This story is Part 1 of its series. It follows the lives of a young married couple in 1813. I chose this era because I wanted to explore the evolution of marital sex in a time where many women were forced to marry a stranger. I wanted to recreate how two people could come together and slowly begin to know each other, inside and out.
This series is not meant to be completely historically accurate; some lingual anachronisms may occur.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Do you, John Edward George Alexander Randall, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife..."
The reverend's voice faded from my ears as I stared resolutely through my long lace veil, trying hard to focus on anything but my new husband.
I had not wanted to marry John, but he was the son of the Duke of Suffolk, and both of my parents agreed it was a perfect match for their eldest daughter. How could I argue with two doting parents convinced that they were giving me the best?
In a sense, they were. I would never want for anything—not that I would have otherwise—and I would be immensely wealthy. The price of my felicity was, however, being handed over to a complete stranger.
I felt tears prick the back of my eyes, and I blinked ferociously, trying to dispel the treacherous drops before they could escape. I didn't think I'd be able to pass them off as tears of joy.
The minister's voice floated back into my ears. "Do you, Eleanor Isabel Brandon, take this man..."
When he had finished, I took a deep breath and said the words that would bind me to this stranger for the rest of my life.
"I do."
My hands clenched convulsively around his, and I sucked in a huge breath of air. For the rest of my life. For as long as we both shall live. Forever. With a stranger.
He must have felt the same—I saw his knuckles turning white from holding my hands so hard. He was crushing the delicate bones of my fingers, but I didn't care. It seemed as though we both needed an anchor, something solid to hold onto, some sort of slight connection that might guide us toward a semblance of happiness.
He lifted my veil, and kissed my brow so gently I almost didn't feel it. Quietly, so only I could hear, he whispered, "Smile. For now, we both must smile."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Our wedding celebration passed in a sickening blur, far too fast for my liking. I was dreading its end, when I would be handed off into the care of my new husband for our first night together. I knew what I had to do, what was expected of me. I laughed into my goblet at the thought of my mother's kind advice: "Lie back and think of England."
Yes, Eleanor. Think of all the strong sons you'll bear him. Your husband. This stranger.
I was suddenly very, very nervous.
Before I knew it, I was being escorted to the bridal chamber by a rather bad tempered maid. She, however, seemed mildly sympathetic to my plight, and when we entered the room she closed the door and locked it behind us.
"Now, lass, sit ye down. We shall fix ye up in no time, and dinna fash about what's to come. What's done is done."
I let out my breath in a long sigh, and let her guide me to a plush chair in front of a dainty vanity. Her broad Scots accent reminded me forcefully of my own chambermaid in Ellesmere, and I felt farther from home than ever. I let her brush my hair, undress me, and slip a soft satin nightrail over my head.
I watched her turn back the bedclothes and fluff the pillows, my sense of foreboding deepening with every move she made. After endless small preparations and bustling about, she walked up to me and gave me a huge hug.
"Good luck to ye, lass." She flashed me a sweet smile, surprising on such a dour face, and was gone.
Before I had time to think, the door opened again, and my new husband entered.
I stood in the middle of the room, staring dumbly at him, shivering slightly in my thin nightrail. It was drafty in the big chamber, and I could feel my nipples rise against the satin. I crossed my arms hastily over my breasts and lowered my chin defensively.
