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.
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"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."
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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.
"Are you cold?" he asked, only a slight quaver in his voice. I nodded, stood for a moment longer, and then walked quickly to the bed. I sat down hard on the down mattress and met his eyes again, daring him to come closer.
He didn't—instead, he proceeded to undress, folding his clothes neatly and setting them on the window seat. Finally, he straightened up and stared back, clad only in his long linen shirt. He was cold too; I could see, with that acute awareness that comes with fear, the gold hairs on his legs stand up.
John was beautiful, that much I could not deny. He had a finely chiseled, aristocratic face. Strong chin, striking blue eyes, nose straight as a knife's edge. His lips were full and expressive, turned down now with unease. He had golden brown hair that many women would kill for. All this I took in, and it still did not make me less afraid.
Quite suddenly, John crossed the room and sat down on the other side of the bed, mirroring me. Tired of the awkwardness, I huffed and swung my legs into the bed. I pulled the quilts up to my chin and rolled onto my side to face him.
"Well, we both know what has to happen now. The question is, would you like to get to know me a little first? We do have all night. Perhaps you would like to know more than my name before we..." I broke off, unable to finish. My clumsy attempt at bravado had failed. John smiled faintly at me.
"I appreciate your concern for my feelings, but as it is, I do think I would rather not talk just now."
My breath caught in my chest, as though an icy hand of nerves had clenched my lungs shut.
"Oh? And why is that?" I croaked.
"Because it's a deal easier hurting someone you don't know than hurting someone you do."
"So it is going to hurt? I thought so, but no one would really tell me anything about it, of course I do know what's supposed to happen but not the details, and I wish someone had explained and John...do try not to hurt me?" I finished lamely, my nervousness driving me to babbling.
"This is as new for me as it is for you," he assured me soothingly.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and then he reached out and held my hand. I looked up at him in surprise.
He sighed, just as I had minutes earlier, and got into the bed clumsily, still gripping my hand. When he was settled, he leaned on an elbow and looked me straight in the face.
