“Mater, I assume what happens in the bedroom is one of the only advantages of having a man. For the rest, most men are like irritating children who only dream of soldiering and war,” said Clementine.
It was all that was needed. The sisters were one spirit again. They cried out in laughter. Mostly because of Clementine’s remark, however, the sight of their mother strutting around the room like a stuffed pelican hopping on one leg, tipped them over the edge.
“Alright, you two. Time to get serious again. Clementine, please finish off your sister’s attire, this very instant. And we shall have no further talk about what happens behind closed doors. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mater,” said the girls in unison. They still had a little trouble hiding their hilarity.
Getting serious again, Elizabeth asked, “Mater, Clementine what do you think?”
Clementine swallowed. To her the dress looked horrendously uncomfortable with the tight corset and all of the frilly bits. She’d prefer riding breeches any day. She found that modern day women’s fashion was made for the benefit of men without any consideration for a lady’s comfort. Mater, on the other hand, knew exactly what to say.
“White is chosen right, come in blue and love will be true, yellow and she is ashamed of her fellow, red she wishes herself dead, black she’ll wish herself back, grey travel far away, pink and of you he'll always think, green I’m too ashamed to be seen.”
Elizabeth looked even more confused than before.
“Mater, my dress, should it be blue?” she asked.
“No darling, white is chosen right and now come on,” said mater sternly.
On cue, Clementine moved up to her sister and placed the veil over her face. It was a yarn of fine gauze of sheer cotton with elements of lace over her head. “You are so beautiful, Elizabeth. Royce is the luckiest man alive,” she said meaning it.
“Come on, come on,” urged their mother like a collie rounding up her flock.
“You go ahead, Mater, and make sure father is ready,” said Elizabeth.
Mother nodded. “Alright, but no dawdling. I want you outside quicker than it takes a puppy dog to wag its tail.” Mater left the room.
Clementine turned to her sister. “Alright, tell me. What’s on your mind?”
Elizabeth blushed. “You mentioned bulls and the happenings behind closed doors in married couple’s bedrooms…I was just wondering…what happens exactly and how is it done?”
Clementine was taken aback by the question. With her having already completed her season and finding a man, she had always assumed that her younger sister was far more advanced on that front. “Well, all I can tell you is what I know from books…”
“Books? Where on earth does one read about that kind of thing?”
Clementine saw that her sister was truly intrigued. “In papa’s library. While you were out chasing boys, I was always reading – remember?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I do. Reading is good, Sister, but practicing an art is better. So, tell me about this book you read. I don’t have a clue what to do when I am alone with Royce later today.”
“Have you never done anything intimate? You have been seeing each other for ages now. You must have been able to escape the watchful eyes of your chaperones on occasion?”
“Oh, yes we did, but Royce was always the perfect gentleman. He said that he would not have me like a common tart in the bushes or the stables.” Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed. I was more than willing though. Sometimes, I believe that women are far more licentious than men. Take you for example, Clementine. You spend your time reading books on the subject.” She tittered impishly.
“I will have you know that is not all I read,” said Clementine, laughing along.
“Then do tell me of this book that reveals all?”
“It is an epistolary novel, written in the 1820’s…”
“What’s it called? Maybe I can sneak away from the festivities later and get a quick glimpse. I at least want to know what I am doing tonight.”
“The book is called The Lustful Turk.”
“How absolutely debauched – it sounds like a tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. Tell me more?” Elizabeth giggled.
“You have a point there. I assume you have heard of the term “to sodomize”?”
Elizabeth nodded meekly. The expression on her face displayed her revulsion for the act.
“That is part of the story. This English noblewoman’s ship en route to the Orient, falls under an attack by Moorish pirates. They take her to their ruler, the Dey of Algiers, where she enters his harem. Strangely enough, she is allowed to write letters to her friend back in England. She starts to tell her of all of the sexual acts she has to submit to with her new master.”
Clementine’s eyes sparkled mischievously as they twinkled at her sister. She could see the slight flush on her cheeks as she pondered over the happenings within an eastern potentate’s halls for his women. There was no way that Elizabeth had the slightest inclination or imagination to conjure up such images. She watched on eagerly as her sister waited for her to continue the tale.
“Her friend writes back, expressing her disgust. The Dey intercepts her correspondence and arranges for her friend to be abducted. Then he stages a ruse by bidding for her at a slave market in the guise of a wealthy Frenchman. Ultimately, the two women friends and the Dey have a sort of ménage-à-trois until their master’s member gets cut off by another woman in the harem. Finally, he sends them back to England with it conserved in a jar of alcohol as a memory of their time with him.”
Elizabeth burst out laughing. It was infectious and soon had Clementine lost in merriment too. “That is truly the most vulgar thing I have ever heard. Do people actually read that kind of thing? It’s disgusting.”
“Papa obviously does,” said Clementine offhandedly, inducing the sisters to further hilarity.
“Clementine, will I be sodomized tonight? Is that what all men want?” asked Elizabeth with a worried contortion on her face.
“Good gracious no. Of course not. Royce is a gentleman and not some eastern potentate in a story. I am certain that his interests are altogether more natural. Now, come on, we have a wedding to get to. Just be yourself, Elizabeth and everything will turn out alright.”
They rushed out of the room and dashed down the corridor towards the staircase, leading down to the ornate hallway belonging to the Earl of Leighton’s country manor house. Their mother nattered some harsh encouragement and reprimanded them for having taken so long.
Father was another matter entirely. The man in his mid-fifties was equanimity incarnate. All he did was flash his daughters a big smile when he saw them. His kindness was clear to see in his soft grey eyes, lips that always curled upwards and the habitually contented expression on his features.
“Come along, girls. We have to rush to the chapel.” When everybody was aboard the carriage, father gave an order to the coachman to make haste. It was only a short distance, but it was nicer for Elizabeth to arrive like this.
Chapter 3
A little over a half an hour later, Elizabeth stood in front of the altar with her husband to be. Elaborate bouquets of spring flowers lined the aisle. It had been Clementine’s idea. The vicar had opposed her at every front, but when she had an idea, there was no holding her back. Many fights had taken place over the issue. Only when Clementine had presented the vicar with some vintage cognac from her father’s cellar did he relent to her plans.
It was Royce’s turn to speak the vows repeated out of the Common Book of Prayer from the 1662 edition. He looked so handsome in his frock coat coloured in claret-red. He had a flower favour in a specially tailored-hole in his collar. He wore a white waistcoat and trousers of lavender doeskin. He could not have looked happier as he began to speak, while he gazed at the woman he loved fondly.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Not once did Elizabeth take her eyes off her husband’s face as he slipped the ring onto the fourth finger on her left hand. She loved how his soft lips moved and the jut of his chin that betrayed his strong will, and most importantly his eyes - deep brown pools of kindness. There was nothing more in the world that she would rather have. The fact that she was now Mrs Royce Ryder filled her heart with joy.
The couple lowered themselves to their knees in front of the vicar. The man with the bulbous red nose from too much drink began to speak.
“Let us pray - O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life: send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy Name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, whereof this Ring given and received is a token and pledge, and may ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
The priest joined their right hands together, and said, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” The sermon continued for a while longer with various psalms and song. Finally, the newlyweds walked out of the church. In typical Victorian fashion, they did not acknowledge their friends and family on their way out – their gazes remained fixated to the front.
The sun shone brightly on Saturday the 15th of June 1854. The birds in the trees, of which there were many on the parkland of the earl’s estate in Kent, were singing a merry tune. It had been a joyous procession back from the family chapel near the village to the family’s manor house for the celebrations. Rice had been thrown in front of the chapel in imitation of the ancient Roman custom of throwing nuts. Now, Elizabeth was engaged in a slightly more modern custom.
“One, two, three, ready,” squealed Elizabeth with glee.
“Do it, throw the bouquet,” squealed a gaggle of eager single women, standing behind her. The bride remained silent and mustered all of her concentration as if she had the responsibility for the world in her hands. To her it was essential the wedding bouquet reached the right person.
“Alright, here goes. One, two, three,” she warbled as she hurled the bridal bouquet of magnificent white English roses into the air.
While the posy of roses arched up, in the hope that fate would choose them, the eager women whizzed about in a mob of confusion. Clementine just stood there laughing and rolling her eyes at her sex’s silly antics. She thought that the entire display was outlandishly humorous. But as destiny would have it, the floral bunch serendipitously landed into her hands that had somehow found their way to the front of her body. Clementine was so surprised that she nearly dropped it with fumbling fingers.
“Well done Clementine,” shouted her mother encouragingly.
“It’s about time,” yelled one of the lads from the village.
“Here, here,” came from another.
“Well done, Clementine. I wonder who the poor blighter will be,” yelled Royce in jest.
“He has been my brother-in-law for barely an hour and already he makes quips at my expense,” countered Clementine. Those around them laughed.
The other women who came to congratulate her warmly, overwhelmed Clementine. It took her the better part of an hour to get around to her sister. When they finally did manage, they hugged.
“I knew you’d be next, Clementine,” said Elizabeth grinning stupidly. “There is a good man out there somewhere waiting for you.”
“We’ll see about that. For the moment, I have other plans,” said Clementine seriously.
“What could be more important than getting married?” she said, shaking her head in frustration at her elder sister’s obduracy.
“Oh, come on, little sister, let’s not argue about this topic again. This is your day. You’re married to the man you’ve always wanted. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you.”
Elizabeth smiled wanly and accepted her sister’s embrace. “Alright, you will get away with it this time, but don’t you dare think that you have fobbed me off. On the contrary, I want to know everything about your plans.”
“Darling Wife, I’d like you to meet someone. He is an inspiration to us all in the regiment,” interrupted Royce. He couldn’t have looked more proud. His chest swelled out as if he were on parade.
Elizabeth spun around. At the sight of the imposing figure standing next to her husband, she instinctively curtseyed politely and babbled a few inarticulate greetings.
Clementine, on the other hand, was so taken aback by the earl’s sudden appearance that she didn’t move a muscle. She stood frozen for a few heartbeats, admiring his good looks until she, too, automatically curtseyed under his withering gaze that was laced with lust.
“May I present Lord Cardigan, my commanding officer,” said Royce with flourish and a little bow.
The 7th Earl of Cardigan was dressed in an extravagant military uniform that consisted of a tight-fitting navy-blue coat with heavy gold frogging cordage across the front of it, golden epaulettes and maroon-red breeches with yellow stripes. His face was fashionably whiskered and stern and arrogant as he studied the two women with his piercing azure gaze. It was well known throughout England that he was still a notorious philanderer and womanizer despite of his age.
“Ladies,” he said in a deep scratchy voice that betrayed the consumption of too much liquor and the smoking of too many cigars. At the same time, Lord Cardigan tilted his head to one side. Like scanners, his hard blue eyes bored into the women lewdly. “All this swish and tit gets me spiffing nose up,” he said crudely.
Elizabeth and Clementine blushed crimson at the aristocrat’s libidinous remarks. Not able to criticize his superior officer, Royce laughed nervously as he continued voicing his lecherous intent with blatant disregard for the presence of ladies.
“I shall have to fetch off tonight, young man. Being out on a horse all week with my cherrybums always makes me randified.”
“I say, My Lord. Wouldn’t you agree that that kind of talk is better suited for the officer’s mess? You wouldn’t want the ladies to know all of your sordid little secrets and prodigious talent between the sheets.”
Clementine watched Royce titter like a fool. She decided that he was a rather pleasant man to look at, but she disliked his chin and crabby mouth. She concluded that he was no leader of men but more of a follower. Her biggest wish was that he would be good to her sister.
Her gaze did not linger there for long. Her eyes flew open and she bit on her lower lip. Before her stood the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon. Also, the new arrival had courage to be able to state his views so clearly in the presence of a superior.
“May I present, Lord Stirling Whitt Whittaker, son to the Duke of Kenbridge and a soon to be captain in the 11th Hussars,” said Royce, finally recovering from his friend’s interruption.
Clementine’s gaze shifted to Cardigan who cleared his throat and appeared to turn redder still. It was evident from his bearing that he had enjoyed a very privileged upbringing. No one save the queen told this man what to do. His arrogance and breed allowed him to get away with murder.
It was common knowledge in England that Cardigan had no qualms in challenging people to duels if he considered them displeasing. On top of that, Clementine saw him for what he was: a bigoted, misogynous and pompous twit that was immoral and licentious. To him, women were mere objects for pleasure and nothing more.
She looked back at the Johnny-come-lately. Clementine hardly heard Royce babbling on about how much of a friend and an accomplished horseman he was. His smaragdine eyes held her in a vice. They only briefly left her face when he paid his respects to the newlyweds and saluted smartly to the earl. The latter made a few more vulgar remarks, but other than that he was not perturbed by the young captain’s interruption. He even spoke of accepting his appointment to an officer’s position.
“I am ver
y pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lady.”
Clementine felt goosebumps crawl over her arms and legs. “Ah, thank you, My Lord.” She nearly wanted to pull her glove-clad hand away when the officer took it and lightly grazed the back of it with his lips. “Very nice to meet you too,” she added lamely, at the same time regretting every word.
“Lord Cardigan assures me that I will make a fine officer and a gentleman of the 11th Hussars, darling. And there is also talk of war with the Russians and we are to be sent over there,” said Royce confidently as he attempted to reoccupy centre-stage.
The earl just grunted in agreement. The colour on Elizabeth’s face turned a lighter shade of white at the news of war.
Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 33
