I might have misbehaved. “I’m so sorry, James. I don’t ever want to displease you, my lord. Please, punish me, if you wish. Do whatever you would like to me ...”
For I knew I had done wrong as a wife, and all I had learnt was that I had displeased my husband, and to be a good wife I must never displease him. And as I was his property he could punish me if he so wished. But even so, I did not expect just what happened next.
“Oh, you wish to be punished do you girl?” he replied, a playful glint in his eye, his face for a moment illuminated by a shaft of the moonlight that was spilling into my bedchamber.
“Yes, my Lord,” I replied, a smile of my own creeping across my lips, as I realised that we were now playing out some sort of strange grown up joke between the two of us – the kind of private joke a man and his wife might share behind closed doors. “Yes, please punish me, my husband, teach me a lesson for being a disobedient little wife!”
I gasped in surprise as he swiftly drew me up from my place in bed, then threw me roughly across his knee, so that my face was nestled in the sheets and my rump was thrust high in the air, just as if I were indeed some naughty little schoolgirl, being admonished by her teacher or nurse.
“Then I shall,” he murmured, “my naughty little wife ...”
And with that, he grabbed the waist of my bloomers and pulled them so roughly down around my thighs that I heard their delicate fabric tear at its seams, leaving my bare bottom now fully exposed to him.
Awakened by a Lord: Victorian Nights Page 4