Viveka Portman

by The Secret Diary of Lady Catherine Bexley

  Wednesday 28 July 1813

  Lord Albert Winteringham arrived today. He did so with remarkably little fuss. A small, black carriage had carried him from London and he had little luggage to speak of.

  My husband, myself and staff lined up to greet him. When he stepped down from the carriage I realised that my husband’s cousin was a very dashing young man. He had black hair, like Joseph, although Lord Winteringham’s had not the grey. He was equally as tall, but where stern lines marred my husband’s brow, on Albert Winteringham’s smooth countenance there were none.

  ‘Good day, cousin. Lady Bexley.’ He bowed deeply.

  My husband and I responded with appropriate and warm welcomes. Albert had sparkling blue eyes, not the brooding darkness of my Joseph; and I dare say they twinkled with amusement as he surveyed my husband and myself.

  Joseph stood stiffly and properly. I had little doubt he would take the young Lord Albert Winteringham into his library and have stern words with him about how to behave like a proper gentlemen. I could only imagine how this dashing young man with the sparkling eyes would take that.

  ‘My valet will see you to your rooms, Albert.’ Faulks nodded. ‘When you are quite refreshed, I wish you to meet with me in my library.’

  Albert nodded, and winked a mischievous blue eye at me.

  I blushed.

  My husband seemed to note the interaction and, if it were possible, I believe he stiffened even more.

  ‘My lady, if I could speak with you?’ he asked, and extended a hand towards me.

  I saw Albert’s eyes dart between me and my husband, before Faulks ushered him into the hall and up the stairs.

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. I felt strangely bemused. What was he going to speak of? Certainly not last night, when he’d neglected to come to my rooms and perform his conjugal duties once again.

  My loins ached, but I revealed nothing of my longing as I allowed Joseph to take my hand. He didn’t often touch me, so I relished the contact.

  ‘Shall we take a turn around the grounds?’ he asked.

  I nodded. The air was much cooler today, and grey clouds loomed over the horizon.

  We walked past the hedging and towards the water-fountain. Several of the flower beds had suffered from the warm weather of the days previous, and the gardener was busy pulling out those deemed too drab to remain.

  ‘I feel I ought tell you the nature of Albert’s scandal in London — although it brings great shame to me.’

  ‘Of course,’ I responded demurely, and we walked past the gardener who did not raise his head.

  We settled ourselves down on the cast iron garden seat and stared over the manicured gardens, and much to my disappointment, Joseph released my hand.

  As we sat, my thigh pressed against his, and the heat flared within me again.

  ‘Albert has been accused of dishonouring Miss Annabel Carroll, his younger sister’s governess,’ he sighed. ‘It seems that the young woman has found herself in a delicate situation, and claims Albert to be the father. This has come at a difficult time, as Albert’s engagement to Lady Hamilton’s eldest daughter has only just been announced. The Hamiltons are in a fine state about it, and my uncle wishes Albert to remain here at the hall with me, until it passes, and hopes that I may be something of a better influence on the boy.’

  Well, dear diary, I was startled at this. What a scandal indeed. I had little doubt my proper and gentlemanly husband would be a good influence on the boy, but really, for the circumstance to pass? That is unlikely — there is a bastard child to be considered, not to mention the ruination of a young governess. Society thrived on scandals such as these.

  ‘It seems that my father’s philandering tendencies live on in his nephew.’ Joseph remarked sombrely.

  ‘I am certain you will be a wonderful influence on Albert,’ I said. ‘As for philandering tendencies — I do not know enough about them to comment.’

  ‘Nor will you,’ Joseph replied. ‘You never need fear them in me.’

  Dear diary, it is a relief to know that my husband will not stray to the arms of another woman — I merely wish he’d stray into my own arms a little more frequently — and perhaps stay there a little longer than he is known to.

  ‘I am grateful,’ I whispered, and nestled closer towards him. I could feel the heat from his thigh burn through the layers of cloth between us. Did he feel it too? My hands had been at rest in my lap, but I let one rise and fall to land on the leg that stretched beside mine. I felt my husband’s body tense beneath it. I turned to face him; I would be bold.

  ‘Would you kiss me?’ I whispered, knowing my cheeks burned at the words.

  He stared at me as if I’d spoken Gaelic, and hesitated.

  ‘Please?’ I asked.

  It took him another moment to decide, but he swiftly dipped his head and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

  It was not the kiss I’d wanted or envisioned. I’d seen other people kiss — and kiss passionately at that. Lovers would hide, secreted away behind hedges and dark doorways at parties and balls, kissing each other with longing and desire. In my opinion, kisses on the cheek should be reserved for grandmothers and babies — not wives.

  ‘I meant …’ I felt the blush. ‘Perhaps you may wish to kiss me on the lips.’

  I stared at his mouth then and focussed on his lips; they were full and well-shaped.

  He pulled away from me and stood.

  ‘Kissing on the lips, Catherine, is for the French — you are a well bred Englishwoman. A kiss on the cheek is proper.’ He looked angry.

  ‘Of course, I apologise,’ I said. As I stood, he offered me a stiff arm — which I took lamely, and we returned to the hall.

  I had heard raised voices when Joseph and Albert conversed in the library. Perhaps as a result of this conversation, dinner was a painfully dull affair. My husband glowered at me, though perhaps not as much as he glowered at Albert, who seemed not to care in the slightest. Of conversation during the meal, there was little. It would have been more appropriate if I had just retired for the night, as the men could not in all good conscience leave me alone in the sitting-room whilst they had post-dinner drinks and smoked in the library, as men are wont to do. So instead, we all gathered in the sitting room. The men smoked and drank whisky whilst I sipped at my tea.

  I could not help but notice that cousin Albert seemed to be partaking in more than his fair share of whisky. I watched the young man as he lounged indolently on our Grecian couch — the one so much like that on which I’d witnessed Lord Stanton and his maid. His tongue became lax and his language more so.

  ‘So,’ Albert slurred, his twinkling blue eyes meeting mine and offering a wink, ‘cousin.’ He turned to face my husband. ‘I am surprised you have not rushed to be abed with your lovely wife. Married only a month — surely that is not time enough for her to be repulsed by you.’ He laughed and puffed indulgently at his pipe.

  My mouth fell open in surprise and horror. I felt my cheeks become hot. It was a notion that had not occurred to me. Was it perchance my husband’s repulsion of me, rather than his piety and prudishness, that kept him from my bed?

  My husband’s eyes flashed as he was taken a-back.

  ‘You overstep your mark, Albert,’ he growled. ‘You are under my roof to relieve your family of the scandal you have brought upon them. I will have no such speak here.’

  ‘It was just a comment — a query if you will, cousin. Should Lady Bexley be my wife, I’d be rushing her abed every spare moment of the day. Such a fine looking woman,’ he added.

  Now my face burned in earnest. What a singularly outrageous thing to say —especially after my husband’s previous reprimand.

  ‘Albert.’ The word was a warning, and the recalcitrant cousin ceased his banter immediately. Joseph turned to me, his eyes dark with some unfathomable emotion. ‘Catherine, my love.’ His use of the endearment made me swoon. ‘I think my cousin has partaken in too much whisky, and his conversation is not fit for your
ears. If you would be so kind as to retire ...’

  I took my husband’s meaning immediately, and stood.

  ‘Indeed,’ I agreed, albeit weakly. ‘Good evening to you both.’ I bobbed my head and swept from the room.

  It is here, dear diary that my true colours yet again become apparent. I did not retire immediately but hid and eavesdropped. Shameful, but I am unrepentant — for what I heard has heartened me.

  I heard another whisky being poured.

  ‘You will do yourself no favours speaking of my wife as if she is naught but a comely governess,’ my husband barked.

  Albert laughed then. ‘And you’ll be doing yourself no favours with your wife, treating her like a precious china doll,’ he said. ‘In my experience, and I confess I have much of it, women like to be treated with passion and excitement. Miss Carroll certainly did.’

  ‘Have you no shame, Albert? You are here to regain your decorum and composure — with my guidance and support — away from the gossip mill of London. I will not tolerate such vulgarities under my roof.’

  I’d never heard my husband sound so aggrieved.

  Albert merely laughed again, as if not a care weighted his shoulders.

  ‘You must forgive my lax manners, cousin — but your wife looks like a woman who would rather like to be treated like a comely governess. Did you not observe her this evening? Heaving bosom, glittering eyes, flushed cheeks. She’s a woman ripe for the picking, make no mistake.’

  I cannot believe a gentleman would speak like this of his cousin’s wife. Yet his words brought me no shame, in fact the truth he spoke resounded within me, and resounded deeply.

  Yet my husband’s tone was pure fury. ‘In the morning, Albert you will seek out Rigby in the stables and spend the day mucking — perhaps a day filled with horse filth may make you reconsider the filth coming from your mouth,’ he finished with a snarl.

  I heard Albert give a startled cough. ‘You cannot order me to do such a thing, cousin.’

  ‘I can indeed,’ my husband growled. ‘I have a letter here from your father, stating quite clearly that I should do what I see fit to discipline and guide his son.’

  ‘No. I will not do it.’

  I could hear my husband’s boots tap on the floorboards, and I shrank back into the darkness surrounding the door.

  ‘If you do not do as I state, cousin ...’ the word slid from my husband’s mouth like something unsavoury, ‘your father will have you disinherited.’ His tone began to soften. ‘I tell you this, not wanting to frighten you, Albert, but to warn you. Your father has had enough of your scandals. Here you have been given an opportunity to redeem yourself in his eyes, if not in the eyes of society. You will muck out those stables on the morrow, and you will not ever speak of Lady Bexley in that tone again. Now, I bid you goodnight.’

  Without waiting, I scurried away from the doorway and flew upstairs to my rooms. I am certain, however, that my husband caught sight of my skirts disappearing around the door. Soon there was knock on my door.

  ‘Come in,’ I called, trying to neaten my hair that had fallen loose in my flight from being discovered.

  Without a further word, my husband entered my rooms. He stood tall and broad in the doorway. I felt something in my womb tighten at the sight of him.

  ‘You seem breathless,’ he remarked, and closed the door behind him.

  I became aware then that my bosom was heaving, the twin mounds of my breasts rose and fell with dramatic motion, entrancing my husband. I felt his eyes burn on my bust and his gaze darkened.

  That place between my legs heated up, and I sank down on the chintz seat near the drawn curtains, hoping to ease the throbbing. It did not.

  ‘You’re flushed,’ he added. ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘I am well,’ I replied breathlessly.

  ‘Has Hetty not come to undress you and prepare you for bed?’ he asked.

  My mind whirled. ‘No,’ I said. ‘She took ill this evening, so I sent her back to the servant rooms to rest.’

  I lied. Hetty was quite well; I merely hadn’t had the opportunity to ring for her.

  ‘I thought I’d manage by myself this evening,’ I added, my hands twisting in my lap. A wicked notion then occurred to me. ‘But, alas,’ I breathed woefully, ‘I cannot release the clasps on my gown, and I had quite forgotten that the stays I wore today are those laced at the back …’ I faded off. ‘Would you,’ I blushed, ‘would you mind helping me?’ I finished with a whisper.

  I tell you this now dear diary, my thighs were sopping with excitement at the prospect of my husband undressing me.

  ‘I …’ he began and his gaze fell back to my bosom. ‘I don’t think it would be proper. I will call the chamber maid.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I exclaimed. ‘I wouldn’t want the chamber maid awoken; that would be unkind. She works so hard, the dear girl; and I cannot abide unkindness.’

  My husband hesitated. ‘Quite,’ he replied, and stepped towards me. ‘If there is no alternative …’ he whispered.

  ‘Thank you.’ I couldn’t hide the smile that was beginning to grow upon my lips.

  I turned my back to my husband, and I felt his large hands brush the loose strands of hair from my neck so that he could unclasp the back of my gown. My breath hitched in my throat, and I felt my nipples turn to rock at his slightest touch to my body.

  He released the eye-and-hook clasps one-by-one. I could feel cooler air caress my back as my pale blue muslin gown fell to the floor.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered as bent to pick the gown up. I lifted the material and lay it over the chair for Hetty to hang later. ‘Would you be so kind as to do my stays?’ I asked softly.

  Joseph made a choking sound, which I took for agreement. I knew that my petticoat would be all but see-through if I stood in front of the lamp, so I positioned myself purposefully before it.

  I am a wicked woman to torment him so.

  I could feel my husband’s hands tremble as he began to unlace the stays and work them loose. Soon enough, however, that too fell to the ground. Now, I was clad only in my petticoat and the drawers. Their material seemed unbearably constricting; I waited, hoping he would continue this undressing.

  ‘I shall leave you now to attend to yourself.’ Joseph’s voice was tight, and sounded strained to my ears.

  ‘Must you?’ I asked, turning to face him.

  He did not respond and I could sense he was hearing Albert’s words in his mind once again.

  The wind had picked up, those grey clouds earlier were bringing inclement weather.

  ‘I …’ I began. ‘I dislike the wind, it frightens me — please stay with me, just for a while.’

  Another lie I grant you — I do not give a fig for weather or storms, in fact, I rather relish them.

  Joseph frowned. ‘I …’

  ‘If it pleases you, whilst you keep me company during the storm, we may try once again to sire a son.’ My voice was very soft. Joseph stilled before me, I watched him carefully, slowly dragging my gaze from his face to the tell-tale bulge in his breeches.

  Surely he wouldn’t deny me this night?

  He gave a curt nod. ‘Take yourself to the bed then,’ he said, but his tone was troubled.

  I nearly had to stop myself from skipping with glee to the bed — but another idea struck me.

  ‘I cannot get into the bed in my petticoat and drawers.’ I commented, and without dallying further, lifted the petticoat from my body and dropped my drawers.

  Joseph made a choking sound as I stood naked before him. Could he see the moisture glistening in my nether curls? Could he tell how swollen I was? Did he notice that my nipples had pebbled under his hungry and irritated gaze?

  ‘Catherine,’ his voice shook, ‘please dress yourself. Seeing you like this …’ he ran his hand through his hair, ‘makes it difficult for me to be a gentleman with you.’

  I wanted to say, ‘I don’t want you to be a gentleman to me,’ but my sense of decency forbade me, so I tr
ied another tactic. ‘Does my body displease you, husband?’ I spoke very softly, allowing vulnerability to stain my words.

  ‘No.’ His answer was quick. He looked around as if he may pluck his response from the air, but failed.

  I stood beside the bed, completely unclothed. ‘Then what? What could make you, the honourable Lord Bexley, not a gentleman? I don’t understand.’

  He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a profanity under his breath. ‘I fear that seeing you as such will bring out tendencies I would rather not have.’

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, and crawled into the bed. I felt under the pillow to retrieve my night gown. ‘What tendencies are those?’ I pressed.

  Dear diary, do you think me cruel, asking these questions when it is clear they make my husband suffer so?

  ‘Animalistic tendencies, Catherine. I may lose sense of myself, fall upon you, and ravage you like a beast. Please, please, put on your nightdress.’

  My mouth fell open at this. It sounded utterly magnificent.

  It was, most fortuitous that at the same moment, a wild gust of wind pushed against my windows, rattling them alarmingly. I let out a yelp of surprise. The sound of my cry had an immediate effect on my husband and he strode towards me with wide, concerned eyes.

  ‘Dear Catherine,’ he said. ‘it is just the wind.’ He rested his hand soothingly upon my shoulder, but it just inflamed my need.

  I am ashamed, dear diary, that I preyed upon my husband’s kind heart at this moment. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ I whispered, and buried my head into him. ‘I’m so scared.’

  The window rattled again and I gripped him, pulling him down onto the bed with me. He landed with a surprised cry atop of me.

  ‘Catherine,’ he groaned, but as he tried to collect himself, he allowed his hands, for just a brief moment, to slide along my sides and cup my aching breasts. I moaned with sheer delight, reached up and drew him closer down onto me. As he came down, the weight of him pushed the air from my chest and my legs splayed open to make way for him.

  He wrestled with me, trying to extricate himself from my arms, but I could feel the hard length of his cock wedged between my thighs, albeit separated by a thin layer of cloth.