Mistress of My Fate

by Hallie Rubenhold

  Of course I had always understood where my actions would lead me. When I fled, I knew for certain that I would be ruined and that Lord Allenham would be the one who undid me, but I had not the faintest notion of what a ruination involved. Tell me, what polite, well-bred girl does? In which of the many Romantic novels or moralizing tracts can be found a complete definition of the term “to ruin?” None. And so our poor young lady, reader, is left without so much as a hint of what awaits her, or whether indeed the loss of virtue is, as so many have solemnly written, “the worst of all tragedies.”

  In my opinion, it is a great plague upon this nation that its daughters are kept so innocent of their fates. All women must come to it, whether by a husband or a seducer, it matters not. Anatomy and its functions are the same for each and every member of the female sex, whether she be a scullery maid or the future Queen of England. Would it not be better that we arm our daughters with knowledge of what awaits them, than send them to the marriage bed as we might an ignorant lamb to its slaughter?

  I address my young readers when I say this: pay heed to the words I write and to the scene I now paint. After all, are you not taught that women of my sort exist only to instruct you? Permit me to spare you the embarrassment from which I suffered. That is, of course, providing that your mamma or governess has not by this point torn my memoirs from your delicate hands and thrown them upon the fire.

  Now I return us to the small, low sofa with the scrolling arms against which Allenham and I reclined. We continued there for some time, much in the fashion I have described, overtaken by a fever of kissing and gentle touches. It was not long before Allenham’s full, firm lips became bolder in their wanderings, moving from my mouth and neck, down to my throat and gauze-covered bosom. Slowly, he parted the material and buried his face in my décolleté, which made me gasp with astonishment. I felt so flushed that I feared I might have a fit and faint dead away.

  It was in the midst of this excitement that I became gradually aware of an unusual sensation, which raised some alarm in me. It was centred in that spot that defines us from the male sex. I could not describe it in any other terms but to say that it ached, and with the discomfort was a feeling of dampness, which caused me even greater concern. Once it had come to my attention, I was drawn from my reverie, so that by the time his lordship’s hand crept beneath my skirts and across my stocking-covered knee, I jumped with fright.

  Allenham pulled back quickly, sat up and composed himself.

  “Forgive me, my love…” he began. “I have offended you.”

  I sat to one side of the small couch with my knees pressed tightly together and an expression of fear upon my face.

  “No,” I assured him, “you have not.”

  Noticing my unease, he took my hand in his.

  “Then tell me, what is it that has distressed you?”

  I looked at Allenham, who had been rendered breathless by our activity. His dark hair was strewn about and his waistcoat undone. As he gazed at me in his state of dishabille, I believe he appeared more handsome than I had ever seen him.

  I shook my head. “I do not know… I cannot say,” for indeed I could not give a name to what was troubling me. That which did not feel right between my legs had unnerved me in other ways as well. I thought of Lady Catherine, I thought again of what I done in leaving Melmouth, in falling in love with Allenham, of what I was about to do. There seemed to me no truths. When once my life had been so clearly defined, now I had nothing to guide me but my own moral compass, which spun and spun and spun.

  “I know not what I do,” I said timidly.

  Allenham smiled and touched my face.

  “Are you uncertain of my love?” he asked.

  “No.” I spoke clearly. “That I know.”

  “What then?”

  I shook my head again and squeezed together my knees.

  “Are you frightened?”

  “Yes.” I lowered my eyes.

  He moved an inch or two, so that he now sat directly beside me, his leg against mine. “Henrietta.” He leaned into my ear and whispered while kissing it: “Have you much understanding of the act of love? How the parts of male and female fit together?”

  I thought for a moment. I had seen beasts rutting, many of them: bullocks climbing atop cows, birds upon one another, rams mounting sheep. This awkward dance, which seemed to me quite undignified, was also what occurred between a husband and a wife, once they were wed. Marriage, I had learned, permitted this act to take place, but this explanation only confused me further, for I knew that it could be done without the blessing of matrimony.

  In London, from a very young age I had seen the outlines of whores and their culls. Coupling pairs were to be found everywhere: in the shadows of Vauxhall Gardens, down darkened streets, under bridges as the snow fell. “Wretched creatures,” Lady Stavourley often sneered, before tugging at the carriage blinds. It was a feeble attempt at moral instruction. I knew what it was that I witnessed, but my innocent mind struggled to connect this animal act with that which occurred within the marital bed.

  As for the anatomy of it, I knew that the male and female were intended to hook together, that I had an internal part in which seeds were planted that grew into infants. When there was no child in my womb, I bled, or so Sally had told me when my monthly courses began.

  I knew that men had a hanging part, which was called a yard or cock, as I had heard the servants name it. When we were quite young, and Lord Dennington and Master Edwin ran about unclothed, I saw their little things on view, bouncing between their legs. The seed that made children came from there. But beyond that, I had no real understanding of the act at all.

  I shrugged with embarrassment. “I know only little.”

  He kissed me full on the mouth and then smiled.

  “Then I shall show you all that you need know.”

  Chapter 15

  Maidenheads are not meant to be taken upon sofas. Neither should they be had in chairs nor in the backs of carriages. When a young lady is undone in such a place, it is less likely to be “an act of love” than an act of rape. You gentlemen may call it what you will. Seduction is a term too freely used. We protest and you persist, unwilling to believe we will not have you. Would that all men were as conciliatory as Lord Allenham was with me. He removed me to his bedchamber, and I, with no wish to resist, tamely went with him there.

  It is true, I had no notion of what it was I went to, and had I been apprised of the pain and embarrassment that awaited me, I might have offered more hesitation. But as you know, I had no female counsel, no mother to instruct me, no married sister to whisper guidance into my ear. I had with me but the shreds of knowledge I possessed, and—for this I was grateful—the compassion of a lover who knew the value of the gift I was to bestow upon him.

  I was a good deal anxious, as nervous as any bride. But love is like a liquor and I had drunk so heavily of it that my apprehensions, my confusions seemed to matter little, so long as he touched and kissed me.

  This he continued to do as he drew me to the side of his bed and felt for the opening of my gown. Once he had divested me of this and untied my skirts, he began to loosen my stays. I could feel his eager hands trembling at the lacings, anticipating, as all men do, that holy first glimpse of the unmasked female charms.

  “My God, you are Venus herself,” he exclaimed, falling to his knees and pressing me against him. At that instant, modesty reared upon me and I blushed brilliantly. Though still in his embrace I struggled with my chemise, wishing to cover myself.

  “No, no,” he murmured, pulling it down again, his face an expression of bliss, “you do not know what beauty you possess, nor what joy the sight of your naked breasts gives to me. I have dreamed of this… of you, so much so that I have lost nights of sleep.”

  He rose from where he worshipped me and, lifting me on to the bed, began to cover my snowy hillocks with adoring kisses. As he placed his mouth at one of the pink tips, I gasped with surprise and delight. He gaze
d up at me with a satisfied smile, before returning to his task.

  Each caress of his, each passionate gesture was as new to me as it was pleasurable. It seemed that wherever he laid his fingers or lips, some electric current followed. The sensations were beyond any I had ever known, for when I felt his skin brush mine, when he sighed his declarations of love, or explored some previously private place, such as my thighs or my belly, all thoughts fled from my mind, as if I had no other desires in the world but that he should forever continue to kiss and fondle me. He, too, wished for nothing but this and struggled with his own clothing, as it seemed he could not bear to remove his hands or mouth from me long enough to undress himself.

  When at last his coat, waistcoat, breeches and stockings lay in a litter upon the floor, he pulled back the coverlet of the bed and took me beneath the warm folds. I was glad of this, for not only did I feel the cold through my thin chemise, but in my innocent, bashful state, I could not bring myself to look on him unclothed. It seemed too wanton and indecent to cast my eyes upon his masculine figure. To be sure, he was shaped like a Grecian athlete, with a broad chest and back, and round shoulders formed as if by a sculptor. Few men can boast of such classical perfection, though I did not come to appreciate this until much later.

  He placed himself atop me, and to have so little between us, to feel the heat of him, his strong weight against me, his thighs pressing into mine, seemed to me the closest to paradise I might come. My eyes fluttered and closed as if in a fit. For a brief instant, I wondered if this was what it was to be ruined, to feel as if one might expire from love, for I felt utterly transported, enraptured, enslaved. Surely after tasting such joy, one must thereafter always long for it. But then I knew there was more to the act than this, for he had not yet put his member beside mine.

  Our kisses had begun to grow ever longer, fuller, slower. Then, quite unexpectedly, he parted my lips and tickled my tongue with his. I pulled back and offered him a shy smile.

  He laughed. “Does that alarm you? It is what the French do with their mouths.”

  He then tried it again. On this occasion, there was some thrill in it, some deeper connection to the kiss, which seemed more gratifying.

  As I grew accustomed to this, the gentle rhythm of it, he took my hand and guided it below, where I felt the strange object that had for some time been lying against me. It was stiff and quite long. I jumped in surprise.

  “I did not think it was that large!” I cried in horror. “But how? But where? How does it fit?”

  Allenham could not contain his laughter. “Oh dear Hetty,” he exclaimed, “you are so perfectly innocent!” He put his forehead to mine as his body shook with mirth. “It is no larger or smaller than any other man’s,” said he modestly, before rolling over to recline upon his elbow. “The male member stiffens so it may enter you.”

  “But surely,” said I with some unease, “there is nowhere for it to go.”

  “Shall I show you where it is to go?” said he, his eyes glittering with lust. Then he gently moved apart my thighs and ran his fingers along the rim of my nether parts. Until that moment, he had not dared touch me in that most secret of spots, knowing perhaps that such an intimate approach would have startled me. But I was now so much a captive to love that there was not an inch of my person I did not wish him to possess. His motions, though soft and teasing, grew increasingly insistent, until I felt myself quite stupefied under his touch.

  Then, very slowly, there seemed to be a void, which parted as he pushed his finger into it.

  I gasped, for it smarted terribly.

  He hushed me. “The pain is fleeting. The longer I toy with you, the less you will feel it,” said he, continuing his movements.

  Allenham carried on with this task for a long time. I cannot say how long, for I had entirely lost my senses, and time seemed an irrelevance. Little by little, he widened the passage with his fingers. Eventually, he suggested that I was ready to be tried.

  For all the caressing and rubbing, kissing and loving that is done prior to the act, let it not fool you, innocent ones; the first approach is grievously painful. It is painful the second time and the third as well, but with each attempt the tearing sting is lessened, until by the fourth or fifth try it has miraculously vanished. Your mother or aunt, your elder married sisters may neglect to tell you all of this, but you should know it, for it is to your benefit to have knowledge of such a thing, no matter how indelicate. New brides should insist their husbands proceed slowly, and in the manner I described above, for it is the least hurtful method. Men can be brutes when they are fired by desire, and have no understanding of the violence they do to the tender parts of maids. Many are inclined to plough us as roughly as they would a frozen field, when in truth what we require is patience and warmth. It is that which thaws us into a pliable state.

  It required several attempts before his lordship claimed my virgin prize. In truth, it took the better part of the day and evening, for I felt such pain that he refused to proceed, insisting that he could not bear to harm me. Instead we lay together, entwined and resting, until desire drove us into the act once more. With each foray, he made greater progress, until I felt his member entirely engulfed by mine.

  How strange it was. Never could I have imagined it should be as this, that my small part could accommodate his larger one, that a man should fit inside a woman as a foot into a shoe. Ah, but to know he was within me, that a part of my beloved’s person was melded and blended with my own physical form, was perhaps the greatest joy my mind could comprehend. I was still marvelling at this feat of nature when I became aware that my lover had begun to move inside me. This brought some renewal of the discomfort, but his motions were slow and careful. He watched me all the while to see that I did not recoil with pain. As he saw that I did not, he continued, now with greater urgency, until all at once he gasped and sighed.

  For a moment I lay there with my love expired against me, wearing a confused smile. I could not fathom what had occurred, until Allenham looked upon my expression and, amused at my simplicity, let out a roar of laughter.

  “My darling,” he exclaimed, half breathless, “you have made me the happiest man alive!” He covered my face with kisses, before drawing back to examine me.

  “I have made you expire,” said I apologetically.

  He laughed again, this time with so much vigour that he carried me along in his good humour. I too giggled, though I knew not why.

  “How I love you, Henrietta,” he sighed. “Expire I did, my angel. I expired from pleasure. I spent my seed.”

  I studied him with concern. “Were… were you meant to?”

  “Yes. That is the aim of it,” he explained. Then he stroked my cheek and regarded me with such adoration that I believed he might weep. “You must never permit the world to pass censure on you, Hetty, not for committing this deed. There is no evil in love, no sin in it at all.”

  I nodded, though uneasily.

  “The world will attempt to censure you, you must understand that.”

  “I care not for the world.”

  “Nor do I,” he exclaimed, kissing me triumphantly. “I hold no love of the laws of man. Monsieur Rousseau says we should be free of such things, free to pursue our true nature, our true inclinations…”

  “Free to wander, like Werther…” I chirped.

  “Yes, like Werther too. I strive for this, and so must you.” Then he placed both hands at either side of my face and penetrated my eyes with his. “I knew always, from the moment I first looked upon you, that you had a will of your own, Hetty. You did not even recognize it in yourself, but I saw it, which is why I contrived to dance with you that night.”

  I gasped in disbelief at his words.

  “You cannot mean that?”

  “You thought it occurred by chance?” He smirked wickedly.

  “But of course.” I was astonished at his admission.

  “And I was correct. You are courageous, my love, so courageous. Every day that
we were apart my heart yearned for you to come to me. I thought of it every morning; at every private moment, every night before I extinguished the light, I wished it to happen.”

  “You willed me to you.” I spoke solemnly.

  “We willed it together, and so it has come to pass.” He laid a kiss upon my forehead. “We are joined eternally, as husband and wife.”

  His words and tenderness shot a shiver of delight through my heart. I understood then that this act had been irrevocable. While a ring might be pulled from a finger or a marriage dissolved, this deed could never be undone, nor the memory of it lost.

  “And the pain, it will pass,” he said with a knowing look, “and soon be replaced by an unimaginable bliss.”

  I could not think what he meant, and I asked him what greater pleasure there might be than feeling his naked limbs against mine.

  “You think it will always be as unpleasant as this?” He raised a playful eyebrow to me. “No wife would ever stand for it! The human race would come to an end.”

  “No,” I agreed, “it would seem very odd were that the case.”

  His languorous blue eyes locked with mine and his mouth began to curl. He enjoyed imparting these carnal lessons to me.

  “I shall teach you a thing many ladies do not know, something that a woman herself taught to me.”

  Though intrigued by his words, I was also a good deal startled by his frank admission that he had known other ladies before me. Now, to think of my naivety makes me double up with laughter. How else might he have acquired such an understanding of love? Most certainly not from a scientific library!

  At no point did I ever enquire about Allenham’s previous conquests, though I have since learned that he was once the favourite of a Milanese countess and later a French noblewoman, long before he had reached his age of three and twenty. And I dare say there were more, a good many more. He was far too handsome to have learned his art from those two alone.

  “The pleasurable part of your instruction is to follow,” he promised as he pulled me nearer to him and tenderly smoothed my hair. “The first attempt is but the formality of the business… you will see.” There was a wantonness in his voice as he spoke.