Much Ado About You
Page 51

Tess frowned, but:
“Trust me, Tess?”
She met his eyes. “Yes.” And that was that.
Just one moment stood out clearly in the next few hours: when she sat in front of her dressing table preparing to leave, with Annabel and Josie sitting on the bed behind her. Josie was crying a little because, as she said, “Imogen would love to be here. And now we’ll never all be sisters together again. It won’t be the same.”
“It will be better,” Annabel said. “Tess, you are married to the richest man in England! Our sister will be the richest woman in England.”
Josie interjected. “By all accounts, William Beckford of Fonthill Abbey is the most wealthy man in England.”
Tess wrinkled her nose at them. “And what would Miss Flecknoe say of this vulgar conversation?”
“Do you suppose that your husband owns a castle?” Josie asked. “It’s possible that you will be the Lady of the Castle. Oh, my, Tess, how lucky you are!”
“A castle,” Tess repeated.
“I’m certain that he will have some such structure,” Annabel put in. “All the heroes in novels have castles. Who better to be in a castle than the richest man in England?”
“Kings belong in castles,” Tess said firmly, pushing one last hairpin into place, “not plain folk such as we.”
Josie hooted. “Plain folk! You’re dreaming, Tess!”
Annabel met Tess’s eyes in the mirror. “Josie, I would like a moment or two alone with Tess, if you please.”
Josie narrowed her eyes. “If you’re going to talk of mating, I am fully aware of the particulars.”
“I shouldn’t advise Miss Flecknoe of that fact,” Annabel said, pushing her out the door.
“I too am acquainted with the matter,” Tess remarked, noticing that her hands were trembling slightly. “And we discussed the subject last night, Annabel.”
“It has always seemed to me that being acquainted with the fundamentals of such domestic activity and actually engaging in it oneself are not the same thing,” Annabel said firmly. “Are you frightened?”
Tess thought about it for a moment. “A bit. I hope I can acquit myself properly, whatever that means under the circumstances.”
“It seems a thoroughly tasteless business.” Annabel sighed. “From what I’ve learned, Tess, the important thing is to endure it in a smiling fashion. Mrs. Howland, in the village, told me that there’s nothing a man dislikes more than being refused one’s company.”
Tess thought about Mrs. Howland’s generosity.
“But let’s not be needlessly disheartened,” Annabel continued. “There must be something appealing about it, or there wouldn’t be so many children in the world.”
“Do try to hide your rather less than maternal nature when you’re in London, won’t you?” Tess said, amused.
“I doubt that many men choose a spouse on the grounds of maternal longings,” Annabel said. “And if the gentleman I choose shows that propensity, I am certain I can prevaricate on the subject long enough to catch his attention.”
Annabel was always certain that she could do whatever was called for: pretend to maternal virtues, capture the heart of all and sundry, endure any number of intimate unpleasantries in a smiling fashion…
“I wish I had your confidence,” Tess said, standing up and giving her reflection one last glance. There was no excuse for not returning to the drawing room, where her husband was waiting. Lucius’s carriage was waiting; her new marriage was waiting, like a set of clothing that she had not yet put on.
“I shall doubtless be trembling like a cornered hare when it is actually my turn to take to the marital bed,” Annabel said lightly. “But at least I shall have the benefit of your advice. Thank goodness, we have never been reluctant to discuss anything at length. I shall want to know even the smallest details when I see you next week.”
Tess turned and gave her a fierce hug in farewell. But inside, she was thinking that Annabel didn’t yet understand. Tess could not imagine pouring a description of whatever was to come between herself and Lucius into her sister’s ears.
Truly, as Josie had said, things would never be the same.
Chapter 27
I t turned out that Lucius owned the most elegant carriage that Tess had ever seen, let alone ridden in. It was painted a dark glossy green and drawn by exquisite matched grays.
Tess kissed Annabel, ignoring the twinkle in her eye, and kissed Josie, promising to see her very soon and write every day. She sat down on the velvet seats, and looked at the small gilded lamps, at the cloth of gold fringe—“Do you find it overlavish?” her husband asked.
Her husband!
Tess couldn’t even think what to say. There was only one thought in her mind, and sure she was a wicked doxy to have such a thought at all. She felt almost dizzy with it. Fearful and yet—
How did one deal with the embarrassment? With the humiliation of it all? Would Gussie put her in a nightgown and leave her in bed? Would Mr. Felton undress her? She devoutly hoped that wasn’t the case. For one thing, she had no corset. She did have a lovely chemise, thanks to Lady Griselda, but what if it were damaged? Annabel had been so certain that the prelude to mating was a gentleman ripping off his wife’s clothing.
Nothing Tess said could dissuade her. “They rip the clothing off their wife’s body,” she had said the previous night, with distinct relish.
“That is simply unlikely,” Tess had said. “Look at the smithy and his wife, for example. Mr. Helgarson has six children. Obviously he and his wife have…” Her voice trailed off.
“Don’t be so missish!” Annabel had said. “You’re a married woman now. I bet Mr. Helgarson loves the bed-sheet dance!”
“Well, if I’m almost a married woman, what’s your excuse? Where do you learn these vulgar terms!” Tess had scolded.
“From the maids. Anyway, husbands of twenty years duration may not engage in clothing-ripping, but I am absolutely certain that newlyweds do. Absolutely certain. The man can’t wait, you know. He’s—he’s like a stallion in the springtime.” The girls had never been allowed to see a mating, of course, but no one could be around a stable without understanding a stallion’s main reason for living.
“Why,” Annabel had added, “if your husband doesn’t rip off your clothing, it would be a sign of a virtual lack of interest in the act, don’t you think? As if you’d already been married for years. In fact, Felton will probably tear your clothes off right there in the carriage!”
Now Tess looked at the little spark in her husband’s eyes and had no doubt that if ripping clothing was a prelude that indicated interest, Lucius was likely to start ripping.
She had never felt stupider in her life. How does one say: please do not destroy my clothing until I have more? Was there some way that she could delay the inevitable? Fall sick? Plead her monthly? But then what would happen when her monthly did arrive? Oh, why had Mama died, and left her without advice? Tess bit her lip hard. Soon it would all be over, and she could just accustom herself to married life.
“My house in these parts is not far past the ruins we visited the other day,” Lucius said. He was still watching her.