by HELEN HARDT
Sophie slowly perused the books again, taking in each one in the sciences section. Finally, she found one with promise. Physiological Mysteries and Revelations in Love, Courtship, and Marriage by Eugène Becklard. Perhaps this would be more interesting. She grabbed the book off the shelf, nearly losing her footing once again, wrapped it tightly in her arms, and stole up the back stairway to her chamber.
She sat down on her bed, opened the book, and began to read.
Chapter One
Must man be born of a woman?
Indeed not. Adrastus contends that every living species the world contains has been from all eternity; and hence, that the time has never been when there was no man or woman; so that, according to his system, the human race cannot be the offspring of one general mother. And he further insists that the meanest reptile that crawls, is the representative of an equally everlasting line of ancestry. The last assumption, however has been set at nought by experiments in modern chemistry, though without showing the necessity of original parents for they not only argue that living animals of perfectly original construction may be produced at pleasure, and independent of the usual modes of generation; but they have actually so produced them.
That was about as clear as tar. And who was Adrastus? The author couldn’t be referring to the legendary king of Argos, could he?
Sophie flicked through the book quickly, looking for something, anything, to help her understand the physiology of men and women and their love. She stopped when the word “childbearing” caught her eye.
Period of Child-bearing.—Women may be ten, eleven, and even twelve months in a certain condition, the ignorance whereof, causes much domestic trouble, and has occasionally been the means of divorces. On the contrary, full grown children may be born in the seventh month after conception, and some say in the sixth, or even less, but I doubt them. At least, out of all my experience, I never had personal knowledge of a case of the sort, but one, and then I had my suspicions, grounded on various circumstances, apart from the main one, which were rather unfavorable to the lady's character. The law, which rarely, if ever, suffers itself to be guided by exceptions, holds it a proof of illegitimacy if the period of child birth is delayed until the tenth month after the husband and wife have lived together.
Even she wasn’t so naïve to think a human pregnancy lasted anything other than about nine months. Those who came early were most likely conceived out of wedlock, and those who came late were most likely the result of a feigned pregnancy.
Still no help. She continued leafing through the book.
Marriage and Poetry.—Marriage blunts the imagination. A married writer of fiction must hold Hymen in check, or weary his readers; and poetry is almost irreconcilable with the state of wedlock. Schiller observes, that one cannot woo his wife and the muses; and there is, no doubt, much philosophy in the assumption. Thus it would seem that poetry is the escape of love when not otherwise directed.
Marriage blunts the imagination? This man was making marriage sound terrible. Sophie continued reading.
Ideas of Beauty.—Men of poetical or sanguine temperament prefer the beauty of the face. Those of stronger animal propensities, the beauty of form. The latter make the most attentive husbands, as they are most content with the realities in life.
Beauty of face? Of form? Sophie sighed. Ally had both. Sophie, though, was plain, in face and in form. Her hair was a dull gold as opposed to Ally’s lustrous chestnut brown. And her body? Ally was tall, with curves in all the right places and a voluptuous bosom. Sophie was shorter, her breasts not nearly as large, and her figure lean, not curvy.
If what this book said was true, no man would want her.
Violation.—Conception cannot take place under feelings of horror or disgust. Hence, no woman ever became pregnant from a rape committed on her against her inclination.
Odd, that statement. Sophie knew of women who had become pregnant after forced encounters. Did this mean that those women had actually wanted the encounter? This man had written it, and although she knew nothing of his qualifications, the book had been published. She would have to ask Ally about that.
Matrimonial Regret.—Men are liable to regret their marriage on the morning after its consummation, and to sigh for the freedom they have lost. But this is only an evanescent feeling, partially attributable to the fact, that, at the commencement the realities of love are usually found to be unequal to the anticipations. A week corrects this uneasiness, and contentment mostly occurs before the end of the honey moon.
Matrimonial regret… Why did men marry if they were going to regret it afterward? Was it possible for women to regret marriage also?
Transfer of Passion.—Love is partially the effect of mental, but more so of physical feeling. This is especially the case with men; and hence, when they despair of the consummation of one passion, they can always relieve it, or escape from it altogether by nourishing another.
Physical feeling? Physical feeling had dominated Sophie’s afternoon with Mr. Newland. Did this mean she was falling in love with him? This book was not answering any of her questions. In fact, it was only giving her new ones.
Longing for Marriage.—Young unmarried ladies, from the time they arrive at the age of puberty, think and talk about little besides love, and its attributes. Young men, however, though they have other objects of pursuit, are more carried away by the passion. When crossed in love, a woman becomes melancholy, a man insane.
Sophie had no disagreement there. She’d been longing for marriage forever, even coming from a home where her only example of marriage was abusive and intolerable. Resigning herself to spinsterhood had taken a lot of strength. Now, after she’d accepted it, along came Mr. Newland.
She closed the book, and then, on a whim, opened in again in the middle.
Many physicians of high authority have maintained, that two-thirds of the diseases to which the human race is liable, have had their origin in certain solitary practices; or to call things by their proper names—for I wish to make myself, thoroughly understood, so that I may not weaken the effect of what I am about to say, by catering to an affectation of false modesty—in onanism and masterbation. Some writers use the terms synonymously; others apply the first to the act in males, and the latter in females; and for the sake of perspicuity I shall follow the second rule. I say that many physicians of high authority have maintained, that two-thirds of the diseases to which the human race is liable, have had their origin in these habits. I cannot go so far as this; but I am convinced that they entail great calamities on all who indulge in them to excess, and that consumption, impotence, and lunacy, are among their fearful effects.
Oh, she could read no more! How horrid that people might…touch themselves and, in so doing, destroy themselves.
She was now more confused than ever. Her mind was jumbled. Monsieur Becklard was certainly no help. She wanted to go back to the library to see if she could find a more helpful volume, but fatigue had descended upon her. This day had been…consuming.
As she prepared to summon her maid to help her ready for slumber, a knock sounded on her door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sophie opened the door to find Hannah standing there.
“Hannah, dear, I was just about to summon you. I wish to get ready for bed.”
Hannah curtsied. “Of course, my lady, but I was coming to tell you that a message has been delivered for you.” The maid held out a parchment.
Another message? Two in one day? Very odd. “Thank you very much.” Sophie tore open the parchment.
You will be mine.
She widened her eyes, and her pulse quickened.
“Is anything wrong, my lady?” Hannah asked.
Sophie shook her head, biting her lip. “No, no. Nothing.” She folded the parchment and laid it on her night table. Most likely it was Mr. Newland—Zach—indicating his hope that she would take the role in the musicale. No need to worry, despite the hairs on her forearms standing on end.
�
��Hannah, please prepare me a bath.”
* * *
The next morning, Sophie breathed a relieved sigh to find Ally in the parlor taking a light breakfast.
“Where are Mother and the earl this morning? And Evan?” she asked.
Ally stopped munching on her scone and swallowed. “Evan and the earl had business to attend to early this morning, and Mother has decided to sleep late. I was planning the same thing, but Junior here kicked me until I woke up.” Ally petted her belly.
Sophie smiled. “Only about a month and a half to go now. Are you still hoping for a little boy?”
“Well, Evan doesn’t have a title to pass to a son, so it doesn’t rightly matter what I have. I just want a healthy baby, but I know Evan would adore having a son, so for him, I’m hoping for a boy.”
“If I know Evan, he’ll be happy with a healthy baby as well,” Sophie said.
Ally smiled. “You’re probably right.”
Sophie’s cheeks warmed as she gathered her courage to ask Ally the questions she’d been thinking about since yesterday. She was more confused than ever after reading those excerpts from Monsieur Becklard’s book.
“Ally…”
Ally looked up, continuing to chew on her scone.
“I was wondering…if I could ask you…a few things.”
Ally swallowed again. “Of course.”
“Well, before you and Evan married, you told me once that you had done a lot of…reading.”
Ally’s golden eyes gleamed. “Dear Sophie, are you finally blossoming?”
“Blossoming? What are you talking about?”
“The stirrings, my dear. Has a young man caught your fancy?”
Sophie blazed with heat. Yes, a certain man had caught her fancy—and had undressed her yesterday in a hidden alcove on this very estate. Not only that, he had breached her private place, and he had smacked her bum. She heated even further at the memory of those stinging little slaps.
“I have no stirrings, Ally. I am merely curious.”
“What do you wish to know?”
“You know I’ve resigned myself to spinsterhood.”
“Pishposh. You just haven’t met the right gentleman yet. He will come along.”
Perhaps he had already. “Ally, I’m four-and-twenty years old. Everyone knows the prime time for marriage for women is ages nineteen to twenty-five. I’m nearly too old already.”
“For goodness’ sake, where did you get such an antiquated idea?”
“From a book I found in the library—Monsieur Becklard’s Physiology…or some such.”
She remembered well the passage:
The proper age to marry, all the world over, is between twenty-five and thirty for men, and nineteen and twenty-five for women; and in fact, previous to the ages of twenty-five and nineteen they are, as a general rule, inadequate to the requirements of matrimonial intercourse.
“Becklard? That French fool? Why, that book is complete rubbish.”
“You’ve read it?”
“Yes, a couple of years ago. I found a copy at the duke’s estate. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, but then I found other treatises that were much more accurate.”
“Treatises? Which ones?”
Ally giggled. “Not so much treatises as…literature.”
“Literature? I don’t understand.”
Ally smiled a devilish smile. “Come to my chamber after breakfast, and I shall show you.”
Sophie’s cheeks heated. “Can’t you just answer my questions, Ally? I’m not comfortable reading this type of…literature.”
“I’m certainly happy to do what I can. What questions do you have?”
“Well, I’m not exactly sure how to ask this…” Lord, she wanted to disappear.
“Go right ahead, dear. I used to write for an erotic magazine, remember? Chances are I will have the answers you seek.”
Her sister was no doubt right. Sophie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Something happened to me—something that is very difficult to explain. I…felt like I was flying. Yet I felt one with the earth as well. A contradictory feeling, but an intense pleasure that…I can’t adequately describe.”
Ally clasped her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Sophie, are you saying you had a climax?”
“Is that the word for it? I’m afraid I just don’t know what happened.”
“It certainly sounds like a climax to me. How did it happen? Did you just stumble upon the right spot while you were…touching yourself?”
Sophie wilted, unable to speak. She was going to die an untimely death right here in the breakfast room.
“Was it with a man?” Ally smiled.
Sophie closed her eyes, still unable to force words from her throat.
“Don’t tell me it was with a woman, although your maid is quite pretty.”
Sophie’s eyes flew open, and she inhaled a loud gasp. “Of course not with a woman. How could you even think such a thing?”
“There are some people who prefer the company of those of their own gender.”
“I will assure you I am not one of those people.” Though the thought was intriguing. Women were beautiful, and she appreciated their beauty… Goodness, she could not let that thought continue.
“Well, you obviously haven’t been with a man, so I can only infer that you were touching yourself.”
“Oh, my, no! Why, Monsieur Becklard’s book says that can lead to all sorts of dangerous diseases.”
“Sophie, dear, did I not just tell you that book is pure refuse?”
“Yes, but you must understand. It’s all that I’ve read, other than a book on the marriage bed.”
“That drivel by Lady Margaret Mead? She thinks all men are perverted creatures who constantly have sexual acts on the brain.”
Sophie squirmed. “Don’t they?”
Ally let out a guffaw, clutching her belly. “Well, yes, they do.”
Sophie couldn’t help smiling. The male was fascinating. Especially one as handsome, talented, and interesting as Mr. Newland—Zach.
“Tell me now, how did you come about to have your climax?
Sophie dropped her gaze to the napkin in her lap. “This is absolutely embarrassing…”
“Sophie, we’re sisters, the closest two people can be other than husband and wife. You have nothing to be embarrassed about in front of me. After all, we survived a horribly abusive childhood together. Nothing could be worse than that. Especially not something that feels so good.”
Ally did have a point. Still, Sophie had to will the words out of her mouth. “I’ve never been one to allow liberties, but Mr. Newland…er…Zach…accompanied me on a walk yesterday afternoon. We came to the secluded alcove where I enjoy reading or just relaxing, and then…”
Ally smiled impishly. “And then what?”
Sophie let out a breath of air that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “He kissed me. And it was not our first kiss.”
“What?” Ally’s eyes turned into saucers. “You had kissed him before?”
“Yes, after my audition. I’m not quite sure how it happened, Ally, but it was…enjoyable.”
“Enjoyable? Your first kiss? If it was merely enjoyable, you definitely need to experience more.”
Sophie warmed at the lie she had just told. The kiss had been way more than simply enjoyable. It had been a thrilling, heavenly, more than she’d ever anticipated it might be. Just the memory made her glow—at least she felt as if she were glowing on the inside. She opened her mouth to say so, but Ally continued speaking.
“My dear, it must’ve been more than enjoyable if you allowed him further liberties in the alcove.”
Shuddering, Sophie nodded. “It was more thrilling than I could ever have imagined.”
“Tell me what happened in the alcove, then.”
“It started with more kissing, even more rapturous than our previous kissing, and then he…began to undress me.”
“And?”
Soph
ie fidgeted with her napkin, kneading the linen with her fingers. Her nipples tightened and her core throbbed. Would Ally be able to tell she was aroused? “I knew I shouldn’t be doing it. I knew I should stop him. But God help me, I didn’t want to. I wanted him to undress me. I wanted him to see me nude. I was so…wanton! I was not ladylike at all, I fear.”
“Succumbing to your baser urges doesn’t mean you’re not ladylike. We ‘ladies’ are equipped with a certain organ, the sole purpose of which is sexual pleasure. My guess is he introduced you to yours.”
“It was a place near my…private opening. He touched it, and…I can’t even explain the feeling.”
“That is called your clitoris.”
“My what?”
“Clitoris. The word originated in the seventeenth century. An Italian anatomist claimed to have discovered it in the sixteenth century. He called it amor Veneris vel dulcedo, the love of Venus.”
“Love of Venus?”
“Yes, I have no idea what that was supposed to mean. I don’t personally think any man discovered this organ. It was probably discovered by a female millennia ago. It was only just named in the seventeenth century.”
“What is it exactly?”
“Most seem to think it’s the female version of the cock…er…the penis. But unlike the latter, the only purpose of the clitoris is sexual arousal in women. The cock, as you know, has other functions.”
Sophie’s entire body burst into flames. If only a hole could open up and swallow her. “Ally, this conversation is getting…uncomfortable.”
“Dear, there is absolutely no reason for you to be uncomfortable. I am well versed in these things, and I’m happy to share my knowledge with you. Discovering your clitoris is a beautiful experience. That organ will give you intense pleasure for many years.”
Sophie shook her head and heaved a sigh.
“Now tell me,” Ally said. “What exactly did Mr. Newland do to make you climax?”
