Chapter 5: Two Weddings

Sophia Grant wondered whether infants about to be born felt like this. She, as the intended bride, was the center of every concern. She had no more voice in the decisions than the expected infant did. Finally, her mother, Lady Fenhurst took her aside.

“Sophia, there is more to marriage than running your own household.”

“Yes, mother.” As a matter of fact, Sophia had no great desire to run her own household. It was the other part of marriage which had attracted her, and The Earl, Robert Foster, was an attractive man, with a rather handsome face and an impressive body.

“Married women have their husbands in their beds, and in their bodies.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Husbands don’t visit their wives’ beds every night, but they are entitled to do it whenever they desire. It is his choice, not yours. If he won’t come to your bed some nights, he will inevitably do so the first night. The first act of sex hurts. There is no avoiding that, and you shouldn’t try to avoid it. Later acts of sex don’t hurt.

“Yes, mother.”

“Earl Robert will know what he’s doing. Do what he directs.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I’m certain that everything will be well with the two of you. You may go now.”

And so Sophia went. There was a good deal more preparation than she had ever imagined. Not only her wedding dress but the clothes that she would wear making the visits to as many society matrons as possible in the days after the wedding had to be fitted. The services in church followed the pattern of all the other preparations. She had a speaking role, but nobody had consulted her about what she was to say. At the ball afterwards, she didn’t even get to select her dance partners. The first dance was with George. She had never danced with either of her brothers, and she found that George was a decent partner. The second dance was with Robert, her husband. He seemed nervous.

Then the festivities were over, and she and Robert were in a coach by themselves. The ride to Foster House was physically short, but a coach was appropriate for the journey from one life to the next, from being the daughter of one family to being the matron of another.

“Seeing you at the balls of the Season, I couldn’t imagine that you could look lovelier than you did then,” Robert said. “Tonight, though, you have achieved that.”

“You are too kind.”

“I’m not kind, though. You will learn that, Sophia. I am honest.”

“Robert, I am sure that you are,” she said. She wasn’t, however, sure that she wouldn’t have preferred kindness. Tonight -- suddenly, she remembered her mother’s warning -- she would most certainly prefer kindness tonight.

At Foster house, a footman took Robert’s cloak, and the butler himself took Sophia’s. A chambermaid led her to the dressing room where Marie waited for her. Marie removed and hung in the wardrobe the wedding dress and all the underclothes. Then she dressed her in the elaborate nightgown that Mother had suggested.

“That lace is scratchy,” she complained -- not for the first time.

“Yes, Milady. It is meant to catch your husband’s eye. You won’t have to sleep in it often. Perhaps, you won’t even have to sleep in it tonight. Eh?” Marie was rather saucy, but she had the best clothes sense of all the maids in the Fenhurst service. Well, maybe Marie was right. At least her mood, which implied she would gladly have traded places with Sophia, was preferable to Mother’s rather grim warnings.

When she went into the next room and to bed, Marie arranged the nightgown around her artistically. There was a lighted candelabrum on the night stand, and every corner of the room could be seen. She covered Sophia with a sheet and knocked on the door directly across from the one by which they had come in. Then she scurried out the third door, giving Sophia a saucy smile as she went.

Robert came in. He was dressed in a night shirt and carrying several things which he set on the night stand and the floor beside the bed. He pulled back the sheet and looked at her.

“Sophia,” he said, “you are even lovelier dressed like that. Sophia wouldn’t have described herself as ‘dressed’ at all. The compliment, however, was gracious.

“Lovely as it is, however, isn’t a slightly de trop tonight? Let me help you to remove it.” He pulled the skirt up to her hips, and helped her sit up. He raised her slightly and then the gown all the way. Then she was naked before his eyes and blushing. “That is lovelier yet,” he said. He got on the bed and kissed her. While he kissed her a second time, his hands stroked down her body. The caress was both exciting and frightening, but the fright was somewhat exciting, too. “These,” he said and kissed her breasts. “I guessed at your shape, but couldn’t imagine that beauty.” He kissed her right nipple, and both of them responded. Then he sucked her left one. “The hair everyone can see,” he continued while raising himself up on an elbow and passing his gaze over her from head to toe, “is beautiful, spun gold. The hair that is hidden from all but me...” He stroked her mound as though she could possible misinterpret his meaning. “ ... is more lovely yet, spun fairy gold.

“Now,” he continued, “this will hurt. I can’t imagine that it will hurt less from delaying it. Let’s put this under you, it you will raise your hips from the bed.” He pulled a bolster from the floor. “And this ... He slipped a few layers of cloth between her hips and the bolster while she raised her hips again. “Bleached linen -- white as snow. White now! Now this is a little oil.” He poured from a cruet onto his fingers. “That will ease my entry and probably your pain.” He tugged her legs apart with his oily hand, not viciously or violently, but quite insistently. Then his hands were on the folds where her thighs met, her most private part that no one else had touched in her memory.

At first, when his hand stroked there, his fingers were cold. After a while, though, she grew warmer there, and then hot. He quirked an eyebrow at her. Then he bent to kiss her breasts again. She was quite excited by the time he raised his night shirt. He took her hand in one of his and then brought it to his member. That was already firm, and it trembled in her hand. She got a view when he moved so that he was between her legs. It looked quite large, and she was frightened again.

“It won’t hurt less for further delay,” he said. “Put me where I must go.” When she did, he felt down and adjusted himself slightly. “Widen your legs and look at me,” he said. She looked at his face, and he thrust into her. It did hurt. “The sting goes away,” he said. She wondered how he knew so much about it, and even if he really did. Mother, after all, had experienced this herself, if long ago. Robert never had. “I will be brief,” he said. Then he was driving in and out of her. She was raised so high by the bolster that every stroke seemed to go deep into her belly. The pain was much less, though she still felt him rubbing against the sore spot on every motion.

“Damn!” he said. She felt him quiver within her. Then he fell across her body. Minutes later, he roused himself. There was one more twinge as he pulled himself out. Still kneeling between her legs, he removed the bolster and eased her down into the feather bed. “There. Let’s leave the linen in case you bleed more. I think we can do without the candles, now.” He put them out with a snuffer. He lay down beside her in the dark and covered them with the sheet and a blanket. The room was still warm, but she knew the fire would be a few embers before morning. He slid an arm over her and took her breast in his hand. “There. You are as brave as you are beautiful.” His snores told her that he was asleep before she was.

“Good morning, Lady Foster. Good morning lovely wife,” he greeted her from an inch away. That woke her. There was tea, and she needed it. She was a little sore, but she knew that she would be busy that day. As soon as he and his valet had left the room, she went through into her dressing room. Marie gave her another cup of tea -- one with the extra sugar she wanted in the morning. She drank it while Marie wiped the remains of the night from her and dressed her in today’s undergarments. The dress was one Mother had selected for her for the visits. The hair style was one Marie told her was fitting for after-wedding visits.

There was porridge and a soft-boiled egg waiting for her at breakfast. She would have a talk with the cook later that day. As it was, she ate what was available -- sitting across from Robert. He kissed her gently, being careful to not muss her hair, before she went out for her calls. Luncheon was served a few minutes after she returned. She ate at the foot of the table. Robert ate at the head, and she was tempted to wave at him for one giddy moment. The meal was acceptable, although she didn’t consider it as celebratory as her first luncheon in her new house deserved. Service was impeccable, with one footman to serve each of them and a third to bring in the food from the kitchen.

Her afternoon visits were brief. As Mother had advised, she sipped from each teacup offered, but drank no more. There were guests for dinner; half of the men had no title. When she rose from the table, a footman led the way into a sitting room. She had never seen it before, but many of her guests had. The other matrons were friendly and asked about her visits. They all had been through the ritual. When the men came in, they spoke briefly before their wives gently guided them out.

“I thought that it went well,” Robert said when the last had left. “They left rather early, though.”

“That was a kindness towards me. The women know that I’m making my visits. A late night wouldn’t make these any easier.”

“Speaking of visits, you may know that I have a political career.”

“You do?” Sophia was genuinely surprised.

“And, since I do, there are visits you should be certain to make. I have made a list. Some will be on the list you already have. There is no real problem if you have to leave a card, but I would appreciate if as many of these as possible are made in the afternoon. Parliament sits at noon, and has been known to rise after dawn. Some of the wives have adopted their husbands’ schedules.”

“I will try to fit them in.”

“Please do. If they think you have snubbed them, they will think that I have snubbed them. And, speaking of being rested for your visits,” he said,” I shan’t disturb you tonight.”

That was all well and good, but she still had to deal with the cook. She sent for her, and waited in the breakfast room.

“I’m sorry, Milady,” the cook said when she appeared in her night gear. “I had gone to bed. I have to be up early.”

“And so you do.” Sophia was not going to apologize for waking her. “But this is about breakfast. I expect both ham and kippers to be always available. I don’t eat porridge. I do require a good supply of toast. I don’t know what Lord Robert eats, but I expect that you do. Start tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Milady. Is it all right to begin the kippers the morning after? I don’t believe we have any, and I serve breakfast before the shops open.”

“Very well, but remember what I said for later breakfasts. We’ll deal with guests before we have any.” Then she went to her rooms and to a dreamless sleep.

Marie woke her with the tea she needed and dressed her for her day. Robert came into the breakfast room before she was finished.

“Good morning, dear Sophia.”

“Good morning, Robert.”

“I forgot to tell you last night. The House of Lords sits this afternoon. It is a fairly important issue, which means that I don’t know when I shall return. Unless you are early for luncheon, we shall eat separately. Please tell Cook what dinner you will want. Don’t plan on my being here.” He raised her hand to his lips. “I shall miss you.”

She sent for Cook. “I’m eating alone tonight. You’ll leave things so The Earl can have them served cold for him if he gets in later. What meal would you suggest?”

“Would a goose serve, Milady? And would you want it in the dining room or in here?” That was a sensible question. Eating alone in the dining room would feel lonely. On the other hand, Sophia was the lady of the house.

“It would serve,” Sophia said. “in the dining room. Ask the butler to parade the staff there after the meal. I would like to meet you all.” And the day proceeded as she had laid it out. Robert’s list of calls had been a daunting addition to Mother’s, but there was a large number on both lists. She got to two that Mother hadn’t listed that afternoon.

She got to bed early, conscious that married life was manageable, if somewhat strange. Dawn was breaking outside the window, if the air inside the house still felt night-time cold, when she woke to another person in her bed.

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Sophia. It is I, Robert, your husband.”

“What is wrong?” Sophia asked. She still was not used to having another person free to enter her room. Marie did -- well, servants did. But they didn’t have any demands. From the feel of Robert next to her, he was about to make a demand. She couldn’t believe that he was in her bed -- in her bed naked, in this case -- for any different reason than he had been in her bed the other time.

“So soft,” Robert said, “so sweet.” He sucked on her nipple until she felt it respond. His hand stroked down her belly and onto her mound. She had a wild impulse to close her legs to shutter her privacy away from him. But she was married. This was the part of her which was most married. Like her bed, her loins were his. Then he was stroking her, and it was exciting. He raised his head and stared into her eyes while his hand moved across, it was tingling, and warming, and then his finger was nearly fire on her.

“This will not hurt,” Robert said, “but perhaps more of the oil might help.” He stopped his motions to pour oil from the cruet onto his fingers. This time his strokes were smooth and soothing before they were arousing again. He bent his head to lick her right nipple and then her left. She felt something within her tighten. He stroked; she tightened. He sucked; she tightened still more. He licked; she tightened to a degree that frightened her. He stroked all across the top of her cleft, and she tightened impossibly, unbearably -- tightened until she had to break.

When she did break, she thrashed and moaned. She felt the depths of her belly clench on nothingness. He held her down on the feathers and stared at her body and then her face.

“Sweet Sophia,” he said. “Mine!” Then he kept saying “mine” as he positioned himself over her and his member against her secretness. She tightened again as she remembered the previous pain. There was no pain, though, as he slid easily into her. She felt his weight on her belly, and she felt herself being filled in a part she hadn’t known was empty. Even then, there was not the slightest twinge of pain.

He raised himself up to stare into her eyes and grasp her breasts. He didn’t squeeze them, but his fingers tweaked her nipples. Then she felt his body move from hers and down onto hers again, just as it had moved on her wedding night. The feelings within, however, were much different. Where he had scratched over a sore, his strokes now soothed her. Somehow, the soothing was also arousing. She was tightening again.

“Mine,” he said; he drove in and filled her; she tightened. “Mine,” he said; he withdrew slowly, enticingly, and she tightened still more. “You are mine, mine forever,” he said; he stroked inward slowly, arousingly; she tightened almost to the point of pain, but never to the point of fear. “Dearest Sophia,” he said as he withdrew once more and she tightened impossibly. As he paused at the top of his stroke, she broke.

“Mine!” he shouted as he thrust into her deepest parts. This time, the depths of her belly were clenching on him. Her body tried to writhe, but he was pinning her down and weighing her down. She felt herself clench again, and she felt him pulse within that clench.

What she felt next, was his moving off her body. He lay beside her and hugged her for a moment, but she freed herself as soon as she was certain he was asleep. A glance at the window showed that there was not enough time before the morning began to get more sleep. She went to the dressing room to ring for Marie. Cleaned up, dressed, coiffed, she went downstairs for some breakfast. There was nothing in the breakfast room yet, but a foot man -- Sean, she had learned his name the evening before -- went into the kitchen to give news that milady was ready. He seated her when he returned and told her that the kitchen had been alerted. She wasn’t about to fault Cook for not anticipating her early awakening, as she hadn’t anticipated it herself. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to soothe their worries either. Among the duties of the house staff was anticipating the owners’ wishes.

She set out for the calls as soon as she decently could. That was long after she had finished breakfast -- including a nice kipper -- though. When she got back, Robert was waiting. He sent word for luncheon as soon as possible before coming to her for a kiss. That was nice, and his cheek was smooth. He licked her lips until she opened them. Then his tongue invaded her mouth. He broke the kiss, but he stood holding her until luncheon was called. At luncheon, he asked about her calls that morning.

“I managed to get in another of your political additions,” she said. “I swear, these calls are the worst aspect of a new marriage.”

“Truly the worst?” he asked.

“Truly,” she said. “Indeed, ‘tis the only bad aspect that I can see right now.” He beamed. He had given her an opportunity to complain about the waking, and she had declined. In fact, she hadn’t liked the beginning, but she had quite enjoyed the end. “I like to be yours.”

That afternoon, she abandoned her mother’s list to finish the calls her husband had added to that list. She was Robert’s wife. She was no longer Mother’s daughter.

Lionel was shocked at the changes a month had brought him. Fenhurst was an old, if not particularly wealthy, earldom. The main line had died out two generations ago. His father had been the only son of a distant relative when the old earl had died. That left them ill connected to other families. As a second son, he was a gentleman, acceptable to the ton but nothing exceptional. Two engagements had changed all that. The Fosters were prolific and rich. The Tarletons were one of the great Whig families. Dorwich had an allowance from his father larger than Lionel’s income and a house of his own while his father lived, larger than Lionel’s house. George was courted by both sides on the fear -- or hope -- of his changing his vote. Now that he need not worry about Sophia and invitations were beside the point, invitations poured in. He had been to an intimate luncheon at Dorwich House and a meeting at Brooke’s.

Lionel felt occasional guilt towards Lady Anne whose decision had accomplished most of this. He dismissed that guilt as irrational. If his proposal had been intended as something of a cozen, it had not turned out that way. A proposal which ends in marriage must be genuine, whether it was originally intended honestly or not. And he had disguised nothing. His financial situation was clearly evident. Perhaps the expenditures for Sophia’s Season and wedding were at a level which the family could not sustain, but most families expended more on a girl’s debut than their ordinary level of expense.

He had no hidden debts; his clothes were no flashier than his clothes would be in the future. If his stable contained carriages that it would not contain next year, everyone knew that his family was visiting for the Season. For that matter, everyone knew that George had no London house and he no rural estate. In the first place, if his expenditures hinted at an income slightly higher than it was, they hinted at nothing like the income that the Tarletons enjoyed. In the second, the inquiries they had made, damn embarrassing inquiries, too, had not had anything to do with money. Lady Anne might be marrying into relative penury, but he was not cozening her into it.