‘I had thought that Brentwood held me in good esteem,’ Bess began, and her cheeks flushed with colour.
‘Few do not, Bess.’
She ignored my compliment.
‘He often asked me about how it is to serve and care for you.’
I felt ill at ease once again, but tried to mask my reaction. ‘It is not an unusual question, I suppose,’ I commented. ‘Considering the scandal my husband attracts.’
Bess shook her head. ‘It had nothing to do with Lord William. Nothing at all. Brentwood never asked after him. It was you, he always enquired after.’
I said nothing.
‘I responded that I cared greatly for you and my work. He seemed pleased, but…’ she hesitated again. ‘Oh Ceecee, what a fool I am. We began to kiss and then, when our passion mounted and as climax came upon me, I called out your name.’
I felt not the need to laugh, so much as cry. ‘Oh, Bess!’
My maid looked down and wrung her hands in angst.
‘How extraordinarily ill-timed! What a thing to say,’ I cried.
Bess shook her head. ‘I know.’
‘And how did he respond?’
‘He responded very ill indeed. He pulled himself away from his rut, and looked at me most curiously. Then asked, why I had uttered your name at that moment.’
‘I hope you offered a convincing argument.’
She shook her head again. ‘I cannot lie, Ceecee.’
‘You did not…’ I breathed, my heart beating wildly. ‘You did not confess our…friendship…’
Bess nodded dumbly.
‘I thought the man in love with me…’ she mumbled. ‘I didn’t think the confession would distress him as much as it did. He had seemed so worldly, understanding, perhaps. Yet he was disgusted by me.’ A sound of grief sprung from her lips. I was torn by the desire to comfort her and chastise her by equal measure. How could Bess have made such a foolish, stupid error?
‘Ceecee, I would never have said anything if I thought he would…’ she faded off.
‘Would what?’ I asked with some urgency.
‘Tell your husband.’
My heart very near ceased to beat. Did William already know of my unnatural habits with my maid? The thought made me sick.
‘When? When is it alleged he spoke to William?’
‘Lord William is at the Farriers this morn.’
It was then I realised that I may be in some strife.
Chapter 7
Suffice to say that Bess and I spent the greater part of the morning in something of a state. I could not help worry what my husband make of Brentwood’s licentious rumours? Would he believe him? Would he want to defend my honour if he did not?
I dismissed Bess early that day and admit that I thought of dismissing her entirely. But I did not, as I am also aware such a gesture could constitute as guilt in the minds of others.
I was accursedly angry – I loved her still. Bess had been my friend for so long I couldn’t believe she would have made such a stupid, foolish error – when she had never done so before. This led me to one conclusion. Mister Brentwood must hold considerable sway of Bess’s heart for her to disclose such information. Mister Brentwood then was a fiend indeed for betraying her confidence in the manner he did.
I despised the man even more for it.
You see, I knew our relationship was forbidden. No woman should love another woman as Bess and I do. Yet for all that wickedness, she makes me happy and I hope I do the same for her. In saying this, I am not such a fool to realise that our relationship will last forever. Bess is yet young, and no doubt will find a suitable husband and leave my service one day. She has delayed it thus far, for reasons she has kept to herself, I know. In the preceding year, she turned down two offers for her hand, one from Carter and another from our own footman, Sinclair.
I was broken from my terrible musings by the sounds of my husband’s return. His heavy footfall echoed on the stone floor of the entrance and he was cursing profusely. ‘Blackguard! Scoundrel! Lying bleater!’
I saw the wet nurse, Nancy cringe on the landing and dive towards the nursery as I stepped out of my rooms and onto the landing.
‘Ceecee!’ William called, his tone excited and irate. ‘Mongrel! Cad! Prigger!’ He continued, ‘Damn you, Cecelia! Where are you?’
I detested the way he bellowed like a Fishmonger instead of sending a servant, but in his state I dare not refuse his call.
I was dressed in a green damask gown and wrapped a cream shawl about my shoulders as I descended the stairs to greet him.
‘What vexes you,’ I said by way of greeting, ‘to rant so?’
William stood at the base of the stairwell, dressed in his riding clothes, his dark hair dishevelled and his cheeks reddened by wind. He looked like a rustic painting.
‘Damn you, woman! I have been to the Farriery,’ he announced and I felt my stomach coil and sicken. My face must have paled, for his eyes became shrewd.
I held the bannister for support and slowed my descent. ‘What possible reason has the Farrier given you to behave in such a manner? You will distress your children with your curses,’ I chided.
My admonishment had little effect, if anything he became more incensed.
‘My children? How should I know it?’ he snarled.
I froze then, unable to fathom his meaning. ‘Excuse me? Are you offering insult? Of course you should know the children are yours!’
He seemed not to hear me. ‘Is it true you’ve taken lovers?’ he snapped.
‘Of course not!’ For I spoke the truth, did I not? I had not taken lovers in the plural sense. I had but Bess – who hardly could have fathered a child upon me, let alone during William’s absences when I was already with child. ‘You are not speaking sense. Not a night goes by that you are not by my side, except during your times in London when I have been carrying your children, as you well know! How could I have taken lovers?’
‘Damn you, Ceecee! I need to know the truth!’ He swore running his hands through his hair in clear vexation.
Anger arched in me. ‘You know the truth. Damn you, William!’
His eyes widened and his jaw slackened, it was clear he did not expect nor like my chastisement – so I continued, my ire rising. ‘Damn you to hell and back. How dare you accuse me of impropriety when you yourself whore and gamble in London!’
‘Cecelia!’ he exclaimed, surprised as I at the wrath in my tone. ‘I no longer gamble, I gave you my word!’
‘Your word!’ I cried. ‘You devil!’
He seemed appalled by the turn in the argument. His outrage seemed to wither like an autumn leaf, and I could see him struggle to respond.
‘Mister Brentwood at the Farriery has said that you have a lover.’
I paused, clearly relieved Bess’s name had not been mentioned.
‘Damn that man!’ I cried, ‘And who is it that I am supposed to have taken to my bed?’ I asked, almost terrified of the answer.
‘He did not say,’ William growled. ‘I cropped him one in the ear before he could finish.’
His defence of my honour brought unexpected warmth to my heart, but the warmth swiftly dissipated.
‘He’ll not speak of it again, I assure you. Getting my satisfaction from that miscreant bleater aside – if my wife has strayed, I should very like much to hear it from her own lips.’ His voice was hard.
‘That beastly man! I care not what the creature has to say and nor should you. How is it that you should believe him over me? Have I not offered you everything a wife could? I have given you forgiveness for your own indiscretions and four healthy children with a fifth soon to come.’ I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Yes, I have news for you, husband. I am with child again, so you may leave for London as you wish. It will relieve me if you do so promptly.’
‘I…’ William began. ‘I had not thought…’
William’s uncertainty offered me a level of strength I had not expected. ‘Of course you hadn’t.
You thought to accuse your wife, and mother of your children, of adultery on the word of one Farrier?’
‘No…I…’
Angry as I was, I could not stand to look upon William’s face a moment more. ‘Go to London, William. Go to your whores, and leave me in peace!’ I turned to retreat to my rooms.
I heard William move swiftly up the stairwell. ‘Ceecee! You cannot order me to go to London like some witless lackey! I am your husband and Lord of Stanton.’
‘So you are,’ I commented my face as stone. ‘Behave like him.’
My throat felt strangled, tight and my heart ached. My confinement malaise churned in my body as I stumbled to my rooms, swinging the door closed.
Thursday 29th July 1813
William did not leave for London as I had expected, which I had thought would bring me great pleasure. Alas, our home was far from the picture of familial bliss with his prolonged presence.
True to William’s word, Brentwood the Farrier had said no more on the matter of my unnatural behaviours, but suspicion lingered. William watched me like the proverbial hawk.
Despite my disappointment in Bess, she offered comfort and solace. Ironically perhaps, she was the only individual upon whom William did not view with suspicion. He was like a caged hound, pacing around the Hall and grounds.
I knew with certainty the situation between us was dangerously unstable and I could but wonder how long it would be until one of us broke.
On the 24th of July 1813, our strange and unhappy situation began to unravel. It was supposed to be an auspicious day, and perhaps in many ways it was. The day heralded my husband’s birthday. He had organised a garden party to celebrate. A gesture, I believe he hoped would settle some of the vilest of rumours that abounded in the county – though I suspect it may have inflamed them for I was now heavy with child.
I walked slowly down the second landing, pausing to admire the fine portrait I’d had commissioned of my four children and I. Staring at myself in oil, I saw a false smile stretched on my lips, and how the Scottish artist had captured the wariness in my gaze. Had William even noticed it?
I sighed and slipped into the upstairs drawing room, passing the Grecian couch and staring out the window. The crowds had gathered in the garden, white marquees and uniformed servants waited on guests offering refreshment. I could see Lord and Lady Bexley arrive. I knew Lord Bexley by his rigid manner. His new wife clung to his side. Such an insipid, slip of a girl she was. I looked over near the table where an abundance of refreshments were laid out, and saw Lady Fielding walking with her husband and his cousin. It would have been nice to speak with her – it had been months since I’d last visited at Fielding Place. For a moment I wished I could be there amongst the guests. The women wore pale, near-transparent gowns, and men strutted about in tight breeches. Parties are fascinating to observe and I felt more than a twinge of jealousy that in my state I could not attend.
The weather was obscenely warm, and despite the open window, I felt uncomfortable. I sank down on the window seat and heard Bess sweep up behind me and wrap her arms around me. We stayed like that some time and watched the social scene play before us.
‘Does it bother you, Ceecee, that you cannot attend?’
I looked at her, and she laid a loving hand upon my distended belly. ‘In a manner, I suppose, but I would not be seen in society bloated as this,’ I replied with a laugh.
Bess’s face grew serious and I reached up and gripped her chin to pull her to my lips. ‘Stay your frowns, sweet Bess,’ I said and kissed her.
‘How was Lord Stanton last evening?’ she asked when I finally released her.
‘He did not come to my rooms, as you well know.’ I winked at her. ‘For it was you who eased my nerves and gave me sleep.’ I looked out the window again, trying to spot William amongst the guests. ‘William is as he is ever,’ I replied. ‘At dinner, he tried to make light of our difficulties but a seed of doubt has remained, I know he does not trust me.’
I heard Bess’s regret in her deep exhalation. ‘It is my fault.’
I reached turned, and kissed her again, milking the sweetness of her mouth and relishing the moment. ‘It matters not now. I can just be thankful he has not returned to the whores of London – a small benefit from an otherwise deplorable situation.’
Bess’s face hardened then and she looked away.
‘Bess?’
She turned to face me again and I could see the anger quite plain in her eyes. ‘Do not make me say it, Ceecee.’
I knew. I knew then, as I had known it earlier, but refused to accept. ‘He’s finding his release here, isn’t he? In the county or the village?’ I asked.
Bess’s face remained guarded and I watched as her lips parted. ‘Closer than that, milady.’
‘In Stanton?’
She nodded.
I felt tears burn in my eyes. ‘I suspected, alas…I…’
‘I am sorry.’
I turned angry then. ‘Quit your incessant apologies, Bess Miller.’
Bess looked startled, and I immediately regretted my cold words. ‘Please, just leave me for a moment.’
Bess nodded and withdrew immediately. I sank further into the window seat and drew the curtains around me for privacy. William had suggested that our friends and acquaintances might find it rude that we held a party so late in my confinement, but I had assured him that I did not care. I wanted him to celebrate his birthday. I had wanted him to see that I very much appreciated the fact that he had not absconded to London to whore and gamble.
What a fool I was. He’d been whoring in our own home.
My husband was being faithless under the same roof our four children lived, behind the backs of our own staff.
What a witless fool they must all think me.
A few tears fell then, and I tried to reassure myself once more that I too was indulging in impropriety under the same roof as my children. But this self-confession did not hold the same weight, nor did it cause distress.
I heard the door creak, then, but hidden behind the curtains, I knew I would not be discovered weeping for my philandering husband nor trying to justify my own infidelity. Whoever it was would leave shortly, I was certain.
That was, until I heard a giggle.
‘I’m feeling extraordinarily goatish today,’ I heard my husband chortle.
What was he doing away from his party? My heart thumped wildly and confusion whirled through my mind sending my thoughts into disarray.
I heard an amused feminine giggle.
Something heated in my belly, and it had naught to do with the babe. Was my husband about to rut someone in our own upstairs drawing room? I heard more mutters and subdued laughter.
Something changed in me then. Absurd as it was, the notion of my husband rutting someone else did not seem quite so distressing as intriguing. I wanted to see him, I realised dimly. I wanted to see his face contort with passion. I wanted to see his cock spear another, whilst I hid, and watched.
I realised then that Brentwood’s assumption of me might indeed be correct. I was not only wickedly afflicted by unnatural desires for another woman, but I am also a depraved voyeur.
‘Bend over that lounge there, girl,’ William ordered and I could hear the amusement ring in his voice. ‘Ah. Yes. A man likes to see a round rump in the air like that. He does.’
My innards convulsed with excitement and inwardly I tried to chastise myself for such wickedness. But I have never been good at self-castigation. No, I have ever been one of a decidedly practical mind. It is true that most in my situation would have been repulsed, vexed and otherwise made unfairly miserable by what was occurring. Not I, however, and I say this with some pride. If anything it shows a strength of character and resilience. Though I shall refuse to be ashamed of my alleged unusual desires, they are not something I’d like to be made public knowledge!
‘Milord,’ came the unmistakeable voice of Nancy, my wet nurse. ‘Someone might find us…’
�
�So?’ I heard William retort. ‘I’m a man of substantial appetites, girl. God above, it’s been nigh on six months since I’ve had my own wife! Why I’m as toey as a Roman sandal! I care naught for discovery. But would that I could have Ceecee where you are right now, girl. I’d paddle her arse pink for looking at me as she does. All accusations and hurt. If she only knew how much I wanted her.’
If only he knew how much I wanted him.
Nancy giggled. ‘But you got me here instead, milord. You can paddle my rump raw if you like.’
Her voice irked me, and I wished for a moment that I could smack the ungrateful wretch.
Astonishingly perhaps, came the distinct sound of a smack of hand on flesh.
‘You’ve been a naughty girl, Nancy!’ William growled, passion made his voice thick.
The slapping of skin sung out through the room once more.
I found my skirts being moistened by intense arousal. I wished I were the one smacking her flesh.
‘My lord!’ Nancy gave a cry.
The sound of a hand hitting flesh echoed again.
My thighs grew slick. I again attempted to inwardly chastise myself for feeling such rude excitement, but instantly failed and found my hand swiftly and silently lifting my own skirts to find my wet heat. As my fingers sought my secret, dewy inner lips, I silently thanked Bess for her artful tutelage.
‘You know what happens when my maids break something, don’t you, Nancy?’ I heard William growl. ‘Do you, Nancy?’ he repeated.
‘Yes.’ Her answer was quiet.
I wanted to see beyond the curtains then. I wanted to witness with mine own eyes my husband’s amorous reprimand of our recalcitrant wet nurse. I wondered briefly what she had broken, but my wonder faded into lustful dreaming as my husband growled again.
‘What do I do to naughty maids who break things? What do I do, Nancy?’
My fingers danced over the rigid nub betwixt my legs and I shuddered.
‘You spank them my, lord.’ The servant’s voice was tremulous.
Another high-pitched slap rang through the room. On this occasion however, Nancy moaned and the sound echoed the pure longing I felt myself.
The Wicked Confessions Of Lady Cecelia Stanton (novella) Page 6
