Arabella's Taming

by Golden Angel

  The reactions of all the ladies were hysterical, and Arabella knew her own face was likely a study of shock. After all, Cynthia was usually very vocal about how much she enjoyed her marriage bed—and how much she disliked it when Wesley chose to punish her by using his cock in her bottom.

  "Oh dear..." Amy whispered, fanning herself as she stared at Arabella wide eyed. Christina was currently choking on a biscuit she'd unfortunately bitten into just as Cynthia had made her outrageous statement, Gabrielle had dissolved into a puddle of giggles, and Lydia's eyes were closed, her lips moving silently in what Arabella assumed was probably some sort of prayer for patience.

  "If he wants to touch your quim, making him use his mouth or his fingers. In fact, insist on it, it's quite nice," Cynthia said. "Just don't let him put his cock in you. Or if he must, make him pull it out and spend on your breasts and stomach or your back, whichever is more convenient depending on the position."

  Still choking, although now on laughter rather than a biscuit, Christina managed to overcome her mirth enough to ask the pertinent question. "Cynthia, dear, is there something you wish to share with us?"

  Making a derisive humphing noise, Cynthia sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm increasing. Or in a delicate condition if you prefer. I don't know why they call it that. I don't feel delicate. I feel uncomfortable, nauseous, and irritable."

  "That sounds correct," Gabrielle said, speaking up as she wiped tears of amusement away from her cheeks.

  Sighing, Lydia finally spoke up again, opening her eyes and appearing rather rueful as she put her hand onto her stomach. "It does indeed."

  Filled with glee, Arabella squealed and threw her arms around her sister-in-law's shoulders. Now she was going to be a godmother and an aunt! She'd had some suspicions—indeed, she and Benedict both had—but they'd been waiting for Isaac and Lydia to tell them before saying anything. After all, they might have been wrong.

  Staring at her aghast, Cynthia shook her head in disbelief before reaching out to take Lydia's hand. "I'm so sorry."

  Snorting with laughter, Lydia shook her head as well. "I don't think I've taken it quite as hard as you have, dear. I don't mind the discomfort, because I know it will be worth it in the end."

  Cynthia still looked doubtful. "I don't know. Have you spent any time with Eleanor and Edwin's children? They're darling, but only if you can return them when they start to shriek or do unspeakable things to their nappies."

  Everyone except Amy laughed; Lydia's younger sister was now staring at Cynthia as though she was some kind of strange and possibly dangerous creature. Arabella had forgotten that Amy would not have had occasion to speak with Cynthia in private before. When among just her bosom friends, Cynthia's social polish disappeared very quickly and she tended to just say whatever she thought.

  Something Arabella adored about her, but she really was quite shocking.

  "Fortunately Spencer has more than enough funds to hire as many nannies as you could wish for," Gabrielle pointed out, her eyes dancing with amusement.

  "I know... but it does seem rather mean to pass one's own children to someone else when they're squalling... I'll have to pay them oodles," Cynthia said with a sigh.

  "If they take after you and Wesley, you may need to provide hazard pay," Arabella said wickedly. Privately, she thought Cynthia would be a very good mother, if an unconventional one. However, she would probably like her offspring a good deal more once they were of an age to actually converse with her.

  Arabella wouldn't be surprised if she ended up being a bit like Cynthia. She did love babies, but Cynthia had a very good point about being able to hand them back. They were enjoyable when they were smiling and cooing, but she truly had no idea what to do with an unhappy one.

  Perhaps she could practice, since it seemed there would be quite a few of them in her life within the next year.

  After all, like Cynthia, she would need to provide her husband with an heir.

  "I have a question," Amy said, her voice faint but determined. They all looked at her. She looked at Cynthia. "In your bottom? People actually do that?" Inwardly, Arabella chortled. Just wait until Amy discovered that Isaac spanked Lydia.

  "Yes," Cynthia said, making a face. "Some of them even enjoy it."

  Beside Amy, Christina turned bright red.

  ******

  St. George's in Hanover Square was packed to the brim with the haut ton. While Thomas might merely be a viscount and Arabella the sister of a duke, it was the only wedding of the Ducal House of Manchester of this generation which Society was able to witness and so they came out in force. The church was a sea of brightly colored dresses and hats, broken up by the grey and white morning formal jackets and cravats of the gentlemen.

  In the front row, his mother was beaming and his father looked nearly his normal self, his expression full of pride and happiness.

  Thomas stood at the end of the aisle, Walter by his side as best man, and watched as Gabrielle made her way towards them. She looked lovely in a blush gown trimmed with gold, her dark hair pulled up in a complicated arrangement, and her eyes constantly going to where Felix was standing beside Walter. Despite her near-constant fatigue, this morning she glowed.

  Once she'd joined them by the altar, the music changed... swelled... and the doors at the back of the church swung open to reveal Arabella on Isaac's arm. The dress was a stunning creation of white and silver lace, pearl buttons, with heavy falls of silk draped down her body. Her filmy veil puffed through the air as she was escorted down the aisle. She was an absolute vision, and the assembled guests let out an almost simultaneous sigh at the sight of her.

  She was exactly what a duke's daughter, a reigning duke's sister, should look like on her wedding day. Despite only having a week to sew it, the modiste had outdone herself; Arabella's gown was a sartorial triumph. Thomas had no doubt the female guests would be rabid to discover exactly whose shop Arabella had frequented, and the woman would be swamped with last minute orders before the Season proper ended.

  All of that ran through the back of his mind, idle thoughts that couldn't compete with the emotion suddenly surging inside of him. The pride, the possessiveness, the reality of the situation that Arabella was about to become his wife.

  His, to have and to hold, to cherish and discipline, to love and honor. Any worries he'd had had been soothed by this past week. Arabella certainly did know how to behave herself and had shown it. He hadn't even seen her in Hyde Park during his early morning rides (although, he had felt a tiny prick of disappointment when she'd never appeared). While her brothers may have felt her behavior at the beginning of the Season had improved, it was really only since becoming affianced to him that she'd truly reformed.

  Thomas credited that reformation to himself, of course.

  ******

  Walking down the aisle where Thomas waited at the end of it was everything Arabella had wanted for so long, she could hardly credit it was actually happening. The watching eyes of the ton didn’t bother her at all, she knew she looked stunning. Isaac had actually teared up when he’d seen her, before gruffly telling her that he loved her, admonishing her to be a good wife, and pulling her into a hug.

  It wasn’t a goodbye of course, not really, but in many ways it was the end of an era. No longer would she reside in his household, unless as a guest, and he would no longer be responsible for her. Although he had joked about looking forward to the day, now that it was upon them they were both feeling a strange sense of loss.

  Yet, she was gaining as well—the man she’d wanted for her husband, well and truly trapped, and about to say his vows before all of Society.

  Walking toward him, seeing the look of appreciation and almost reverence on his face as he took in the sight of her, nearly undid her. She felt torn by two sides of herself—one which wanted to continue to be on her best behavior, to see what they could make of this marriage and if happiness might be possible, and the other side which still wanted to make h
im pay for his assumptions about her brothers and his priggish judgments on her personage.

  When Isaac passed her off to Thomas, literally placing her hand in his before stepping away—both physically and symbolically—she felt her breath catch as Thomas’ fingers closed about hers. Even through her white kid gloves, she felt seared by his touch. Emotion welled in her heart, making her tremble as she lifted her eyes to his.

  Dark eyes, filled with fervent interest, a serious expression on his face, she knew that Thomas was going to take every single one of his vows very seriously. The part of her which wanted to try for a happily-ever-after surged, urging her to do the same. Her plan had always been to do so for all but one of the vows… when she promised to obey, she wasn’t actually going to mean it.

  Was she?

  ******

  The wedding breakfast following the ceremony was a huge success, with everyone exclaiming over the lovely bride and groom. Hartford was nowhere to be seen, although he’d received an invitation, but no one mentioned his absence. It was a bit earlier in the day than the man was normally seen out and about after all, and even the most jealous, malicious gossips knew he’d been invited to and had attended the much more select engagement ball. While they might gnash their teeth over the lack of animosity, and therefore juicy gossip, between the three players, they had no actual meat to work with.

  Thomas was rather relieved Hartford had decided not to attend, if he were being truthful. He would have found the man’s presence distracting, and on such an important day he didn’t want any distractions.

  He felt distracted enough by Arabella’s ethereal loveliness and the increasing urgency to be alone with her.

  The attraction between them had been growing all week, despite the fact that they were never alone, and Thomas' desire for her had surged even more once they'd been pronounced man and wife. His desire, and also a sense of relief. This was all real. It wasn't some sort of awful joke she and her brothers were playing on him...

  She was now his wife.

  He was allowed to desire her. Was supposed to.

  Given his reaction, he couldn't help but wonder if he always had. Perhaps he'd denied the emotion so thoroughly, he hadn't even really known. Or maybe that was why he'd often been so irritable with her, because he'd wanted her but thought he couldn't have her.

  Now he could. Did. The possessiveness he was feeling was unexpected and a bit unnerving. Thomas hadn't thought he'd have any particularly strong feelings towards his wife, especially not initially... but then, he'd never thought Arabella would be his wife either. From the beginning, he'd only had strong feelings about her.

  Granted, his feelings about her had often run towards irritation, but he wasn't feeling any of that today.

  Not one bit.

  "Are you not hungry?" his bride, his new wife, asked turning to look at him with concern in her eyes. "You've barely touched your kippers."

  There was something more than concern in her gaze, something almost vulnerable. Reaching out to take her hand reassuringly, Thomas brought it to his lips to kiss. Despite the glove modestly covering her skin, he could feel her shiver, see her eyes brighten with awareness of him. The dark, heavy curls of her hair called to him, reminding him that soon he'd see them unbound and spread across his pillow.

  "I am not particularly hungry for kippers," he said honestly, sure she wasn't aware of the double entendre he was making. "Not to worry, I've had plenty to eat."

  The suspicious look she gave him said she didn't entirely believe his words. Thomas, for his part, was rather pleased with her show of wifely concern. Perhaps, despite constantly being at odds with each other, she did care for him.

  Although her gaze had already moved away from him and down the table to where his parents were seated.

  "Your father is looking well," she murmured, low enough that only he could hear with all the chatter around them.

  "He's bearing up," Thomas said, again pleased with her that she'd noticed. Then again, like Gabrielle, she was an orphan and his parents were thrilled to have daughters-in-law added to their brood. "Today seems to have energized him rather than the other way round, but I'm sure he'll be tired tonight."

  "How far is the house we'll be staying at from theirs?" she asked curiously, and he immediately understood she was asking about their honeymoon.

  As the Season proper was almost over, they'd decided to remain in town for the rest of the week so he (and now she) could continue to assist his mother with chaperoning Mary. Actually, as his wife, Arabella could now fully take over the duty from his mother, although it was doubtful his mother would agree and Thomas felt a measure of relief over that. He didn't want to have to share his wife's attention immediately, even if it was only for a week.

  They'd be staying at Hood House in London, but when his parents returned to their estate he and Arabella would travel to Oakley Manor where they would stay for their honeymoon. It was only about an hour away from the Hood estates by horseback and, with his father's health the way it was, Arabella had immediately agreed that they should put off any traveling to the Continent until his father was more recovered.

  Eventually they would join his parents at the main house, in their own wing, so Arabella could meet the staff and learn about how their particular household ran and Thomas could help his father, but for the first few weeks of their marriage they would have some privacy.

  Privacy he was very much looking forward to.

  "Not far," he responded. "An hour on horseback, two in a carriage."

  She sniffed. "I'd much prefer not to ride in a carriage, unless necessary."

  The challenging look she gave him said she very much expected him to protest, but he just nodded. Strictures in the country were much looser than those in the city. Besides, he enjoyed riding, and he would enjoy having her riding beside him rather than closed away from him. Thomas knew she thought him stuffy, and he smiled inwardly to think he might shock her with his liberal notions about country life versus city life.

  After all, in the country, Society was much more forgiving of small things like a woman galloping—even racing. Some frowned upon it, but even they did not condemn. Thomas' own mother was known to ride out regularly with his father.

  Although she still regarded him somewhat suspiciously, Arabella turned away to resume her role as one of the hostesses. They received some leniency to speak with just each other, as it was their wedding breakfast, but they still had their duties. Smiling indulgently as he watched her smile and direct a question across the table to Lord Carmichael, Thomas turned to his right so he could do the same on his side of the table.

  But he was still distracted.

  The wedding night couldn't come soon enough.

  Chapter 7

  Lady Arabella Hood.

  It felt very odd for her name to change when she still felt the same. But then, she wasn't exactly the same, was she? She was still sister to Isaac and Benedict Windham, still a direct relation of the Duke of Manchester, but now she was more as well.

  Daughter-in-law.

  Wife.

  A member of an entirely new family.

  She was rather excited to officially claim Gabrielle as a sister.

  But more, she was excited for what she was about to lose.

  Namely, her maidenhead.

  Examining her image in the mirror, she felt utterly, sensually scandalous. Madam Lefrange, her modiste, had done wonders with her wedding dress, but she'd still had her workers make time for Arabella's trousseau as well. For her wedding night, Arabella had chosen what she wanted with care.

  The ivory silk of her nightgown clung to her curves, so thin it was nearly transparent. The outline of her dusky nipples and the curls over her womanhood were clearly visible even in the candlelight, and as the fabric shifted over her skin the buds of her nipples tightened and pressed against the front of the gown.

  Her dark hair fell in waves around her, brushing the outer sides of her breasts, framing her face. Alth
ough there was a matching robe for her nightgown, Arabella had decided not to put it on. After all, it would be just another garment to remove, just another thing in the way of the anticipated event.

  When the heavy knock on the door between her and Thomas' room finally came, she nearly jumped in surprise because her nerves were so overset. She was anxious of course, but mostly excited. Finally she was going to actually understand the things her friends spoke of. Finally she was going to experience it for herself.

  Then they'd truly speak freely in front of her and she would actually be able to contribute to the conversation.

  And it would be the final step to claiming Thomas. Once the marriage was consummated, the only way to end it would be through divorce—which was far too scandalous for him to ever consider. Having the marriage annulled would cause an uproar as well and probably upset her family, but eventually he would be able to recover from doing so.

  A divorce?

  Never.

  He was not the type to live estranged either, although if he ever attempted it, Arabella was quite sure she could behave outrageously enough to ensure he would feel it necessary to be on hand to keep her under control. She almost looked forward to it.

  Deep down, she also just looked forward to tonight. There was a vulnerable part of her which she tried to pretend didn't exist, but she could still feel it. A part of her which still had emotions for him, which was overjoyed that he was her husband. Perhaps it would not be the marriage which she'd dreamed of, but Arabella at least felt sure she could have the wedding night she'd always wanted.

  "Hello..." Thomas' voice trailed off as she turned to look at him, the fabric of her skirt sliding smoothly around her legs. His dark eyes seemed to turn even darker with desire, his gaze drinking her in like she was a cool glass of water at the end of a long ride.