The first time she ever saw him was on their wedding day. Her father had come into her room, her tearful mother behind him pleading with him about something...nothing new in their household. But having him grab her arm and haul her bodily from the warmth of her bed WAS new.
"Make her presentable," her father had snarled before stomping back out of her room, the upstairs maid scurrying into the chamber an instant before the door had slammed. Her mother and little Fannie had worked over her, winding her long auburn locks in damp rags - heating the curling irons in the coals of the fire until the bedroom stank of singed hair...but the long tubular curls, gathered just above and behind her right ear hung flawless and hollow down over her alabaster shoulder. A small amount of rose oil smoothed between Fannie's palms and eased over the crown of her head made her smell more like a rose garden and less like a scalded cat.
She was bade to wash and did so - hurriedly - the water in the basin was no better than tepid and it was a chilly morning. Her mother, meanwhile, had her head buried in Allys' wardrobe, tsking over the number and condition of her gowns. Finally finding 'something suitable' in the nature of Allys' debutante gown from two years before a cream satin and lace creation - the only drawback of which was that Allyson had grown since wearing it to her debutante ball.
Her corset was cinched to the point she actually felt light-headed and faint before the gown could be draped over petticoats. Her bosom swelled dangerously over the top of the neckline - her breasts compressed and forced upward and outward by the unforgiving whalebone stays in her corset, and the stiff satin material. A swathe of white tulle was tucked around her shoulders, pinned together with a white silk rose between her breasts. Looking in the mirror Allys was convinced it only served to draw attention to her plump, unladylike breasts. Her mother pinched her cheeks several times to bring out the 'bloom' in them and suggested she bite her lips to cause them to swell and pink up slightly.
Heading out of her room and down the long winding stairway to the main floor of the old manor house she had sufficient time to wonder what was happening. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been dressed up and trotted out to meet some widowed friend of her father, or fat but wealthy, single cousin. What happened subsequently WOULD however be a first for her...and a last.
Rounding the last bend in the stairway behind her mother she looked down on her father standing there with a well dressed gentleman she didn't know. At first glance he looked to be considerably younger than her father but on closer inspection they seemed somewhat of an age, although the stranger was certainly better kept and in much better form than her father's rotund shape. She flushed slightly, but whether in shame at such close inspection of a strange man's physical form...or in guilt at the inadvertent mental betrayal of her father, she was not sure. Either way, when he looked up a moment later, he saw her descending demurely, eyes downcast, the apparent bloom of health on her cheeks and a glorious cascade of hair that caught the flames of the candelabra and reflected back fire of their own.
The only things he knew about her for certain were her age, just turned 18 - and that she was as virgin as the day she'd been born, or so her father assured him. Well, that and the fact that she belonged to him now by virtue of her father's gambling losses. If her father turned out to have lied about her chastity he could always come back with a bullwhip and even the score. It wasn't that he was particularly anxious to take a wife, but his solicitor had made so bold in recent weeks as to pointedly refer to his age, and the fact that if he died without heirs as well as intestate one of two outcomes was likely. His title and property would revert to the crown......or would descend to a loathsome worm of a cousin....neither outcome being particularly desirable as far as he was concerned. Her father's gambling losses turned out to be somewhat fortuitous as regards his hopes of begetting a legal heir before his time ran out.
The girl was not unattractive which should prove helpful to his 'efforts', although if she'd been horse-faced he supposed he could have pulled the covers over her head and done his business at the other end. Her appearance and supposed chastity, however, gave him some ideas of his own.....things more in keeping with his own... Her father clumped over to the stairs, grabbing the girl by the upper arm and jerking her so hard she stumbled and nearly fell. He wasn't aware of moving but rather suddenly he found his arms around the maiden, while he leaned over her rotund little father -
"I'll thank you to unhand my bride."
The other man swelled up, much like the toad he resembled, preparing to bluster.
"If there is so much as one bruise on her skin, our 'arrangement' might be considered null and void. Is debtors prison so appealing?"
The red-faced little toad settled into sullen silence, but his eyes were rebellious and Ronald had a sudden fear for the safety of his bride. Her mother's welfare was probably also at risk but not within his purview. The girl, a tiny thing who didn't come up even as far as his shoulder seemed to be all eyes and bosom. She was staring at him wide-eyed, not so much with fear he noted but with a startled, curious gaze, her breasts heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. He thought he might be able to span her waist with his hands....and have hand left over. Keeping his hand firmly at the small of her back he steered her toward the door where his barouche waited.
"We will use this time to become acquainted and meet you at the chapel." He stated flatly, daring the smaller man to argue the point.
He was quite pleased to see the young lady in question neither argued, nor looked at either of her parents for permission. Her wide gray eyes, still fixed firmly on his face, she allowed him to direct her out the door, down the stairs and into the barouche. He was further pleased that, when he handed her into the carriage she did not immediately slide over to the far side, but sat midway on the seat, leaving him the option of sitting next her, or across. For the moment he chose to sit across from her so that he could watch her face and judge her reactions.
"What's your name girl?"
"Allyson, m'Lord. Allys if you prefer."
"Have they told you what's happening?"
Surprisingly she answered with a question of her own.
"Has he lost a great deal, Sir?"
Snorting, "Down to his last brass farthing!"
"Well then," she colored slightly, "You seem like a kind man."
Crossing over to sit next to her he covered her hands with one of his, discovering in the process how tightly knit and cold they were.
"Allyson, I am many things - I can be generous in victory, stern in judgement, unyielding in opposition - but I guarantee you, I am NOT kind!"
She made so bold as to look at him directly before lowering her eyes and blushing again. "And yet, you accepted me in recompense, sight unseen - and even kept him from hurting me just then."
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, wondering just how much of the truth he could share with her, finally deciding on most of it.
"Well girl, if you'd been totally unsuitable I'd still have walked out. Your father swore to your maidenhead and if he lied," watching with interest as she colored violently, "If he lied, I'll have his hide! As for protecting you....I guard my possessions."
Leaning closer to her he asked her directly, "Did he lie? Are you virgin?"
Startled gray eyes looked up into his as she blushed again, "Yes, m'Lord, I am."
Patting her hands he smiled, not at all a reassuring sight she found.
"Good, then you've nothing to worry about."
She heard the horses hooves clatter when they reached the cobbled stones of the village and the barouche swung wide as it entered the sweeping lane to the small stone presbytery. At that point everything began to assume a dreamlike quality - slightly out of focus and fuzzy around the edges. He....the man she was about to marry....whose name she didn't even know....he climbed down from the carriage, reaching up to lift her down as though she were weightless. Not looking right or left or waiting for her parents to arrive he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and proceeded up the small flight of stone steps and into the old church. Parson Adams was waiting for them inside, his rheumy old eyes peering at her anxiously to ascertain her welfare and willingness to proceed. She smiled at him, although her lips trembled slightly and felt 'his' hand settle at the small of her back again, radiating heat.
The soft patter of footsteps and boot heels announced the arrival of her parents and 'he' nodded his head, "You may proceed now Parson."
She'd heard the vows spoken before of course, even thought about what it might be like to say them herself someday. Nothing had prepared her for this, however. Saying the vows with a total stranger seemed somehow a travesty...a mockery of all the ceremony stood for. She heard his name with a curious dispassion - Ronald, Lord Allensby. She would, it seemed, be a Lady in a few moments' time. Numbly her mouth opened and repeated the words that the old preacher spoke - the promises of love, faithfulness and obedience. She looked up then, when she said the word obey and his hand tightened on hers. She found he was looking at her quite strangely - almost triumphantly. Then there was a cold band on her finger and her mother's cheek pressed to hers - a swift whisper she didn't understand - 'something' she was going to have to 'endure' now and then they were back outside in the sunshine and he was handing her back up into the barouche.
Telling the coachman quietly, "The townhouse James," he clambered in beside her. He supposed that her belongings would be sent on from her home but accepted the possibility that she came to him in what she wore with nothing else. No matter. Things could be obtained. It was her...her spirit that he needed to ascertain now - her mind seemed quick, she'd shown remarkable courage in facing all of the day's events head up and dry eyed, she was a pretty little thing and her body seemed....'healthy' he thought with a quick lift of his lips as he viewed the expanse of cleavage. And she had accepted his directions thus far without question - he wondered how far he might be able to push her. Leaning back in the corner of the enclosed carriage, he spoke -
"I think it's time to see what I've bought....Lift your skirts Allys."
The startled gray eyes lifted to his again, "M...m'Lord?"
"I want to look at you girl. Lift your skirts. You don't want to disobey me so soon - that would displease me. Do you know what happens to wives who displease their husbands?"
