by Laura Martin
‘Can I get you some refreshments?’
Lucy shook her head, but Oliver quickly ordered tea. He wanted something stronger, but restrained himself. A clear head would be needed to navigate through the next hour.
‘I’ll bring the girls in shortly.’
‘Where have you brought me?’ Lucy rasped as the door closed behind their hostess.
‘Don’t be angry,’ he said, as the understanding blossomed in Lucy’s eyes.
‘It’s a brothel, isn’t it?’
‘A reputable one, I’m told.’
‘Is it the one you frequent?’
‘I haven’t been to a brothel since my university days,’ Oliver said honestly. He didn’t like the places, didn’t like the idea of paying a woman to do something that had no feeling behind it, no real meaning.
‘She seemed to know you.’
‘I came by earlier to arrange this meeting,’ Oliver said.
‘Why are we here?’
‘You wish to know how to prevent a pregnancy. I thought who better to ask than the women whose livelihoods depend upon it.’
‘You want me to get marital advice from prostitutes?’ Her face was incredulous.
‘I thought you’d be more likely to believe it if you heard it first-hand.’
Oliver wasn’t entirely happy to be here himself. He wanted to resume the physical side of their relationship, but his feelings about having children in the future were mixed. Of course he wanted a family, a brood of young children running around his estate, but he was convinced a pregnancy, especially this early on in their reunion, might make Lucy run away again. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the situation of a year ago. One day they would be ready to be parents again, but first they needed to be comfortable with one another, to trust one another, and despite the progress they’d made the trust still wasn’t entirely there on either side.
‘I can’t believe you’d do this,’ she hissed, glancing at the door as if contemplating escape.
‘You agreed for me to look into our options.’
‘Last night. I didn’t think we’d be sitting waiting for a horde of prostitutes the very next day.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you protesting about, Lucy?’ he asked. ‘My methods or the speed at which I’ve come up with an answer?’
She opened her mouth, but before she could reply the door opened again and three young women came gliding in, one carrying a tray with a pot of tea and five cups.
‘Lord Sedgewick,’ one of the women greeted him, ‘And Lady Sedgewick, we’re led to understand?’
Oliver stood. It was true he hadn’t been in a brothel or associated with any women of the profession since his university days so he wasn’t entirely sure how to act, but politeness never went amiss.
‘I’m Annabelle, this is Hetty and this is Fanny,’ the woman carrying the tray said as she began to pour cups of tea.
‘Did Mrs Gardener tell you why we are here?’ Oliver asked, taking the cup of tea that was proffered.
‘Some advice about preventing a baby,’ Fanny said bluntly.
‘Exactly. My wife is keen not to get pregnant.’
Annabelle looked at Lucy with open curiosity, then suggested, ‘Perhaps we should talk to Lady Sedgewick alone.’
Oliver shrugged. He didn’t much care how they acquired the information, he was just happy Lucy hadn’t run screaming from the house. He allowed himself to be escorted into a comfortable parlour where he was left to finish his tea in peace, all the while wondering exactly what the women were discussing in the next room.
* * *
‘How on earth did you bag him?’ Fanny asked as Annabelle re-entered the room and closed the door behind her.
‘He’s a handsome one,’ Hetty agreed. ‘Kind eyes, too. I bet he pays you well.’
‘Pays me?’ Lucy asked, taking a moment to catch up. ‘You think I’m his mistress.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t really bring his wife to see us.’
‘He has,’ Lucy said bluntly. ‘Lord Sedgewick is a singular man.’
The three women stared at her, as if still not quite believing she was Lady Sedgewick.
‘And you really want to know how to stop a baby?’ Hetty asked, suspicious.
‘Yes.’
‘Why? If that was my man, I’d get plump mothering his children,’ Fanny said.
Lucy was used to the direct way of speaking these women had from her work and found it refreshing to be among people who just asked the questions that were on their minds rather than hinting they might like to know an answer.
‘Our son died,’ Lucy said, feeling the familiar rush of sadness. She swallowed, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. ‘I can’t lose another child.’
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Annabelle gushed, rushing over and putting an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. ‘Losing a child is the worst thing in the world.’ It was said with such feeling that Lucy wondered if the other woman had also lost a baby. She looked young, in her early twenties like Lucy herself, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t ever mothered a child. Many of their age had a brood of three or four already.
‘Lord Sedgewick is keen to resume the physical side of our relationship,’ Lucy said, ‘so that is why we’re here.’
‘And do you want him?’ Fanny asked, leaning forward as she waited for Lucy to answer. ‘If not, send him my way and I’ll keep him happy for you.’
Lucy felt a sudden rush of anxiety. When they had first reconciled she had assumed Oliver had a mistress, someone who’d kept him occupied in the bedroom during her time absent, but now she doubted it was true. The idea that he might decide to get his needs satisfied another way if she continued to refuse him was decidedly unpalatable and she felt a little swell of panic inside her abdomen.
‘Hush, Fanny,’ Annabelle said. ‘Don’t mind her. What is it you want to know?’
‘Are there ways to prevent getting pregnant?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Annabelle said. ‘Look at us, seven years we’ve been here between us, seeing a different man each night, and not a single baby in that time.’
‘How do you do it?’
‘Well, the most important thing is to never let a man finish inside you,’ Annabelle said. ‘I’m told it’s still possible to get pregnant if he finishes elsewhere, but I’ve never seen it.’
The other two women nodded in agreement.
‘Of course, persuading a man to pull back in the heat of the moment can be tricky, but I’d wager your husband is good at self-control.’
‘And some of them just like to see their seed splashed on various parts of your body.’
Lucy blushed at the vivid imagery, but nodded for the women to continue. No point becoming prudish now.
‘Some women also like to count the days of their monthly cycle,’ Annabelle said. ‘They say you are more fertile in the middle few days than at either end.’
‘And there are sheaths,’ Hetty piped up.
‘She doesn’t want to start messing around with those disgusting contraptions,’ Fanny said. ‘They’re more faff than they’re worth.’
‘Of course, if you did become pregnant there are many ways to get rid of a child before your belly begins to show,’ Annabelle said quietly.
Lucy shook her head. It was one thing preventing a pregnancy, but she doubted she would be able to end one when she already knew there was a life growing inside her. Especially if she didn’t know if the child would be healthy or not.
‘If I used these methods,’ Lucy said, feeling her resolve flicker, ‘how likely is it do you think that I would get pregnant?’
‘Unlikely,’ Annabelle said with conviction. ‘Especially if you’re just having sex once every few weeks.’
Thinking back to the first days of their marriage when they’d tumbled into bed multiple times a
day, Lucy shook her head. They were both different now, changed by the time they had spent apart. It was unlikely that they would pick up the physical side of their relationship where they had left off over a year ago.
‘If he was my husband...’ Fanny started, but trailed off as Annabelle flashed her a warning look.
‘I’m sure Lord Sedgewick knows of these methods, but it’s up to you how much you tell him of what we’ve said today,’ Annabelle said quietly, patting Lucy on the hand. ‘We women don’t have control over much in our lives, but I think your husband would honour your control over your body. Not all men are so inclined.’
‘Thank you,’ Lucy said.
She finished her tea, finding it surprisingly easy to talk to the three prostitutes despite the vast differences in their social statuses. When she had finished, Annabelle left momentarily to fetch Oliver and together he and Lucy thanked the women. Oliver handed over a small sum of money for their time and they dashed back outside to the waiting carriage.
‘What did you learn?’ Oliver asked as they settled back in the seats. He’d sat next to her, probably so they could better discuss the facts Lucy had been given, but his proximity was causing her to lose her concentration.
Lucy hesitated. She didn’t know how much to tell Oliver and how much to hold back. If she admitted there were ways to drastically reduce the chance of a pregnancy then there would be no reason to stay celibate any longer. The idea both excited and scared her.
‘They suggested a couple of things,’ Lucy said. She should have felt uncomfortable discussing such private matters with her husband, but his matter-of-fact ways meant it was less embarrassing somehow.
‘What did they suggest?’
‘Apparently withdrawing before the moment of, ah...’ She trailed off, wondering how to put it politely.
‘Climax.’
Nodding, Lucy was grateful he’d stepped in.
‘Anything else?’
‘Counting days.’
‘I see. So what is your verdict?’
It felt wrong discussing such an emotional issue so bluntly.
‘Let me think about it,’ she said, relieved when he nodded and sat back.
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver stretched, turning his face up to the warm autumn sun and tasting the salt on his lips. It was a long time since he’d visited the seaside, but immediately he was transported back to happy trips with his brothers, long sun-filled days playing on the sand while their parents strolled along the promenade.
Lucy reluctantly stepped down from the carriage, none of the joy present in his expression visible on her face.
‘We could just turn around and go back,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s not too late.’ She’d been suggesting the same the whole way from London with decreasing levels of optimism in her voice.
A seagull squawked overhead and Lucy glared at it, channelling her annoyance at being forced back to her home town for the first time in two years.
‘Shall we get settled into our lodgings?’ Oliver asked. ‘Or would you like to go directly to see your father.’
‘I need to change,’ Lucy said after weighing up the options for a few seconds. ‘But we should see Father as soon as possible. Then we can leave again.’
‘I’d have thought you’d want to have a break from travelling.’
They’d only been on the journey for two days, and today they had arrived in Brighton well before lunch. The roads from London to Brighton were relatively well maintained and it wasn’t all that far a distance. Nevertheless, Oliver certainly didn’t want to turn straight around and spend another two days cooped up in an uncomfortable carriage.
‘I want to spend as little time as possible here,’ Lucy said, then corrected herself. ‘Actually I want not to be here at all, but it seems that isn’t an option.’
‘You might find you enjoy yourself.’
She snorted, an unladylike noise that Oliver had to suppress a smile at. She’d certainly picked up some mannerisms from the women and children at the Foundation.
‘Come,’ he said, offering her his arm.
Rather than upset Lucy further by suggesting they stay with her father, he had secured a set of rooms with magnificent views over the sea. As they climbed the stairs to the first floor and waited while their host unlocked the door, Oliver felt more carefree than he had done in a long time. They might be here for a very specific reason, but it also felt like a holiday, perhaps even the honeymoon they’d never had.
Even Lucy had to gasp in pleasure as they entered the sitting room. It was light and airy, with high ceilings and two large windows with views across the promenade and out to sea.
‘The bedroom is upstairs,’ their host said as he handed over the key to Oliver, leaving them alone.
‘Bedroom?’ Lucy asked, immediately picking up on the singular.
‘Bedroom,’ Oliver confirmed.
She swallowed, her pupils dilating a fraction, but he noticed she didn’t protest and felt a surge of hope.
‘Let me show you,’ he said, taking her by the hand and pulling her up the narrow set of stairs.
The bedroom was nearly as big as the sitting room below, with the same double windows and view over the seafront. A large bed occupied the centre of the room and dotted around the perimeter were various pieces of comfortable furniture.
‘Only one bed,’ Lucy confirmed.
‘We shared a bed before,’ Oliver reminded her gently.
He doubted she’d forgotten that heady month when they’d barely left the bedroom after their marriage.
‘And I promise to be the perfect gentleman.’ It was a promise he would find hard to keep, but he knew she had to come to him. There was no point in pushing too hard, but hopefully a few days sharing a bed and she would see the mutual benefits of renewing their intimacy.
She nodded and he was surprised at how easily she capitulated. He’d half-expected her to demand lodgings with separate bedrooms and had enquired about availability before they had journeyed down here. But it seemed sharing a bed was an acceptable next step for Lucy.
‘I shall leave you to change,’ he said, backing out of the room and closing the double doors behind him.
* * *
He was downstairs, staring out the window to the grey-blue expanse of sea when Lucy emerged. She’d changed into a dress she’d purchased when they’d first married—a long-sleeved cotton garment in pale blue with a white sash. It suited her, and their location, but he was glad when she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders to keep out the bite of the fresh autumn air.
‘Can we go for a walk before we call on my father?’ Lucy asked.
It was a delaying tactic, but Oliver readily agreed. He hoped they would have some time to enjoy each other’s company while away from London and the pressures on both their time and attention, and this seemed like the perfect start to their trip.
Arm in arm they strolled along the esplanade, heads bowed slightly to the persistent wind. After only a few minutes Lucy had pink cheeks and a red tinge to the tip of her nose.
‘Tell me about growing up here,’ Oliver said, aware of how little he knew about Lucy’s life before she had married him.
She glanced at him sharply, but after regarding him for a moment seemed to relax.
‘I used to love living by the sea,’ Lucy said, gazing out at the rolling waves past the pebble beach. ‘My nanny was of the opinion fresh air was an important part of a young girl’s development and we would go for walks along the promenade in the winter, or across the hills further afield in the summer.’
‘I used to enjoy coming to the seaside as a child,’ Oliver said. ‘It seemed like a different world, with the beach and the tearooms and the families laughing and happy.’
Lucy grimaced. ‘I couldn’t ever describe my family as laughing or happy, but I did enjoy playing on
the beach and dipping my toes in the sea when I was young.’
Grasping on to the little nugget of information about her family, Oliver wondered how to probe further without being too obvious.
‘Did your mother take you on the beach?’ he asked.
Lucy laughed wryly and shook her head. ‘Never. I don’t think I ever saw her set foot off the promenade once and she used to tut and reprimand my nanny if I came home sandy or with a little seawater on the bottom of my dress.’
‘And your father?’
‘He didn’t really do much with us—me at all.’ He caught the slip and saw the panic in her eyes as she quickly corrected herself, wondering who this ‘us’ referred to. Lucy had never mentioned a sibling and when his mother had been scouting for prospective brides for him he was sure she’d said she was an only child.
‘Well, at least you had an adventurous nanny.’
He saw the relief in her eyes when he didn’t pursue her slip of the tongue and felt her press a little closer to his body.
‘You’re shivering,’ he noted, feeling the miniscule movements where her body met his.
‘It is a little chilly,’ she admitted. ‘You forget what a sea wind feels like when you’re in London.’
Quickly he led her off the promenade and into a tea shop he’d spotted earlier, making sure she was comfortable before motioning the waitress over to place their order.
Once they both had a steaming cup of tea in their hands, he decided to broach the subject of her family once again.
‘Tell me, why is there such a rift between you and your father?’
‘There’s no rift as such—we just don’t get on.’
He didn’t believe her. You didn’t react like Lucy had when he’d mentioned the visit to see her father if you had a mild dislike for someone.
‘Is it a personality difference?’
‘Perhaps. He was a distant father and I barely knew him as a child.’
‘There’s more,’ Oliver said, ‘something you’re not telling me.’
She regarded him for a moment, then just when he thought she might give in and tell him she shook her head. ‘You’ve met him. He’s not exactly the most amiable of men.’