She was going to be ill, she knew it. And if not, that was the reaction she ought to have. Panting, sweating, she sought desperately for the privy, which, to her relief, was pointed out to her by a motherly looking woman dressed in cerulean silk.
When Cressida returned weakly to the passage a few minutes later, her savior was waiting for her, a look of sympathetic concern upon her face.
“My dear, let me take you somewhere private where you can compose yourself.”
The kindness of the woman’s expression, and her thoughtfulness—so different from what she’d expected to find in a place like this—made Cressida want to burst into tears.
With a grateful nod, she allowed herself to be led into a small, private sitting room at the back of the house, where she was gently pushed down onto an Egyptian sofa. When she looked up, a handkerchief scented with Cressida’s favorite lavender water was being waved in front of her face.
“My dear, I think you are out of your depth,” murmured the woman as Cressida cooled her forehead and dabbed the corners of her trembling mouth. “Shall I order a carriage to take you home?”
Go home? Cressida shook her head. How could she go home in this state? She was shaking like a leaf, her mind roiling with images of the naked man she’d just seen and the ecstasy he’d clearly experienced at the hands of... What was Ariane? A woman of the night? Yet she claimed she was this man’s wife. Did that mean that what they shared was sanctioned by the church? Surely not? Ariane had said she was ‘just like her’. Like Cressida, hinting they both were married women sharing a private sadness. No, Cressida had nothing in common with Ariane, and the sooner she was out of this place the better.
There was something ordinary and soothing about the comfortably decorated sitting room.
“Take a few deep breaths and close your eyes for a moment,” said the woman. “It will make you feel much better. Now, look at me.” Her smile took years off her age, her twinkling brown eyes suggesting a surprising depth of insight and intelligence for a woman who lived in such a depraved setting as this.
Cressida her lip and sank against the cushions of the sofa as images of beautiful maidens kissing each other and magnificently muscled men with rampant members chased around her brain.
Her remembered excitement made her curl up inside with guilt.
What had she done? What would Justin think if he knew she’d witnessed such a tableau and...that she’d been excited by it? He’d never look at her the same way. Never touch her...
Enough presence of mind remained for Cressida to understand the irony of such a fear. The way she was conducting herself in this marriage, Justin never was going to touch her.
She had to take matters into her own hands. But how?
“I think, my dear, you did not understand what it meant for you to come to such a place.”
Cressida opened her eyes and found she was staring directly at a pair of once-elegant dancing slippers beneath a cerulean skirt.
Taking in the faded elegance of the woman’s dress, the gray in her jet-black hair and the sympathy of her expression, she questioned her original assumption of this woman’s calling. After all, Cressida was here, in this house, and she wasn’t a...
A what? Her heart seemed to thud to her feet and she looked down.
After what she’d participated in, she didn’t know what she was.
“Who are you—?” she began before halting at the rudeness of such blunt questioning.
“A friend of Mrs. Plumb’s—you may call me Miss Mariah—and this is my drawing room, where you are welcome to remain for as long as you need to.” Miss Mariah rose and came toward her, placing a gentle hand upon Cressida’s shoulder. The sensation that swept over her was completely different to her reaction to Mrs. Plumb. Everything about this woman was motherly. Unthreatening.
“Now, perhaps a little medicinal brandy?” Miss Mariah suggested, moving to a small table by a bookshelf. “You’re shaking like a leaf, and it’ll be an aid to unburdening yourself of your troubles, if nothing else. You would not be in this house with such a look in your eyes if you were free of fear or troubles.”
“Thank you,” Cressida managed through chattering teeth as she accepted a glass. Miss Mariah was right. She was out of her depth, amongst a sophisticated, worldly, depraved crowd—with whom she had nothing in common. In this cheaply decorated house of ill repute, witty conversation and good music were enjoyed and physical attractions acted upon through discreet assignations.
Oh, dear Lord. A fresh tremor of guilt wracked her as she was revisited by the sensations that had gripped her when she’d watched the four lovely women. Envy. Envy that they could enjoy gentle loving without fear of the repercussions. But worse was her reaction when she’d watched Ariane pleasure the man on the bed.
She’d been speared with excitement and, yes, lust as she’d gazed upon the scene and registered the pleasure with which he received Ariane’s ministrations.
Was it possible such things happened in the intimacy of the marital bedroom, too? Justin had never indicated in all their private moments together that there was anything missing in their relations. That there might be more and different acts of pleasure beyond the enjoyable, predictable buildup of sensation she felt prior to his plunging into her.
Planting his seed and leaving her with the consequences. She gasped. Where had such a wicked, disloyal thought come from?
Her companion touched her cheek and, dazed, Cressida looked up into her compassionate eyes.
“Guilt will not help.” Miss Mariah’s look was knowing. “When a woman like you comes to this house, she usually has a good reason.”
Cressida thought of all the other people who’d come to this house. People driven here by their lustful, depraved impulses to find release in sinful pleasures of the flesh. Driven here through... With devastating clarity, truth limned the conclusion of her observation. Driven here through desperation, when the domestic arena failed to satisfy.
She gasped.
Was it any surprise Justin had felt the need to stray? What pleasures did his wife offer him since she had denied him her body? She’d even stopped being affectionate except in the company of the children, too afraid her overtures may lead to the bedroom.
She was dimly conscious of the clink of glass before a second measure of brandy was placed into her hands. And then the question, a gentle enquiry that unleashed a torrent of emotion: “Would you like to tell me who you are looking for?”
How quickly the tears flowed. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Cressida cursed her frail nerves. The past few months seemed to see her lurch from one emotional episode to another.
“My husband,” she whispered through her fingers as she hunched over, covering her face. “I heard he attends Mrs. Plumb’s salons and that he’s”—she sucked in a shaky breath—“taken a mistress.” What did it matter that her dreadful fears were revealed to this stranger? A kind stranger with a motherly touch. Cressida was too distraught for caution. “At first, I didn’t believe it. No.” She drew herself up straight and fixed a defiant stare upon Miss Mariah. “I don’t believe it. Not my husband, who’s shown me nothing but kindness, respect and affection since we met. And yet—”
The specter of what the unknown man in the room beyond had come for, and why—taking his pleasures like an arrogant young god—continued to haunt her. Was that what the men who came here indulged in? Did it really give them pleasure? Cressida had never touched her husband intimately with more than a fleeting, half-accidental caress. She’d allowed him to take control, and although their lovemaking had been wonderful, she’d never in a million years dreamed of taking the initiative in such wanton exploration.
The very idea made her squirm with embarrassment at the same time as her body burned with a slow, intense heat.
She shifted position, unable to look Miss Mariah in the eye.
“You must love your husband very much to come to a place like this if you are the innocent you appear to be,”
remarked her new friend. “I think you are very brave.”
“Or very stupid,” sniffed Cressida looking at her and feeling the truth of her words lie heavily upon her shoulders. “If I’d been a better wife, he’d never have strayed, would he?”
“How like a woman to blame oneself. If your husband has strayed, who has committed the sin?”
Cressida stilled. She’d never thought of it in those terms. Then guilt, a far more loyal companion than she was a wife, washed over her as she blurted out the truth. “The fault is mine since it is I who have denied him his rights.”
“I believe it is an obligation for a husband to learn how to please his wife sufficiently so she does not object so strenuously to doing what the marriage act requires.” Miss Mariah smiled. “There, what a revolutionary notion and yet, anything else is barbarism, surely?” She sighed. “Young women are brought up in ignorance. Yet it is called innocence and it is nurtured. A travesty!” Clearly, Miss Mariah had strong feelings on the subject. Stoutly, she declared, “The fault lies not with the innocent wife but with the husband. You should not fear what is only natural between a man and a woman. An act that can bind two hearts together and underpin a life together of love and tenderness. Very few enjoy such happiness...and yet, it is possible.”
“My husband is one of the kindest and most loving men I know,” Cressida defended him, distraught at having suggested Tristan was anything but.
“You are a loyal wife.” Clearly Miss Mariah misinterpreted Cressida for she went on, “But it is far from unusual for a husband to use the marital chamber for the duties of marriage and to take his pleasures elsewhere.” She patted Cressida’s arm. “You came here to find your husband but perhaps here you will find pleasure, also. Everyone deserves that.”
“It’s not the pleasure but the consequences!” Cressida blurted out.
It was as if a sudden silence descended upon the room. Cressida tensed, shocked at the force of her desperation and the fact she’d admitted it at all; that not only had she admitted to pleasure but that pleasure’s consequences were at the heart of her reluctance to be a good wife. No, a dutiful wife.
The woman put her head on one side, her look of enquiry a potent offering that Cressida unburden herself. But Cressida had gone too far. Her moral fibre was a mere thread and to say more would see even that unravelling. Then what would be left of her?
“I must go.” She started to rise but Miss Mariah stayed her with a hand on her wrist.
“My dear, you’ve only just begun. Stay. It’s the reason you came here. Not only to find your husband but to understand for yourself the source of your torment.”
Cressida sank into her chair again and stared at Miss Mariah. The kindly eyes, the air of safety and lack of judgement she exuded were having a potent effect on her. Whom else could she confide in. And what would be the harm? She certainly couldn’t hint to Justin that was her obligation that drained the joy from her marriage. Not only would that brand her a failure as a wife but as a good, decent and upstanding woman in the eyes of the church and of society. It was all Cressida had ever been trained for.
So, feeling her shoulders slump and staring first at Miss Mariah and then at an incongruous painting of Christ upon the cross that hung behind her left shoulder, she said, “Mama died giving birth to my brother, her sixth child. I’ve had four children in less than eight years...”
She knew her situation was not unusual. Many women had more within that amount of time so why was she complaining? She stopped. It was as if a wellspring of emotion had been tapped. Having started so well, she could now barely get the words out as she hunched over, speaking between sobs. “Each year, I have another child, and each time, it’s been harder. I cannot bear it anymore. I need a rest, yet until this moment, I couldn’t even put my fear into words. No wonder my husband is hurt and confused and—” she gulped, “needing diversion.” For as she said the words, she allowed in just a little more doubt. Justin was the kindest of men and she knew he loved her, but of course even the very best of men needed physical release in a way women did not. Would it be so very surprising if he had come to Mrs. Plumb’s seeking what he could not get at home? Had Cressida any right to despise him if he did? She’d made it so clear she no longer embraced her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin pressed her. She should take the fact he discreetly visited a house of assignation as a sign of his consideration for her and leave it at that. Be satisfied.
But satisfied she was not, and wasn’t that just another reason for her being nothing but a spoiled, cosseted wife who failed to appreciate the great bounties she’d been given.
She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.
Obviously this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cheap perfume and staring at the faded, drawn curtains, wondering if the moon was out and how fast she could be back in the safety of her own home. The room suddenly seemed tawdry and her own little soul dried up and shrivelled. “I’m wicked, I know! You have every right to look at me like I’ve failed my duty. I know what I must do now. I have to win him back. I have to be the wife he wants and needs.” She only realized how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down into her seat. Despite her urgency to leave, Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. It had been a long time since she’d welcomed a comforting touch. She daren’t risk it with Justin. But her resolve was stronger than ever. Closing her eyes, she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”
“My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear.” Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida. And suddenly hope was let in like a ray of sun into her dark, dull mind.
She opened her eyes and stared. Waiting for more. “If you only knew how easy it was to be helped, and yet women like you are kept in ignorance. Truly, you may hold your husband in thrall, or submit, or whatever it is that makes you feel you’re doing your duty, but please understand there is no reason for you to make sacrifices.”
In all her life, Cressida had never discussed the intimacies of marriage. To be able to do so now with a stranger felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife? N o reason to make sacrifices?
Her companion cleared her throat, as if understanding the delicacy her approach required for one of Cressida’s innocence and ignorance. She rose, smoothing her cerulean skirts as she began to pace, biting her lip as if she were contemplating a great conundrum. Cressida followed her with her eyes, tense to hear what she might say.
Miss Mariah turned in the window embrasure. “Lord knows, it’s important enough, but preventing conception is a sin to some and for the rest, not a subject considered appropriate talk between husbands and wives of your station.” She raised her eyes heavenward as if she had her own thoughts on that subject before turning back to look at Cressida. “It would be safe to assume you have not asked your husband to take precautions?”
Cressida gasped. She felt shocked, outraged and embarrassed in equal measure. “Precautions?” For a moment, she grappled with the meaning, much less the concept. “How could I—?”
Smiling, her friend sighed. “Of course not,” she said, grasping the curtain edge. “It is a conversation a man has with his mistress, not his wife. I daresay you do not even know wet nursing your child will lessen the likelihood of conception.”
What words were these? Cressida had no knowledge of the way such matters worked. She’d barely thought to question what she knew would not be forthcoming. A woman’s duty was set in stone and that was that. She frowned and shook her head. “I wanted very much to suckle my children myself,” she said, remembering the pain of the various conversations she’d had with the women in her family. Older women who had strong views on the subject. “M
y mother-in-law told me it was not the role of a woman in my position. She found me a wet nurse, a healthy, kind woman, who has nursed all my children, including little Thomas, our only son, a sickly child who needs all my care.” Her voice broke. “I should be with him now .”
“Little Thomas no doubt has a devoted nursemaid. But, my dear, abstinence is not the only answer. If you still harbor such a tendre for your husband, surely he is sufficiently in tune with your feelings to have remarked upon your withdrawal from the usual intimacies?”
They had ventured too far for Cressida to feel embarrassed. It was even a relief for her to relive her awful exchange with Justin some months before, and again just after, Lady Belton’s ball. “My husband did ask me,” she managed, twisting her hands in her lap, “after yet another of my excuses, whether I was afraid of conceiving a child.”
There was a pause. “And your reply?”
Miserably, Cressida admitted, “I adamantly denied it—”
“Good Lord, child, why? Not every husband shows such a capacity for understanding.”
Even now, Cressida couldn’t quite understand her reasons,
though though of course it had been fueled by fear and obedience as always. Four nights ago had been no different. “Before we married, my mother-in-law told me it was my duty never to question my husband and to deny him nothing. My own family made a point of telling me how fortunate I was that I’d been elevated to such heights and that as a poor parson’s daughter I must always submit else I’d bring shame upon them and upon the great name my children would inherit. Little Thomas is our only son, and being such a sickly child, I was reminded that my chief duty was to ensure more sons in the nursery .”
“But not every year! How many children did you say you had?”
“Four living. A child for almost every year we’ve been married for several did not reach full term. The last birth was very difficult.” She shuddered at the memory. “When he was only a few months old, I started making excuses to my husband each time he —” Dabbing at the fresh tears that ran down her cheeks, Cressida stood up. “What else can I say? I’ve admitted it all! I was a fool to come here. I have friends who have nurseries larger than mine and, no doubt, far more satisfied husbands, so of course mine is perfectly justified—”
Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding Book 3) Page 7