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CHAPTER 3
Luncheon had been a miserable affair, though Sarah had tried her best to be bright and lively. Her husband rarely returned home during the day, and on any previous day, she would have been nervously excited at his unexpected appearance. But today, guilt had eaten at her, devouring bits of her slowly. When it had finished its feast, she’d been left hollow, but at least it had been done.
Then she’d remembered that she should be embarrassed as well as guilty. Had he been thinking about the previous night when he’d watched her so closely? She had blushed at the thought, and the burn had stayed through the rest of the meal.
But James had been lovely, as always, trying his best to coax a laugh from her lips. She had laughed for him, and wished she were not such a fraud.
When he’d gone, he hadn’t pressed his customary kiss to her cheek. Instead, he’d kissed her lips, and the taste of his mouth made her heart tumble and fall, made her breath hitch. James’s eyes had widened at that small sound, and he’d stared at her for a long moment before taking his leave.
Pulse thumping at the memory, Sarah pressed her fingertips to her mouth and curled tighter into the chair. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, warming the corner where she hid and lighting up the pile of books she’d unwrapped.
Another secret kept from him.
Hand trembling, she reached for the smallest book. A Physician’s Wisdom Pursuant to the Fruitful Marriage. Well, she had certainly felt ripe as a peach last night in the dark.
After one last, deep breath, Sarah cracked open the book and began to read.
The first two chapters were so decidedly un-scandalous that Sarah actually began to feel sleepy. Complementary temperaments that would make for a good marriage. Physical attributes that might normally be considered attract
ive to a mate. She would’ve called for tea if the thought of packing up the books and hiding them didn’t seem too tremendous a feat. So she read on, and soon felt her sleepiness dissipate like fog before a hard wind.
Here. Here was information that would prove useful.
Frequency of marital relations will be determined by the husband’s spirit and humours. The wife should, of course, accommodate the enthusiasm of his masculine needs but should never be bullied or cowed into acquiescence. Despite that her body does not rise in demand as a man’s does, it is not the impassive vessel it seems. Her own seed must be called if the marriage is to result in healthy progeny. Even from the time of Aristotle it has been known that the wife’s womb will not quicken unless she experiences her own feminine climax.
“Climax,” Sarah breathed. At the sound of that word, her body bloomed into chill bumps that tightened her nipples. Climax. That seemed exactly what it had been. A culmination of the sensations her husband had encouraged.
Could it be that her fit had been a good thing? She wanted children, badly. Perhaps this was only a harbinger of fertility?
Feeling more hopeful by the moment, Sarah read on, wide-eyed at the information printed on the pages. The author provided fascinating details of pregnancy and childbirth and admonitions against “self-pollution,” whatever that might be. Further assertion that pleasure between a man and his wife was vitally important to the health of both. And, most interesting of all, a drawing of how the male and female bodies in their entirety were designed by God himself to complement each other.
Sarah studied the picture closely, trying in vain to picture James’s body opposite her own. She could not. She’d tried hard not to glimpse any bits of him that might be . . . frightening. It seemed odd now, that something had been deep inside her own body and she’d never even peeked at it. Surely she should be acquainted with the thing.
The hum that had been slowly building in her body over the past hours began to center itself in a very specific spot. She recognized both the hum and the spot now. After reading such enlightening text, the sensations felt rather friendly instead of frightening.
Perhaps James would touch her again tonight. Perhaps he would stroke her and urge her on.
By the time her maid knocked and asked if she’d like to dress for dinner, Sarah’s skin felt too tight, her clothing too stiff. The idea of putting on a heavier gown for the evening made her cringe, but she rose anyway, carefully repacked the books in their paper, then hid the bundle under the bed.
James would be home soon, and she must be dressed to receive him, whether he stayed for dinner or not.
“Ma’am,” Mary greeted her, already removing a dress from the wardrobe.
Sarah stared at the moss-green cotton that spilled over her maid’s arms. Glancing into the jumble of colors in the wardrobe, she shook her head. “I shall wear the yellow silk tonight.”
Mary only nodded and switched the dresses.
“And my hair . . . perhaps in a fall down my back?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mary seemed completely unfazed by her mistress’s requests, but Sarah felt so different she wondered that it wasn’t visible. Surely her lips were pinker, her breasts fuller? But if her own maid didn’t notice, likely no one would, perhaps not even James. He might simply come home, relax with a brandy and the newspaper, then head out for an evening at his club. The thought caused a flutter of relief along with mortification.
She could not wait for him to be home. And she was scared half to death.
* * *
The sun was still high in the sky when James found himself mounting his front steps that evening. Not that he could see the sun past the thick clouds that had gathered above London, but the day still felt too bright for the kinds of thoughts crowding his head.
