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“How like a woman to blame oneself. If your husband has strayed, who has committed the sin?”
Cressida stilled. She’d never thought of it in those terms. Then guilt, a far more loyal companion than she was a wife, washed over her as she blurted out the truth. “The fault is mine since it is I who have denied him his rights.”
“I believe it is an obligation for a husband to learn how to please his wife sufficiently so she does not object so strenuously to doing what the marriage act requires.” Miss Mariah smiled. “There, what a revolutionary notion and yet, anything else is barbarism, surely?” She sighed. “Young women are brought up in ignorance. Yet it is called innocence and it is nurtured. A travesty!” Clearly, Miss Mariah had strong feelings on the subject. Stoutly, she declared, “The fault lies not with the innocent wife but with the husband. You should not fear what is only natural between a man and a woman. An act that can bind two hearts together and underpin a life together of love and tenderness. Very few enjoy such happiness...and yet, it is possible.”
“My husband is one of the kindest and most loving men I know,” Cressida defended him, distraught at having suggested Tristan was anything but.
“You are a loyal wife.” Clearly Miss Mariah misinterpreted Cressida for she went on, “But it is far from unusual for a husband to use the marital chamber for the duties of marriage and to take his pleasures elsewhere.” She patted Cressida’s arm. “You came here to find your husband but perhaps here you will find pleasure, also. Everyone deserves that.”
“It’s not the pleasure but the consequences!” Cressida blurted out.
It was as if a sudden silence descended upon the room. Cressida tensed, shocked at the force of her desperation and the fact she’d admitted it at all; that not only had she admitted to pleasure but that pleasure’s consequences were at the heart of her reluctance to be a good wife. No, a dutiful wife.
The woman put her head on one side, her look of enquiry a potent offering that Cressida unburden herself. But Cressida had gone too far. Her moral fibre was a mere thread and to say more would see even that unravelling. Then what would be left of her?
“I must go.” She started to rise but Miss Mariah stayed her with a hand on her wrist.
“My dear, you’ve only just begun. Stay. It’s the reason you came here. Not only to find your husband but to understand for yourself the source of your torment.”
Cressida sank into her chair again and stared at Miss Mariah. The kindly eyes, the air of safety and lack of judgement she exuded were having a potent effect on her. Whom else could she confide in. And what would be the harm? She certainly couldn’t hint to Justin that was her obligation that drained the joy from her marriage. Not only would that brand her a failure as a wife but as a good, decent and upstanding woman in the eyes of the church and of society. It was all Cressida had ever been trained for.
So, feeling her shoulders slump and staring first at Miss Mariah and then at an incongruous painting of Christ upon the cross that hung behind her left shoulder, she said, “Mama died giving birth to my brother, her sixth child. I’ve had four children in less than eight years...”
She knew her situation was not unusual. Many women had more within that amount of time so why was she complaining? She stopped. It was as if a wellspring of emotion had been tapped. Having started so well, she could now barely get the words out as she hunched over, speaking between sobs. “Each year, I have another child, and each time, it’s been harder. I cannot bear it anymore. I need a rest, yet until this moment, I couldn’t even put my fear into words. No wonder my husband is hurt and confused and—” she gulped, “needing diversion.” For as she said the words, she allowed in just a little more doubt. Justin was the kindest of men and she knew he loved her, but of course even the very best of men needed physical release in a way women did not. Would it be so very surprising if he had come to Mrs. Plumb’s seeking what he could not get at home? Had Cressida any right to despise him if he did? She’d made it so clear she no longer embraced her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin pressed her. She should take the fact he discreetly visited a house of assignation as a sign of his consideration for her and leave it at that. Be satisfied.
But satisfied she was not, and wasn’t that just another reason for her being nothing but a spoiled, cosseted wife who failed to appreciate the great bounties she’d been given.
She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.
Obviously this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cheap perfume and staring at the faded, drawn curtains, wondering if the moon was out and how fast she could be back in the safety of her own home. The room suddenly seemed tawdry and her own little soul dried up and shrivelled. “I’m wicked, I know! You have every right to look at me like I’ve failed my duty. I know what I must do now. I have to win him back. I have to be the wife he wants and needs.” She only realized how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down into her seat. Despite her urgency to leave, Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. It had been a long time since she’d welcomed a comforting touch. She daren’t risk it with Justin. But her resolve was stronger than ever. Closing her eyes, she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”
“My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear.” Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida. And suddenly hope was let in like a ray of sun into her dark, dull mind.
She opened her eyes and stared. Waiting for more. “If you only knew how easy it was to be helped, and yet women like you are kept in ignorance. Truly, you may hold your husband in thrall, or submit, or whatever it is that makes you feel you’re doing your duty, but please understand there is no reason for you to make sacrifices.”
In all her life, Cressida had never discussed the intimacies of marriage. To be able to do so now with a stranger felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife? N o reason to make sacrifices?
Her companion cleared her throat, as if understanding the delicacy her approach required for one of Cressida’s innocence and ignorance. She rose, smoothing her cerulean skirts as she began to pace, biting her lip as if she were contemplating a great conundrum. Cressida followed her with her eyes, tense to hear what she might say.
Miss Mariah turned in the window embrasure. “Lord knows, it’s important enough, but preventing conception is a sin to some and for the rest, not a subject considered appropriate talk between husbands and wives of your station.” She raised her eyes heavenward as if she had her own thoughts on that subject before turning back to look at Cressida. “It would be safe to assume you have not asked your husband to take precautions?”
Cressida gasped. She felt shocked, outraged and embarrassed in equal measure. “Precautions?” For a moment, she grappled with the meaning, much less the concept. “How could I—?”
Smiling, her friend sighed. “Of course not,” she said, grasping the curtain edge. “It is a conversation a man has with his mistress, not his wife. I daresay you do not even know wet nursing your child will lessen the likelihood of conception.”
What words were these? Cressida had no knowledge of the way such matters worked. She’d barely thought to question what she knew would not be forthcoming. A woman’s duty was set in stone and that was that. She frowned and shook her head. “I wanted very much to suckle my children myself,” she said, remembering the pain of the various conversations she’d had with the women in her family. Older women who had strong views on the subject. “M
y mother-in-law told me it was not the role of a woman in my position. She found me a wet nurse, a healthy, kind woman, who has nursed all my children, including little Thomas, our only son, a sickly child who needs all my care.” Her voice broke. “I should be with him now .”
“Little Thomas no doubt has a devoted nursemaid. But, my dear, abstinence is not the only answer. If you still harbor such a tendre for your husband, surely he is sufficiently in tune with your feelings to have remarked upon your withdrawal from the usual intimacies?”
They had ventured too far for Cressida to feel embarrassed. It was even a relief for her to relive her awful exchange with Justin some months before, and again just after, Lady Belton’s ball. “My husband did ask me,” she managed, twisting her hands in her lap, “after yet another of my excuses, whether I was afraid of conceiving a child.”
There was a pause. “And your reply?”
Miserably, Cressida admitted, “I adamantly denied it—”
“Good Lord, child, why? Not every husband shows such a capacity for understanding.”
