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“But not every year! How many children did you say you had?”
“Five. A child for almost every year we’ve been married. Then, when our youngest was only a few months old, I started making excuses to my husband each time he—” Dabbing at the fresh tears that ran down her cheeks, Cressida rose and started towards the door. “I must go! I was a fool to come here. I have friends who have nurseries larger than mine and, no doubt, far more satisfied husbands, so of course mine is perfectly justified—”
“Stop!” Arresting her retreat with a stern frown, her friend went on, “You say you love your husband.”
“I adore him—”
“Yet you cannot speak to him of your fears?”
“What do wives know of such things?” Despairingly, Cressida continued, supporting herself on the back of the sofa, “My mother died when I was a child. Whom can I ask? No one told me what to expect on my wedding night much less—” Taking a deep, sustaining breath, she calmed herself. “Do you have children?” she asked the woman.
Her new friend certainly inferred that she knew a lot more about minimising their likelihood than Cressida did. And she must be ‘experienced’, otherwise she’d not be here.
She thought the woman had not heard. She appeared distracted as she fiddled with the tassels of the brocade curtain. “No,” she said finally.
“But you’ve had lovers?” Cressida heard the desperate note in her voice, as if pleading for the two to be compatible. How pathetic she must seem. This was a fool’s errand. “I’m sorry. That was impolite of me.” Wearily, she clasped her reticule, and took a step towards the door.
“Home, to your children?” A smile hovered about Miss Mariah’s mouth as she fixed Cressida with a level stare. “Or to find your husband and explain what is at the root of your troubles? If he is as considerate as it would appear, I think your frankness will not go unrewarded.”
Cressida winced. “My youngest is teething—” she mumbled.
“With a competent nursery maid, I’ll wager your husband needs you more. Listen to me. I know all about husbands, too. I was married for nine years and I can assure you that husbands and lovers are no different where a desirable woman is concerned.” With an incisive look she asked, “I am curious. If you had found your husband here, in the arms of his mistress, do you think your feelings for him would survive the trauma? Yes, I know straying husbands are a matter of course, but it is easier to ignore and forgive what is not presented to you on a platter.”
Through gritted teeth Cressida maintained what she truly believed. “I will always love him, for if he’d strayed I’d know it was only because I’d driven him to it.”
She’d reached the door and now turned, hurt and angered by the smile on Miss Mariah’s face. “You think it’s not true? I’ve had time to reflect and I’ve been reminded of my duty. Women like me have no choice but to be compliant wives if we want to trade in happiness. I am going home to wait for my husband and to do whatever is required so that he will never seek diversion elsewhere. I shall return to reclaim his heart.” Lowering the veil of her bonnet she put out her hand. “You have been patient, listening to my foolishness. You talk of sacrifices not being required but I am not—” She swallowed, “that kind of woman. Women like me must honour our marriage vows in return for comfort and security. We have an obligation to our husbands and I’m about to fulfil mine, though, truly, I thank you for your good advice.” Righteous indignation and purpose fuelled her decisive nod as she pushed away Miss Mariah’s restraining hand to turn the doorknob, but it was the woman’s soft, suggestive words that proved too intriguing to resist.
“It is not your husband’s heart that needs repossessing but his desire. Of course you are upset, my dear, but think a moment on the reasons you came here…of your fears and what I can teach you.” She put her hand on Cressida’s shoulder, then gently touched her cheek.
The gesture of sympathy was almost more than Cressida could bear but she had to leave before she succumbed to the fresh wave of self-pity that threatened to overcome her.
“Don’t act with too much haste and undo all the good that’s come from your bravery tonight,” said her friend, rubbing Cressida’s shoulder, tucking an escaped tendril from behind her ear. I would be very happy if you would like to come back next Wednesday and I can tell you more about the many women ‘like you’ who do not have extensive nurseries but who are equally dutiful wives. I can show you how to satisfy your husband without necessarily conceiving a child.”
Cressida stilled. She felt her mouth drop open. This was the second time the woman had alluded to such a possibility, the first she’d said it in such direct words.
“Satisfy my husband without conceiving a child.” She repeated the words, more as an incantation than questioning the assertion.
Her friend gripped Cressida’s fingertips and gave a comforting squeeze. “That’s what women do when they’re not raised in fear and ignorance.”
Chapter Five
She’d learned nothing, yet she’d learned too much to go home and meekly await Justin’s return. Excitement thrummed through Cressida’s veins as she stepped out of Miss Mariah’s sitting room and into the dimly lit corridor, lowering her head as two passers-by approached. A smirking young man was holding up a woman old enough to be his mother whose drunken laughter and unsteady gait sent them on a trajectory that required Cressida to press herself against the wall for fear of being bowled over.
Lord, she thought, panic gripping her as she touched her thick veil for reassurance, ducking into an alcove to tidy her hair so it was completely concealed by the ugly bonnet. What would Justin say if he discovered her in such a place? His faith
in her constancy as a pliant, loving wife would be rocked to the core. Could he even look at her in the same way, knowing what she must have seen simply by coming here?
Yet she’d gained so much. And soon she’d gain so much more. In a few days’ time she’d have all the knowledge she needed to remind Justin of the glorious days when they’d revelled in their newly wedded bliss.
Entering through a doorway at the end of the corridor, she tried to concentrate on the hope she now embraced rather than the guilt and shame that would stifle her if she let it. She must put it out of her mind. Never hint to Justin what she’d seen—
With sudden disorientation, she realised that what she’d believed to be the hallway was instead another private sitting room, cosily furnished with a fire crackling in the grate. In the far corner was a desk lit by an Argand lamp, at which sat a gentleman bent over a document he was reading. His frown indicated the deepest concentration, his left hand thrumming his knee, his right foot tapping as if he were agitated. Like everyone else here this evening he was dressed in masquerade, a demi-mask half covering his face that he must have forgotten to remove, considering no one else occupied the room. The pristine spill of his cravat was the only relief to his austere clothing, which was cut to perfection and which clung to him…
In the most heart-stopping way.
Heart-stopping because this was just how Justin had affected Cressida the very first time she had met him when he’d bent to kiss her hand as he’d asked her to stand up with him for the next country dance.
The sight of the man slowly raising his head, warm brown eyes regarding her with unmistakable interest, sucked the air from her lungs, a reaction as piercing now as it was a whole eight years and so much history ago.
