It was a glorious first day of June. Catherine could feel the warmth of the sun on her face and arms as she reclined on a blanket. The sounds of bird songs and the nearby stream filled the air. She had never felt happier in her life. She was now Mrs. Charles Stewart and had been for less than a month, a month that seemed to be a complete blur to her as she had never experienced such complete contentment before. Beginning with their first night of the honeymoon in southern France, she finally knew the true meaning of making love. To her great surprise, it was a feeling that she never wanted to lose. The entire honeymoon was wonderful. The days were relaxing and fun filled but the nights were amazing. Charles had brought feelings to surface she never knew she had.
On their first night, she apologize that she was not a virgin but with all her heart she wished she was. Charles looked at her and smiled. "This is my first time with you so, yes, you are my virgin."
Just thinking about it made her want him again. She sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. Placing her hand on his broad back, she said, "What are you thinking of?"
Her voice brought him back to reality. He had been deep in thought, thinking about how his life had changed and changed so quickly. Five years ago he had very little in the way of concerns and cares. In 1914, the world went mad and events piled up that drastically affected him. First William died at Loos and then James died from the Spanish flu. Overnight he went from the third son with a vague future to heir to the title of Earl of Berwick. His time in the trenches resulted in seeing things no human should see. His wounding caused physical scars but those covered the scars you couldn't see. Remarkably since his marriage to Catherine, he had not had any nightmares and no severe headaches had struck him down. He thought about the two women in his life and how they changed it.
Kathleen had left Stanhope Manor the day after the Armistice. It took the family and especially Charles, by surprise but with James' funeral and the War ending, he never found a chance to talk to her about her decision. It was only by chance that he was able to say good bye at all.
"Kathleen, please wait," he yelled running down the gravel path. "Wait!"
She stopped and dropping her valise, waiting.
He caught up to her and placing his hands on his knees, caught his breath. "You can't leave without saying good bye."
"I'll was planning on it."
"Why would you do that? You just can't walk out of my life"
She sighed. "Charles, I have never been a part of your life. Your life is here at Stanhope with your family, your titles. I can never be a part of that and I can't just stand on the edge of it and watch."
"But I told you I love you. Don't I deserve something more?"
"Deserve something more? I gave you my heart and that night I offered you everything, you did nothing. What more do you want?"
Charles grabbed her by the shoulders. "No, not that! We can't part without a good bye. You just can't walk out of my life. I won't let you. I carried your locket next my skin in France. I was thinking of you that night in France. It has always been you. In another place or time, it would have been us. Now do you understand?"
Kathleen buried her face into his shoulder and began to cry, long and hard. She held on to him as if her life depended on it. "This is why I just had to leave," she said between sobs. "I knew it would be too hard. Oh God, I do love you."
They stood there in the path, neither one wanting to let go. They both knew they had to. Silently they moved apart and Charles picked up her bag. They walked down the path towards the village and train station without talking. Along the way she took his hand and held it tightly. At the station, Kathleen kissed him tenderly on the cheek. As he started to talk, to say goodbye, she placed a finger to his lips and shook her head. She turned and boarded, not looking back.
He had not seen or heard from her since that day. He made sure to invite her to the wedding but she didn't attend. She had walked out of his life.
Catherine rubbed his back. "Charles?"
Her voice brought him back.
"I was just thinking how lucky I am," he said quickly.
She slipped her arm into his and rested her head on his shoulder."In what way?"
"In many ways," he began. "In the trenches, a minute or two either way, and that shell would have ended it." Sweeping his hand in front of him, he continued. "Someday all this and the title will be ours." Turning to her,"And I have the best, most beautiful wife any man could ask for. That's what I mean."
"Oh, Charles, It is I who is lucky," she said pulling herself closer.
Charles lay back on to the blanket bringing Catherine down with him. "No," he thought, "Catherine was wrong. It was he who is lucky. She will be his equal in all things, not like others whose wives are just decorations or lack opinions. When he entered his first session of Parliament and he looked up into the gallery, he would be proud to see her there. He finally realized that they were meant to be together."
He picked up her chin and looked into her eyes.
"What?" she asked quizzically.
"I love you, Catherine," and he kissed her. It was a deep and passionate kiss. She kissed him back. They continued to kiss as he rolled her onto her back. His hand went to the large buttons on her blouse and began to undo them.
Catherine grabbed his hand, "Here? Now?"
"Yes," he answered and kissed her again as his hand undid the first button. She didn't stop him.
He slid his hand inside her blouse, feeling her silk chemise. He cupped her ample breast and she responded by opening her mouth, allowing his tongue to enter. Catherine moaned softly.
Catherine placed her hands on his shoulders. She looped her fingers around his suspenders and slid them down. She grabbed his shirt hem and pulled it up. She then ran her hands up his bare back. The touch of his skin added to her excitement.
Charles moved up hand under her chemise and caressed her nipple with his fingers. He pitched it causing it to harden. He broke their kiss and slowly began kissing her neck, moving steadily down. She arched her back from the feeling.
