Woman's Own

by Robyn Carr

  “I’m afraid I don’t find it the least pleasing,” she said, feeling the predictable, despicable flush warm her face. But Andrew brought these alarming sensations, and part of the allure was that she knew she was being too daring, ungovernable, treading on forbidden ground. Just looking into his eyes filled her with a panic of desire.

  “I wondered how your studies had been progressing, and now I see that since we last spoke you’ve been led astray. What brought this on?” he asked, lifting the light-weight volume from her lap and reading the title on the deep blue cover. “I suppose it’s a special gentleman.”

  “Hardly that. Curiosity.”

  “Ah. But you’re more inclined to Woodhull and Claflin’s scribbling on spiritualism. Or Fielding. Other women read Godey’s and tear out the fashion plates, Lilly. Not you.”

  She was unsure whether he was disappointed or relieved that she had finally become like other women. What other women? she wanted to ask. “I rather doubt I’m going to get ahead by reading this,” she said morosely.

  “Have you given up your ambitions then?” he asked. He straightened to his full height and held out a hand to help her up. “Tell me.”

  Something tugged at her conscience--she should not be with him. There were her mother’s warnings about the dangers poor girls faced in the company of rich men. His close presence never failed to titillate her, and she knew she was not allowed to be titillated. But she put her hand in his, and they walked.

  “What’s driven you to study domestics, Lilly?”

  “I have no interest in a domestic life, though my sister keeps insisting I will change my mind. I hoped to understand what makes women desire this role.”

  “And?”

  “It is unbearably dull. The entire plan for women must be to remain as stolid as possible, as restricted as fish in a bowl.”

  “Now, can domestics really be so dull as that? What about holding the family together through all sorts of hard times? What about raising a great inventor or the next president of the United States?”

  She gave a little huff of rueful laughter. “Have you ever bothered to look at some of the books or essays written about raising children? A good mother ties the children to the porch post, worries their hides with manners every minute, and teaches them to be still and silent. Having children sounds like a wonderful notion, unless you look at how it is to be properly done. Why, look at me, as an example. Look at the books I would be denied had you not stepped in and spoken on my behalf. And I am not a dowager yet, but I am not a child.”

  “No,” he said, his voice silky, “hardly a child.”

  “Why shouldn’t children be told about cooperative communities, séances, and how apes might have actually preceded men? I told my mother I had a look at Origin of Species, and I thought she might faint! Mrs. Hale says that intellectual discussions are for gentlemen, never during mealtime, and best confined to his study or his club.” She kicked a pebble off the path. “I often suspect that rule protects most men from being discovered to be idiots by their wives.”

  Andrew’s mouth opened and his eyes widened briefly before he let his head fall back in a large and deeply sincere howl of laughter. “My God,” he finally said, “but you’re priceless!”

  “But am I right?”

  “Yes, Lilly, you are indeed!”

  “Then it’s a shame, don’t you think?” she asked very sincerely, her voice a little sad.

  “Yes, Lilly, yes. But some women actually lead very happy lives in the pursuit of good manners and family.”

  “I don’t know of one.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I don’t. Not my mother; she is widowed and works very hard to keep us--her work is her love and a great challenge for her. Not our neighbors; they may be in pursuit of good manners and family happiness, but the screaming from their houses would indicate it’s not going well. Nor the reverend’s wife; her face is so pinched into a grimace she looks as though she’d just eaten a bad pickle. If that’s domestic happiness, why should I want it? I am going to be a miserable hostess. And wife.”

  “I doubt that. You’re very entertaining.”

  “I’m not meant for it, that’s all. I don’t mind domestic work-- Mama taught us early how to cook, clean, sew. But Mama earns her own money and decides how it will be spent. I dread the idea that someone might tell me what to talk about, what to read, how to spend my time and money. What if there is no challenge for me, Andrew? What if I’m expected to remain still and quiet and dull?”

  “Surely not, Lilly. What man in his right mind would not want you for yourself?”

  “Every one, I promise you!”

  “Lilly, no--”

  “Mrs. Hale says men are to restrain themselves from all manner of affectionate behavior. How in the world is a woman like me to choose a man when all I want is one who--” She stopped herself. An affectionate man? A passionate man...like Andrew? Somehow his simplest comment could bring the most personal responses from her.

  “Perhaps you should rely on Mrs. Hale’s expertise in table manners and trust your heart for the rest.”

  “My heart?” she laughed. “My heart just isn’t in it at all,” she confided honestly. “My sister has proclaimed me hopeless and destined to be an old spinster!”

  “Are there no young gentlemen at all?”

  “Not a one! They’re all so boring!”

  “But one will come along to change your mind.”

  “But don’t you see? That’s what I’m waiting for! Not a man, but something, maybe an essay, that will show me the virtue in living a quiet and mannerly life.”

  “You won’t find that in a book, Lilly,” he said, laughing. “You’re looking in all the wrong places.” When he looked down at her, she noticed his cheeks were lightly flushed, as if he’d been sailing, and she wondered about his life, what he did for work, for fun. But she was afraid to know very much about him; knowledge of his life could only widen the gap between their worlds.

  His eyes became intense, serious as he looked into hers. “You really don’t know, do you, Lilly?” he asked, his voice soft.

  “No, I--”

  “Let’s hire a coupe, Lilly,” he suggested. “Come for a turn around the square with me.”

  “Would that be proper?” she asked, though acceptance was on her lips.

  “Now Lilly, you’re bored with propriety, and you’ll be completely safe with me. Come along, we’ll find a lot of them setting up in front of the theater.”

  “But why?”

  “We’ll have a frank discussion about domestics and what drives women to it.”

  “Well…”

  “There’s my adventuress! Lilly, I find it difficult to believe you’re not being chased by every young man in Philadelphia. Some bad fellow will come along and turn your head away from the scientists and philosophers. And I’ll come looking for you in the park, and you will have given me up.”

  No, she wanted to say. No, never. There could never be a man to replace him. Never. He led her across the square where a number of brown coupes were lined up. She felt an odd shiver run through her at the thought of being alone with him in a closed carriage, but instead of finding the feeling fearful, it was delicious.

  When he helped her into the coupe, she felt a moment’s hesitation, but stronger still was her craving for intrigue. It was a very strange mixture of apprehension and pure delight. She tried to remind herself that despite their many conversations, he was still a stranger, but one whose knowledge, worldliness, and mysterious allure she wished to grasp. A voice within her warned, that voice sounding remarkably like her mother’s, but Lilly was not afraid.

  He sat beside her in the coach, twisting on the seat to face her. He pulled her hand into both of his. “Now, you have curiosity about what compels women to sacrifice their independence for a life of domestics. Correct?”

  “Yes, but,” she began, noticing that her voice had become smaller, “I think I know what compels some of them.
I don’t know what makes them welcome it.”

  Andrew laughed, shaking his head. “Exactly, Lilly. I flatter myself that you consider me a good friend, and a good friend would let you in on the secret. A secret that’s not very well kept, as a matter of fact.”

  She’d never had a friend like this! Was he so bored that she had the power to entertain him with her choice of readings? Was he so unfulfilled that her interest flattered him? Friendship? If it were not such a ridiculous notion, she could admit that she wanted far more than friendship from him. But that was absurd.

  “Interested?” he asked.

  She nodded, but slowly. She was so lost in his handsome features that she didn’t realize she bit her bottom lip.

  “Lilly, do you find me attractive enough so far as men go?”

  Her cheeks darkened to the shade of good wine. She had never known so handsome a man! Her voice was lost for a moment, but when it did emerge, it had changed to a squeak. “I…I…yes, I suppose so. But--”

  “I want to kiss you, Lilly. Now, a kiss is more than just the meeting of lips. It must be done with the heart and mind. A kiss from me isn’t likely to do anything for you if you don’t like me, trust me, and find me somewhat appealing.”

  “But…why would you want to?”

  “No matter what Mrs. Hale says, if you don’t feel something special when you’re kissed, you will be perfectly miserable as a wife. I promise.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely, Lilly. Have you ever seen a picture of Mrs. Hale? How dare the woman speak of affection! Why do you think she’s so square-faced and miserable looking? She’s never been shown any affection, and she’s a jealous old biddy.”

  Lilly laughed in spite of herself, but nervously.

  “Just think of it as part of your study, Lilly. And if it is meaningless to you, I stand corrected!”

  All she knew of kissing was what she had read in her sister’s journal! She swallowed hard, praying Patricia was wrong. Her heart raced ahead of the clip-clopping of the horses that pulled them.

  “There’s always the driver, should you become worried.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “The driver.”

  “Close your eyes, Lilly.” Before doing so, she searched his face for a moment to judge whether there was evil or even carelessness there. She felt instead a brazen desire for his lips, and it grew within her. How do women function, she wondered, when filled with this giddiness, this unsteadiness? How had Patricia neglected telling this part of it? She slowly let her eyes close and heard his voice. “There’s my lass. Now, don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.

  “It is all in what is felt, Lilly. Here is my hand,” he said, and she felt his warm palm against her cheek, his fingertips touched her hair at her temple. “And don’t speak, Lilly, just allow yourself to become accustomed to this first touch which is barely a touch at all, it is so gentle.”

  Soft and sweet and delicate. His thumb moved along her jaw, and she was aware of a callus on his palm, a rough place along his thumbnail, but in all his hand was velvety smooth and well cared for. She leaned against his palm in mindless trust.

  His other hand touched her other cheek; the soft caress lulled her. His hands were caring, tender. First touch, she thought distractedly. So pure. So subtle.

  “My breath,” he said, his mouth very close to hers but not touching. “Feel my breath touch your skin.” His lips lingered over hers, and the sensation was so new and startling that she almost withdrew, then she realized that his breath, like his fingertips, caressed.

  “The touch of my hands, the warmth of breath against your mouth and skin, and the sound of my voice must have appeal. But more important than the sound are the words, chosen for you and you alone. And the way the words are said; they must be precious words, and true. Do you know, my Lilly, how beautiful you are? How wondrous? Delicate but strong. Tender of heart, yet courageous of spirit.” His voice had dropped to a whisper, a husky and seductive male scratching that could barely be heard above the sound of clopping horses and wheels turning against the stones in the cobbled drive, yet a voice that roared louder than a waterfall inside her brain because it was laced with secrecy and sincerity. “I think I have never known a woman lovelier, more enticing than you, Lilly.”

  A young girl’s first words of seduction and she felt a sultry kind of smoldering begin inside her as she listened, wishing these words said of her to be true.

  “My face against yours,” he said, and she felt the coarseness of his clean-shaven cheek against hers. His words were like soft sand against her ear, his breath tangy and pleasant.

  “Don’t think about what you feel, Lilly. Just let yourself feel whatever is natural, and if anything in my voice or my touch makes you feel peculiar or afraid, pull away from me. My only desire is to bring you pleasure so delicious that you will glow from the memory of it.”

  Lighter than air was the swirl of longing she felt embrace her, enclosing her in a dream softer than a cloud yet more violent than a thunderhead. She wished for the passion to build and culminate while she hoped, at the very same moment, that this tranquil, rocking ecstasy would never cease.

  “Lilly, lovely Lilly. Feel my lips. Here,” he said, moving his cheek just enough so that his lips brushed lightly against her temple. “And again,” he said, his lips falling to her cheekbone. “And here,” he murmured, dropping his lips to the corner of her mouth so lightly that his mustache left a lingering tickle there. She felt a shiver of excitement and hungered for more, for a deeper taste.

  “I’m going to embrace you, Lilly, so that I can draw you nearer. I want you to feel comfort, trust…and desire,” he said, pressing his mouth to one corner of hers, then the other.

  Lilly nearly swooned. She did not think about what she was doing as her hands gently slid up against his arms and she tentatively squeezed. The desire, growing and growing, seemed deeply rooted in her groin. She became aware of her body in ways that were new --an aching in her nipples, a pulling in her secret place where a man puts his seed. For a moment she had an understanding of coupling; this must be what a woman feels when she longs to pull a man inside her own body. The emotion that accompanied these physical sensations was strong enough to make her shout--or cry.

  “Feel my lips here,” he said, moving them gently across her mouth. “You need not keep your lips tightly closed--lips pliant and trusting and willing need not be braced against assault. There is so much more to a kiss than lips, Lilly. A kiss is best done with the heart.”

  And then he gently pulled at her lips with his. She felt his teeth delicately nip, peculiar yet oddly natural. She had never considered this, but of course it was right. And then his tongue gently outlined her lips, probing the place where they were joined. She let him open her lips. And she gently caressed his arms. She was so weak with desire that she could feel her pulse beat in her temples.

  She was won, she was his. His coaxing, his tantalizing invitation, so skilled and experienced, was victorious. She was filled with sensual stirring that had no physical meaning for her, even though it was all physical. She thought love, love, love. She welcomed him, all of him. He nibbled, pulled, tasted.

  “Now, Lilly, I’m going to kiss you very gently. Just allow…” And she felt the soft press of his lips, a gentle movement of his mouth over hers. His tongue touched her lips. “And again, very softly.”

  Her head tipped back as she met his kiss; she welcomed the added pressure. His lips, on hers in moist command, whispered, “You may hold me, Lilly, for I am going to hold you. And if your heart tells you it is right, you shall have your kiss.”

  Right. Nothing in her life had ever been more right. Nothing in memory had been more luxurious, more thrilling, more consuming. Her arms went around him to pull him closer, to hold him against her heart, to invite him into her soul. And she welcomed his mouth, open now, soft and warm and powerful, taking control of every feeling she had ever had. Her chest, pressed hard against his, hungered to be touc
hed harder still, and she didn’t know whether she clutched at him or he clutched her. Her tongue joined his willingly in play. Beneath her fingers she felt his shoulders, hard and wide, and within the depth of her mouth she could taste him, a taste new and bold, the tangy yet sweet nectar of man that caused a wondrous aching to wrap itself around her and squeeze, strangely blissful pain that filled her up inside, drew her tight in her very center. She embraced him fiercely, so close that not a gasp could separate them. Her mouth demanded much of his--pulling, pushing, tasting, molding, searching, delivering her away from curiosity and straightaway into knowledge. Never leave me. Never let me go. Never.

  This was not the kind of kiss a boy stole behind the house. It was a man’s kiss, filling, tempting, and perturbing her body to want more. For a long, long time they were embraced, their mouths moving together in a lovely tug of war.

  Then she felt his embrace slacken, the power waning, with the same finesse he had used to conquer her lips, he slowly began to retreat, withdraw, placing a light tongue here, there, a little nibble, a slight tugging, until she was free and could no longer feel his breath or his hands. She had never felt so alone.

  “Open your eyes, Lilly,” he gently entreated.

  She felt as though she were just waking up. He produced a handkerchief, which he used to dab at her lips, wiping away the moisture from his kiss. She was breathless, speechless, fulfilled in one way and shattered in another. Does one become more insensible with practice? she wondered.

  “Lilly?” he whispered. “What did you think, Lilly?”

  In a moment she became aware of the coupe again, the sounds of the horses and wheels, the rocking and squeaking. He was not nearly so disgruntled as she, but he frowned slightly. Had she somehow disappointed him? “Shall…shall we be trying it again?”

  His eyes grew dark, perhaps sad. “I think not, my lovely Lilly. It would be wrong for me to be tempted beyond your lips. It is one of my greatest disappointments that you are not for me. But if you will have me for a friend, I would be honored.”