Chapter Two ~ 1816.
“Lady Perdita.” My former Lover bent over my hand, and his blue eyes traveled up my form, lingering on my waist, which had not yet begun to expand. My Husband was nowhere in Sight. “Is your dance card filled yet this eve?”
“Sir, if you wish to waltz with me all night, my Husband will not give a fig.” I tore up my dance card and tossed it to the floor under Mr Sinclair’s shocked gaze. “Let them talk, for I am now a Married woman, and may dance with whomever I wish.”
Mr Sinclair’s eyes sparked with amusement. “Society will bow to you, my dear Countess, and you shall set it on its ear.”
We waltzed through the crowd to the balcony, and then ran into the maze, where he pressed me up against the shrubbery, my skirts to my waist, his tongue buried between my legs. When we returned to the ball, my husband met us at the door, drawing a leaf from my hair with a snicker of amusement.
“Have a little more Decorum, my dear Perdita,” he whispered in my ear, his stubble grazing the soft skin there. A strange, warm tingle ran along my skin, but I did not give it much thought, still buzzing with the carnal memory of my lover’s tongue in my most secret place.
To Sinclair, he bowed, and a mischievous grin pulled at his lips. “When we return to the countryside, we may all do as we like, Sinclair. I wish you the Joy of her bed.” His eyes warmed when he looked at me, and we shared a glance that made Sinclair stiffen in displeasure. “For she brings a lonely man much joy and Comfort, and laughter and light are never far from her Embrace.”
•••
In late November of that year, I came to the birthing bed six weeks too soon, but despite the doctor’s assurances, my son was born blue with the cord around his neck, and neither cried nor moved. I took to my bed for weeks, and knew only sorrow, shutting out everyone except Annabelle, who came to the estate with my Lady Grandmother to care for me in my convalescence.
“I know you do not wish to hear this, Perdita, but Briar has birthed a fine, lusty boy. She asks for you to come to the christening as godmother.”
I turned to face her, hot tears welling up in my eyes. “I cannot, I cannot.”
Annabelle laid a hand on my cheek, stroking it gently. “And Marlcaster asked me to keep it from you, but the banns have been read, Mr Sinclair is to wed Miss Holloway at Christmas.”
“No!” I bolted up from bed, throwing the covers back. “No, no! Take me to him!” And I collapsed, sobbing with renewed grief, into her arms.
“Miss Parsons? Perdita!” My Husband opened the door, and before I knew it, he had wrapped me in a tight embrace. He smelled of smoke and blood, and I knew he had been out hunting, for it was what he did when he needed to clear his head.
“You are crushing me!” I gasped, and his embrace lightened, but he did not let me go.
“By God, Perdita. I could hear your screams from downstairs. I thought…” he cleared his throat. “It is good to know you are back, you minx. I was so afraid.” But the last part was said so soft I must have misheard.
I laid my head on his shoulder, sagging against him, my dearest Friend, my husband. “I lost the baby, Edmund.” It was the first time I had used his given name outside of the nuptial bed, so many months ago.
He startled, and went utterly still. Then his hand began to stroke my back, in soft caress. “That was not your fault, Perdita. I do not care what anyone says,” — Fiercely, for his Mother was the one who had said it loudest, and with the most Malicious pleasure.
I heard the door close gently, dearest Annabelle always did have good manners. “But, husband — he must despise me.”
My husband stilled and drew back, cupping my cheek in his hand. “Never, Wife — Dita.” I liked the way he shortened my name, the way his voice changed when he said it. There was something different about it from his lips than anyone else’s, though I could not put a finger on what, exactly, I liked so much. “Come, let me fetch you a bath.”
Once the bath was drawn, he helped me out of my grimy night shift, and into the tub. “Tell me how I can help you, Perdita,” he whispered, and there were tears in his eyes as he knelt on the floor, my limp hand in his. “Though he was not my true son, I thought of him as my heir. You must know that.” He cleared his throat. “Sinclair has been here every day, he is a man much Grieved.”
“Not too grieved,” I choked out. “For I hear he will wed Miss Holloway — you kept it from me! We promised never to do that to one another, Edmund.”
“I do not pretend to know Mr Sinclair’s heart, Perdita, but I know he loves you, as — as we all do. He needs an heir too. Do not think he will care for the chit — were things different, I know he would have wed you.” My husband pressed a kiss to my knuckles, his blue eyes sincere.
I squeezed his hand. “As Miss Daly would have wed you, Edmund.” His face closed at that, and I squeezed his hand again. “And you have a natural son now, the finest of boys, I hear.”
He smiled at once, the proud papa. “I cannot wait for you to meet him. We have named him Harry.”
“I should like that, very much,” I whispered, and tears gathered in my eyes, unbidden. Before I knew what was happening, Edmund began to wash my hair, gently, his fingers massaging my scalp. I bit back a moan, this was an intimacy I had only shared heretofore with Mr Sinclair.
“Let me comfort you.” His thumbs massaged my scalp, and he poured warm water from the pitcher into my tresses, the sweet rose scent perfuming the air. When he was done, he handed me the bar of soap, but I held it up.
“I will wash your back if you will wash mine.”
My husband sloshed into the bath behind me with his clothes still on, and plucked the soap from my hands. “I am the one who will take care of you, Dita,” he whispered against the back of my neck, gathering suds on his hands so that the water became scented and frothy. “As I should have done from the start. Do not worry about me.”
I half turned, studying his dear, familiar face, and cupped his jaw in my hand. I could sense his inner turmoil, and he turned his head, kissing my palm, his eyes lingering on my face. There was so much pain there. “Edmund, you do not have to be strong with me all the time.” I felt suddenly vulnerable, raw, and it was not just because I was Nude as Venus in the foam. “I am your friend,” I repeated firmly. “And we promised to always be truthful with one another.”
“The man should be the strong one.” His voice wavered, hoarse, and he caught my hand in his, bringing my fingertips to his mouth. “Let me carry this burden for you, Dita.”
“Where is he?” I begged, and we both knew I did not speak of Sinclair.
“I talked to the vicar. He lies with your brother and father, in the family plot. I will take you to see him, when you have rested. You must rest. Mother sent a bottle of laudanum, but…” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your Lady Grandmother had it dumped out.”
Thank heavens for my Lady Grandmother, for I learned only later that one of his hounds, Caesar, had licked it up and died of convulsions within the hour. If not for her, I should be lying cold in the churchyard as well.
“I will rest, but only if you hold me.” I leaned back against his broad chest, the water had begun already to cool, and my teeth chattered.
Edmund climbed out of the bath and cursed under his breath, he was dripping water everywhere. He fetched me a warm towel from beside the fire, and helped me from the tub, wrapping me in it. Then he picked me up, despite my protestations, and carried me to his bedchamber like a new bride, laying me gently in the center of the bed.
The sheets smelled of his scent, woodsy and fresh, and I snuggled under the coverlet.
He seemed about to say something, then I heard him curse at his clothing as he stripped down, the wet clothes thudding on the floor. He climbed into bed beside me, his body too far away by half, and when I turned to face him, he pressed a kiss upon my forehead, gripping my hand tightly.
I caressed his jaw, I dared not speak, lest it break the spell. He brushed his thumb over my lips, and asked, in a hoarse voice,
“May I kiss you?” There was something there I was not used to seeing in the face of my Husband, my dearest Friend, but I thought little of it, we must take what Comfort we can in this life of ours.
“Edmund, you do not have to ask me,” I chided him, and a soft smile came to his lips. “You are my husband.”
His lips were sweet, they tasted of mint, and my lower belly fluttered in anticipation as his lips moved down my neck and across my collarbone, tasting me. “Dita,” he breathed, and when I twined my hands in his hair, he groaned, kissing me harder, deeper, his warm hands sliding along my curves, every little kiss sending off a flurry of sparks along my skin, like watching the fireworks over Vauxhall Gardens. “Have I ever told you how happy I am with this marriage?”
I closed my eyes as his mouth moved lower, down the no longer taut skin of my lower belly. “We both have what we desire, Ned — Husband.” His upper lip and chin was not as close shaven as Mr Sinclair’s, and I felt my limbs go boneless at the sensation.
“There’s no need for formality in our bed, sweet.” He twined his fingers in mine, lifting my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss upon my palm, feather light. “Call me Ned again, I — I like it.”
“Ned.” I gasped aloud as his lips brushed my most secret place, where only Mr Sinclair’s tongue had ever touched before. “Oh –!”
“Tell me what it is you most desire, Dita,” Edmund growled, his blue eyes meeting mine. The tip of his tongue flicked against the hood of my swollen nub, and my hips arched into his mouth in wanton need as he circled it. The sparks focused there, and grew into a blazing fire the more he swirled, until I was sobbing his name, over and over, the lights exploding in front of my eyes.
When he entered me, he flipped me over so I rode him astride, groaning my name as his eyes locked with mine, pulsing hot and deep inside of me.
“Perdita!” he gasped, fingers digging into my hips. “Dita, Dita!”
When we lay in each other’s arms afterwards, he whispered, “Do not despair, Dita. I am here.”
“And — Briar?” Her name in our bed was like a scythe cutting through the air, and he rolled over on his back, staring up at the canopy, his face unreadable.
He ran a hand over his face. “I… She sends her love.”
Love and hatred are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have one without the other. Briar may have loved me, but she did not miss a single trick, nor the way my husband’s eyes would stray to me whenever we were in the same room, or if I laughed a little too long or too loudly at his jests.
When I came to the birthing bed again, the timing was off, and Briar was most aggrieved when I birthed a fine daughter, Susanna. Her position as mistress was ever a precarious one, and my child would claim what she considered her child’s true birthright.
“She is beautiful, Perdita,” Briar said to me as we nursed our babes beside the lake. That was one commoner’s privilege I would not give up. “Did you ever think, back in Grovershire, that one day our babes would be –” but she stopped herself.
As Isaac and Ishmael.