The remainder of the day passed swiftly with celebrations. As the afternoon drew to a close, we prepared to leave for our honeymoon. Melanie met me in my chambers at Blythe Court to help me undress and redress for the journey ahead. When I entered the room, her demeanor surprised me. Tears welled in her eyes, which I found touching.
“Why are you crying?” I asked. She sniffled a few times and composed herself.
“Because I am exceedingly happy for you, my lady.”
She drew near and looked at my dress with envy in her eyes. I could not blame her because I realized her life would never be like mine. It was all right for her wish for something equally as exciting.
“Here, let me unfasten your tiara and veil, and we’ll get you out of the wedding dress,” she announced.
As Melanie began to release me from the multiple layers of lace, satin, and petticoats, I wondered if she had ever experienced love. My question was blunt and out of place, but nonetheless it popped out of my mouth.
“Have you ever been in love?” My words apparently startled her, because she ceased moving altogether. She inhaled a sharp breath.
“Yes,” she meekly replied.
The smile on her face faded into obscurity. I intruded upon a private area of her life and regretted my inquiry.
“My question into your private affairs is clearly inappropriate. Forgive me.” I lowered my eyes, ashamed to witness her distress. She remained silent in her duties, and I surmised that sometime in her life a man must have broken her heart. My mind drifted to my own fears of John as if I braced for it to happen to me too. It was a terrible thought to ponder on my wedding day, so I pushed it away.
A moment later, my dress was off and laid upon my bed with care by Melanie. I changed into another day dress more appropriate for the trip ahead. “I see my trunk is gone. Have the footmen already loaded it on the carriage?”
“Yes, my lady. Everything has been taken care of as requested by your mother.”
“I wish he would tell me where we are going.” The tradition of keeping the honeymoon location a secret bordered on torture. My petty worries of having packed the right clothes for the trip plagued my mind. At least it took my cares to another place than the unknown wedding night.
“There now,” Melanie said, assessing my appearance. “You look radiant.” Her forlorn gaze persisted.
“Thank you for your help,” I said. “I would take you with me, but John insists we travel alone without valet and maid. Perhaps he thinks I won’t need to get dressed for a week,” I giggled. My unladylike comment apparently did not sit well with Melanie, and she lowered her eyes as if I had embarrassed her to death.
“I am sorry,” I quickly added. “My nerves are making me far too chatty.”
“Have a good time, my lady.”
She curtsied and left. I proceeded downstairs to meet John. My heart thumped in my chest harder than it had during the ceremony. The anticipation of what would come in the hours ahead increased with each step.
He glanced up, smiled, and offered his hand. The entrance hall was filled with well-wishers, including our parents, who gave us departing hugs. My mother shed a few tears while my father gave an approving handshake to John. The duke and duchess wished us well, and my new husband swiftly spirited me off to the carriage.
After we climbed inside and the door closed, I glanced over at him. He stared out the window watching Blythe Court disappear as the horses took us away. Finally, he turned his attention to me. We were alone as husband and wife for the first time and beginning our voyage together as a married couple.
Only a few inches from my body sat a total stranger. I barely had become acquainted with him, except for his exceptionally good manners. But who was he? What were his thoughts and aspirations? What were his passions in life or goals? What did he really think about me as his wife? I had absolutely no idea. My husband was an enigma. Hopefully, in the weeks ahead I would discover the inner soul of John Broadhurst.
As far as our honeymoon was concerned, John decided upon a short four-week excursion, rather than an extended grand tour of one to three months. I had not traveled to the Continent before and hoped we would explore the world outside of England.
“Where are we going?” I prodded, hoping he would relent and tell me.
He reached over and held my hand. Even through his gloves, I could feel his cold fingers and realized how difficult the day had been for him too.
“Well, tonight we will lodge at a hotel in London. In the morning, we travel to Dover.”
“Dover?” I repeated with excitement. “Are we going to the Continent?” My enthusiasm must have been contagious because John smiled over my animated question.
“I have decided,” he said with a tone of mischievousness, “to make you wait until the morrow to tell you where we are headed.”
“Oh, do not make me wait,” I pleaded. “I will not sleep a wink tonight from anticipation.”
“Oh, you will sleep,” he replied, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. In slow circular motions, he stroked me thoughtfully. He had shown so little physical affection since our engagement, I wondered if he would now be more forthcoming in action. I hungered for him to embrace me, which he rarely did or even kiss me for that matter. John said nothing further, indicating to me that he refused to release his secret. Witnessing his tease gave me another small glimpse into his heart.
A rush of weariness flowed over me after a day of activity. My head tilted and leaned upon his shoulder. His body stiffened, but I refused to move. A few moments later, he slowly lifted his arm and put it around my shoulder.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Exhausted, anxious, nervous, afraid, apprehensive,” I said. “Shall I go on?”
He looked down at me and brought his fingers to my chin. Gently he lifted my face until I looked into his eyes.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Ann.”
His tone revealed sincerity, but I doubted.
* * * *
Finally, the dreaded and uncertainty of our physical joining arrived. I took care of my toilette matters and let my waist-length locks cascade about my shoulders and back. After brushing out the tangles, it fell into wavy curls. My golden hair was my glory and one of my finest features.
My mother had purchased a modest nightdress to cover me as if I were dressing for a winter storm. After putting it on, I glanced at myself in the mirror, encased in a cotton gown. It appeared entirely inappropriate. Puritanical or not, I was not my mother. I could not let John see me like this, or he would walk out and never consummate our marriage.
A second later, I pulled it up over my head and tore it off my body, throwing it in a heap on the floor. I stood stark naked in the middle of the room, glancing around looking for something to cover myself with before my new husband entered. A soft knock came at the door. Panicked, I pulled the cover off the bed and wrapped myself in it like a cocoon.
“Come in,” I squawked, swallowing a lump in my throat. I clutched the blanket tight. John entered, took one glance at me, and halted in his step. Actually, I made matters far worse. Instead of a nightgown, I covered myself completely in a puffy blanket. My idiotic attempt to woo my husband into wanting me turned into a catastrophe. It looked as if I were wrapped in a downy chastity belt.
“Would you like me to come back later?”
He was dressed in a silk dressing gown, looking quite dashing physically, but his mortified facial expression ruined the image. I could not help but burst into frenzied laughter over how ridiculous I appeared. He finally smiled at me. When he did, I tossed every prudish thought away, dropping the blanket to the floor exposing myself.
“I could not decide what to wear,” I confessed with a giggle. “So I guess I will wear nothing.”
I should have experienced shame or embarrassment, but to my surprise I did not. He was my husband. I wanted to know what would happen next and if it would make me love or hate him. His gawking stare told me he found my actions
shocking. Regardless, I could see he enjoyed my nakedness.
“If I ever thought that you possessed a shy bone in your body, you have proven me wrong,” he said. His gaze roved up and down my frame and remained upon my breasts for some time. More endowed than most women, I took solace in the fact that he appeared to approve of their size.
“I know I look foolish,” I admitted, “but I really did not like the gown my mother gave me for tonight. It was not appealing.”
“There is nothing foolish about the way you appear now,” he said in a sultry voice. “You are beautiful.”
As I stood there looking at him with desire, I remembered a scripture. “You will long for your husband, and he will rule over you.” At that moment, I knew what it meant. Inside my soul, I ached for him to love me so much I thought myself close to death.
“Hold me.” My request burst from my lips without forethought. He slowly stepped forward and stopped only a few inches away. He pulled the sash from his dressing gown, revealing his naked body underneath. My eyelids closed, afraid to see what made a man. John slipped out of the garment, and it brushed my flesh as it fell to the floor. His warm arms encircled my body and pulled me flush against him with a slight jerk. As our naked flesh met, my body tingled with sensations that I had never experienced before. Finally, I opened my eyes and embraced him in return. He stood there motionless.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Why did I have to beg for his every move? I had been taught that it was shameful behavior to be an aggressive woman, but I did not care.
His lips met mine with a kiss void of emotion. My heart’s desire burst from my chest like a stream of living water, but he did not drink. Instead, it poured wasted at his feet, untasted, unwanted, and unneeded. Nevertheless, I would not give up until I enjoyed every inch of him and our marriage had been consummated before God. One way or the other, I would make him mine.
When he released my lips, I took his hands and backed up toward the bed. “Make love to me,” I whispered. I sat on the bed and slowly scooted into the middle, holding his hand and pulling him down on top of me. My eyes glanced at his exposed manhood, and I saw what would soon be a part of my body. It did not repulse me as I thought it would. Instead, I finally understood what it meant to be one flesh.
“Please,” I begged.
John lowered his body on top of me, and I spread my legs apart. I would not close my eyes and drift off to dream about the English countryside. No, I wanted to experience him. He cupped my face in his hands. A moment later, the hardness of his shaft pressed against me, searching and separating until it found its way inside. With a quick push, I felt a searing tear, and I whimpered from the pain. Why hadn’t my mother warned me? I cursed her at that second but quickly returned to the reality of John’s slow and deliberate movements inside my body.
My arms wrapped around his neck, and I held onto him tightly. “I want to love you,” I cried, pulling him close and kissing him. His thrusts increased in intensity and speed.
He pulled away from my lips. “You shouldn’t love me,” he replied, out of breath. The act of intercourse continued for a few more moments. Finally, in one last deep plunge that brought me discomfort, he grunted. Instinctively, I knew he experienced the pleasure men received from the act. My mother was correct on one point; it did not take long.
When he pulled out of me, a terrible emptiness persisted. My body ached, as did my heart. There had to be more for a woman to enjoy, but I did not know what else to expect. Perhaps this was the curse mentioned in the Bible—bear children in pain and receive no pleasure in conception. Men, on the other hand, were awarded ecstasy. I found the situation rather unfair.
He rolled over to my side and brought the back of his hand to his forehead. For a few moments, he lay motionless staring at the canopy above. Finally, when his heavy breathing subsided, he spoke. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
The emotional pain I sensed had wounded me far greater than the soreness between my legs. “It’s not your fault it hurts for a woman to lose her virginity. There are other things in life far more painful.” I rolled over on my side away from him. A moment later, he grabbed the corner of the blanket, pulling it over our bodies.
“Are you warm enough?”
My lips pressed together in a pout, and I did not want to open them. Instead, I barely mumbled “uh-hum” and found myself drifting off to sleep, wondering why he warned me not to love him.
Return to Blythe Court
Our four-week excursion finished far too soon. John took me to Paris and afterward to Switzerland. My dream of seeing the Continent came to pass, but my hope of winning his heart had not.
Each day we spent together seemed like I traveled with a hired companion rather than my husband. We actually had not even forged a friendship but merely existed as a couple. I had no complaint about my treatment. John continued to be tender and polite, but I witnessed his attention drift elsewhere as if it remained in England.
As far as our physical intimacy, he did not seek it as often as I hoped he would. The same scenario continued during each encounter as it had the first night we spent together. Only, I ceased speaking of love and accepted what little he gave. My body adjusted to him quickly, and the pain subsided. Nevertheless, my unfulfilled yearning persisted beyond his usual groan of release. When he pulled out, the aching for more continued. If I had already experienced the totality of what sexual pleasure had to offer a woman, I would soon become my mother drifting off in my mind to the English countryside.
Upon our return to Blythe Court, the entire staff congregated in the entrance hall to welcome our arrival. Since I had not been formally presented to the servants before our wedding, except for Melanie, I paid particular attention to the introductions. I had become the lady of the estate, and it would be my responsibility to oversee the inner workings of the household. The head butler, Mr. Rhodes, reported directly to me, as well as the housekeeper. Thankfully, my mother prepared me for such a task, allowing me to observe as she supervised the domestics at our manor house.
John, on the other hand, would work closely with the estate manager and gamekeeper to attend to his landholdings and finances. Frankly, I hadn’t a clue what else he did for work, amusement or entertainment. Another mystery I would need to solve.
We walked down the line of uniformed servants from the housekeeper to the scullery maid. The men bowed, the women curtsied, and I smiled while expressing my pleasure in meeting each of them. Melanie stood in the line as well giving me a warm grin. She glanced at John and quickly pulled her eyes away as if she were shy to be in his presence. He paid no attention to her or to the rest of the staff for that matter, who appeared engrossed in his interaction with me. Eventually, it would become evident to the entire household we were not lovers.
It is merely an arrangement, the words echoed through my mind, which I had spoken to Melanie a month ago. Now that my life at Blythe Court had begun, I needed to make the most of the years ahead. When our first child arrived, at least I would be able to love someone else. I intended to break the mold of allowing the governess to take all of my children’s attention. A deep-seated need for purpose had to be filled in my life.
After the staff dispersed and returned to their duties, John excused himself and headed toward the study to check on estate affairs during our absence. I requested that Melanie help me unpack and get settled in, which she obliged with eagerness.
“You look rested, my lady,” she commented.
“Yes, rested.”
“May I ask where your travels led you?”
“France and Switzerland,” I responded halfheartedly. “I enjoyed the scenery, but we were anxious to return to England.”
“That is a shame, my lady. I would have thought your time away would have been more pleasant.”
The footmen arrived with my trunk, and Melanie swiftly went into action unpacking. My clothes needed washing and a few dresses mended. The poor young lady had her chores piled high.
“I am afraid that I tore the sleeve in my blue day dress, being clumsy by snagging it on a chair. You will need to mend it.” In retrospect, I must have been terribly distracted because I ruined another dress during our trip. “I also stepped on the hem of my yellow dress and ripped the seam. It was a bumbling honeymoon, to say the least.”
“I will take care of it, your ladyship,” she replied, examining the damage.
“Would you mind having the chambermaid bring up hot water? It has been days since I bathed.”
“Of course,” she said.
She scurried from the room to ask for assistance, and I sat down on the bed. My hand slid across the silk coverlet. My new bedchamber, as the lady of the house, had been chosen by John and recently redecorated for my arrival. His nighttime lodgings were in an adjacent room, which frankly broke my heart. I knew it was not unusual behavior for spouses to keep separate bedchambers, but I hoped he would at least dispense with it early in our marriage. As often as he came to me, getting pregnant would take longer than I wanted to wait.
* * * *
Dinner between the two of us ended in silence. We barely spoke a word. He asked if my quarters were comfortable, and I praised the décor of the interior. John appeared to fall into a brooding state of mind, so I attempted to make conversation.
“Do you mind if I invite a few lady friends over for tea on Friday?”
“No, of course, not,” he replied.
His amicable response gave the impression he felt relieved not having to be in my company. I attempted to remain civil, but frankly found it difficult. After finishing my last bite, I scooted back the chair and rose. Surprised at my movement, he frowned with concern.
“I’m tired,” I announced. “I want to retire early this evening.”
He rose from his chair. “I understand,” he replied. “I think I might do the same.”
Blythe Court (Novella) Page 5
