Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

“Yes,” he agreed, grimacing at the sight of the blood-soaked mess of fabric.

  What to do? She had nothing else to put on. “I'm sadly lacking in undergarments. In everything really.”

  “What about at… your father's house?” Christopher asked.

  I'll go naked before I set foot in that hell hole again. “There are some, but I don't fancy going after them. Besides, after you dismissed him, he probably did something rash, like burn them.”

  Christopher rolled his eyes heavenward. “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. As she was tall for a woman, it fluttered around her mid thighs, but it was enough, barely, for decency. Christopher took her hand and led her out of the bedchamber and into to the front room, where he summoned his housekeeper.

  Mrs. Bristol flitted around the room, scowling at the slovenly mess Christopher had made on and around the coffee table. “Your man should be fired.”

  “He's been on holiday,” Christopher explained. “I believe he got back last night. This is all my doing.”

  She glared at him and he held up his hands in mute apology. The pseudo-serious pantomime shattered when both of them broke into laughter. Mrs. Bristol, in particular, laughed so hard her whole body shook, sending her white side-curls dancing. The plump, smiling woman put Katerina instantly at ease, despite the fact that she was standing in front a total stranger wearing her husband's shirt, which covered her only to mid-thigh, and nothing underneath.

  Christopher settled down to business. “Mrs. Bristol, this is my wife, Katerina Bennett. 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,” the woman replied as she shook Katerina's hand. “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 explained. “I'll be thankful for whatever I can get.”

  “Just a moment. I'll be right back.”

  A short time later she fluttered into the room with a pile of garments: a white nightgown, a clean linen chemise, threadbare but serviceable pantalets and two dresses. Katerina nodded in gratitude. “Thank you so much.”

  “You don't need a corset, you're so slender,” the woman said.

  Katerina smiled. “I wouldn't be able to fasten it anyway. Just a moment.” She hurried into the bedroom and emerged a short time later, comfortably clad in the undergarments and one of the dresses, all unfastened down the back. Mrs. Bristol circled her to help.

  “Dear Lord, child, what happened to you?”

  Drat, Katerina cursed in her mind, realizing the oversized chemise had dipped too low, revealing scars. She closed her eyes in shame.

  Christopher gave the housekeeper a hard look. “I already told you.”

  “You're a very good man, Mr. Bennett,” Mrs. Bristol said fervently.

  “He certainly is,” Katerina agreed.

  “Won't it hurt you if I fasten this?” Mrs. Bristol asked, and her kindness brought tears to Katerina's eyes.

  “Maybe, but it needs to be done.” She controlled her desire to wince as Mrs. Bristol bustled around tightening the tapes until the garment lay in position on her slender body. It does no good to make others suffer with me, she reminded herself each time a bruise or cut began to throb. When Katerina's clothes had settled around her body, covering the scars and lending her a semblance of normalcy, the housekeeper smiled sadly at her and left, scrubbing her cheeks and muttering under her breath.

  Kind woman. I pray she receives a blessing for her help today. Then Katerina continued her preparations on her own. There didn't seem to be a hairbrush anywhere in the apartment, so she 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 her hair 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 lay against her head, smooth and plain.

  She struggled into her boots, groaning as she bent forward, and the scabs stretched.

  “Do you need any help, love?” Christopher asked, hurrying towards her.

  She waved him away. “The scabs feel solid today, and I didn't want to risk the new scars on my back becoming too rigid as they form. This discomfort is necessary, I'm afraid,” she informed him.

  A strange blend of understanding and anger crossed Christopher's face. “I see,' he said.

  She sent him a rueful smile and returned to tugging her boot laces. Then she tried to rise, but a jolt of pain locked her into a bent-over position, like a crone.

  This time she did reach out to her husband, and he helped her to rise without complaint, taking advantage of her proximity to lay his hands gently on her hips and kiss her forehead. Katerina regarded his face for a long moment.

  Christopher shook his head. “I can't resist you, love.” His lips claimed hers. Pleasurable heat flared in Katerina's core, radiating outward to her extremities. If their stomachs hadn't growled in tandem right at that moment, who knew what kind of shenanigans they might have incited.

  Christopher smiled ruefully with one side of his mouth, and Katerina compressed her lips in a comparable expression. Then he took her arm and led her from the room. Being on the ground floor is sometimes seen as less desirable, but today I'm glad of it. Stairs sound unpleasant at the moment. They stepped into the growing darkness as a brilliant orange sunset broke over London.

  A hansom waited in the street, and Christopher escorted her to it, handing her up into the seat. She groaned and bit her lip at the uncomfortable movement but reminded herself of the importance of remaining flexible. When her husband joined her, she slipped her hand into his. The driver snapped the reins on the bay gelding and they began their journey across town. In the chilly half-light, Katerina considered her circumstances. 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 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 seemed so steady.

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

  While they traveled, Christopher engaged her in conversation, asking, “Now then, love, clearly we can't stay in my cramped lodgings for long. How would you like to live? Do you prefer rooms in a hotel or a house?”

  Katerina blinked at yet another new and unfamiliar thought. “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?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She swallowed at the memory of the cavernous space. Sounds echoed there, making it nearly impossible for her to keep her location secret. I didn't like that. Carefully choosing her words, she said, “There are only two of us. I think I would like a house. Perhaps a row house?” she paused while thoughts bounced around her head and finally settled into a coherent idea. “Not too large, please.”

  “Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

  She struggled to put her fear into words an utterly confident, unabused man could understand. “It's helpful for me to know where everyone is. The more space we have, the harder i
t will be to keep track of all the rooms.”

  “Is it so you know where not to be?” he guessed.

  “Precisely,” she replied.

  “You don't need that anymore, you know,” Christopher pointed out.

  She nodded. He's right. And yet the fear refused to leave her.

  She could feel his gaze on her profile. “All right, Katerina. Tell me what you're thinking.”

  I suppose I didn't suppress my feelings well enough.

  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 disarmed her. 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.”

  He treated her to a rueful smile. “You're right. I'm sorry I second-guessed you. I think a modest 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 a blessing. 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?” Her eyes widened in surprise. Does he actually mean to consult me about the choice?

  “Naturally. 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.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious.

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

  “Are you real, Christopher?” she asked, bowled over by her husband's generosity.

  “What on earth do you mean?” He looked at her in consternation.

  “You seem too good to be true,” she said simply, closing her fingers tighter around his as though fearing he would disappear if she let him go.

  Even in the shadowy interior of the cab, she could see his cheeks darken. “I'm not. I'm just an ordinary man. Nothing at all out of the common way.” 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.” Knowing that and living it are two different things, but I do know it.

  “I'm not too good to be true. I have a number of bad habits,” he admitted.

  “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 frisson of fear clenched her belly. “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 Christopher on the cheek. The look he turned on her simmered with possessive heat. You're mine, it seemed to say, and I intend to claim you over and over until all other claims fall away. She shivered, but not with fear for once.

  “I also have a strong appetite for lovemaking. I hope you're prepared for it.” His lighthearted tone gave way to an intensity that matched his expression.

  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 felt perfectly willing, though the thought did make her cheeks color a bit.

  “Yes, I think I could try it again,” Katerina said, biting her lower lip, “though perhaps tomorrow night. The ache is still quite strong.”

  He patted her hand. “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, issuing 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 to shield her from the cold.

  An elderly gentleman answered his knock.

  “Good evening, Tibbins,” Christopher said, treating the servant with a courtesy normally due to a social equal. “Are my parents in?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied. “They're in the music room this evening.”

  “Very good. And how are your knees?” His concern further astonished his bride. If this is how he treats servants, maybe I really am safe.

  “Fine. Better actually thank you. Tonight, it's my arm that hurts.” He clutched his withered bicep in one trembling hand and dug in the fingers.

  “Heavens, we can't have that. Take care of yourself,” Christopher insisted.

  “I'll do that, sir, and thank you.”

  Now that they had found shelter from the biting wind, Christopher took Katerina's arm properly. Though she knew the layout well enough, having visited the sizeable house on more than one occasion, she allowed her husband to steer her. Her mind focused on the meeting, on worrying over the reaction of her dear friend to the rash and impulsive decision she'd just made. Christopher led her to a familiar room and opened the door. 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, jumping from her seat and hurrying forward to greet the new arrivals. “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 to be sure we are all in agreement about how to proceed.” He squeezed Katerina's fingers gently, as though sending a silent message.

  “What do you mean, son?” Adrian asked, eyebrows like storm clouds.

  “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?”

  What on earth is he doing? Katerina wondered.

  “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 nodded, his expression serious.

  Katerina's cheeks colored. So, everyone knows? I don't like that. And this conversation is 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.”

  Though her friend's kindness made Katerina want to weep, she swallowed the urge and replied in a calm voice, “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 returned the embrace and again tears threatened. Julia smelled and felt like a mother – like the mother Katerina had lost a decade before. Then the embracing arms compressed a sensitive spot and an agonized squeak crept past Katerina's defenses. As she breathed deeply trying to dispel the pain, she could feel Adrian's curious stare from across the room.

  “What's wrong?” Julia asked.

  Katerina exhaled. “Well, there was a crisis, just as Christopher said. That was why we needed to act so quickly.”

  “Are you injured?” Warm dark eyes searched hers.

  “Yes,
but I'm healing,” Katerina replied, trying to ignore the throbbing in her back.

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

  It was more than Katerina had expected, her throat burned, but she suppressed it. There would be need of more tears, 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 turned to regard 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 and lacing their fingers together. He's possessive of her in a way that speaks of intimacy. Looks as though the deed is done, so there will be no chance of an annulment. He hoped Christopher was prepared for the problems sure to come from marrying such a woman.

  * * *

  But now, dinner time had arrived. Adrian requested two extra plates be set and the couples made their way to the dining room for soup followed by a succulent roast beef with vegetables. Katerina was so hungry she ate surprisingly well, and as she did, it struck her how unusual it was for her to have such an appetite. Normally, she picked at her food, since dining with her father inevitably proved to be a stressful experience. As the wine flowed freely, weakening his already precarious control, the danger increased. Taking the time to savor a meal had always been unthinkable. She could not remember a time when she had. But though this setting felt almost as nerve-wracking, trying to heal from her wounds, along with the turmoil of the hurried wedding and physical exertion of her first sexual experience, she could not deny her appetite.

  As she sat at the table, trying to make herself chew slowly and not gobble her dinner, she realized the pain in her backside had significantly decreased. Thank heaven. Bruises healed faster than cuts but sitting on them was deeply unpleasant. Her internal soreness was fading as well and was quickly being replaced by a hint of curiosity. We'll be trying `it' again soon, I'm sure.