Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  Christopher had made it clear that he expected her to be willing, which would be no hardship. He had mentioned having her on her back, and she imagined what it would be like, lying open under her husband's body as he thrust inside her. The thought made her cheeks warm with a combination of embarrassment and arousal. To cover it, she took a sip of wine.

  She didn't say a word during dinner, but afterwards, Julia bounced from her seat, took Katerina's arm and hurried her into the parlor for a cup of tea and some serious conversation.

  * * *

  Christopher and his father remained at the table for glasses of port.

  “What have you done, son?” Adrian asked without preamble, his voice grim with concern.

  “What I had to do,” Christopher replied.

  “Why did you have to?” Adrian pressed.

  Christopher shook his head. “There was no choice. She might not have survived another beating. The one she endured was bad enough. And it wasn't the first by any means.”

  “I know. Do you really think such a terribly abused woman is going to be a satisfying wife?”

  Father knows how to ask the difficult questions.

  He responded with one of his own. “Do you really think I would be able to live with myself if she were murdered because I didn't act when I had the chance? Listen, Father, I know what you mean. It is terribly daunting. But she wants to heal, to be well. She wants to be a good wife. She has promised to try. Do you think there is no hope?”

  Adrian shook his head. “Hard to say. She's young. Hopefully, her fearfulness is not set into her for life. Perhaps she can overcome it in time, with your help.”

  Christopher nodded once. “That's my wish. There is a great deal of evidence to suggest she wants to be healthy, to be a happy wife and a well-loved one. I know it will take time, but I'm willing to work through this with her.”

  Adrian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “How on earth did you get to such a place? You barely know this girl.”

  “I realize that. I didn't want to do it this way. The initial attraction was… very nice, promising. I wanted to get to know her slowly, court her, marry her when the time was right, maybe in a year or so,” Christopher explained.

  “That would have been the better way,” his father said dryly, one eyebrow winging toward his hairline.

  “It couldn't be,” Christopher insisted. “I know she looks all right now, but you should have seen her yesterday. You should see what's under her dress. He damn near killed her, Father. I'm not exaggerating that it was a matter of life and death. The beating she took to the belly alone could have been fatal, not to mention if one of the wounds on her back festered…” Christopher shuddered.

  “She does not look all right now,” Adrian retorted. “She looks injured.”

  “She is,” Christopher agreed, “but she's better than yesterday.”

  Adrian frowned.

  You can't hide it, you tender-hearted old man. It bothers you too. Where do you think I learned my virtues from?

  Then, with a sigh and shudder, Adrian shook off his dark contemplation. “Well, I can see there's no undoing it. You're married. And, from the way you look at her, I would guess, fully consummated as well.”

  Christopher met his father's eyes with a challenging stare. “Yes.”

  “So, there's nothing to do but move forward. How do you plan to turn a rescue into a marriage?” his father asked him, unfazed by his son's aggression.

  With a sigh, Christopher flopped back against the chair. His port sloshed in the glass. “I'm not really sure.” That sense of bewilderment he'd experienced earlier washed back over him. He took a sip of his drink and added, “I would appreciate some advice.”

  Adrian thought for a moment and then compressed his lips. “I don't know if I have any to give. I've no experience with this kind of situation. It seems to me that gratitude is not enough of a basis for a vital relationship.”

  “No. I don't want us to remain mired in this sorrow forever.”

  “Naturally.” Adrian pondered some more. “This thought occurred to me. She's certainly not used to expressing her feelings or asking for what she wants, so you run the risk of developing congenial parallel lives that really don't touch each other.”

  “How dreadful. I don't want that. How do I become… real to her?” He had been toying moodily with his glass, but now he met his father's eyes.

  “I don't know,” his father replied, blunt always. “I suppose you're going to have to spend a great deal of time observing her closely. She won't ask for anything, so you have to figure out what she needs. It will be difficult, but if you don't do it, I'm rather sure she will withdraw from you and just live inside herself for the rest of her life. You'll need to draw her out gently and slowly, so she doesn't panic. In short, son, you've undertaken a monumental task. I hope you're up to the challenge.”

  Christopher rolled his eyes toward heaven. “So do I, Father.”

  Chapter 9

  “You're not upset, are you, Mrs. Bennett?” Katerina asked as she settled, facing outward, onto the bench of the harpsichord in the Bennetts' music room. The white instrument with ornate carved legs and painted lid had been a legacy from Adrian's grandmother. This room is my favorite in the house, the one where I feel most comfortable. It's a woman's room. Here she had entertained her new mother-in-law and Mrs. Turner only a few days ago on this very instrument.

  “Upset, Katerina?” her mother-in-law replied, settling herself on the settee. “About what? And please do not call me Mrs. Bennett. It's your name too now, my dear. I'm either Julia or Mother to you.”

  “Mother, then,” she said, pleased by the smile her words elicited. “About Christopher and me getting married without consulting you.”

  “Oh, no,” Julia cried, gesturing with her teacup and sloshing a little tea onto her dress. “I'm upset you had a… crisis. I was afraid something like this might happen. I hate how badly you've been hurt, but I'm delighted you're finally safe, my dear. I wanted this for you, for both of you. I think, once you've recovered from your ordeal a bit, you and Christopher will be excellent together. I do wish there had been time for us to talk a little, before the actual… marriage took place. I assume you're… fully married at this point?”

  Katerina colored. “Yes.”

  Julia nodded. “Good. Did you know what to expect?”

  The burn in her cheeks intensified. “Not at all, but Christopher got me through the process well enough.”

  “Oh dear. I imagine that was awkward.” Mrs. Bennett's lips twisted at the thought.

  “Yes.” And so is this line of questioning. Please, don't carry on.

  Julia, it seemed, was not finished, though she hesitated before asking, “Was it… all right?”

  Katerina nodded, her hands pressed to her cheeks. “I didn't hate it.”

  “Good. That's a good start. Husbands like it very much. It's good if their wives do too.”

  I don't want to talk about this anymore. “This is a very uncomfortable conversation.”

  “You're right,” Mrs. Bennett agreed, though her own porcelain cheeks remained uncolored by any discomfort she might have been feeling. “But you don't have a mother, and I want to be sure, since you're embarking on married life, that you understand what is needed. Do you have any questions?”

  Katerina thought for a moment. “How do I fall in love with my husband?”

  Julia blinked in surprise, and then a wide grin split her face. “What an excellent question, love. Here's what you do. First, don't rush yourself. You have a lot to get past before you can be open with anyone. But while you're healing, look at your husband. Every man has good and bad qualities. You need to understand the bad ones, how you feel about them, so you won't be surprised by them. And then you need to see what is good about Christopher, glory in it. Roll his goodness around yourself like a blanket until you feel warm and safe and happy with him.”

  “I already do,” she r
eplied. And with every act of kindness he performs, almost without thought, I feel it more.

  “Do you?” Mrs. Bennett beamed. “Excellent. Keep doing it. And if you sometimes have to retreat, to pull back, don't fret. You can always return. A setback is not a defeat, and even the healthiest couples have them. Learning to make one out of two is difficult, but if you make yourself open to it, if you learn to trust, eventually you will succeed.”

  “I feel like I'm taking terrible advantage of him,” Katerina admitted.

  Mrs. Bennett dismissed the question with another wave of the teacup. This time the liquid remained inside. “You're not. Every man wants to be his lady's hero. He's fortunate; he's already yours. Isn't he, Katerina?”

  “Oh yes. He saved my life,” she replied fervently.

  Her mother-in-law set the cup in a saucer, so she could continue gesturing safely. “He did. Now you dedicate your life to pleasing him, and I'll encourage him to do the same for you.”

  “Oh, he can't do any more for me,” Katerina protested. “It's too much already.”

  “And you really think this one kind act is enough to sustain you for a lifetime?”

  She nodded.

  Mrs. Bennett gave her a sad, kind look. “It isn't. He wants to give you more. Let him. Let him fall in love with you too. You really are worthy of it, you know.”

  The conversation ended there because the men joined them. Christopher and his parents chatted easily for a short time. Katerina was content to observe, learning to understand her new family.

  “Well dear ones, I think we should host a reception in honor of this marriage,” Julia said at length. “I understand why such a small wedding was necessary, but there should still be a celebration.”

  Katerina swallowed hard. A party in her honor sounded like… a nightmare. She hated people staring at her. She looked at her mother-in-law with panicky eyes.

  Mrs. Bennett read the expression easily. “What, dear, don't you want a party?”

  “No thank you,” Katerina replied, desperately trying to sound calm. “You needn't go to all the trouble.”

  “It would be no trouble,” her mother-in-law assured her. “I enjoy planning parties.”

  She's not understanding. “Please. You don't need to do that.”

  “Mother, listen. She's telling you no.” Christopher said. “Kat, you can say no to my mother. No one will be upset. Tell her what you want.”

  Katerina shook her head. This is already too much attention. She closed her eyes for a moment, blocking everyone out. Christopher noticed her increasing discomfort, and pulled her into his embrace, letting her hide her face on his shoulder.

  “Looks like we've had enough togetherness for one day. We'll be back soon, I promise. Come on, love, it's time to go. The cab should be back any minute.”

  She nodded against his shirt, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes.

  He helped her to her feet, and she suppressed a groan as her muscles and skin stretched. I sat too long. Opening her eyes as they began moving toward the door, she saw Julia regarding her with a worried expression, Adrian with an unreadable one. Focused on her own discomfort, she didn't spare much thought for either one.

  Christopher escorted his bride outside. Katerina inhaled deep breaths of icy air as the breeze teased her borrowed clothing and cooled her overheated cheeks. She shivered. Christopher tightened his arms around her. She drew herself inward, blocking out sight but listening to the soft murmur of wind through fabric, the groaning of naked branches. The symphony of nature sufficed to soothe her better than any spoken reassurance. Especially if it involves Christopher's arms around me.

  A distant clatter of hooves and jingle of reins cut into the quiet as the hansom approached. With a crunch of wheels, the conveyance stopped along the curb.

  “Come on, love,” Christopher urged, moving her toward the hansom and helping her into the seat. As they progressed back towards Christopher's lodgings, a burning shame fell on Katerina.

  “I'm sorry,” she said softly.

  “For what?” he asked, puzzled.

  “I ruined your evening.” She swallowed hard at the admission.

  “How?” he replied, clearly not understanding her.

  Maybe, since he doesn't follow, it really wasn't a problem? But she explained anyway “I'm such a rabbit. I have no courage. I can't even hold a normal conversation.”

  “I understood,” his arm snaked behind her back, “and I'm not upset. Mother should have known better. You hate to be the center of attention, don't you?”

  “Yes.”

  Christopher contemplated. “Is attention a threat? If someone notices you, they might realize you've made some kind of mistake and tell your father?”

  Is that why I don't like crowds? Because I don't know what they're going to do? “You may be right. I've never thought about it.”

  He pulled her closer. She rested her head on his shoulder. “But everyone was looking when you played. Why was that different?”

  More questions. He certainly wants very badly to understand. It's a pity I don't know the answers well myself. She considered. “I've been playing for Father's friends forever. I'm used to it.”

  “I see. Well,” he continued, returning to the point, “we don't have to have a party. There's no great reason for it if you don't want one. But it's going to be important for you to work on telling people what you want. Don't hint quite so subtly my dear. It's hard to understand.”

  “Sorry.” Her shame increased.

  “No, don't be sorry.” He caressed her cheek, wanting to soothe her. “It's not a judgment, just a suggestion. One step towards your new life as the happy and confident Mrs. Christopher Bennett.”

  She smiled ruefully. “That sounds good. Um, Christopher, do you think it's too late for me to have a bath when we get back?”

  “No, it's not that late really. Why?” he asked.

  Ah good, an easy question. “I'm stiffening. A hot bath really helps.”

  His arm around her tensed. “Certainly, you may.”

  “Thank you.”

  “In the meanwhile, love, are you cold? Be honest.”

  “Yes.” As though her teeth weren't chattering audibly in the frigid interior of the cab.

  “Then come over here and let me warm you.”

  She scooted onto his lap and he embraced her, his arms resting lightly on her back. “Does this hurt?”

  She considered the sensation of pressure against bruises and scars but discerned no discomfort. “No.”

  “Truly?” He looked deep into her face as though testing her honesty.

  “Truly. It's fine.”

  “Good.” His gaze fell to her lips. “Would you like a kiss?”

  “Yes, please,” she agreed eagerly.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, touching her lips with the tip of his tongue and asking her to open. She did, and he treated her to a long round of passionate loving inside her mouth.

  The cab pulled to a stop outside the hotel and Christopher reluctantly released his wife's lips, paid the fare, and escorted her back to his rooms, ringing for a bath. Soon a portable tub filled with steaming water and Epsom salt filled up nearly all the available space in the sitting room, awaiting Katerina's sore body. All the furniture had been shoved into the corners to make room for the supposedly portable slipper bath, and the curl of lilac-scented steam coiled itself around her, making her shiver. She could hardly wait, but her borrowed dress had complicated fastenings, and she needed another set of hands to open them. Christopher, naturally, looked delighted at the thought of undressing her again.

  “You know,” he told her, looking at the tub, “I would love to share a bath with you.”

  She considered the possibilities and her cheeks began to burn. “Is that done?”

  “Certainly, if you want,” he replied, unflustered by the intimate thing he was requesting.

  “I don't know.” Her dithering was wasting the heat, but what could she say?

  He s
eemed to sense her discomfort. “Tell the truth. Do you want me to be here, or do you want some privacy?”

  She closed her eyes. “Privacy,” she more mouthed than said.

  He nodded, a little crestfallen but neither angry nor surprised. “That's fine, I'll wait in the bedroom. You enjoy your bath. I'm so proud of you for saying what you want.” He kissed her gently and left her in peace.

  Thank the Lord he's gone. At last, she could do what she needed. Stripping off her borrowed chemise, she sank into the water. Heaven. The salt stung on her cuts, but it also soothed her bruises and knots and the dainty injury her husband had inflicted between her legs.

  As the pain and tension faded, her body relaxed, and it was a powerful relaxation the likes of which she could scarcely remember ever feeling before. She began, in some small part of herself, to understand what safe meant. Safe. Without warning the cry that had been threatening for the last several hours breached her defenses and she sobbed. It felt marvelous to release it.

  “Kat?” Christopher knocked on the door, “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

  Did she want his soothing? No. I want to work through this alone.

  “No,” she called back in a wavery voice. “Nothing.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind, you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  He left her alone. Finally. I don't know how much longer I could have held on. With a relieved groan, she sank into the water until only her face remained above the surface and let herself cry. Giving herself over to the power of her raw emotions, she allowed the overwhelming whirlwind of grief, fear, sorrow and confusion wash over her. As she wept, she realized it wasn't enough to fix her for good, but it was enough for today. Long minutes she gave to the catharsis until she felt… washed clean. I'm embarking on a new life, with new opportunities. I can make myself into whatever I want to be, learn new reactions and new habits.