by P J Perryman
“I don’t know.”
“I am a young man used to getting my own way. You are my wife, bound to pleasure me any way I choose. But I am not a thug. But you should be punished for your disobedience.”
Robert turned away and frowned. He put his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in frustration. This beast was not him; this was not how he was. But he felt like a caged animal, the trick played on him was more than a joke, it was an attack. He wanted to lash out at all parties involved. But deep in his heart he knew this girl was as much a victim as he, and he tossed the crop down on the bed.
“Can I help you, sir?” said Chastity.
The corner of Robert’s lip turned up just a fraction. He was young and virile, and with his wife on her knees it wasn’t hard to think of something.
“Let’s see what pleasure lies in those ruby-red lips of yours.”
Lord Robert unbuckled the top of his breeches, and his manhood sprung urgent and free from restraint. Her bonnet still on her head, he pulled her onto him, and coaxed her head along his shaft, closing his eyes at the raw pleasure of her wet lips on his sensitive member. His climax building urgently, he crushed the back of the bonnet as he guided her along him, pressing as deep as he could, hindered only by the roof of her mouth. At the point of release he tightly squeezed the sides of Chastity’s head so she couldn’t pull away, and somewhere in the erotic fog of his mind he sensed she was sucking harder, as if she wanted to give him pleasure. Could it be so? Robert wondered.
When he had taken his pleasure of her, he put himself away and sat thoughtfully in the corner of the room. She was beautiful, that was true, and something about her manner pleased him immensely. But a man of his rank was supposed to choose a wife of standing. He had responsibilities, investments, tenants to consider. No, this marriage would not answer. So, the church will not undo what has been done to us. I shall have to find another way.
AN AUDIENCE WITH THE KING
Chastity stood in front of the mirror and admired her new gown. She smoothed the front of her bodice and played with the collar at her neck. She had to admit, her new husband had some very peculiar quirks but he was very generous with her clothes allowance. She intended to make the most of it, and something new was arriving from her tailor almost every week. This particular outfit was made in the French style, very popular at Marie Antoinette’s court, and she absolutely loved it. But if she loved the dress, she was in raptures over the powdered wig that came with it.
“Not as tall or elaborate perhaps, as some of the more recent styles,” said her ladies’ maid, “but I hear it’s all the rage with the Duchess of Devonshire. It suits you very well, My Lady. You look quite the beauty.”
“Thank you, Bradley, this is perfect.”
As Chastity turned from side to side to admire herself, the door to her chamber burst open, and Lord Esher stormed in. “Leave us.” Bradley bowed her head, and made a quick exit. It appeared she knew better than to tarry when her master was in such a mood.
“Are you ready, yet? The carriage is outside and I will not be late.”
Chastity stood a little taller, hoping he would make some comment about her finery, but her husband remained mute. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, impatient for them both to leave. It wasn’t good enough, she had made a great effort here and she would be noticed.
“What do you think, husband, have I spent your money well?” Chastity raised her hands and turned a full circle.
Robert winced every time she addressed him thus, but there was no time to banter today, they were expected at court. “Yes, yes, you look well enough. Come, I will not be tardy. If you’re not ready now I shall bloody-well leave without you.”
Chastity frowned but followed her husband obediently out into the hallway. Generally her husband preferred to wear his hair plain, but in honor of the occasion he had also donned a wig and wore his finest clothes. They had been summoned to court along with many such nobles by King George III to honor of the recent birth of the new son of the Duke of Devonshire.
“Remember, the child will be called William Cavendish, the Marquis of Hartington. It seems the family has chosen to privately call him Hart. Apparently they think such a grandiose title is too much for such a small thing.”
“I thought we were going to meet the King?”
“We are, but he is a guest at Devonshire House and is holding his court there.”
Chastity nodded, after which she stepped into the carriage. Both were silent as it rolled quickly down the gravel drive. She loved the manor, with its winding drive and weeping willows. She loved how the wind whistled through the shrubbery behind their home, and how there were fireplaces in every room, and how she was never hungry. The contrast to her former life could not be more marked.
Her husband said very little on his way there. Every now and again he would complain of small discomforts—the hardness of the seat, the ache in his back, but that was all. It was a long ride to the court, and though they had set out early, Robert assured her they would not be there before noon. Chastity had not set foot out of the parish before today, let alone the county.
The journey seemed uncommonly long, but perhaps it was because Chastity was so eager to arrive. The lack of conversation meant nothing to her. Her mind was alive, drinking in a world she had never been exposed to and, were it not for that fateful evening in her father’s inn, perhaps never would have.
They passed villages and hamlets, the streets were filled with children and working people, all going about their business living just another day. A few tipped their caps or curtsied as the carriage rolled on by not knowing that just a short while ago she, too, was one of them, no better, no worse.
As they neared the capital, the streets grew dirtier and the people seemed busier. She never knew the world turned at such a pace and she watched with wonder at the tradesmen and delivery boys, the tinkers and the dock workers. She noted with interest that the inns in the city were much smaller, much darker, and infinitely busier than her father’s place and she thanked the Lord that she had been spared such a sordid existence.
Lord Robert had also been staring out of the window, but he turned to face her now, and leaned forward to press her knee.
“We’re almost at Devonshire House. Be humble, passive and try not to speak. What talking needs to be done, I will do. I would appreciate if you were obedient, just this once.”
“Yes, Robert.”
“If you must address me at all, call me Lord Esher in public. We’ve discussed this before. I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”
Not even her husband’s foul mood was going to put a damper on hers. Still, she bowed her head obediently, and looked back out of the window.
Robert took a snuff box out of his pocket and indulged himself in an excess of it. Chastity noticed as his fine features contorted as he inhaled his pleasure. His moods were annoying, yet there was no doubting his beauty. She felt fortunate in that regard. She also noticed how calm he looked. He was not nervous at all. Indeed, he may as well be going for a stroll round his own gardens. In contrast her own heart beat fiercely in her breast and she wondered why if he would comment on it.
“Will I know anyone there?”
“Well yes, I suppose. Lord Ashworth and my sister will be there, as will Tom Warren, no doubt. He seems to be invited everywhere, mischievous rascal that he is.”
“He doesn’t have a title like you do?”
“No, not yet anyway. Mine is an old family with a long established peerage. Tom’s father started out as a nobody, a simple commoner, but due to his father’s industry, he’s handsomely wealthy now. No doubt the king will bestow some favor on him, sooner or later.”
“He’s not married?”
It was the first time ever Chastity had seen her husband give a hearty laugh. Normally so serene, the smile illuminated his face made him uncommonly handsome. It occurred to her he should laugh more often, she would like him the better for it.
At l
ong last the wheels of the carriage began to slow down, the horses were turned, and they came to a dead halt. The door was opened for her, and the steps pulled down with a resonating clack on the stone courtyard.
Devonshire House was vast, grey, and above all, just plain ugly. One long townhouse was flanked by two austere wings, which Chastity later learned were used by the servants. It was the tallest and most daunting building she had ever seen and her mouth remained opened while she took everything in.
“Well don’t stand there gaping, woman, move aside.”
Lord Robert stepped down from the carriage, and without waiting for his wife ventured into the great entrance hall. Through the doors she could see a great many Lords and Ladies already convened. She stepped up her pace and joined her husband, fearful of losing him in the crowd.
Chastity was at once caught up in a sea of wigs, powder and satin, her senses overwhelmed by the most exquisite European perfumes, and she sipped cordially on the most beautiful wine she had ever tasted. Unlike most wines she had tried, this was served in a shiny glass goblet, and the bubbles tickled her nose and made her sneeze. She later learned they called this drink champagne.
Though the formal announcements were to come later, the whispers began almost the moment they arrived.
“Lord Esher married?”
“Who is she?”
“Who is her family?”
“Where did she get that gorgeous wig?”
Chastity shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, her husband was an attractive man, and the sudden appearance of a wife—any wife—was nothing short of scandalous. Still, for the moment, no one dared address her directly and she stood mutely by her husband’s side, drinking in the ambience.
Her rapture was not destined to last. Tom Warren had as good an ear for gossip as an eye for trouble, and as he loved to be at the heart of anything sensational, he couldn’t risk claiming his place in their circle now.
Dressed in his finest, he cut a dashing figure amidst an assembly of London’s first set, and he was more than aware of the admiration afforded him. His smile, ever charming, cloaked a malicious sneer, for he was not above harming his friends if the result reflected well on him.
“Ah, my dear Lord Esher and his beautiful bride, Lady Chastity, may I present you both to two more of my dearest of friends, the Earl of Bath and his charming cousin, Lady Sudbrooke. This is Lady Sudbrooke’s first season, and I must say, she presents a fine figure to this well-trained eye.”
The Earl of Bath seemed quite at ease with the liberty of his friend, and thinking his cousin the object of Warren’s sport, cut him down with a quick word. “Set your flame to some other candle, Warren, my cousin is too young for your folly.”
“Ah, you mistake me my friend. I would not speak a word to dishonor such an angel.” And as if to prove his intent, he took the young lady’s gloved hand in his own and kissed it lightly. As he knelt down his eyes fell roguishly on Chastity.
“How well you look my dear, you look positively radiant in your new clothes.”
Lord Esher, who had commanded Chastity remain silent if at all possible, saw through his friends rouse and decided a diversion was necessary.
“Come now, Warren, why talk of debutantes and clothes when there are more important things to discuss?”
“What could possibly be more important than that?”
“Oh I don’t know,” said Lord Esher. “Perhaps the birth at last of a son and heir for old Devonshire, or maybe the news in France, I hear talk of revolution is mounting to fever pitch.”
“Really,” said Tom, “I’m positive nothing at all will come of that. The French are so terribly practical about such things. It’s all a storm in a teacup, I assure you.”
All laughed, including Chastity, for she was hanging on every word she heard. The life and conversations of society fascinated her. No talk of failing crops or disease, these people really knew what was happening in the world! Her husband had commanded she remain silent but really she would much rather listen and learn all that she could, so his request was unnecessary.
“You do talk such nonsense,” said the Earl of Bath. “And I know you know better than anyone how serious things have grown since the fall of the Bastille. There are rumors about the deposition of the monarchy. Why just the other day I heard you discussing it with Lord Ashworth at the club, so don’t be such a fop!”
“Ah, but we are not at the club my noble friend. This is a party, and there are women present.”
“Ha! Like that ever stopped you before,” said Lord Esher.
Lady Sudbrooke coughed to interrupt them. Chastity was relieved that she, too, was enthralled by the politics of the day. “I have heard tell that King George keeps a close eye on developments across the Channel. He fears that now that the Colonies have led the way, France may soon follow the same road to monarchial independence. In sponsoring their movement against the British they have overlooked the implications for their own rule.”
“Yes, my dear, how well informed you are. It is a great age for politics as even our young women take a casual interest. No doubt inspired by our revered hostess, the Duchess of Devonshire. Well done.” Lord Esher took her hand and kissed it.
Chastity felt something turn in her belly and her eyes narrowed as she watched her husband drop the lady’s hand with the greatest reluctance.
Tom Warren noticed too and was about to say something wicked when the Earl of Bath made it unnecessary. Anxious to address the slight to his cousin’s intelligence, he turned to Chastity.
“Lady Esher, what are your thoughts?”
Chastity was wrong-footed by the directness of this question. She forgot her husband’s wish she remain silent and answered without thinking. “Why, I don’t know anything about it, really.”
All members of their little group stared at her. Her fine clothes, her powdered face, her strategically placed beauty mark on her upper lip—all of her finery was undone in a moment when she opened her mouth and betrayed her upbringing. With an accent harsher than the lowliest of their house servants, the fine company now looked in wonderment and horror at Lady Esher.
Tom Warren smirked. This was the very thing he had hoped for and it had all been brought about with no effort on his part.
Chastity stood frozen. She was very aware of the awkwardness she had caused and she would have done anything within her power to take the moment back. But alas it was done. Sheepishly, she raised her eyes to her Lord.
Lord Esher was not staring at her though. Instead his eyes were set on his gloating friend, Tom Warren.
“Come, Lady Esher, I’ve been neglecting your welfare. Let us go and find refreshment. You have not eaten since sunrise and I’m sure you are hungry.”
Her husband took her firmly by the hand and they marched across the hall to a great table, where a huge assortment of food was laid out. A glorious selection of cold meats, including pigeon, pheasant, and an entire roasted suckling pig was spread before her. Desserts like Chastity had never seen looked too beautiful to eat, and all was laid out on china fit for an emperor. Yet the very thought of eating turned her stomach. She trembled in anticipation of the reprimand she felt was sure to come.
“One day I’ll run a blade through that troublemaker, have no doubt about it.”
“Tom Warren?”
“Who else,” he shot back angrily. Robert Esher picked up a chicken drumstick and held it pensively to his lips. He was about to speak again when Chastity heard a loud bang, and all eyes turned in the direction of the great staircase. At the top of the winding staircase stood their King, dressed in all his finery which marked him clearly as the monarch. Though Chastity found him rather plain to look upon, he had a regal manner and she watched as his eyes swept across the ocean of nobility, waiting patiently on the floor below.
“His Majesty, the King.”
Just a pace behind him stood the most dazzling woman Chastity had ever seen. She did not need a herald to tell her she was adoring the fa
mous Duchess of Devonshire, for the woman radiated fashion and beauty. Her mere presence brought gasps from the onlookers below. A dour looking man stood at her side. Though he was dressed in finery, the Duke’s classic, well-made style was singularly unremarkable. The older man carried a small child is his arms and when the family were announced to the assembly, he held the baby triumphantly in the air.
“Ah, the long awaited sixth Duke of Devonshire,” said Lord Esher. He cast the eaten drumstick aside and stepped closer to his wife. “It was rumored the old goat couldn’t sire a son but this will silence the nay-sayers now. If only the same could be done with my slippery friend there.”
“You’re not angry with me.”
Lord Robert cast his wife a sad look. “Chastity, we are both Tom Warren’s fools in this matter. I blame myself more than you, for I have education and breeding and should have known better. You are a victim of my friend’s enmity, your father’s greed, and my own stupidity. No, I do not blame you. I’m not even angry with you anymore. But the simple fact is, this world is not meant for you and your voice has betrayed you. By the end of this ball everyone will know that Lord Robert Esher was bested by his friend and now has a common tavern wench for a wife. What a scandal, what a joke. We are ruined, and I have but one hope to undo the evil that has been done to us. I must speak with his Majesty, the King.”
Though Lord Robert spoke kindly, his words cut Chastity cruelly. She had no desire to give up this world and if she could choose for herself, she would not go back to the gutter she came from. Ever so gently she rested her arm on her husband’s sleeve.
“Is it so terrible, Robert? I can learn to speak like you, to walk like you, to be like you. Do you have to try and undo what has been done?”
“If it can it must be undone. Chastity, don’t you understand, they will never accept you as one of their own. Though you are ten times more beautiful than Lady Sudbrooke there, it counts for nothing in this world. Breeding and money is everything. You have nothing. You will never be invited to dine in the best houses and I will be confined to attending less formal occasions, allowed only to socialize with the men of my club. Such a future is unthinkable. No child, I must speak with the King, and beg his mercy.”
