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“They will assume that we are here – or that I am, at least – in that, I am a most predictable man.”
He gave a soft laugh, self-deprecating.
Greatly daring, Iris touched his hand, and he curled his fingers through hers.
“Still, I would not like to start out by confusing the staff, who do not yet know anything of me.”
He rose, drawing her up with him.
“Then the parlour it is.”
The parlour was located closer to the stairs, back past a selection of portraits which seemed to watch them from the walls as the flicker of candlelight momentarily highlighted their eyes. What would those ancestors have thought of her? Did any of those pictured still live? She would have to ask about his family – but tomorrow would do. First, she had to get past the rest of tonight. And whilst the music had settled her, reinforcing the rightness of her connection with this man, one thing concerned her. Would he expect, tonight, to exercise his right to her body? She was not at all certain how she felt about that, despite quite a few conversations with her married sisters on the subject of what happened in the marital bed.
It was not that she did not find him appealing – he was a very handsome man, and his touch on her hand made her breath come faster, inducing a most unusual warmth in her body – but, somehow, the idea of such intense intimacy, when they knew so little of each other, seemed wrong. She wanted to come to that moment without any uncertainty – in her, or in him.
The tea tray awaited them in the parlour, with the maid Abby, who looked completely uncertain of what to do next. Iris took a steadying breath – now was the time to quietly assert her position, again.
“Thank you, Abby, I don’t believe that we will need anything else from you this evening.” The girl bobbed a curtsey, looking almost relieved, and scurried from the room. Iris settled onto the couch beside Leon (for he had told her, earlier, that he preferred to be called so, rather than by his full forename), and spoke, as she reached for the teapot to pour. “It’s almost as if they expect me to be disagreeable and unkind to them. Do you know why?”
Her husband – oh, how strange it seemed to say that, even in her thoughts – took the offered cup of tea and gave a wry smile.
“Not really. Perhaps because they had so little warning, and I had previously declared that I did not intend to marry at any time soon. Perhaps because my mother, whilst mostly a pleasant woman, can be rather dictatorial when stressed – a characteristic which I believe she inherited from my grandmother, much though she would probably deny it.”
He stopped, and sipped his tea. Iris had the strangest feeling that he had intended to say more, but had cut his words short.
“Having seen your grandmother and mother together, I can imagine that to be true.”
Silence fell between them, and extended, touched only by the soft clink of the cups on saucers, and the crackle of the fire in the grate. She wanted to speak of the night to come, to discover his thoughts and expectations, but was not brave enough to begin – did he feel the same? It was all very well to have wanted this man, to have been happy to marry him, but now, to her chagrin, she discovered that she did not know how to go on as a married woman, at all.
After some time, he set his cup down, and turned to her. She met his eyes, waiting, caught by the emotion that she saw in their dark blue depths. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek.
“I… Iris…”
He stopped, and for a moment, she saw her own uncertainties reflected in him. Then, with a soft groan, he bent his head and kissed her. It began softly, but soon changed to something deeper as his lips brushed hers, and his tongue teased its way into her mouth, exploring. Heat flooded her, and she dared to lift her hand in turn, to tangle it in the hair at the back of his neck, even as she returned the kiss.
It was better than she had dreamed it to be, and its warmth eased some of her hesitation about the night – and the days - to come. Then, just when she had begun to melt against him, to want to explore a little further, he drew back, almost sharply.
“Oh!”
“I’m sorry… I should not have presumed…”
They spoke almost at once, then both paused. When Iris simply waited, her heart pounding, and disappointment filling her, he went on.
“Iris – I know that we are married, but… we barely know each other. It is unreasonable of me to presume that you would want my kisses…”
She studied his face – was he being chivalrous? Did he truly care for her at all? Had he married her only because of the compromise? Had that kiss been a test – which she had failed? Confusion filled her.
“I… I do not object to your kisses. You may remember that, just before the ‘moment of compromise’, you had kissed me, and I told you then that I wanted it.”
She felt heat in her cheeks as she flushed, but they needed to speak of this. His fingers traced the curve of her face.
“I… yes, I remember you saying that. But still, it has all been very sudden, and I would not press you in any way.”
A coil of sadness filled her – no matter her own hesitations, she realised that she wanted him to want her – and this felt as if, perhaps, he did not. She must make the best of it, then, until she could discover more of the truth of his feelings. Surely, they could not be so perfectly aligned in music, and not be so in other ways?
“Tonight. I… will you… will we…?”
Internally, she cursed her inability to speak of such things openly. A small smile twisted his lips, and as she watched it, she ached for those lips to kiss her again. But it seemed that he had understood.
