Chapter 2

Richard had courted Vivian for her smiles. When she was pleased, the entire room lit up. She should be pleased at her wedding, for God’s sake. She looked worried, though, throughout the ceremony and the feast afterwards.

When they were back at his town house and had separated to dress for bed, her maid, Phyllis, rapped on the connecting door and he went in. Vivian was lying with the sheet pulled up to her chin. If she’d looked worried during the service, she looked terrified now. Well, brides often were terrified of their wedding night. Susannah had been frightened enough, and they had desired each other. He set down a small vial of oil he’d brought to make his entrance easier. He pulled back the sheet. Vivian cringed and then straightened. Her smile was brave, not one of the golden ones.

“You look lovely,” he said. “Would you prefer the candles out?”

“Please.”

He blew them out. “We need that pretty nightdress off. Would you like to remove it, or would you like me to perform that task?”

“I shall,” she said. He removed his own night shirt while he heard the motions which must be her undressing. When he got into the bed, the sheet was still down as far as he had pulled it. He covered them both. The greatest pleasures were to be had on a naked bed, but both the weather and Vivian’s modesty called for their being fully covered this night.

“Wife,” he began, “did not your mother tell you that a woman and the man she marries belong completely to each other?”

“Each other?” Yes, that was in Scripture but not in the law.

“Each other. You can commit me, as much as I can commit you. This night, I intend to claim my possession of your body. You have, however, equal claim to mine. Shall we begin with a kiss?” Hearing neither denial nor acquiescence, he moved his left hand until he touched her. He’d reached her shoulder. She quivered but it wasn’t a full-blown shudder.

He raised himself in the bed and, guided by where the shoulder was, lowered his face to hers. He first found her nose and kissed the tip. Then he kissed her lips. She was neither resisting nor reciprocating. He licked her lips open.

“Oh,” Vivian said when their tongues touched. He sucked her lower lip and began stroking her. He went from her shoulder down to her hip. The dip of her waist was attractive, and the swell of her hip was womanly. He brought his hand slowly up until he was cupping a full breast. He kissed the top of that breast, feeling the other press into his chest. Then he stroked down over her belly to her mound.

That brought her hand to stop him. He kissed up her breast to the nipple at the top. It was still soft, but he sucked it. When her hand relaxed, he brought his down to stroke between her thighs. She pressed them tightly together, but she didn’t push him away.

“You know what this night involves?” he asked her.

“Ye-yes.” She sounded as nervous as her tense body felt.

“And, with the ceremony, you agreed to it?”

“Yes.” She was as stiff, but she spread her legs. Bless the woman, she was prepared to do her duty. She was -- quite obviously -- not prepared for any pleasure. Well, the first night was going to end in pain rather than pleasure in any case.

“I have had a wedding night before. If you have agreed to the end, do you not see that you should trust me to do the preparations to make it most comfortable for you?” He wasn’t going to say ‘least painful,’ although she wasn’t behaving as though the prospect of pain had been concealed from her.

“Very well,” she said. The legs spread a little wider.

“Pardon me for a moment.” He rolled away from her to get the vial and poured a little oil on the fingers of his right hand. The gradual preparation he had intended was clearly not working, and he the feel of her lithe body against his was raveling his control. Skipping a few steps that weren’t having any benefit would be better than ravishing her suddenly when his control snapped. He slipped his oily hand between her legs and began stroking her folds.

“What?” she asked.

“Is it a little cool? It will warm up soon enough. I need to enter you, and your body, no matter how willing your mind, is going to resist. The resistance is inescapable, but it will go more easily with a little lubrication. There is no hurry.”

He felt the tightness of the muscles at her entrance ease. That didn’t make the entrance all that much larger. He could feel that he was oiling an intact hymen. Well, that was no surprise. Half of his task of easing his entrance was the oiling. The other half was getting her slightly more relaxed. He shifted to the other breast and kissed that nipple. It firmed in his mouth when his strokes went over the top of her slit. Well, that would help her accept him. He licked the nipple when his stroke went over that area again.

“Mother said that you wouldn’t love me,” she said suddenly. He waited. “You, however, seem to be taking quite a deal of care for me.”

“Instead of falling on you like a Roman on a Sabine woman?” She may have nodded. If she wanted to make love only in the dark, she needed to learn to speak aloud. “Well, I hope that your mother didn’t say that I would hate you.”

“Oh, no.” She seemed more relaxed, and he took a while to kiss her breast before continuing.

“We are going to be married for the rest of our lives -- for the rest of mine, quite probably. I want you to be happy while married to me. Aside from any other considerations, I would be surprised at any marriage in which one of the couple was happy and the other one wasn’t.” She seemed to be as relaxed as she was going to get, and she had long been as oily as she was going to get.

He got on his knees between her legs and placed himself against that slippery warmth. She tensed again. He pressed forward quite gently. Then he adjusted his posture so that he was on his elbows with his hands on her breasts. His back was arched so his bum was as high as it could get while his belly was rubbing hers. He stroked his thumbs over her nipples which responded only minimally.

His cock could feel the warmth all over his tip. It was nuzzled against her oily hymen, but he could feel the tightness of the muscles resisting him.

“You see, your pleasure is in my interest,” he said. He wouldn’t mention that her smile was what had attracted him. He’d seen enough of her false smiles when she was trying. “The oil on my hand...” He stroked that hand over her breast. “Does it bother you?”

“Oh no.” With her thoughts diverted from her hymen which was about to be broached to her breast which the sensible girl knew could be wiped clean, she relaxed.

He thrust forward suddenly and was in her.

Vivian had been dreading this moment, but the talk had tamed the dread. Then agony pierced her. She gasped and tightened every muscle, especially the one being spread.

“I know that hurt,” Sir Richard said. “But that is the worst of the hurt. Would you relax for me?” She didn’t know how to relax that particular muscle. She hadn’t even been aware of it before this night. The pain, though, was fading, and it hadn’t been all that great, anyway. She breathed evenly, and let her entire body relax. That seemed to work, as he sank against her and into her.

“So soft,” he said, “so warm.” He began to move in and out through her. Mother had said he would put his organ into her, but she hadn’t said anything about this going in and out. Still, the discomfort was only minor.

“It’s been so long,” Sir Richard said. He thrust against her as hard as the first thrust had been -- although much less painfully. He sagged over her, and she felt him pulse deep inside her.

Some time later, he kissed her, pulled himself out, and moved away. He settled down on the bed beside her. Apparently, he was going to sleep beside her all night.

She woke to knocking on the door. Where was she, and who was knocking? Phyllis always came in and woke her by voice.

“Don’t ask her in until I’m gone to my room,” a man said beside her. It was Sir Richard. Of course, they were married, and he was in her room -- in her bed. He got out of the bed, however, grabbed a robe from the floor, and went out a door carrying the robe. She then called Phyllis.

Phyllis came in carrying a cup of tea and a sugar bowl. Married women were apparently entitled to have their first cup of tea before dressing and going down to breakfast. There was a little blood on the sheet and a little more on her thighs. It looked like damned little blood for the tearing that she had felt. Phyllis seemed to approve of both, and she clucked at Vivian while she dressed her.

Sir Richard met her at the bottom of the stairs and kissed her fingers before leading her to the breakfast room.

“Cook has spread a feast for your first breakfast,” Sir Richard said. “You can tell her what you want in particular later.” It was a feast, and she had both kippers and bacon with her toast. Warned by Mother, she didn’t take a second cup of tea for the morning. She was going visiting, and tea would be on offer at every house.

The visits were as formal and as repetitive as Mother had warned her they would be. Sir Richard greeted her when she returned at noon.

“I’ve asked Cook for a cold lunch since we didn’t know when you would return,” he said. “Was it very difficult?”

“Easy as anything. It was a trifle boring.”

“Well, you’re a charming woman, and I understand that the main task is to be charming. I thought of an early supper, en famille, since you will be tired. Not so early that you can’t rest before, though.”

“You are very kind,” she said. And he was kind. Sir Richard owned the household. At law, he all but owned her. Aside from the pain of the previous night, and she had agreed to that pain when she married him, he had been considerate of her every wish. He had planned this to ease her way, and then he was consulting her on it.

“And, since it will be en famille, I thought we might invite Mary to join us. I sometimes do when there are no guests.”

“By all means, Sir Richard.” She wanted to know his daughters, and this was as good a time as any. Besides, Sir Richard was both a stranger and her husband. Conversation between the two of them was bound to be awkward. There were all sorts of things she could ask the ten-year-old girl.

“Not ‘Sir Richard,’ please,” he said. “We are married. A simple ‘Richard’ will do. So, she was careful to call him ‘Richard’ during luncheon. Richard either called her ‘Vivian’ or ‘my dear.’

Phyllis met her in her room soon after she returned from her afternoon visits. Apparently, she had had her instructions. Vivian got to lie down in her undergarments for an hour. Then she dressed in something she had worn before the Season and joined her new husband and stepdaughter for supper. It was in the dining room, with her at the foot of the table and Richard at the head. Mary, who sat in the middle of one side, was served half a glass of wine by the butler. This seemed to be a rule, for she nursed that glass throughout the meal.

“Are you quite rested, dear?” Richard asked.

“Quite,” she replied. “Visiting is not all that stressful an activity. The only care I need to take is to sip very lightly on the tea that I’m served. I usually take two lumps of sugar, but I take it unsweetened on these visits. It would be such a waste to discard the sugar along with the tea.”

“And what have you been doing?” Mary asked.

“Your mother has been paying visits,” Richard said. Vivian could see Mary’s wince at his words, and Richard almost certainly could see it, too. “A newly-married lady pays visits to as many of society’s matrons as she can for three days. As a debutante, she probably didn’t meet more than half of them. Even if she has, she is a new social person now. She is a matron, a matron who didn’t exist two days ago.”

“Is a married woman so different?”

“Your father said ‘social person,’” Vivian pointed out. “I’m the same person with the same ideas and the same experiences that you met a few weeks ago. Remember showing me that marvelous doll house? But I’m now your father’s wife, and then I was my mother’s daughter. Those are entirely different roles. In truth, though, not many of the women I visited were at the balls I have attended.”

Mary was more interested in asking about the balls than in hearing about the visits. Vivian, who felt those balls might turn out to have been the high point of her life, was happy to oblige her. Richard, who might have resented being cut out of the conversation, instead looked pleased with it when she glanced his way. He excused Mary without being asked when the meal was over, and she left immediately.

After that, Richard asked that the staff be assembled in the hall. She met them all and struggled to remember their names. When they had all been introduced, Richard said that she must be tired. He walked her to the door of her dressing room.

“You need your rest for the next day,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it. May I have a kiss at parting?” Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her. He licked her lips in the middle of the kiss. When his hands went to her breasts, she almost objected. He was her husband, though. He could take what he wanted. The feelings he left her with was excitement, despite her apprehension ealier.

The next two days passed remarkably like the first. Mary didn’t take supper with them, and they did find things to discuss. She learned that you could speak from one end of the table to the other without shouting.

When he kissed her at the door to her dressing room, he said, “This is not a good bye. This is merely a brief parting.” The kiss was as thorough. Soon after she was in bed, she heard him enter the room. The candle was out, but she could see him in the glow of the fire. As his door was near the fireplace, she could see him in outline as he stood at the side of the bed. She could see him remove his robe, but she could barely discern his naked shape. He got into the bed beside her.

“That kiss in your doorway was sweet,” Richard said. “Maybe we should have another.” He touched the top of her head before he kissed her. Once his lips met hers, though, he didn’t remove them. His hand stroked her through the night dress, stroked and stroked her. First, he felt all over her breasts. Then he smoothed the nightdress down to her mound. His hand went down one thigh to the hem, and then drew the cloth up until he was on her bare thighs. He stroked over them and between them. Even though he didn’t ask her to open her legs, she felt them part. Finally, she felt her night dress bunched up on her belly and his hand on her bare mound.

“This time shouldn’t hurt,” he said when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. And Mother had said that only the first time did. He rolled away from her, and she heard the sound of the vial on the night table. She didn’t know whether all women had one on their night tables, but Richard had left it there.

Richard felt that applying the oil was his excuse for fondling her folds. He knew a woman could find pleasure in the act, and he was fairly certain that Vivian was less than ready to do so. He and Susannah had both been eager to join. The first pain had been a price she willingly paid for the expected pleasure. He’d had to learn how to bring her pleasure, but they had cooperated in searching for it. This second wife was merely willing to do her duty. Damnation! Vivian’s duties were nothing special; he wanted her joy. He wanted the smile from her in the horizontal dance that he had seen in the quadrille.

He was far from that this evening. Vivian was bound up in her night clothes with not even her breasts available for his kisses. He returned his lips to her face while he stroked over her folds. They, at least, felt swollen. She must be experiencing some arousal. He parted them, stroked between them spreading his oil. He thrust one finger deep into her and pressed it up and down to both spread his oil and ease her muscles. Then he withdrew it to stroke over the inner folds and the sensitive bump on top. Her response was more tension instead of less, but it was a detectable response. He continued his strokes.

Vivian couldn’t understand what Richard was doing. Certainly, you didn’t need more than one pass, two at most, to spread oil. He had, really, only taken one pass in her innermost parts where his organ would enter. Then he kept stroking the outer edges of her unmentionable parts. That was making her more and more nervous in a way she had never experienced previously. She thought of asking him to stop.

Asking him to stop raised two problems. This was his right as a husband. If it was wrong to ask him to delay what would hurt her, it seemed silly, as well as probably wrong, to ask him to stop entirely what merely made her nervous. Then, too, she was quite clear what the next action was. If she asked him to stop stroking her, she would be asking him to enter her. That didn’t sound modest, and the last time had hurt. While she was thinking about this dilemma, her anxiety was rising to a peak. She could barely think at all.

“Richard?” she asked.

“Yes, Vivian. Let it happen. Yes, Vivian. Yes, my wife. Climax for me.”

While she was wondering what ‘climax’ meant, her tension doubled. Something like lightning crashed through her. She convulsed, convulsed again.

“Oh, sweet woman,” Richard said. “Delightful girl.” He was climbing over her leg. Before she could remember that the last time he had entered her had hurt, he was sliding inside. This time, as he and Mother had promised, it didn’t hurt a bit. All she felt was a tiny bit of stretching and his weight on her.

When he started moving in and out, the excitement returned. Before it became very great, though, he stiffened over her. She felt him pulse in her depths. Then his weight fell towards her. He somehow rolled while he was falling, though. He ended up mostly off her but with a little weight on her right leg. Soon, even that weight was off. He pulled her against his side. It was strange to sleep like that, but after the adventures of the day, she fell asleep easily.

She was alone in bed when she awoke, and the light from the windows was greater. Phyllis was standing beside the bed

“Is it late?” she asked her.

“Yes, my lady. Sir Richard told me to bring the tea up later since you did not need to go visiting today.” She had understood that Phyllis was the one person on the staff to whom Richard would not give orders, but the order was sensible and she would have agreed if she had been consulted.

“Greetings, wife,” Richard greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. “Are you happy that you are staying in today.”

“Indeed I am. And the harder the wind blows, the happier I grow.” They ate across from each other, and she found that she had a fine appetite. After breakfast, Richard suggested a visit to the schoolroom.

“The girls are in your charge,” he said while they were climbing the stairs. “I would appreciate, though, if you consulted me on any changes you propose. What I envisioned for today is simply your learning how they proceed at the present time. Then, when you think they need to change, we can talk about it.”

“I am afraid that I had a governess for only a short period myself. What I learned, I learned in a village school.”

“Well, Miss Walters is very good on reckoning and geography and penmanship. I don’t picture you as supervising her at the most particular points. ‘Mary needs to study spelling in the forenoon, not the afternoon,’ and that sort of thing. What I picture is your seeing what they lack in their lives, not what they lack in their penmanship.”

“Well, I will try,” she said. The visit confirmed what Richard had said about Miss Walters. The girls all had excellent manners, and Deborah’s curtsey had been better than Vivian could have performed at her age, or even at Mary’s age. The girls recited and presented their work to her and Richard. She couldn’t imagine her improving their learning. She did note, however, some lack of joy in them. They were orphans, true, but these recitations and reports went on longer without one lark than any school she had attended would ever have witnessed. She praised them at the end.

“Did you hear what your new mother said of you?” Richard asked. “Thank her for it.” If Mary winced at that, Deborah snarled. Vivian had been thinking since the luncheon shared with Mary. She was far from certain that she would have agreed to call another man ‘father’ if Mother had remarried. And she could not remember her father at all.

“Well,” she said, “you have a mother whom you all remember. Mary certainly does. Do you Deborah?”

“Yes, but only mother sick.”

“Martha and I,” Mary explained, “remember how mother was when she was well. Deborah was too young when she fell sick.” And, clearly, they had discussed this.

“Well, I’m your new mama, but you will not forget your first mama. My given name is Vivian. Why don’t you call me ‘MamaVivian’?” She looked from face to face. Mary looked at the other girls, apparently seeing something that Vivian could not. Finally, Mary nodded.