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With devastating clarity, truth limned the conclusion of her observation. Driven here through desperation, when the domestic arena failed to satisfy.
She managed to truncate a sob.
Was it any surprise Justin had felt the need to stray? What pleasures did his wife offer him since she had denied him her body? She’d even stopped being affectionate except in the company of the children, too afraid her overtures may lead to the bedroom.
Cressida was dimly conscious of the clink of glass before a second measure of brandy was placed into her hands. “Would you like to tell me about it?” her friend asked. “Are you looking for someone?”
How quickly the tears flowed. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Cressida cursed her frail nerves. The past few months seemed to see her lurch from one emotional episode to another.
“My husband,” she whispered through her fingers as she hunched over, covering her face. “I heard he attends Mrs Plumb’s salons and that he’s—” she sucked in a shaky breath—“taken a mistress.” What did it matter that her dreadful fears were revealed to this stranger? A kind stranger with a motherly touch. Cressida was too distraught for caution. “At first I didn’t believe it. No.” She drew herself up straight. “I don’t believe it. Not my husband who’s shown me nothing but kindness, respect and affection since we met. And yet—”
The spectre of what the unknown man in the room beyond had come for, and why—taking his pleasures like an arrogant young god—returned to haunt her. Was that what the men who came here indulged in? Did it really give them pleasure? Cressida had never touched her husband intimately with more than a fleeting, half-accidental caress. She’d allowed him to take control and although their lovemaking had been intensely pleasurable she’d never in a million years dreamed of taking the initiative in such wanton exploration.
The idea made her squirm with embarrassment at the same time as she felt her body burn with a slow, intense heat, accompanied by another gush of wicked moistness in that mysterious part of her that no one talked about.
She shifted position, unable to look Miss Mariah in the eye.
“You must love your husband very much to come to a place like this if you are the innocent you appear to be,” remarked her new friend. “I think you are very brave.”
“Or very stupid,” sniffed Cressida. “If I’d been a better wife he’d never have strayed, would he?”
“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 these terms. Then guilt, a far more loyal companion than she was a wife, washed over her and she blurted out the truth of their failing marriage—her fear.
What catharsis it was to voice that which she could not even hint at to Justin because it branded her such a failure.
“Mama died giving birth to my brother, her sixth child. I’ve had five children in less than eight years…” She’d started so well but now she could barely get the words out as she hunched over, speaking between sobs. “Ea
ch year I have another child, and each time it’s been harder. I cannot bear it any more. I need a rest, yet until this moment I couldn’t even put my fear into words. No wonder he’s 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 had no doubt he loved her, but 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? After all, she was hardly honouring her side of the bargain. As part of their marriage contract, she was obliged to fulfil her conjugal duties, yet not once had Justin persisted in an act that clearly was distasteful to her these days.
She glanced at Miss Mariah, disappointed, though not surprised, to see the shock on her face.
So this woman thought Cressida gravely remiss, too. Quickly, she rose. “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 realised how hard she’d been shaking when the woman put her hands on her shoulders to push her back down in her seat. Cressida welcomed the comfort in the gesture, the soothing smile. Closing her eyes she whispered through clenched teeth, “Even if it kills me.”
Her companion’s words had the comfort of a caress as she deflected blame away from Cressida, letting in hope like the sun into her dark, dull mind. “My poor child. Surely you don’t think I condemn you for such an understandable fear. 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 do so now felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She raised hopeful eyes. This woman didn’t think Cressida a disloyal wife? No 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 smoothed her cerulean skirts. “Lord knows, it’s important enough, but preventing conception is not a subject considered appropriate talk between husbands and wives of your station. It would be safe to assume you have not asked your husband to take precautions?”
Cressida gasped. “Precautions?” For a moment she grappled with the meaning, much less the concept. “How could I—?”
Smiling, her friend rose and walked slowly towards the window. “Of course not,” she said, turning as she grasped the sill. “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.”
Cressida frowned and shook her head. “When I wanted to feed my children myself,” she said, “my 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 except little Thomas, my 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 harbour 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 nearly ten 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.”
Even now, Cressida couldn’t quite understand her reasons, though she recalled that at the time she’d been fuelled by fear and obedience. Four nights ago had been no different. “My mother-in-law told me it was my duty never to question my husband and to deny him nothing. Little Thomas is our only son, and being such a sickly child she reminded me that I must ensure more sons in the nursery.”
